Heather House: The Witch of Threadneedle Street

by Carmen Caine

  Absently, Taran leaned against the wall to wait for news and to watch.

  ‘Twas some time later when he saw the five men hurrying out of the keep and across the castle grounds. Their long, purposeful strides and squared shoulders caught his eye. As they passed into the torchlight, he spied Lord Haddon at the forefront with the captain of the queen’s guard close on his heels.

  When they neared the laundry, they suddenly veered toward the door.

  Taran launched himself off the wall and dove for the tower stairs.

  Moll. Had someone seen her? By the time he burst through the door, it was to find her cowering on the floor, her hands covering her mouth in horror.

  The sight hit Taran like a punch to the gut. “What is this?”

  “’Tis treachery.” Lord Haddon whirled, a muscle twitching on his jaw.

  “Nay, ‘tis witchcraft,” the captain of the queen’s guard supplied. “’Tis clear she’s casting a spell.”

  “A spell?” Taran forced his voice to reflect a calm he did not feel.

  “She was seen outside the castle, and now, she’s back again,” the captain replied. “There was no way to enter. The devil himself came to her aid.”

  The devil? Taran snorted. “’Tis nonsense.”

  “Then, explain this?” the captain pointed the toe of his boot to the mushrooms scattered about the floor. “’Tis the devil’s work.”

  Before Taran could respond, the man crushed the mushrooms under his heel.

  “No!” Moll gasped.

  The sound nearly ripped Taran’s heart from his chest, but he kept his eyes trained on the queen’s captain. “’Tis nonsense. The lot. The lass was with me.”

  The captain’s steely gaze latched onto him. “Then you conspire against the queen?”

  Taran lifted a cool brow of disdain. “Dare ye utter such false accusations against me?”

  The man had the grace to avert his gaze.

  “Aye,” Taran murmured. ‘Twas telling. Beneath it all, the man was more talk than anything else. Hardening his voice, Taran warned, “Touch one hair on Moll’s head, and ye’ll not live to see the dawn.”

  At the words, the captain’s head snapped back. “I don’t take well to threats, even from nobles, my lord.”

  Taran curled his lip and gave a harsh laugh. “’Twasn’t a threat, but a promise, I assure ye.” Then, ignoring the man outright, he turned to Lord Haddon. “Are ye not the master of your own house?”

  “’Tis no foolish accusation this man brings.” Lord Haddon bristled. “Moll was seen outside the gates and this very night.”

  Taran snorted in cool disdain. “By who?”

  “Eldric. ’Twas Eldric, the queen’s man.”

  Damnation. “And just who might this Eldric be?”

  “’Tis Eldric, the pig-scalder—”

  This time, there was no need to feign contempt. “A pig-scalder? Dare ye take the word of a pig-scalder over my own?” Taran lifted his brow in challenge. “I’ll say it again and for the last time. Moll was with me.”

  Lord Haddon cleared his throat and as if in apology said, “I’ve my heir to protect, MacKenzie.”

  “’Tis the queen’s safety that is at stake,” the queen’s guard snapped. Nodding at his men, he ordered, “Take her away.”

  Before they could move, Taran stepped forward, blocking their path. “Walk with care, Haddon,” he warned in a low voice. “Know I am a vengeful man.”

  The man drew a sharp breath. “I obey the queen.”

  Taran leveled him a look. Once, he very well might have said those words himself. No more. “Only a fool follows blindly.”

  They faced each other with jaws locked and gazes wary.

  “Join me in my chamber until we reach the heart of the matter,” Lord Haddon said before turning to the captain. “Moll will wait here.”

  ‘Twas clear the captain much preferred to toss Moll into a cell, but at Taran’s scowl, he clamped his mouth shut, apparently thinking much better of the idea.

  “Very well,” he muttered before addressing his men. “For now, the witch stays here. Guard her well.” He pointed to the corner and added, “She’ll stay there, away from the tools of her craft.”

  As his men lifted Moll to her feet, Taran turned away. There would be time—soon—to comfort her, but he hadn’t a second to spare if he wished to keep her from hanging outside the castle gates.

