Page 27 of Heather House: The Witch of Threadneedle Street

He was tempted to sweep her up and simply carry her where she wished to go, but he knew better. In the first months of his arrival at Haddon Hall, he’d found its lady to be a true friend. They’d enjoyed many a game of dice and chess until idle tongues had begun to wag. They’d rarely kept company after that, lest Lord Haddon misunderstand.

“What have you done, Taran?” Lady Haddon asked as they reached the wall and the wind died enough to speak.

“Done?” he queried.

Another flurry of wind delayed her reply. She waited until the banners above them ceased to snap, then explained in the lull, “Euphemia? You’ve truly chosen her?”

A snort of contempt escaped his lips. “Nay, my lady.”

“So, ‘tis idle gossip then.” She laughed. “Will you be allowed to choose another?”

Taran locked his gaze on the northern stars. Would he? What if the clan or the king insisted he choose between Euphemia and Anne, anyway? Could he bed either lass—even once—to father an heir? The thought made him shudder.

Lady Haddon read his face well enough. She sighed on his behalf. “You could always deny them both and wed for love.”

He didn’t reply. He knew better. For him, there was no choice. He must wed for the greater good.

Wordlessly, Lady Haddon reached up and patted his cheek. The smile that lit her wan face ‘twas sad to see. She was such a sweet lass. She deserved health, happiness, a healthy babe in her arms rather than suffering from lack of strength and constant worrying if she could survive the birthing.

“You’ll do as I did,” she said firmly, once the winds stilled. “In the end. I know it.”

“Aye?” he prodded when she fell silent.

“I wed for love,” she confessed with a small smile. “As Queen Elizabeth’s lady-in-waiting, I was to wed when and as she saw fit. Her fury when she discovered I ran off with the captain of her very own guard was…terrible.”

Taran arched a surprised brow. He hadn’t known Lord Haddon had been the Captain of Queen Elizabeth’s Guard. He certainly didn’t appear the rebel.

Lady Haddon’s silvery laugh recaptured his attention. “There is much you don’t know of him, Taran. ‘Twas a dangerous path we tread, I assure you. For a time, the queen sought my lord’s head, but time brings tolerance, in the end. Finally, she withdrew the orders for our arrests, though, she has, as yet, to acknowledge either of us. Mayhap she never will.” She raised her hand in a broad, sweeping gesture that took in the entire castle. “Meanwhile, our castle stands empty. We are in exile, in our own country. The only people who fill these walls are our servants, their families, and the rare visitor who fears no retribution from the queen.”

Taran eyed Lady Haddon anew. He’d always thought her quiet and unassuming—fair opposite a lass to oppose a queen.

Her smile faded in favor of a yawn. “I’ve missed you, Taran, but, I’ve had enough fresh air, for now. I would return to the keep.”

Silently, he held out his arm.

The way back to her rooms took what felt an age, but ‘twas pleasantly passed. Neither spoke, and neither felt compelled to fill up the space with idle talk. As ever with Lady Haddon, he could truly relax.

At her door, he bowed and took her fragile hands between his. “A good evening and health to ye, my lady.”

“The same to you.”

As she turned to leave, he tightened his grasp on her fingers as an idea flashed across his mind. “A boon, my lady.”

Her brows lifted. “To be sure, Taran. As always, anything within my power, I will give.”

“’Tis a small thing,” he assured. “A dress, for Moll.”

Lady Haddon’s smile brightened. “’Tis plain to see what you see in her, Taran. She’s so full of life and spirit. I’ll send for her, once I’ve rested.”

Taran brought her fingers to his lips and brushed them in a light kiss. She turned away and vanished into her room. If only her story could have a happy ending, but deep in his heart, he feared the opposite true.

* * *

It was late when Taran lifted the latch and stepped inside his chamber. He’d thought, at first, to spend the night in a guard tower or mayhap find a different room amongst the wealth of empty rooms about the castle, but the castle occupants would notice. He couldn’t undermine Moll’s tenuous position is such a way…or at least, that’s what he told himself.

The fire was little more than scattered coals, and in the near darkness, he could barely make out the shadowy shapes of the children sleeping on the floor.

Exhaling, he dropped onto his pallet. No doubt, another sleepless night lay ahead. Aye, he could feel it in his bones. He’d always slept light, unable to let down his guard and truly relax in the company of others. ‘Twas the result of his harsh childhood and years on the battlefield. Mayhap, he should revisit his decision to return.