Page 26

“The squire may be willing to take care of that for you. After all, the earl and the viscount take excellent care of the villagers.”

“That they do.”

“Seamus?”

“Aye, love?”

“Garahan’s timing is impeccable.”

Flaherty grudgingly agreed.

“But I wouldn’t race off with someone I did not know for Garahan. I would only do that for the man I love.”

Flaherty pulled her onto his lap and held her to his heart. “Ye could have died.”

“It would not have been your fault.”

“Promise me ye won’t go haring off with the next man who claims that I’ve been injured.”

She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. “I cannot.”

“Well, ye can be sure that I won’t be calling for ye if I’m hurt. It won’t be that I don’t want ye near me, lass. ’Tis a precaution that we must take so ye don’t run headlong into danger.”

She cupped his cheek, staring at the threads that closed the gouge in his cheek. Finally, she rasped, “I cannot take the chance that you really do need me. Isn’t there some way to ensure that the message would be from you—or one of your cousins, if you are incapacitated and cannot speak?”

Flaherty fell silent, thinking about it until the lass pressed her lips below his stitches, kissing a path to the corner of his mouth, where she nibbled his bottom lip until he grumbled, “Ye’re playing with fire, lass.

” As if he realized what he just said, he closed his eyes and groaned. “Forgive me, I—”

“I know what kind of fire I’m playing with, husband. And it is not your fault that we were both lured to this abandoned barn, knocked unconscious, and left on a makeshift funeral pyre.” Placing her hands on either side of his face, she whispered his name.

Unable to deny his wife, Flaherty lowered his mouth and took possession of hers with a drugging kiss that left no doubt what he wanted to do— needed to do. But now was not the time, nor the place. “Later, love.”

Linking her arms around his neck, she pulled him even closer and kissed him as if it were their last kiss before the world ended.

He felt the depth of her love. Their hearts were linked.

The fear was a living, breathing thing: they’d nearly died!

He longed to make love to the lass. Right here.

Right now. But as he’d realized a few moments ago, now was not the time, nor the place. Later.

He captured her lips in a kiss of promise.

“I’ll give serious thought to yer request, lass.

I won’t want ye to worry needlessly about me while I’m on duty.

We’ll figure out a signal, mayhap a word or two, when either of us is in danger.

Rest here for a moment, while I see if I can speak to the squire about the earl’s stallion. ”

He shifted her off his lap, cupped the back of her head, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He felt her wince. “God in Heaven, lass. I forgot ye were knocked unconscious too. Let me have a look at yer head. Mine aches at the base of me skull. Where does yers hurt?”

“The back of my head…in the middle of it.”

He used the tips of his fingers to palpate the area. He froze when he felt the warm, wet evidence that it was more than a bump. “Ye’re bleeding, lass. Don’t move.”

He whistled, and Garahan sprinted over. “What’s wrong?”

“The lass’s head’s bleeding. Stay with her while I fetch more water?”

“Hand me the bucket. I’ll fetch it for ye. Check the lass’s eyes.”

“Look at me, Mary Kate.”

She squinted up at Flaherty, but when he asked, she opened her eyes wide and stared into his.

“Close them now and count to ten.” When she did as he asked, he urged. “Open yer eyes, lass.” He watched closely, pleased that her pupils seemed to be the same size.

Garahan placed the bucket next to Flaherty. “I used me spare cravats to tie up the prisoners.”

Flaherty untied the one around his neck. “I still have one left.” He dipped it into the water and squeezed the excess water out of it. “This may pain ye, but try to hold still.” He bathed the wound, pleased to note that it wasn’t as deep as he’d thought.

“She’ll need a stitch or two, else it’ll bleed all over her neck,” Garahan said. “Ye wouldn’t want that, now would ye, Mary Kate?”

She sucked in a breath when Flaherty wiped away the rest of the blood. “I’m sorry, lass, but I’ve got to clean out any dirt.”

“I know. I’m not crying—”

“The blackguard Hulkner is,” Garahan informed them. “He’s the one who lit the rag and started the fire.”

Mary Kate looked over at the bound men. “Why is he crying?”

Garahan grinned. “Well now, he was the one holding a flaming rag, now wasn’t he?” Before either Mary Kate or Flaherty could answer, he added, “And I had to douse the flames, now didn’t I?”

“Yes, of course,” Mary Kate agreed. “But what does that have to do with his weeping?”

He shrugged. “I may have used his chest to put out the flames.”

Mary Kate covered her mouth with her hands to hide her gasp.

“Did ye want me to let him toss it on the kindling he’d placed around yerself and Seamus?”

“Of course not,” she said. “If it were me, I would have tried to stomp the flames out.”

“’Tis easy to speculate what ye would have done in an urgent situation when ye haven’t been placed in it. Besides, I could not, because it would have taken too much time. Judging by the girth of his belly, I figured he had enough mass to smother the flames.”

Flaherty snorted, then cleared his throat. He did not want to upset his wife by laughing at her naiveté. “We’d best stop in the village and have the physician take a look at ye, lass.”

She put her hand on his elbow, drawing his attention.

“MacReady did an excellent job stitching you up. Since Lady Calliope and I arrived at Chattsworth Manor, he has had to use his skill with a needle more than once. A tenant farmer sliced his hand on his sharpened scythe, and one of the stable lads backed into a pitchfork—though MacReady did complain the entire time he sewed the gash closed on the poor young man’s backside. Then there was—”

“Fine, lass,” Flaherty interrupted. “Ye’ve convinced me to take ye to MacReady.” He rinsed out the cravat one more time, folded it up, and pressed it against the wound. “This will have to do until I can get ye back to Chattsworth Manor.”

“A dry bit of linen would be better.” Mary Kate lifted the hem of her gown, ripped a strip off the bottom of her chemise, and handed it to her husband. “Use this.”

“I’ll be sure and have a new chemise made for ye, lass.” He wadded it up and asked her to hold it on the back of her head. When she did, he sighed. “Ye’re hurt, and I cannot ask ye to hold on to me and this wad of fabric on yer head while we ride back to Chattsworth Manor.”

She frowned and, without being asked, ripped off another strip and handed it to him. “Here.”

Flaherty bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling. When he’d tied the knot, securing the bandage, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ye’ve got grit, lass.”

“Ye’ll need it, as ye’re married to Flaherty.

” Garahan held out a hand to help Mary Kate to her feet.

“Ye may need to sweet-talk the earl’s horse into waiting a bit longer for his treat—mayhap add in a thorough brushing.

The viscount’s stallion loves a good rubdown, and I’m thinking the earl’s would, too. ”

“A brilliant idea.” Flaherty walked over to the animal and crooned, “We’ve an injured lass to deliver to Chattsworth Manor.

’Tis me wife, and I know ye’re partial to her.

I’ll have the viscount’s stable master rub ye down and brush ye till yer coat shines, while ye enjoy fresh hay, two cups of oats, and three carrots. ”

The horse lifted his head and gave a trumpeting call.

“Well now.” Garahan snickered. “That sounded like an aye to me. I’ll meet ye at Chattsworth Manor.”

Flaherty nodded and lifted Mary Kate onto the horse. He mounted behind her and pulled her onto his lap. “Swing yer legs off to the side, lass, and lean on me. Close yer eyes. That’s the way. We’ll be at Chattsworth before ye know it.”

“I love you, Seamus.”

“Faith, I depend upon it, lass.”