Page 10 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)
H elen could not hide her shock at the vitriol the dowager spewed at her. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I—”
“You were there, working in Lord Montrose’s house. A man murdered! Did you think I would not uncover that information about you before I asked you to meet with me? Furthermore, Lord Montrose did not inherit his title—it was given to him on the battlefield!”
Confused, Helen stared at the formidable dowager. Normally she would never question the woman due to her high rank in Society. But she had traveled ten hours to be here, thinking that she would be offered the position of companion. “Why did you ask me to meet with you if you had such strong feelings about my situation?”
The dowager lifted her chin. The look of contempt was plain as day and had the breath snagging in Helen’s lungs. How was what had happened to her former employer, and a dear man, a reflection upon Helen’s character?
Before she could ask, the woman continued, “I have already contacted all of my acquaintances and warned them about you. You, Miss Langley, will never work for any member of the ton ! Stevens!”
Helen could not form a thought, let alone speak. She did not move until the butler entered the room. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Show this person out, and see that she removes herself from the estate immediately!”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. But you’ve already sent the duke’s carriage away.”
“I am well aware, Stevens. See. Her. Out!”
At the dowager’s screeching tone, the butler’s expression changed from concerned to dutiful. “This way, miss.”
Helen rose from her seat, clinging to the last shreds of her dignity. Never had she been treated so shabbily. Did she not deserve to breathe the same air as the dowager?
By the time the butler opened the front door to show her out, Helen realized that she had no transportation waiting for her. She glanced at her feet and then at the butler. “I am to walk, then? What of the Duke of Wyndmere’s carriage? Where will I find it?”
Stevens motioned for one of the footmen to take his place in the entryway, and gently grasped Helen’s elbow and urged her outside. With the door nearly closed behind him, he pitched his voice low and said, “There is a cottage just past the entrance gates. I am certain that the duke’s coachman will be concerned about you and wait for you there, just out of sight.”
“What if the dowager had hired me? Would she have sent him away then as well?”
“I’m sorry, miss, but there was never a chance that she would offer you employment once she found out that you had not worked for what she considers to be a true member of the ton . The report Her Grace received indicated his lordship was a military man.”
Helen lifted her chin. “Lord Montrose was honorable and given his title for bravery beyond the call of duty in battle. He was kind to me and the others who worked for him. That anyone would hold his untimely death against him shocks and saddens me.”
“I wish I could be of more help, but she has all of us watched.”
“The dowager?”
“Aye.” The expression in his eyes softened. “I am close to being pensioned off and cannot do anything to lose the pay promised to me after thirty years serving here.”
Helen understood. “I would not want you to. Thank you for telling me. I’ll leave now so that she can see that I am walking down the long drive that will lead to the road…and the cottage you mentioned just beyond.”
“Be safe, miss.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Stevens.”
He inclined his head and stiffly walked to the door. He opened it wider, slipped inside, and closed the door firmly behind him.
Helen did not turn around to glance over her shoulder, though she would swear she could feel the dowager’s pale gray eyes following her every step as she increased the distance between the gatehouse and the wrought iron gate ahead. Just another quarter mile or so beyond the gate before she stepped onto neutral ground. Once she was through the gate and closed it behind her, she increased her speed until she was running toward the safety of the cottage she prayed was just out of sight. Tears blurred her vision. She never saw the stone jutting up from the packed earth until her toe caught on the rock, and she pitched forward, hands outstretched, scraping as she tried to stop her forward motion. Pain shot through her wrist a heartbeat before her chin connected with the ground.
Stunned, Helen lay there for a few moments before she was able to gather her wits. It took more effort than she anticipated to lift herself up onto her knees. Bracing her hands on the ground, she moaned when her wrist gave, and she hit her chin a second time.
She heard hoofbeats and sighed with relief. Someone had seen her fall and was rushing toward her to help.
Helen looked up into pitch-black, soulless eyes, and knew he meant to do her harm. She rolled away from him and braced her opposite hand to the ground to sit up, only to be grabbed from behind. A large, gloved hand covered her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.
One-handed, she fought against the iron grip of her captor as dizziness set in and her vision grayed at the edges. Out of air, she felt her grip slacken a heartbeat before she lost consciousness.
Her eyes slowly opened, but the light from a window disoriented her. She blinked as she regained consciousness, immediately aware of the pain lancing through her wrist and chin. Awareness set in and she knew she had to escape! Bracing a hand beside her to sit up, she cried out when a hand grabbed hold of her injured wrist. She swore she felt the bones move. The pain was excruciating.
