A Weakening of Resolve #2
“Yes, my lord.” Francis seized the explanation and immediately folded in a contrite bow. “’Twas a bet, my lord. A game. A challenge how far we could filch afore the clansmen noticed, my lord.”
The lad’s smooth delivery seemed so genuine, so natural, that Taran felt sore tempted to applaud his performance.
Doubt and irritation flashed across Lord Haddon’s face and on more than one face in the crowd.
Lord Haddon scowled and ran his hand over his thinning hair. “I’ve more pressing matters,” he growled. “I’ve not the time for such foolish pranks. Next time, in addition to whatever punishment your father heaps upon your head, I’ll whip you both, myself.”
“Aye,” Taran agreed.
With a curt nod, Lord Haddon left.
Appearing disappointed, the crowd began to disperse.
Taran turned on the twins. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. They read his anger right well enough. When he pointed in the direction of his bedchamber, they quailed and scrambled to obey.
The door to his bedchamber had no sooner closed then Moll whirled on both lads.
“How could you, Francis?” she choked, her eyes red with unshed tears. She reached up and twisted his ear, repeating the word ‘why’ again and again until he ducked out of her grasp.
“La mercy, Moll,” Francis began with a glare, but upon noticing Taran’s censorious gaze, clamped his mouth shut and skulked to the window.
Moll turned to George then. “Why, George? Why? We’re on the edge of ruin already. Why endanger us all?” This time, she could no longer hold the tears back.
The sight of Moll in tears disturbed Taran mightily, but as he moved to intervene, ‘twas clear her weeping sobered the lads more than anything else could. They stood there, stricken, apparently for the first time realizing the enormity of what they’d done.
‘Twas when the younger children began to cry that Taran cleared his throat. ‘Twas enough.
But Moll was not yet done. “I trusted you,” she gasped. “Where shall we go now? ‘Tis winter.”
“Winter is precisely why, Moll,” Francis was quick to reply. “How else can we eat when we’re tossed on our arse in the freezing cold?”
“We can’t see you starve yourself again,” George interjected hoarsely. “Not when this lot would most likely never notice anything missing.”
“They wouldn’t have if…” Francis began but after glancing at Taran, he fell silent.
All eyes latched onto Taran, nervously. Moll covered her mouth with her hands, her breasts heaving, as the children watched, wide-eyed, their wee faces pinched with worry.
Taran inhaled a long breath. Of course. The lads merely sought to see them fed. ‘Twas little to blame. Their hearts were in the right place.
Slowly, he raised a hand and fixed the twins with a stern look. “Men dinna steal. Men work. ‘Tis dishonorable to risk the lives of those in your care.”
Their nostrils flared.
Taran tilted his head in challenge. “Can ye care for Moll and the wee ones if ye rot in prison or even hang?”
Silence greeted his question.
“Aye, then.” He folded his arms and assumed a voice of command. “From this moment forth, ye’ll work from dawn till dusk. Honest work will keep ye safe from mischief.”
“Work?” Francis retorted hotly. “There’s no work to be found for the likes of us. We’ve tried, time and again.”
George clenched his jaw in silent agreement.
‘Twas likely true enough. Folk were leery of pickpockets, but now, ‘twas time to change that.
“Ye’ll return what ye stole,” Taran continued in a hard voice.
“Report to Doughall, at once. Ye’ll make amends with the clansmen by polishing their boots, washing their plaids, or whatever else they wish from ye until I say otherwise.
And for so foolishly infringing on Lord Haddon’s time, ye’ll clean the aviary from top to bottom, starting this very day. ”
Their jaws dropped.
‘Twas just the beginning of what he had in mind for the lads. He’d erred by not keeping them busy from the start.
Pointing a finger at the door, he uttered a single word, “Go.”
They didn’t need to be told twice, they headed for the door, but Moll stopped them along the way. Silently, she twisted their ears. Hard. ‘Twas a gesture that expressed so much, fear, relief, love.
He didn’t miss the sheepish looks of apology the twins tossed her in return, the bond between them all so plain to see. He recognized the look. ‘Twas the same kind of bond he’d long shared with his men on the battlefield, a bond he’d found nowhere else.
As the three younger lads began to relax and smile with relief, Charlotte threw herself at Taran.
“I knew you wouldn’t toss us out, Athair,” she wept as she wrapped her thin arms about his waist in a fierce hug.
Pain sliced through his sore ribs the harder she squeezed, but he only patted her on the head. “Dinna fret, lassie,” he murmured. When he could bear the discomfort no more, he gently extricated himself from her grasp and stepped back.
Soft fingers touched his arm. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. Indeed, he was certain he could recognize her by the feel of her skin on his alone.
“How can I repay you for your mercy?” Moll whispered hoarsely.
What he wanted she couldn’t give, his freedom, release from putting the welfare of everyone else above his own. Beyond that, there was only one thing he truly wanted. Gently, he placed his hand over hers. “Trust, lass. I would ye repaid me with trust.”
‘Twas only then that he turned to face her.
A single tear spilled down her cheek. Slowly, he traced the glistening trail with his thumb, breathing deeply all the while. If only he could hold her close, offer her the comfort of his arms whilst he kissed her tears away.
It took every ounce of discipline in his possession to will his hands to drop and turned his feet toward the door.
* * *
Snow fell that night. Taran stood in the gray morning light, peering out at the white expanse covering the castle grounds. He’d returned to his bedchamber the previous night, determined to keep a closer eye on the wayward twins.
Again, he woke in the morning to discover he’d slept through the night without waking, and again, Wee Jack had crawled down from the bed to fall asleep on his chest.
Carefully, he eased the lad aside, and then stole a look at Moll.
‘Twas an act of self-torture, nothing less. His groin tightened at the sight of her lying on the bed, a dangerous mix of soft flesh and shapely curves, the blanket dipping between the vulnerable spread of her thighs. Just as quickly as he’d glanced, he forced his eyes away, back to the snow.
Aye, ‘twould take both snow and the icy water of the well to cool the heat of his blood this morn.