Page 33 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

Moll cast a quick glance at the scattered men walking the walls, but they were too far away to overhear, especially with the ever-present wind robbing the words from their mouths. Still, she leaned even closer to ask, “Promise me you’re keeping those fingers of yours safe in your pockets?”

Both twins feigned shock.

“Come now, Moll.” George laughed.

“We’re not fools,” Francis added, slapping his hand over his heart.

‘Twasn’t an answer. She scowled.

“There’s no need to fret, Moll,” George assured, noting the strength of her glare. “We’re merely making ourselves useful.”

Francis smothered a cough.

‘Twas the cough that roused her suspicion even more. Her heart sank, even as her temper flared. “I’ll have no trickery or mischief from you, naught that could risk our food and shelter—”

George interrupted her with an eye roll. “Moll, trust us, will you? We’ll not give you cause for worry, I swear.”

Moll turned to Francis and frowned outright. “And you?”

“La mercy, Moll, I want to eat as much as the rest.” He snorted, then pointed to the tower across the courtyard that led to their chamber. “Wee Jack and Jamie are taxing Charlotte sore. I’d best see if she needs help.”

His offer of assistance only deepened Moll’s concern—‘twas quite out of character, indeed—but he was off before she could stop him and with George at his heels.

She watched them go, torn between running after them and continuing her mushroom quest.

She closed her eyes and forced her thoughts to still. Trust? Why, of late, did everyone ask her to trust?

She exhaled and scowled. Lord help her, she didn’t have a choice, not really. She had a potion to finish and a castle the size of a city to search for the mushrooms needed to save Lady Haddon’s life. ‘Twas clear where she should focus, first…but, once she did find the mushrooms, she’d have hours before she could harvest them.

If she hurried, she’d have time aplenty to track down the twins and set them to rights—trust be damned.

Feeling at once better, she turned toward the aviary and the castle well.

The clang of weapons and the roars of the crowd filled Moll’s ears as she stepped around the eastern tower. Men and a few women, lined the inner wall, blocking her view of the fight taking place below. She didn’t mind. She skirted the walls behind them, praying Euphemia wasn’t there, and hurried behind the domed aviary, built close to the castle walls.

The rank stench of dung wafted up from below, overwhelming her nostrils. She covered her nose with her hand. There were no observers there, not with the aviary blocking the view of the fight. Quickly, she scanned the stones. To her astonishment, she found the red-tipped mushrooms, at once, growing near the aviary’s base, peeking out amongst the stones and within easy reach.

Relieved, she straightened her shoulders.

‘Twould be a simple enough task to return at sunset, then with an hour to brew, Lady Haddon would have her potion before ‘twas time to retire.

Fortune had provided her the most unexpected gift. Pleased, she turned back the way she’d come.

Now, ‘twas time to mind the twins.

“God’s blood, the man is a fool,” a man complained as Moll emerged from behind the aviary.

The man beside him cupped his mouth with his hands and shouted, “Roderick, are you drunk already?”

Laughter rippled through the crowd hugging the inner wall as Moll threaded her way past them.

“Brian stands no chance.” A man at her elbow laughed. “The MacKenzie’s stronger than a wild boar.”

Moll’s breath hitched. Taran? Then, the men around her shifted, providing her an unimpeded view.

‘Twas Taran, indeed, fighting below in a chain-mail hauberk, his strong legs planted wide and with a large basket-hilt sword in one hand and a buckler in the other.

As if in a dream, she maneuvered closer, near the top of the stairs that descended directly into the courtyard below.