A Witch of the Heart #3
‘Twas a short time later that Moll stood in the bedchamber inspecting two fine linen shifts edged with lace, a fur-trimmed cloak, and four dresses, in all. A blue velvet with a lace collar, a green and black silk, a rose brocade with a bodice of glass beads, and a small cornflower-blue frock that Charlotte would adore. They were finely made, dresses for a lady—certainly, something she’d never thought to wear.
She ran her hands over the soft fabrics, simply admiring the workmanship for a time before choosing the rose brocade.
She chose a shift next, one with a lace-trimmed collar and one so sheer that when she held it up, she could see the light from the window streaming through.
Quickly, lest she be caught undressed, she unlaced her worn gown and shrugged out of her rough-linen shift. She smiled as they dropped to her feet in a grubby heap. They both reminded her of London and Thomas. ‘Twas oddly freeing to be rid of them.
The fine linen shift slipped over her shoulders and fell over her hips in soft, smooth folds, kissing her skin like a cool mist. The brocade gown was a challenge and took some doing to properly lace, but at last, with much adjusting of both the pillow and bodice laces, she was done.
For several, luxurious moments, she twirled in a circle, the skirt fanning around her in a pleasing blur of gold and rose.
Then, ‘twas back to the tasks at hand. She made short work of her old shift, tearing it into square strips, some to store and boil the lichen and mushrooms, and the rest, she used to plump the flattened pillow. The remaining gowns, she folded and stacked neatly at the foot of the bed, after, of course, leaving out the cloak for herself and the cornflower-blue gown for Charlotte. Already, she could see the little girl’s face, filled with delight.
Ready at last, she swirled the cloak around her shoulders, picked up the linen squares, and left the room. The fine shift caressed her skin and the glass beads of her bodice whispered as she descended the tower steps for the third time that morning and stepped out into the bright sun.
‘Twas early yet, and the castle residents still ate their morning meal in the hall, but she wasn’t in the mood to join, not when she had only an hour or so to find the perfect lichen patch.
The lichen is to be gathered under the noonday sun, her mother’s voice whispered comfortingly through her mind.
‘Twill provide the strength. The mushrooms should be cut when the sky turns crimson, ‘twill bring the strength of the sun to the blood.
Moll cocked a gauging brow at the deep-blue sky.
If ‘twere to remain cloudless by nightfall, she couldn’t have asked for a better day.
Humming a tune under her breath, she began her search.
It must have been an hour later, as she emerged from behind the chapel, she heard Charlotte gasp, “Moll, you look like a queen.”
Moll looked up to see the little girl standing before her, mouth agape.
“’Tis a gift from Lady Haddon and Lord MacKenzie,” Moll said, bending to brush bits of bracken from the knees of her skirt. “There’s a dress for you, as well. ‘Tis on the bed—”
The words had no sooner left her mouth, then Charlotte squealed. There was no stopping her after that. Moll could only shake her head, amused, as Charlotte flew to the tower as fast as she could run to vanish inside.
George and Francis appeared on the wall to the left then, the heads of the younger children trailing after them. Curiosity bubbled. Moll watched them a few moments, then shook her head. She had a potion to make.
With an ever-watchful eye on the sun’s ascent, she returned to her task.
Once or twice, a castle occupant greeted her from afar.
Each time, the exchange only drew Moll’s attention to the castle’s emptiness.
‘Twas strange, that so large a place held so few.
One might expect such of a ruin, but every stone in Haddon Hall stood neat, tidy, with nary even a blade of grass out of place.
As the morning waned, she drew closer to the shouts of the men practicing arms in the lower courtyard.
No doubt, Taran stood among them. He’d yet to miss a single day of practice, just as she had, as yet, to watch a single match.
With the crowds lining walls ringing the lower courtyard, she knew Euphemia would be there.
A chance meeting with the woman wasn’t something she cared to risk.
A roar welled up from the practice area as Moll ascended to the castle wall.
She focused on her task. While she’d found a patch or two that might suffice, she still held out for the perfect lichen.
Lady Haddon needed every jot of help possible.
She eyed the sun. ‘Twas near noon. She had just enough time to inspect the walls behind the aviary, the only stones she’d left unsearched.
The sounds of fighting grew louder with every step.
A third of the way to the aviary, a small patch of green caught her eye.
She knelt in awe. She’d found it. The perfect lichen.
Pleased, she ran her fingers over the brittle patch.
‘Twould serve Lady Haddon well. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and waited.
The wait was a short one. As the sun reached its highest point, Moll whispered a prayer and scraped the lichen from the stones. Pleased with her success, she carefully tied the corners of the linen square over the harvested lichen into a tidy package, and then rose to her feet.
The mushrooms were next. She’d yet to find what she needed, but no doubt, the older stones would yield what she needed.
A sharp whistle drew her attention to the castle grounds below, just in time to see George and Francis vanishing into the guard tower directly opposite from where she stood. The whistle combined with the furtive way they moved, sent a shock of alarm straight through her body.
Surely, they weren’t stirring mischief?
Battling a rising suspicion, she tore down the nearest steps and ran to the tower, fear lending an extra urgency to her step. ‘Twas empty when she arrived. Before her, only empty, worn steps wound out of sight.
“George! Francis!” she called up the stairwell.
Only the forlorn wailing of the wind replied.
Moll bit her lip. Surely, they wouldn’t risk pickpocketing, not when their safety was at stake? Unsure, she raced up the stairs and out onto the castle wall.
This time, she spied them at once on her left and caught up before they could disappear.
“Not one more step!” she growled, snagging George by the sleeve.
The gangly boy halted and grinned. “And a good day to you, Moll.”
Moll cast a quick glance at the scattered men walking the walls, but they were too far away to overhear, especially with the ever-present wind robbing the words from their mouths. Still, she leaned even closer to ask, “Promise me you’re keeping those fingers of yours safe in your pockets?”
Both twins feigned shock.
“Come now, Moll.” George laughed.
“We’re not fools,” Francis added, slapping his hand over his heart.
‘Twasn’t an answer. She scowled.
“There’s no need to fret, Moll,” George assured, noting the strength of her glare. “We’re merely making ourselves useful.”
Francis smothered a cough.
‘Twas the cough that roused her suspicion even more. Her heart sank, even as her temper flared. “I’ll have no trickery or mischief from you, naught that could risk our food and shelter—”