Heather House_The Witch of Threadneedle Street by Carmen Caine

Author:Carmen Caine [Caine, Carmen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-08-26T16:00:00+00:00

A Weakening of Resolve

Desire burned in Taran’s chest. God’s blood, he wanted to kiss the lass. He wanted—nay, sore needed—to taste those lips. He ached to pull that soft, warm body hard against his—king’s will be damned. Moll stared up at him, her stunning eyes shimmering in the torchlight, the expression in them almost inviting. Mayhap ‘twas what he wished to see.

For a moment, his head dipped to live his desires, then, years of discipline gave him the strength to step back.

From where he’d lounged on the wall, he’d seen Euphemia accost Moll at the base of the tower. ‘Twas clear the woman was up to nothing good.

“Euphemia.” Her name alone brought the bitter taste of gall to his lips. “Dinna mind the woman.”

“I shan’t, my lord,” Moll assured with a polite nod.

With difficulty, he forced his feet away. There would be no sleeping in his chamber tonight, not with knowing she lay but a few mere steps away.

Bitterly, he walked the walls. He’d served the king’s will and placed his clan above his own his entire life. ‘Twas for the greater good…but now?

Must he give up his very soul?

* * *

As the dawn touched the surrounding hills with a soft pink light, Taran rose, stiff and sore, from his makeshift pallet on the guardroom floor. He’d found little sleep. He couldn’t place the blame on the occasional guard that had eyed him in curiosity as they’d passed through during the night. Nor could he fault his injuries. They ached still, though surprisingly far less than he’d expected.

Nay, there was only one cause, a particularly bonny lass with stunning eyes. Their encounter in the laundry played through his mind, again and again. Aye, he’d been outright amused at her reaction upon seeing him naked, but when she’d laid her ear to his chest…

Clearing his throat, he quit the guard chamber.

The morning meal had nearly finished by the time he strode into the great hall, and he’d scarcely ducked under the door than Charlotte was there to greet him.

“Good morning, Athair.” A smile lit her young face, aye, she was fair grinning from ear-to-ear at the mere sight of him.

He felt the corner of his lip curl in response.

“How do you feel? Did you drink Moll’s brew?” she asked, her eyes clouding with genuine concern.

He reached over and tousled her head. He couldn’t have the wee thing fretting over naught. “I’ve suffered far worse, lassie. ‘Tis of no concern.”

A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she leaned to rest her cheek against his arm. “’Tis well,” she murmured. Then, speaking slower, added, “Ye should rest well, Athair. Dinna practice, aye?”

Taran chuckled. ‘Twas endearing, truly, the way she sought to mimic him.

Then, he spied Moll, sitting at the table with Wee Jack at her side. His gaze trailed over her appreciatively. Somehow, she looked even bonnier in her rose-and-gold gown than she had the day before.

“Off with ye, now, lassie,” Taran murmured, patting Charlotte again on the head.

She skipped ahead of him, leading the way.

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