Page 60 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

‘Twas time to face her next daunting task, that of her return. Perhaps, she could—

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Moll screamed and bucked, but the hand covering her lips was far too strong, too powerful to let the sound escape.

Then, a familiar voice sliced through her panic, “Easy, lass.”

Lass? Moll’s knees turned into jelly.

‘Twas Taran.

“Aye,” he grated in a near growl. “I dinna know whether to be angry or proud of what ye’ve done. I’ll decide once I have ye safe back in Haddon Hall.” He paused, then asked, “Did ye find what ye seek?”

She nodded into his hand.

His fingers fell away. She whirled to face him. ‘Twas dark, but she could see enough to know he was displeased—nay, angry.

“I had no choice,” she began.

He silenced her with a finger on her lips.

Neither spoke as he grasped her wrist and pulled her forward, keeping to the shadows until there was nothing left but an empty expanse of road between them and the castle gates.

Taran stood still, waiting until the two guards above the castle gates turned their heads before he lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled. ‘Twas a shrill warble, one that sounded so like a bird that Moll could hear an answering call in the trees behind them.

The guards above the gate shifted, then suddenly glanced over their shoulders.

A hoot of an owl sounded close by the castle gates, then, Taran was pulling her forward, straight to the wall, half-carrying her along the way as he swept her toward the postern gate.

It all happened so fast. The next thing she knew, she was shoved through the door. Hands pulled her forward and into the courtyard, a flicker of torchlight illuminating long, swinging gray braids.

“Quickly, now,” Doughall urged.

Then Taran returned, his strong arm hurrying her forward to the safety of the laundry room. He didn’t give her time to think until he’d bundled through the door.

‘Twas only once they stood safely inside that he whirled upon her. “I’ll not have ye do something so foolish again,” he rasped through clenched teeth.

Moll lifted her chin. “I had no choice.”

With his jaw set in a stern line, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Did ye not see the gallows, lass?”

“Yes,” she hissed in reply. Then, with narrowing eyes, added, “Would you have me let Charlotte die?”

The breath he drew was a sharp one, then, he closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged.

Her anger melted. ‘Twas clear he only feared on her behalf.

He stepped forward, but she met him halfway. As his arms closed around her, she lay her cheek against his hard chest. As ever, with him, she felt safe. For a few precious moments, she stayed there, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

“Promise me, lass,” he whispered into her hair. “Promise me, ye’ll not do such a foolish thing again.”

He’d risked so much to see her safe. ‘Twas an exceedingly dangerous thing to do, yet, she wouldn’t—nay, couldn’t—promise such a thing. She’d do it again, to save those she loved. “There is no need,” she answered instead. “Soon, both Charlotte and Lady Haddon will be safe.”

Outside the windows, men began to shout.

Taran lifted a brow, alarmed, and then, he stepped back with a curt, “I will return.”

Unsettled, she watched him stride away, but as the shouts continued, she peered out the laundry room door.