Page 71 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

‘Twas the man from the forest. She recognized his cloak, but then, the dim light filtering through the door fell on his grizzled hair as the rain dripped off the end of his bulbous nose.

Nay. ‘Twas impossible.

Before her, alive and in the flesh, stood Thomas, the Thread Needle Street tailor.

Horrors of the Past

Moll could only hear the booming beat of her heart as the blood rushed to her ears. Thomas stood there, alive, well, and crushing her wrist in a vicelike grip as his mouth moved, spewing words she couldn’t hear. His face had grown thinner, and now, the stench of pigs mingled with the usual stink of his unwashed body and the odor of whisky. Lord help her. How had he survived London’s plague?

He grinned, revealing his rotting tooth on the lower back side of his mouth. Oddly, ‘twas the darkened tooth that brought her back to the present. Horror poured into her, straight down to the bottom of her soul.

Her husband had…returned. Lord help her…she was still wed to the man.

Moll sucked in a huge, gasping breath and twisted free. “No!”

The word hung in the air between them.

Then, Thomas reached for her stomach. “You carry my babe? You hid it well.”

Moll stumbled back, toward the steps. She’d willingly die before she’d let the man touch her again. “Keep away from me,” she warned in a voice between a gasp and a sob.

“Is that a proper way to greet your husband?” His lips split into a gloating smile. “My heir.”

She couldn’t return to the life from before. She simply couldn’t. “No,” she choked, lunging for the stairs. “Keep away from me. You’re not my husband. You never were.”

He was nimble enough, despite his age. He reached the stairs before her and blocked her way. “Are you mad?”

“Keep away from me, Thomas.” Moll’s voice shook.

The sound of his name echoing up the stairwell caused him to flinch. As quick as a striking snake, his fingers lashed out and grabbed her arm, digging deep into her flesh. “I’ll thank you to remember it’s Eldric now, trollop,” he hissed. “Perhaps, this will help.” He struck her hard across the face.

The coppery taste of blood burst into Moll’s mouth. As he loosened his grip on her wrist, she twisted free, and then she was running, out the door and into the rain.

The next thing she knew, a strong arm caught her waist. She screamed.

“Ho, lass,” Taran’s deep voice rumbled beneath her ear.

Moll went still. Taran. Not trusting herself to speak, she gripped handfuls of his shirt, assuring herself he was truly there and determining he was, gripped even harder so that she would never be torn away.

“What happened?” His soothing brogue washed over her like cool water on fevered skin.

Dimly, as if she were miles away, she heard herself breathe the word, “Thomas.”

A look of bewilderment narrowed his eyes.

She had to tell him. Lord help her, she had to tell him, but her lips refused to utter the word ‘husband’. The man wasn’t. By God, she’d never consented, not once. Anger caught hold, giving her strength. “The man to whom my father gave me,” she spat.

Every muscle in Taran’s lean body went rigid.

“I saw the house burn.” A river of words poured from her mouth. “He couldn’t have survived, Taran. They told me he’d died. Died of the plague. Lord help me, Taran. I can’t go back. I can’t. He calls himself Eldric now. He’s here, taking care of the queen’s swine. Heaven help me, how did he survive?”

It was only then that she realized he was holding her close, whispering into her hair, “Nay, lass, ye’ll never go back. I swear upon my life, Moll.”

He was so warm. Steady. Like a rock. If only she could stay in the circle of his arms, safe.

“Never,” he repeated firmly.

Taran was strong and clearly, after everything she’d seen, a true man of honor. Yet, even he couldn’t overturn the law and the church. Bitterly, she wrenched free from his embrace and sent him a wounded look.