Page 1 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)

E amon O’Malley wondered when he’d hear the full story of what had happened to the duke’s ward Emily Montrose and her maid Helen on their journey from London to the Lake District. A fortnight ago they’d arrived at Wyndmere Hall under the protection of his cousin Aiden Garahan, and two of Captain Coventry’s men assigned as added protection.

He whispered a few words of greeting to his gelding before gaining the saddle to head out on patrol to the village and back. The day was still cool in the early hours just before dawn. He enjoyed the invigorating temperature, knowing soon enough the air would warm as the sun climbed in the sky. As he rode by the open fields, he scanned his surroundings, though the chance of a sharpshooter being able to stay hidden in the openness was slim.

His mind returned to Garahan’s arrival. It had been obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that Emily and Garahan had developed feelings for one another during the time she was under his protection. The men in the duke’s guard were honorable, and no one would ever question that anything untoward would happen on their journey.

What had caused the initial uproar—and heated discussions on both sides—upon their arrival at Wyndmere Hall had been their physical appearance. Garahan and Emily had arrived looking bruised and battered, worse for wear. This was, apparently, due to circumstances revolving around the rumored murder of Emily’s father, and the wager in White’s betting book involving her dowry and sudden inheritance. There had been more than one attempted ambush before the outright attack on Emily and Helen at an inn not far from the duke’s estate.

His horse whickered, and O’Malley responded, “Exactly what I’d been thinking, lad. Though as soon as I wheedle the particulars out of Garahan, I’ll share the tale with ye.” He patted his gelding’s neck and added, “Sure and there’ll be tales of blows exchanged. Though from what I’ve overheard, more than one of Garahan’s injuries were caused by his new bride.”

Settling down into the ride, he braced for the end of the open fields and the thick, forested area a mile ahead. Knowing he had the time before reaching the area known to draw sharpshooters, he wondered if Garahan had been prepared to meet the woman destined to be his wife. O’Malley had been raised to believe that the other half of his heart was somewhere out there just waiting for him to find her. He grinned recalling Emily’s arrival. She’d stepped down from the carriage and stumbled, and Garahan’s immediate reaction had been to sweep her into his arms. Aiden was in love with the lass and fighting it. As luck would have it, she felt the same for his cousin.

A few days later, Emily and Aiden had married by special license. The only outward indication that anything untoward had occurred were the fading bruises on Emily’s and Helen’s cheeks. ’Twas obvious someone had struck them in anger. His gut roiled at knowing Garahan’s wife had been injured and threatened. Had her ebony-haired, violet-eyed maid been threatened too? O’Malley needed to know!

The outward sign of the women’s suffering triggered his need to find the blackguard and exact retribution. There had been a moment when Helen had looked up and their gazes met. The turmoil of emotions in her expressive eyes had O’Malley feeling gut-punched, a moment before his protective instincts clicked into place, and his heart whispered… Mine!

The trees on both sides of the road blocked out the rising sun, chilling the air considerably. His eyes searched the deep forest hemming him in on both sides as he rode. A man could easily lie in wait and ambush the unsuspecting—and had. But he and the other members of the duke’s guard were aware and took precautions. These next few miles of road leading into the village were rife with hiding places.

As he passed through the first of several areas where an ambush could occur, his mind returned to the disturbing thought that something far worse had happened to the women when they’d been surprised by the attacker lying in wait in their bedchamber at the inn. While he understood Emily’s decision not to speak of it, what he did not understand was her need to gloss over what had happened.

Advancing along the road, he reached the section where the trees began to thin out, and knew no one would be springing an attack on him this morning. “All’s well, lad. Let’s pick up the pace a bit to a fast trot.”

O’Malley’s mount obeyed, and he let his thoughts circle back to Helen and the most recent encounter with her etched on his brain. He had been on patrol by the stables, passing near to the back of the herb garden, and come upon Helen and Emily speaking quietly. Not wishing to alarm them, he intentionally scuffed the sole of his boot. They both jumped at the sound and turned around in time for him to see the shattered look in their eyes, quickly banked.

Eamon had a knack for healing, though not to the same degree as his cousin Emmett O’Malley, who was stationed at the duke’s town house in London. Eamon had an inherent ability to sense an injury and to prevent further damage, until the physician could be summoned. Oftentimes an emotional injury occurred simultaneously with a physical one. Especially in the case of what happened to Emily and Helen. His fraternal twin Thomas was adept at picking up on emotional injuries.

He smiled, thinking that his brother had found the other half of his heart when he rescued Caroline Gillingham. Thomas’s last missive had had Eamon grinning. Caro had captivated his brother from the moment she stumbled out of the bedchamber she’d been locked in and landed in Thomas’s arms. The couple had married recently, as had Emmett. That left Eamon as the last of the Wexford and Cork O’Malleys to wed.

Up ahead was the last section of deep woods. He slowed his mount and cleared his thoughts, opening his mind and his heart to his surroundings. A soft swirl of wind brushed his cheek. A hawk shrieked as it took flight from deep within the forest lining the road. O’Malley inhaled and caught the scent of the sun-warmed pines and clear, crisp air—scrubbed clean by last night’s storm.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He slid his rifle off his shoulder in time to hear a metallic click echo through the suddenly still air.