  Furious, he strode from the laundry. He stopped at the postern gate first.

  Doughall took one look at his face, then asked, “And what have the fools done, lad?”

  “Keep her safe,” Taran ordered after a quick explanation of the events.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “And Eldric?” They needed to reach the man first.

  “No word, my lord.”

  Taran nodded and turned away. At least, Moll was safe. If matters came to a head, he’d battle his way out of the castle gates and ride off with her to the Highlands, but ‘twas a dangerous path. And the children? He gritted his teeth. Nay, diplomacy was the only way to keep them all safe, unharmed.

  Scowling, he strode into Lord Haddon’s private chamber behind the great hall. ‘Twas a simple room. Comfortable. Several cushioned wooden chairs stood before the fire with a chess table betwixt them and a table with books by the door.

  Lord Haddon looked up as he arrived.

  “And how are you settling this matter?” Taran asked, driving directly to the point.

  “I’ve sent for the pig-scalder,” the man replied. “’Tis the only witness.”

  Taran said nothing but folded his arms.

  Silence reigned. Neither man spoke. Indeed, what was there to say? That he thought the man a foolish weakling the way he bowed to the captain’s will? ‘Twould hardly serve his cause.

  An hour passed, one in which Taran stood only a hairsbreadth away from leaving to rush to Moll’s side instead. Then, at last, the captain of the queen’s guard stood at the chamber door.

  “Eldric cannot be found, my lord,” he announced.

  Taran looked up from where he leaned against the mantle and gave a snort of contempt.

  “Then, we’ll readjourn in the morning, when he is found,” Lord Haddon announced, rising to his feet.

  “And Moll?” Taran asked softly.

  “She’ll stay the night where she is, MacKenzie,” Lord Haddon replied, refusing to meet Taran’s gaze. “’Tis safer for us all.”

  Taran’s lip lifted in scorn. Lady Haddon had made a foolish choice of husband. Disgusted, he watched the man stride down the hall, his head and shoulders bowed, with the arrogant young captain at his side.

  The return to the castle laundry was a quick one.

  Two MacKenzie clansmen stood guard at the door. They nodded in the silent assurance that Moll was still safe within, and then stood aside to let him pass. Mayhap Lord Haddon had a point. With his men standing guard, Moll was much safer than imprisoned elsewhere within easy reach of the queen’s guard.

  Her guards looked up as he entered, but he ignored them entirely.

  Then, he was at Moll’s side, gathering her in his arms.

  “Charlotte,” she whispered, burying her nose against his chest. “I fear she will not last the night.”

  Taran cradled her close, her body as tight as a bow. Of course, her thoughts would be for the children first. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head, never respecting her more.

  “I could have healed them both, Taran.” Her tears dampened his shirt.

  “Both?”

  “Lady Haddon. She suffers the same malady,” came the heartrending reply.

  Taran clamped his jaw. Lord Haddon was a fool of the highest order. “Anger consumes me like fire, lass.”

  She lifted her head and caught his face between her hands. “There’s no time for that. You must go to her, Taran. Charlotte. She needs you. She wants so much to believe you’re her father. If there’s anyone who can give her the hope, the strength to hold on, ‘twill be yo
u.”

  Taran stared at the tears spilling down Moll’s cheeks. How had things careened out of control so quickly? And Charlotte? The thought of the wee sprite lying broken on the bed tore his heart, even as the thought of leaving Moll alone, in danger of the gallows, weighed on him, as well.

  “Leave,” Moll urged, firmly placing her palms on his chest. “Your men will see me safe, along with George and Francis.”

  She had too much faith.

  “I’ll not see her die alone.” Moll closed her eyes tight, as if she could halt the horrors falling upon them out of pure will alone.

  Slowly, Taran reached down and cupped her chin in his hand. “Aye, I’ll stay with her.”

  The relief on her face lit her with an inner beauty that touched his heart in a way no other woman ever had—or would. There was only one letter to write to the king, his clan elders, and his father, as well.

  But first, he had to see them all safely through the night.

  “Soon, lass,” he whispered, then with one last kiss on the top of her head, he left the room.

  Once outside, Taran slammed his hand against the wall.

