Page 37 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

Was she exceedingly iron-willed or immensely dense? Surely, she could read his distaste? Irritated, Taran shoved himself from the wall.

“Save your wiles for another. They willna work on me,” he grated.

He turned, but she threw herself in front of him, blocking his path.

“My lord, ye canna deny the advantages our union would bring,” she said with a passionate determination. “It matters little what ye feel for me, aye? Love is not required. Indeed, it can come later.”

Taran paused. He’d often said such things himself, that in a marriage, love was the last thing required, but now, looking at Euphemia, he realized what a fool he’d been.

Love was the only thing that mattered.

Without a word, he stepped around her and strode away.

He spent the remainder of the afternoon with his men, lounging on the large window ledge of the western guardroom, above the castle armory. The MacKenzie clansmen had taken the queen’s tidings in stride and had instead, turned their attention to a tournament of dice.

Taran hadn’t joined. His body ached, and even more than that, Moll marched through his mind, again and again. The flash of her eyes. Her fingers clenched in fists, defending children she’d picked up from the streets. And, of course, her slender figure wrapped in rose and gold.

“Ach, ye should soak that shoulder of yours,” Doughall’s rough voice barged into his thoughts. “A bath, piping hot.”

Taran looked to where the man sat, balanced back on a three-legged stool and with his legs propped on the table. ‘Twas hard to deny the appeal of the suggestion. A hot bath would do him good.

“Aye,” was all he said.

The gray-braided man dropped his feet to the floor. “I’ll have the lads fetch a tub from the castle laundry, straightway. North tower?”

“Nay.” Taran shook his head. “I’ve a mind to bathe there.” He much preferred the silence and peace of the empty laundry room than a place where others might roam.

“As ye wish,” Doughall replied with a nod. He whistled and jerked his head at several of the younger clansmen. “On your feet, lads, we’ve a task afore the sun sets.”

As they left, Taran closed his eyes.

They roused him near sunset. ‘Twas surprising he’d fallen asleep. The morning’s drubbing had exhausted him more than he’d thought. With a nod of thanks, he pushed himself off the window ledge and made his way to the castle laundry, alone.

‘Twas a large room—enticingly empty—with low-arched ceilings and several windows on the northern wall that offered a fine view of the courtyard and the great hall to the left. On the hearth, a fire merrily crackled beneath a large, black cauldron, and a long, wooden table took up the center of the room.

To his left, an open door revealed a smaller chamber filled with barrels of ash, boxes, and tubs. ‘Twas behind a stack of wooden crates that Doughall had filled the largest tub in the room. Steam rose from the water in inviting clouds.

‘Twas fair difficult to divest himself of his clothing and even harder to remove his boots. No matter how great the care, his tortured muscles complained until at last, he stepped naked into the water and settled back with a sigh.

Peace descended as the water’s heat sank into his bones, soothing the stiffness, but playing with the pain. Still, ‘twas relaxing. He stayed there in silence, enjoying his solitude until finally, the water cooled, signaling ‘twas time to leave.

With a sigh, he hefted himself out of the water and standing by the tub, rolled his shoulders back, closing his eyes.

It was then he heard a woman’s shocked gasp.

He opened his eyes to see her in the evening light, standing by the stack of barrels with her lips parted in shock.

Moll.

A Locket Most Curious

Moll hurried toward the castle laundry, pleased with her mushroom harvest, yet worried she hadn’t found enough. Most of the mushrooms growing between the aviary stones had damaged stems. ‘Twas disappointing, but even more concerning. With what she’d gathered, she could only make enough brew for a month, not nearly enough to see Lady Haddon past her birthing, and truthfully, ‘twould likely take even longer to discern the true cause of Lady Haddon ills.

Yet even more concerning, should she discover what ailed Lady Haddon’s heart, she wouldn’t be able to cure her—unless Lord Haddon opened the castle gates. After spending the day scouring the castle grounds, ‘twas clear the necessary ingredients for almost any serious illness of the heart no longer grew inside the walls.

Trying her best not to fall prey to needless worry, Moll hurried into the castle laundry.

‘Twas warm and bright, with limewashed walls. The black cauldron hanging over the fire bubbled merrily, sending clouds of hot steam into the air. She smiled. Bridgette was wondrously thoughtful to fetch the water and light the fire. She’d also not only found the pot and spoon, but had added a set of earthen bowls, a ladle, and a small knife, as well, on the wooden table in the center of the room.