Attuned to the sound, he took aim and fired into the trees. A gasp of shock was followed by breaking branches and a groan of agony as a sharpshooter fell from his perch. O’Malley quickly loaded and primed his rifle as he nudged his horse toward the downed ambusher, reining in a few feet from the now-unarmed man, who was writhing and moaning as if dying.

O’Malley snorted. Anyone with enough energy to moan like that was nowhere near taking his last breath. “Who are ye, and why in the bloody hell did ye take a shot at me?” The man stopped moving and opened his eyes. The shock of recognition was one-sided. O’Malley demanded, “How do ye know me? Who sent ye?”

The blackguard clamped his jaw shut, refusing to answer. Well, this would not be the first time O’Malley had had the pleasure of beating an answer out of someone who’d tried to kill him…or one of the duke’s family under his protection. Faith, it wouldn’t be the last.

He dismounted, told his gelding to wait for him, and walked toward the man. The closer he got, the younger the man appeared. “ Shite! Ye aren’t even old enough to grow whiskers!” O’Malley grumbled. “What in the bloody hell were ye doing up in that pine tree?”

The younger man closed his eyes again. This time a telltale trickle from the corner of his eye had O’Malley cursing. “I’ll take ye to the physician in the village and see that ye’re patched up.”

“You’ll let me go?” The hope in the lad’s voice was laughable.

“Nay. Our next stop will be the constable. Ye can cool yer heels there while I finish me patrol and report to His Grace.”

“You really are the O’Malley.” The voice held a hint of awe.

“Is that why ye took a potshot at me?”

But the young man wasn’t listening. He was staring at O’Malley’s face, his eyes glazed over. “My aunt told me how you helped them when my uncle was imprisoned because of…”

His voice trailed off, and O’Malley prodded him, “Because of what?”

“My uncle had fallen on hard times and needed to find a way to put food on the table. My cousins were little, and my aunt was due to have another babe.”

O’Malley sensed what the youth did not say. “A strong man does whatever he has to do to feed his family. Me uncle and me da were imprisoned on trumped-up charges.” He didn’t share the rest of his story, or the fact that his uncle Patrick O’Malley had fallen ill just as he and Da were cleared of any wrongdoing. It had been too late… Uncle Patrick died in Da’s arms.

Sympathy for the injured man had O’Malley pulling him to his feet with less force than he would have used otherwise. Inspecting the younger man’s shoulder, he whipped the spare black cravat from his waistcoat pocket and wrapped it around his upper arm, tying it tight. “What’s yer name?”

“Burrows.”

“Well, Burrows, ’tis but a graze. Ye may need threads to hold it together, or if ye’re lucky, only a hot blade to sear the flesh.”

His prisoner’s legs went out from under him. O’Malley grumbled, tossed him over his shoulder, and laid him across his horse. “We’ll be taking him to see the constable, laddie.” He swung into the saddle, decided there wasn’t enough room, and eased Burrows over his shoulder once more. “There’s an extra cup of oats and an apple for carrying the extra load.”

The high-pitched whinny of delight had O’Malley chuckling.

A few miles farther, the village was in sight, and Burrows regained consciousness. “O’Malley?”

“Be still, else ye’ll spook me horse.” The young man immediately obeyed. Pleased that he’d listened, O’Malley told him, “If I slide ye off me shoulder and set ye behind me, are ye planning to hang on to me or black out again? The chances are good that ye’ll fall off me horse and land on yer hard head.”

The snort of laughter wasn’t what he’d thought to hear, and for some reason it pleased him. He was starting to like the lad, and wondered what the rest of his story was, which of the O’Malleys—one of his three brothers or four O’Malley cousins—had helped the lad’s uncle. He intended to find out later. “Now then, which is it: hang on to me, or fall off on yer head?”

“I can hang on.”

O’Malley took him at his word and eased him off his shoulder and onto the back of his horse. “Ye’ve a strong grip. We’ll take it easy, just a few more buildings to ride past. There it is, on the right. ’Tis the stone building set back from the others.”

His passenger tensed, but did not try to leap off the horse. There must be more to the story. O’Malley dismounted and helped Burrows off. “Now then, ye’re to tell the truth. No prevaricating. Understand?”

“Aye.”

O’Malley had a feeling Burrows’s future would be tangled with his. Just when he’d met the woman he felt a bone-deep attraction to, a lad, who couldn’t be more than seven and ten years old, ambushed him and had O’Malley feeling responsible for him. No one in the O’Malley clan ever backed away from a challenge or ignored someone in need.

They walked to the door together. O’Malley knocked, and it opened wide. He motioned for Burrows to follow him into the building. “Constable, I’ve someone who’s been dying to meet ye.”

The constable shook his head. “It’s been a month or so since you’ve brought me a guest for my gaol.” The older man’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the blood-soaked cravat wrapped around the prisoner’s arm, nor the terrified expression on the young man’s pale and pasty face. “Have a seat and tell me what happened.”