“I nearly gave up hope that you would awaken.” The rough voice grated on her shattered nerves. It was not one she recognized.
Helen was afraid to speak, but afraid not to. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I have what I want—you.”
“I don’t know you. Why would you want me?”
“Finishing a job that I started. You will be worth your weight in gold.”
Fighting to remain calm, she racked her brain to reason out what this dark-haired, dark-eyed man wanted with her. “You must have me confused with someone else. I have no family who will be searching for me.”
His black eyes gleamed. “You have a connection to the Duke of Wyndmere through his ward.”
Her heart fluttered in her breast at the mention of the duke and Emily. In that moment, she knew who the man worked for, and something inside of her snapped. “Baron Hardwell.”
“You are not as lack-witted as you appear.”
That comment had the rest of the fog in her brain clearing.
“He owes me and will pay handsomely when I turn you over to him.”
That made no sense. Hadn’t she heard that he was being held until his trial? “But he’s locked away at Newgate.”
“I have connections. My orders were to capture you if I couldn’t get my hands on the duke’s ward.”
Incensed that the baron was behind bars, but still had his sources searching for Emily, she demanded, “What do you want with her?”
“It isn’t what I want with her.” The tone of his voice and the expression on his face had her biting the inside of her cheek to keep from telling him anything more. Helen was more than aware what the baron wanted and why. She had helped to thwart his intentions when he sprang his attack on her and Emily, all the while shouting his vile threats.
Helen vowed in that moment that she would not give in to fear. She had been resourceful, living off her wits and quick hands before Emily’s father rescued her from a life of crime. It had been years, but she would use what lay dormant inside of her to escape.
Emily’s life depended on it!
*
O’Malley made good time, thanks to the excellent horseflesh the duke had stabled at the inns between the Lake District and the Borderlands. As directed to by the duke, he made certain to alert each hostler that he had the duke’s permission to push his mount to the limit. It was an emergency. Thankfully, no one questioned him.
As he rode into the last inn to change horses, he saw a tall, auburn-haired man dressed in black from head to toe speaking to the hostler. “Dillon!”
His cousin and the hostler turned around. “Ye made good time.” Flaherty’s eyes widened as O’Malley dismounted. “That’s a fine bit of horseflesh ye’re riding, boy-o.”
O’Malley nodded, scratching behind the animal’s ear. “I knew His Grace stabled teams of horses for his carriages, but didn’t realize he stabled stallions too. We had a good run, didn’t we, laddie?”
The horse whinnied, and the hostler chuckled. “Here, I’ll take him. I have a stallion waiting for you.”
O’Malley and his cousin followed the man into the stables, where Flaherty filled him in. “His lordship was livid when he found out what happened to Miss Langley.”
“Had the baron met her before?” O’Malley asked.
Flaherty grunted. “Nay, but word the from yer twin is that yer head was turned recently by the lass. The baron—as well as the duke—want the men in the duke’s guard to find happiness. They feel we deserve it for putting our lives on the line daily.”
“Have ye met yer match yet, Flaherty?”
His cousin snorted with laughter. “No, and I don’t intend to.”
O’Malley paused, then asked, “How would Thomas know that I may have had me attention snagged by a winsome woman?”
Flaherty laughed in his face. “Faith, did ye not know that the women who have married into our extended family keep up a steady correspondence with one another? There’s no secrets between the O’Malley and Garahan wives.”
“I see.”
“I don’t,” Flaherty admitted. “Ye must have a better understanding of women than me. Why would they be confiding such to one another when they’ve only met through their letters?”
O’Malley didn’t have the answer. “We’ll have to ask Ryan’s or Thomas’s wife after I find Helen and bring her to Summerfield Chase. Do ye think his lordship would mind? It’s closest, and I’d like the vicar to perform our wedding.”
“Have ye asked the lass yet?”
O’Malley shrugged. “In a roundabout way.”
“Has His Grace secured a special license for ye?” O’Malley patted the pocket of his waistcoat, and Flaherty laughed harder. “This is a tale I need to hear.”
O’Malley thanked the hostler and mounted the stallion. “As ye’ve come to lend a hand, Dillon—not that I need it—I may be coerced into confiding in ye.”
His cousin grinned. “We have a bit of time before we reach Flemington Hall. Start talking.”
By the time they rode up to the wrought iron gates of Flemington Hall, O’Malley had confided that he’d thought he was answering the lass’s question when she asked who would marry someone like her to protect her.
