Heather House: The Witch of Threadneedle Street

by Carmen Caine

  As the clansmen began to make camp, Taran laced his fingers through Moll’s and led her to the cottage. “Ye and the bairns will stay with Christine.”

  ‘Twas strange. She’d only just met the woman, yet, it seemed so natural a thing. ‘Twas almost as if she had arrived home.

  `With a nod, she followed Christine inside, the children trailing close behind.

  A Lone Wolf No More

  Moll leaned against the castle wall and breathed deeply of the fresh Highland air. Nearly two months had gone by since they’d left Haddon Hall. Her life now was nothing like before. The time at Heather House had been healing. ‘Twas a place of peace, a haven, to be sure. They’d stayed nearly a fortnight, and when she’d finally kissed Christine farewell, she felt more herself than she’d been since a small child.

  Taran had kept them company for the first day as they’d journeyed further north, but upon reaching the Great Western Road, he’d taken his leave to speak with the king.

  “I’ll see ye soon, my love,” he’d promised, kissing her brow.

  She’d wanted to hold onto him, Lord help her. She’d wanted to go with him, but they’d already decided ‘twas safer for her and the children to ride north with the clansmen. She’d watched him gallop away, and then she’d been forced to forget her own tears in her haste helping a weeping, devastated Charlotte.

  When they’d arrived in the Highlands at Castle Leod, Doughall had gathered the clansmen to introduce her as Taran’s lady.

  Taran’s lady.

  Moll shivered and moved back from the wall. Taran’s lady. Just what did that mean? He was still gone. She hadn’t seen him in over a month. When he returned…would he still feel the same?

  She scowled.

  A pox on the man if he didn’t. Here she was, near wasting away and pining like a lovelorn fool…

  Irritated with herself, she pushed open the door and descended the tower to the main hall.

  The sound of squealing children greeted her ears as she stepped inside. ‘Twas Wee Jack, Jamie, and James, tearing by with Doughall’s grandchildren screeching upon their heels. Shaking her head, she watched them vanish through the kitchen door.

  Through the arched window beyond, she spied Francis in the yard, saddling a horse for Charlotte. Since their arrival, they’d both taken to riding the moors like ducks to water.

  George sat at a table near the fire, pouring over the pages of a book with the silver-haired Jean, Taran’s nanny, at his side. In just a few weeks, she’d taught him to read. Moll wished to learn herself. She would, soon, but she couldn’t relax enough to concentrate. Not yet.

  Restless, she wandered back to the tower to stare across the moors.

  Why wasn’t he coming home? Had he lost interest in her?

  “Marry me,” he’d said, again and again. She should have. If she had, she wouldn’t be fretting over how he might have changed his mind.

  Night descended and soon, ‘twas time for bed. The younger children went up first, and then George and Francis. After a time, Moll yawned and ascended the stairs herself.

  As was her habit, she popped her head into the younger children’s room for one last check, but this night, when she opened the door, she found the room cold, silent, with no fire on the hearth.

  Frowning, she stepped inside to inspect the bed, but she knew already ‘twas empty.

  She frowned. Where had they gone? She’d seen them go up the tower stairs herself, not an hour before.

  She knocked on the twins’ door next.

  “Is Charlotte there with the children?” she asked when George opened the door with a yawn.

  George frowned as Francis’ head popped up over his shoulder. “They’re upstairs,” he said, pointing to the floor above. “In Taran’s bedchamber. Charlotte found the key today.”

  Moll arched a brow and rolled her eyes. Of course, Charlotte would find the key. Muttering, she swept up the steps. She’d rouse them from the bed and send them back down the stairs to their own. They were growing more challenging by the day—especially Charlotte. The young girl had yet to be told Taran wasn’t her true father. Indeed, he’d seemed in no hurry to divulge the truth. Moll twisted her lips in thought. Soon, she’d have to be told, but she supposed there was no harm in waiting awhile.

  She arrived at the very top and paused. Like Haddon Hall, Taran’s room stood behind a most impressive door. ‘Twas no small wonder the children were fascinated with what lay behind it. If truth be told, she was, too.

  Curious over Taran’s private domain, she gingerly lifted the latch and peeked inside.

  A fire burned on the hearth, revealing a large room, sparsely furnished with a thick fur rug, a chair, and a large clothing chest placed beneath the window. Moll smiled. Of course, the clothing chest would be the most magnificent item in the room. ‘Twas so very like the man.

  She crossed over the rug to the inner door.

  There, on the large four-poster bed, the children slept in a pile of arms and legs. She opened her mouth to wake them, when she saw Charlotte asleep on the pillow, her hands twisted in a green plaid.

  Charlotte missed him. Lord help her, she did, too.

  With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hands over the blankets. If only he were there with them—with her, holding her close.

