Page 68 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

“What say you?” Lord Haddon choked.

Moll frowned. She couldn’t assure him. Already, she could feel Lady Haddon slipping away. She held out the cup. “’Tis best she drinks from your hand, my lord.”

He took the brew without question. “Wake, my love,” he whispered in a cracked voice as he slid a supporting arm beneath her shoulders.

Lady Haddon moaned.

“Drink, my love,” he repeated.

Weakly, Lady Haddon lifted her lashes and frowned, and for a brief moment, Moll thought she would refuse, but then to her relief, the woman nodded.

“Do not waste a single drop, my lord,” Moll advised as he brought the cup to his young wife’s lips.

The process was a slow one, one in which Moll retreated to the window and closed her eyes. This very moment, in a chamber not so far away, she could only hope Charlotte had chosen to drink the brew, as well. She bowed her head. ‘Twas difficult not to give in to her fears. ‘Twas nigh impossible to think thoughts of only happiness and health, for the sake of not only Charlotte, but Lady Haddon, as well.

A hand touched her sleeve, and she looked up to see Lord Haddon standing there, the cup empty in his hand. “Now?”

Moll glanced at the bed where Lady Haddon lay on her pillow, eyes closed. “We can only wait, my lord.”

Worried, he returned to his wife’s side.

Moll leaned her cheek against the window’s cool glass. While she wished Lady Haddon well, her heart ached to be with Charlotte, convincing the young girl to return from the shadows, but then, Taran, at least, was there. A blast of wind rattled the glass beneath her cheek and she gazed out, tiredly, over the rolling hills, and for a time, lost herself in memories of her mother and the distant past.

At times, the occasional crack of the fire brought her back to the present and to the room. ‘Twas when the sun began its evening descent that Lady Haddon moaned.

Moll flew to the bed as Lord Haddon rose to his feet, alarmed.

Lady Haddon’s lashes fluttered. Then, looking stronger with each passing moment, she turned her head from side to side. A slender arm escaped the mound of blankets and then pushed them back. “’Tis hot in here. Robert?”

Lord Haddon leaned close, moving as a man caught in a dream. “Yes?”

The woman’s smile summoned a touch of color to her face. “I’m thirsty,” she said in a strong voice. “Help me sit.” Even before Lord Haddon could move to assist, she struggled to sit on her own.

Moll’s shoulders sagged in relief.

Lady Haddon had chosen life.

Moll left them there, with Lord Haddon bellowing for Bridgette to bring water and Lady Haddon insisting she rise from the bed.

Moll flew out the iron-studded door and down the keep’s stairs with Doughall at her heels. The Highlander stayed by her side, his glare alone causing the queen’s guard to step aside as she rushed up the north tower stairs. She must have looked a mad thing, her hair streaming wildly behind her as she burst into the chamber, causing the door to bounce off the chamber wall,

Jamie and Wee Jack cried out, lunging forward to throw their arms about her waist. She patted their heads, squinting in the gathering gloom toward the bed, but Taran’s broad shoulders blocked her view.

“Charlotte?” she gasped, filling with dread.

Then, Francis stepped into view. He was smiling.

“Moll?” a weak voice sounded from the bed.

Suddenly, she was at Charlotte’s side as Taran’s arm fell about her shoulders, but Moll only had eyes for Charlotte, for the flush of color on her cheeks and the light in her eyes.

‘Twas then Moll sank to the floor and let the tears flow. ‘Twas done. By some miracle, the single mushroom had been enough. She closed her eyes and wept into the crook of her arm.

“Don’t—dinna—weep, Moll,” Charlotte whispered, patting her awkwardly on the head.

Moll smiled into the coverlets. Let her mimic the Highlander as much as she pleased.

A strong hand squeezed her shoulder. “I dinna doubt ye, lass.”