  He had to find this Eldric the pig-scalder. He’d have his men search every nook and cranny of the castle the entire night thorough, if that’s what it took.

  Once they found him, he’d find out exactly just what game the man played.

  The children’s worried faces swiveled as one as Taran stepped through the bedchamber door. They huddled around Charlotte where she lay on the bed, silent, white, and barely breathing.

  ‘Twas startling to see such a difference in the lassie. She’d been so vibrant, so full of life as she’d followed him about the hall, mimicking his accent as best she could.

  The lads watched his face, searching for strength as the twins hovered at the foot of the bed.

  “She’ll be well soon,” he heard himself say, his voice gruff. ‘Twas odd. He wasn’t one to believe in false hopes, but saying aught else seemed the gravest of sins, a reality he wasn’t willing to face. “Aye,” he said in a firmer tone. “Soon, the lot of ye’ll be riding the Highlands, each of ye on your own gelding and wee Charlotte on her own white mare.”

  They hung on his every word.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently took Charlotte’s hand between his. Her flesh felt cold, clammy. “Fight, lassie. I’ll take ye to the Highlands. Soon.”

  She moaned and then her lashes fluttered. “Athair,” she mouthed with great effort. “Stay.” Her small fingers closed around his, tight.

  His throat closed.

  The hours passed. He stayed by her side. The younger children fell asleep on the bed. At times, George or Francis slipped silently from the room to check on Moll. ‘Twas a restless night for them all.

  As dawn painted the sky, Taran made up his mind.

  There was only one way to bend Lord Haddon to his will. One way to save the life of the wee lassie, lying near death on the bed, and the life of the castle’s lady, as well. Of course, Lord Haddon would be furious. ‘Twould, no doubt, make them enemies, but one look at Charlotte’s face and he cared no more.

  Taran lifted the lid of his trunk and selected his finest shirt and plaid.

  “Where you going?” George whispered.

  “To get Moll,” Taran replied.

  Francis frowned. “And how?”

  Taran paused at the door. “’Tis time to dine with the queen.”

  * * *

  As the morning bell chimed, Doughall met Taran at the door to the great hall.

  “Moll’s safe and sleeping,” the man replied in answer to Taran’s unspoken question.

  ‘Twas not unexpected news. After all, the twins had brought him tidings the entire night through. “The pig-scalder?”

  “’Tis a mystery, my lord,” Doughall grunted. “He’s yet to be found.”

  Taran scowled. “Indeed, does the man exist?”

  “We’ll find him,” the man swore.

  Taran turned away and stalked to the high table.

  The queen was there already, sitting in a massive carved chair—clearly, one of her own. She was magnificent, certainly looking every inch the queen that she was in her blue velvet, ermine-trimmed gown and a delicate gold net of jewels entwined in her red hair.

  As before, Lord Haddon sat at the far end of the table, his gaze locked on the content of his cup.

  Taran eyed him grimly.

  The ladies-in-waiting glanced up as Taran approached the queen and executed the most elaborately intricate of bows.

  “Lord MacKenzie,” Queen Elizabeth acknowledged with a dip of her chin.

  Taran straightened. “His Majesty, King James of Scotland, has sent ye letters, Your Majesty. I’d be delighted to deliver them this very day.”

  The queen’s nostrils flared, just enough to betray her anger. “’Tis far too early to discuss matters of state.” She waved a hand of dismissal.

  He didn’t mind. He’d merely wished to secure her attention. Now that he had, he stepped sideways to address Lord Haddon in a loud voice, “And how fare’s your wife?”

  Lord Haddon went stiff.

  The queen’s head turned their way and her lips pulled down into a frown.

  Abruptly, Lord Haddon rose to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty,” he murmured, never taking his eyes from Taran’s.

  Taran followed him out the door and well into the courtyard beyond.

  Once they were safely out of earshot, Lord Haddon rounded on him angrily, “’Tis blackmail, then, MacKenzie? Do wish to bring the wrath of the queen upon my head? You know right well the truth of the matter.”