  Slowly, she slipped off her shoes and nestling next to the children, lay her head down on the pillow.

  A shaft of light fell over Moll’s face.

  She opened her eyes, surprised she’d fallen asleep so easily.

  The light came in through the open bedroom door. ‘Twas still dark, not morning. The fire in the room beyond had been given a second life. She frowned and glanced at the children for a quick count. Wee Jack had fallen asleep across her leg. Charlotte lay still clutching the plaid with James and Jamie snoring at her side.

  ‘Twas then she froze, registering only that a man stood at the foot of the bed, a large man, with arms crossed. Then she saw his face.

  ‘Twas Taran.

  She was on her feet in a flash but stopped short of throwing herself into his arms as her fears came crashing down all at once. What if he’d changed his mind? How horrible ‘twould be to come back to find her in his bed.

  “They missed you,” she blurted.

  Taran stirred, and then his Scottish brogue teased, “Just the wee ones?”

  Relief rolled over Moll. He still wanted her. He met her halfway and she slipped into his arms. ‘Twas such a natural place to be.

  He pressed her close, but only for a moment, and then pulled her to the door. “Come, lass.”

  The fire burned bright in the outer room. He must have only just arrived. His cloak lay draped over a chair, the hem dripping water onto the floor.

  “Is it raining?” she asked, glancing at the still dark window as he shut the bedroom door behind them. “You must be weary.”

  Taran gave a laugh that warmed her heart, and catching her beneath her knees, carried her to the fire. “Aye, I’ve ridden hard. I thought I could sleep the entire week through, but one look at ye, lass, and I’ve strength anew.” His cheek creased in a smile.

  He set her on her feet. The fur rug felt so soft, warm beneath her toes. “Then, your journey went well?”

  Taran brought her fingers to his lips and then snorted. “The king had no choice—nor did my father.”

  “Choice?”

  “On the lass I choose to wed.”

  Moll held still.

  “I left Edinburgh with their blessings—unwilling, to be sure. I dinna think we should expect either to attend our wedding, but no doubt, one day, they’ll be at peace.”

  Then, he hadn’t changed his mind, at all. Our wedding. It sounded so final.

  “Dinna look at me like that,” Taran murmured as he peered down at her through hooded eyes. “Surely, ye can trust me, now?”

  Moll lowered her lashes. “Did I agree to wed you, my lord?”

  He pulled her closer. “Aye.”

  “W
hen? How?”

  “Mayhap not in words,” he granted with a smile.

  He parted her lips with his own and kissed her, hard. ‘Twas nothing less than a possession, the brand of ownership.

  “I’ll have no other lass,” he said.

  Moll slid her arms around his neck, enjoying the warmth of his skin beneath hers as she whispered her reply, “Then, that is well, for I will have no other man.”

  They kissed again, slow and lingering, and then with an increasing urgency until he caught her lip between his teeth.

  Moll shivered. There was no fear with him. No reluctance. No hesitation. Trust him? She did, entirely, and even more, she wanted him—all of him.

  He nibbled his way down her neck, his firm broad lips feeling as soft as velvet, warm. With a moan, she melted against him, for the first time truly freeing herself to enjoy the heat he summoned.

  As she threaded her fingers through his hair, he tore his mouth from hers.

  “I should stop,” he murmured with a rueful smile.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Taran peered down at her from under hooded eyes. Then, sliding his hands about her waist, he moved behind her, pulling her back against him as he swept aside the spill of her hair and his lips returned to her neck. The crackle of the fire mixed with his slow, steady breathing as he nuzzled her ear and teased the lobe with his teeth. She shivered, each touch of his lips making her want him more.

  Then, his hands began a slow, sensual glide, caressing the curve of her hips before traveling upward to fondle her breasts. She held still, thoroughly under his spell. ‘Twas a pleasure she’d never experienced before. She held still, eyes closed, as the warmth of his hands worked a wondrous magic, a slow, easy kneading that carried her on a wave of pure sensation.

  Then, her gown pooled at her feet. Her lashes lifted, surprised. When had he untied her laces? Her shift, gossamer-thin, quickly followed, slipping down over her thighs to leave her naked.

  He gave her no time to think. He dropped to one knee, pulling her down with him and then rolled with her back into the fur. ‘Twas a feast of sensual delight, the fur, velvety smooth on her back as his mouth moved down the column of her throat, then slowly down further still, savoring every inch of her skin to close over her breasts.

  She gasped aloud as he suckled deep, hard, the heat of his lips and the roughness of his chin teasing her skin and releasing ribbons of pleasure straight down to her core. This was love, what a bedding was meant to be. She anchored her hands in his hair and began to move. She couldn’t hold still. She needed more. All of him.

