Ruin #2
“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.”