  Taran locked a wintry gaze on the man. “I dinna wish to be your enemy, but ye leave me no choice but to use the weapon that will work.” He left the rest unsaid.

  Anger darkened Lord Haddon’s face. “Then go now, and you’d best run. I’ll send the hounds of hell after you—”

  Taran grabbed the man’s arm and yanked him close. “Nay, dinna be a fool. We’ve no cause to be enemies. Think, man.”

  Lord Haddon’s eyes narrowed. He waited.

  Taran nodded his chin in the general direction of the laundry. “Moll can save your lady’s life. Is that not what ye wish?”

  The man’s jaw tightened.

  “Free Moll,” Taran hissed.

  “Ye know right well that we all stand in danger of the gibbet,” Lord Haddon grated.

  Hardly. Taran suppressed a cold smile. He’d fight his way out of the castle, first, but aloud, he merely murmured, “Then, what have ye to lose?”

  For nearly a minute, Lord Haddon simply stared, then, he warned in a voice so low Taran could scarcely hear, “You’d best pray my lady does not die. If she does, I’ll plant an arrow in Moll’s heart.”

  Safety

  Moll spent the night in the corner of the laundry, watching the mushrooms she’d so painstakingly gathered wither and wilt on the floor. She could do nothing but pray that Charlotte and Lady Haddon still lived—but truly, what was the point? Even if they had survived the night by some miracle, she could no longer help them. The mushrooms were destroyed, and even if she could freely wander into the wood to harvest more, she must wait for the light of the moon. There wouldn’t be enough time. Charlotte, for certain, would not last the day, and from what she knew of Lady Haddon, ‘twas likely she was in the same dire straits.

  The two men tasked to guard her had spent an uneasy night watching her every move. Each time she coughed or even shifted on the makeshift pallet in the corner of the laundry, their hands moved to the hilts of their blades as if she would turn into some dragon creature they would be forced to slay.

  Soon after the morning bells rang, the laundry door slammed open and the men leapt to their feet as Lord Haddon and Taran strode into the room.

  Moll’s heart leapt to her throat. She searched Taran’s face for a hint of Charlotte’s fate, and at his slight nod, exhaled in relief.

  Then, Lord Haddon barked at the guards
. “Out.”

  The men hesitated, but as Taran turned their way, they left without a word, and the latch had no sooner clicked shut, then Lord Haddon stood before her.

  “Save her, Moll,” he rasped, his lean cheeks sunken with worry. “Save her and I’ll let you go unharmed. You’re a witch. Save her with your magic.”

  Moll swallowed.

  “I must be mad,” Lord Haddon choked as he turned away.

  Then, Taran was there, pulling her briefly into his arms. For a timeless moment, she focused on the steady beat of his heart. How she wanted to stay there, safe and at peace, but now ‘twas clearly not the time. “Charlotte?”

  The muscle on his jaw twitched. “She holds on, still,” he whispered in her ear.

  Moll closed her eyes, again savoring the relief—but it was a relief short-lived.

  She slipped from his embrace and rushed to the mushrooms still scattered about on the floor, their caps crushed and the stems ground into the stones. A hot tear dropped onto the back of her hand as she simply knelt there and stared. ‘Twas too late. The mushrooms were damaged behind all hope. With no life left, what healing could they bring?

  Moll’s stomach clenched with despair. “’Tis too late.” Her voice caught in her throat. She couldn’t help Lady Haddon or Charlotte, now.

  “Can ye not find more?” Taran asked, dropping to one knee beside her.

  She shook her head and wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

  ‘Twas then she saw it, something small, white from the corner of her eye. ‘Twas a mushroom. A single one had rolled far from the others. All sounds around Moll faded away. She stretched out her hand, slowly, refusing even to breathe as with the greatest of care, she picked up the fragile mushroom by the stem. Cradling it in her palms, she carefully rose to her feet.

  The pulse of life beat from the white-capped gills into her hands. This mushroom still thrived with life, but it wasn’t enough. Tears burnt her lashes. She wasn’t powerful enough. Even her mother wouldn’t have been able to capture the life beating within to brew a potion capable of saving one life, let alone two.

  “’Tis not enough,” Moll whispered aloud.