Page 49 of Heather House: The Witch of Threadneedle Street

Taran groaned into her mouth, the sound sent a fresh onslaught of shivers skipping down her spine.

“MacKenzie,” the voice called again, louder, closer to the aviary door.

Taran’s lips left hers, and a blast of cold air rushed between them, shattering the spell.

At the sound of boots scuffling against the cobblestones, Taran slid his hands free from her waist as she stepped back. She held her breath, grateful for the surrounding darkness. What had just passed between them felt raw, too intimate a thing to be seen in the light.

“’Tis Hay and Maxwell, my lord,” Doughall said, his large frame blocking what little light filtered in through the aviary door. “They’re calling ye to the hall.”

“Aye,” Taran answered.

Then, Doughall’s rough voice softened to add, “My lady.”

My lady. He’d seen her there. She felt the heat rush to her face, but before she could reply, the man was gone. Then, Taran’s fingers caught hers to lift them to his lips to brush her knuckles with a kiss.

“Later, lass.” His melodious baritone made her shiver even more then his lips.

Then, he was gone.

She ran to the aviary door, a foreign, sharp pang of longing stabbing through her as she caught a glimpse of his tall, shadowy figure crossing the courtyard in long strides.

She closed her eyes.

What had she done?

The question popped in her thoughts, again and again, as she hurried to the laundry to prepare Lady Haddon’s brew.

Why had she kissed him? Even more…why had she enjoyed it so very much? Of all men, why had she picked him? They had no future.

‘Twas a dark thought, to be sure. Forcing her thoughts from Taran, she busied herself with the potion. Lady Haddon hadn’t responded to the brew as much as she’d liked. She added an extra mushroom, even though it caused her to fret. Her supply was dwindling, along with the time to find the cause of the lady’s ills.

Frowning, she finished the brew and hurried to the keep.

“My lady.” Moll forced a warmth in her smile to mask her concern as she offered Lady Haddon the cup.

“I do feel stronger, Moll,” the woman said with a smile as she sat in her chair.

Moll could only nod and smile wider. While the frail lady had gained a noticeable measure of strength, ‘twas clear whatever ailed her heart was far stronger. ‘Twas a battle they were clearly losing.

Dutifully, Lady Haddon took the cup and grimaced as she drank. “I fear it tastes worse by the day, Moll.”

“’Tis worth the suffering, my lady. Soon, you’ll have roses on your cheeks.”

Lady Haddon flinched, her fingers flying to the locket on her neck. “Roses in your cheeks,” she whispered as a look of sadness fell over her like a blanket.

Moll hesitated. Again, ‘twas the locket. Was it, somehow, a hint to her heart?

With a sigh, Lady Haddon whispered, “My mother said that, often. Roses in your cheeks.”

Moll held still as a sense of foreboding washed over her. There was no mistaking the deep pain in Lady Haddon’s eyes now. Was it that of a broken heart? If ‘twas a broken heart that lay at the root of her ills, she’d never survive the birthing, regardless of what the physician might try. Curing a broken heart ranked amongst the most difficult challenges a Witch of the Heart could face.

Moll sank to her knees and took Lady Haddon’s cold fingers between hers. “My lady, ‘twould help me restore your health if you would but let me listen to your heart,” she whispered. She had to know. If her heart was truly broken, there was so very little time.

“Listen, if you will.” Lady Haddon replied, her voice wavering as if the response greatly taxed her strength. With a sigh, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

Holding her breath, Moll leaned close and placed an ear against the woman’s heart. ‘Twas so weak a beat, only a soft fluttering like the wings of a bird. Pain. Sorrow. Utter loss. With each beat, the nature of the woman’s suffering became clearer. ‘Twas the loss of a pure love, that of a mother.

Tears burnt Moll’s lashes as she sank back to her knees. There was only one face she knew the locket could hold.