  She slipped her hand between them, low over his hips, wanting to feel him. He knew what she wanted. Lifting his head, he shifted back and dropping his hand over hers, guided her fingers to his hard flesh. At the touch of her hand, he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, clearly enjoying her touch.

  But a simple touch wasn’t enough.

  Slipping out from beneath him, she pushed him flat on his back and she tugged the buttons of his shirt. He was a thing of beauty. His bronze skin gleamed an even deeper shade in the firelight. She ran her fingers over his bare chest, tracing the sculpted muscles and fine white scars.

  Then, he was growling and kicking his kilt free as he caught her against his body and again, rolled her back into the thick fur.

  There was nothing between them now. His skin felt like fire, sending tingles over her flesh, as he settled between her legs. She could feel his length, hard and hot, and her eyes widened. Indeed, he was much closer to a horse than she’d thought.

  “’Twill be pleasurable, I assure ye, lass,” he nipped her ear.

  She parted her lips to reply but he chose that moment to claim her, pinning her under his weight as his heated flesh filled her and made them one with an ever-increasing urgency.

  Soon, there was only the sound of their breath coming in short, halting pants, then a wave of pleasure exploded through her with no warning. She clung to him and cried out as her body trembled, carrying her into waves of bliss she’d never before felt. She could only hold on to him, desperately, her fingers digging into his flesh.

  The last wave had no sooner subsided than he began to thrust anew, but within a dozen strokes, he crushed her close as with a half-strangled moan, he thrust one last time before his body tightened in his release.

  He shuddered, his eyes closing, and then he collapsed on one elbow and dropped his mouth to nuzzle her neck as the last vestiges of pleasure simmered between them.

  At last, he fell back to her side, and Moll lifted her hand to run a fingertip over his stubbled jaw. “I can feel so many things with you,” she whispered.

  He chuckled and moved, draping one strong thigh over her legs. “Aye, ye’ll only feel more, I assure ye, lass. ‘Twas far too quick, this time.”

  Too quick? Was it possible to extend such pleasure? She smiled in anticipation and burrowed closer against his chest.

  “Ye belong with me,” he said softly and then chuckled.

  “What is it?” she asked, enjoying the feel of his skin against hers.

  “I used to call myself a lone wolf. Never did I think I’d enjoy a hearth, a home, with a loving woman in my bed,” he confessed as she felt him smile into her hair. “But with that lot on the bed and soon this…” his voice trailed away as his hand slid over her belly to anchor possessively between her legs, leaving no doubt as to what he meant. “I’m now a hound smothered by pups. Now I see—nay prefer—the strength of a pack.” He inhaled and slid his hand lower between her thighs. “You’re a witch to be sure, lass.”

  She smiled, her blood already stirring at the intimate touch of his hand. Her own child. With Taran. Theirs. She wanted it as clearly as he.

  Then, his words intruded on her thoughts. Lone wolf? She’d heard that before…from Bertha. The children await ye. Have no fear, take them all. Aye, the more the merrier. ‘Twill only melt his heart all the faster, aye? He thinks he’s a lone wolf. Pah!

  Moll held her breath. The old woman had been speaking of Taran all along…how had she known?

  “What is it, lass?” he rumbled in her hair.

  Moll smiled and turned in his arms. “’Tis nothing,” she whispered.

  She pushed him onto his back, dropping both hands on his chest layered with muscle as she slowly straddled his hips. “I’m afraid I shall disappoint you, my lord.”

  He lifted a curious brow as his large hands dropped onto her thighs, pulling her down, hard, onto his flesh. “How?”

  “You’ll be finding little sleep this week,” she whispered.

  Already, they began moving in the timeless rhythm of love.

  He drew a long, pleasurable breath.

  “Aye,” was all he said.

  About the Author

  Click this link for a list of Carmen's books on Amazon

  Like many of us on this planet, USA Today Bestselling and Multiple Award-Winning author Carmen Caine is from another world. She spends every moment she can scribbling stories on sticky notes that her kids find posted all over the car, house, and barn. When she’s not busy working as a software engineer or writing stories, she spends her time texting her kids on an insanely small, Keebler-Elf-sized keyboard (yes, she hates cell phones), trying to convince her Doberman that being jealous of the Frenchton puppy just isn’t worth it (no luck so far), and tending to the barn full of animal misfits, including a runt lamb who sneaks inside the house and a rescue llama with a bad attitude.

  Carmen is very terrible at tweeting and even worse about posting on Facebook (although she does make a New Year’s Resolution to improve every year—again, no luck so far). However, she would like to have you as a friend, please find her at the following places:

  Carmen and Madison's Facebook Fanpage

  Facebook friends with Carmen Caine ( aka Madison )

  Carmen's Twitter

  Carmen's website

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