Safety #3
A short time later, they returned with food enough for all. ‘Twas pleasing to see Charlotte eating bread as she giggled and laughed with the others. Moll could only stare in wonder. Fortune, truly, had blessed her. The single mushroom she’d saved had proved an extraordinarily potent one.
With each passing hour, Charlotte’s strength only grew, and near the hour of the evening meal, a knock on the door startled them all.
Quickly, Moll fluffed the limp pillow still belted about her waist and lifted the latch to see Bridgette standing there, grinning.
“Lady Haddon?” Moll asked even though the answer was already clear.
Bridgette bobbed a curtsey. “Please, her ladyship wishes to see you, my lady.” She rolled her eyes and leaning close, whispered, “She’s already up and about, giving orders.”
Moll laughed, and after telling the twins to mind the children, stepped out of the room.
A dark cloud rolled across the sky as they hurried to the keep. A fine sheet of rain shimmered around them even as a peal of thunder threatened the release of a flood. By the time Moll once again stood before Lady Haddon’s rose window, ‘twas near dark with the rain beating hard against the glass.
“Moll,” Lady Haddon’s soft voice sounded from behind.
Moll whirled to see her standing there, leaning on Bridgette’s strong arm, but the pallor of death and the lingering sadness in her eyes had vanished. Now, the start of a rosy hue suffused her cheeks and a teasing sparkle lurked in her eye.
“My lady,” Moll curtseyed with a grin. Yes, Lady Haddon was still frail and far too thin, but ‘twas nothing time couldn’t—and wouldn’t—mend.
Lady Haddon waved her hand with a silvery laugh.
“Nay, never will you curtsey to me, dear Moll.” She hobbled to her chair and sank down on the red velvet cushion.
“I owe you my life, and my babe’s, as well.
” She paused to give her belly a pat before nodding at the chair by her side. “Join me. Please.”
Moll obligingly took the opposite chair.
“A gift,” Lady Haddon said then. “Lord Haddon and I would give you a gift. Anything that is within our power, Moll.”
“’Tisn’t necessary,” Moll murmured. As a Witch of the Heart, she’d been told that a healing was its own reward. Now, after having seen the miracle of Charlotte and Lady Haddon’s recoveries, she could well understand why. “Believe me, my lady. Your health is more than enough.”
“I insist.” Lady Haddon leaned over the arm of her chair and a mix of shame and sorrow crossed her face. Lowering her voice, she added, “Lord Haddon confessed that ‘tis not only a gift we owe you, but amends, as well. We seek your forgiveness, Moll.”
‘Twas hard to hold onto anger when all had ended well. After all, though the man’s actions had been misguided, they had only stemmed from the fear of losing his lady.
Clearly, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to save her—even with his obvious fears and misgivings, he’d even willingly consorted with a witch.
The thought summoned a dry smile to Moll’s lips.
“Indeed, ‘tis understandable when one is overwrought,” she murmured and then cast a critical gaze of Lady Haddon’s color. “Truly, you should rest, my lady. Do not sit here and speak on my account.”
The young woman grimaced. “I must ready myself for dinner with the queen,” she admitted. “If not for that, I would already be in bed.”
Moll stood, at once. “Then, you must save every whit of your strength.” Again, she dipped into a curtsey.
“No, Moll.” Lady Haddon caught her hands. “You will always be my sister. Do not curtsey.” She patted her heart and shook her head. “Not to me.”
‘Twas clear never were words more genuinely expressed, yet still, Moll found the act of forgoing a curtsey an awkward one. In a bumbling combination of a nervous smile, a laugh, and a bob of the head, she slipped out the door and down the keep’s stairs.
The rain fell in earnest when she opened the outer door.
‘Twas near dark, but yet, she could still see, and for a moment, she simply stood on the threshold, breathing in the chill, damp air. Despite the early winter darkness, her heart felt as light as a summer’s day, as if she were again a carefree child in Wales.
Around her, Haddon Hall bristled with the queen’s guard.
‘Twas curious. What had made them so uneasy? Picking up her skirts, she ran across the muddied, dead grass. But as the rain thickened, she hurried to take cover under the line of buildings hugging the northern wall. She’d approach Taran’s bedchamber from the opposite side to avoid getting wet—or wetter. Already, her skirts clung to her knees.
She’d just reached the overhanging roof of the first building when a helpful hand clasped onto her wrist to drag her inside.
Then, the helpful fingers, turning all at once painful.
She gasped and glanced up.
‘Twas the man from the forest. She recognized his cloak, but then, the dim light filtering through the door fell on his grizzled hair as the rain dripped off the end of his bulbous nose.
Nay. ‘Twas impossible.
Before her, alive and in the flesh, stood Thomas, the Thread Needle Street tailor.