Page 72 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

“There’s naught even you can do.” She closed her eyes. There was no choice but to run. This very day.

“Dinna doubt me, sweeting.” Taran’s breath caressed her ear. “He’ll never have ye, I swear.”

She couldn’t let herself feel the hope those words unleashed. Clenching her fingers into fists, she drew her lips into a thin, determined line. Her mind already beginning to race. She had to run, but the children? Charlotte was weak, still abed. Perhaps, Francis or George could steal a horse?

Taran’s hand dropped on her shoulder and his lips brushed her forehead. “Dinna fret, Moll. Hie yourself off to the room while I settle the matter, aye?”

She nodded. ‘Twas best to let him think she would simply comply. She could only sneak out easier that way. She didn’t want to, but she had to leave. ‘Twould be the best for them both.

As the sound of his boots moved away, Moll allowed herself one last look. ‘Twould be the last time she saw him. Not so many days ago, she’d entered the castle, suspicious of the man and his every motive, but even then, she’d thought him handsome. Strangely, even from the first moment, she’d instinctively felt safe in his arms. Lord help her, she loved him. She knew that now. She loved him. She always would.

She stared at his departing form until he vanished into the great hall and then drew a ragged breath.

‘Twas best she left. Now, this very moment. There was lichen aplenty she could gather to put the guards to sleep. She could easily sneak out the gate. She needn’t worry that their drugged bodies would be found in the morning. She and the children could be long gone.

Chewing her lip furiously to keep back the tears, she headed up the stairs.

Truly, ‘twas just as well she left. After all, how could she stay? Taran was destined to wed a lady and seeing him with another woman would only break her heart.

She’d nearly reached the landing of the second floor when she heard the metallic clang of weapons and a woman’s voice.

“Hurry. Be quick.”

A queen’s guard swept down from the stairs above.

“Pardon me,” Moll murmured, flattening against the wall.

To her surprise, the man didn’t pass her by. Instead, he grabbed her arm. “I’ve got her, my lady.”

Moll blinked as a familiar blonde, statuesque figure appeared on the steps behind him, descending slowly.

‘Twas Euphemia.

With eyes glittering colder than ice, the woman said, “Take her away.”

The Wheels of Fate

So. This was Eldric. Thomas. The tailor of Thread Needle Street. The thought of Moll suffering under his hand made Taran’s rage burn. What father would willingly wed his daughter to such a man? Such a man had no place touching Moll. By God, he’d see justice done.

The man stunk. His flesh hung off his bones, the lack of muscle announcing him a creature who avoided an honest day’s work. He grinned at Taran, nervously, and with the demeanor of a coward as he groveled on the laundry floor.

The image of Moll’s bloodied lip and the despair on her bonny face arced across Taran’s mind. Anger rose like bile in his throat.

“Up, ye coward,” he spat, grabbing the tailor by the collar and bodily hefting him to his feet.

“My lord,” Thomas squealed.

A wave of stench—swine, vomit, and spirits—rolled over Taran’s face. ‘Twas the last straw. He’d spent the better part of an hour hunting the man down. They’d only stumbled upon his hiding place by accident. He’d hidden in a cupboard with a bottle of wine. They’d only discovered him when he escaped to filch another. Now, ‘twas time he talked. No doubt, silver would convince him readily enough to agree to an annulment but rewarding the man with silver simply seemed wrong after the torture he’d so clearly inflicted on the lass.

Taran’s fingers tightened of their own accord.

Was it the shadows cast about the room or had the grizzled tailor’s face darkened to a deep purple?

“Ye’d best let him breathe, lad, unless, ye mean to finish him off,” Doughall murmured from where he leaned against the laundry table, his arms loosely folded across his bear of a chest. “Though, from what I’ve heard, ‘twould be a service to mankind, I assure ye.”

Through a sheer act of will, Taran forced his fingers to relax, enough to let the man take a strangled gasp of air. ‘Twas time to finish the matter. He’d spent only minutes in the man’s company and couldn’t tolerate a moment more.

“I know who ye are—” Taran began.