Flaherty, God love the man, agreed. She should have realized it was as good as a proposal. There were times when O’Malley and his Flaherty cousins were of the same mind…until they weren’t, and then fists would fly.
He wouldn’t mind going a few rounds with Flaherty, in fact. The man was built like a bull, but a few inches shorter than him. He’d have to guard his chin—Flaherty had a wicked uppercut.
As if his cousin knew what O’Malley was thinking, Flaherty nodded. “After we find yer bride-to-be and are back at Summerfield Chase, I’ll be taking ye up on what ye’re thinking.”
O’Malley grunted and dismounted. Keeping hold of the reins, he led his horse to the gates. “Not locked.”
“Foolish to close yer gates and not lock them,” Flaherty commented as O’Malley opened them, mounted his horse, and rode through. Flaherty followed behind him, dismounted, and closed the gates behind them.
As they approached the gatehouse, a man rushed toward them from the stables. “Is the dowager expecting you?”
O’Malley decided that if she wasn’t, she bloody well should have been. “Aye. Would ye mind giving our horses a bit of water? We have not come far, but ’tis a warm day.”
“I’ll let the dowager know you’re here. What are your names?”
Flaherty dismounted before answering. Standing beside O’Malley, he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Name’s Flaherty. I’m an emissary from Baron Summerfield.” He nodded to his cousin. “O’Malley here is an emissary from the Duke of Wyndmere.”
“Baron? Duke?”
The man’s inquisitive gaze moved from Flaherty to O’Malley while they waited for him to take the reins to Flaherty’s horse. “We can find the way to the front door, if ye’d water our horses,” O’Malley said.
“Be certain to let the dowager’s butler know who you are and why you are here.”
“We’re here on behalf of Miss Langley. I’m to escort her to Summerfield Chase,” Flaherty said.
“After she’s enjoyed a visit with the baroness—the duke’s sister—I’m to escort her back to Wyndmere Hall in the Lake District,” O’Malley added.
The stable master’s eyes widened. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you inform the dowager of that.”
Flaherty’s expression hardened. “Why is that?”
“Given the way—”
The door to the gatehouse opened, and a stoop-shouldered man in dark livery stared at them. “The dowager wishes to know who you are and what you are doing on her estate.”
The stable master leaned close to O’Malley and Flaherty. “She watches out her parlor window to see who’s coming and going. You’d best go speak with Stevens.”
“The butler?” O’Malley asked.
“Aye.” The stable master gave a brief tug on the reins, and both horses went along obligingly. “I’ll take care of these fine animals for you.”
Flaherty nodded. “Thank ye.”
O’Malley was halfway across the yard to the gatehouse. He paused to wait. “I’ll do the talking.”
Flaherty shrugged and motioned for O’Malley to precede him.
O’Malley nodded to the butler. “Me name’s O’Malley, and this is Flaherty. We’re part of the Duke of Wyndmere’s personal guard. I’m stationed at Wyndmere Hall. Flaherty is stationed at Summerfield Chase. We’ve come to escort Miss Langley to Summerfield Chase—from there, I’ll escort her to Wyndmere Hall.”
From the way the man’s face paled, O’Malley wondered if, wherever Helen was, she was not being treated as she should be. “We’ll not be staying for tea,” he added. “We’re only here long enough to collect Miss Langley.”
The butler glanced over his shoulder and looked to the left and then the right before saying, “Miss Langley left hours ago.”
“I didn’t come across the duke’s carriage at any of the inns on me way here,” O’Malley remarked. “Is there another road that leads to the Lake District?”
“There is,” Flaherty replied. “It is not as well traveled and will add at least an hour or two to your journey.”
While O’Malley was digesting the news, the butler motioned the men closer. “Her Grace, the dowager, instructed the stable master and myself to order the duke’s coachman to leave as soon as Miss Langley was inside the gatehouse.”
O’Malley’s anger roared to life. “Why in the bloody hell would she do that?”
The butler shook his head. “I have no idea. Those of us who have worked for Her Grace for a number of years have learned never to question her.”
O’Malley’s fingers flexed with the need to grab the man by the shoulders and shake him until he told them everything. Flaherty nudged him out of the way with his shoulder and asked the butler, “How did Miss Langley leave, if the duke’s carriage was ordered off the property?”
The servant sighed heavily and confirmed what they already suspected: “On foot.”
O’Malley closed his eyes and ordered himself to remember his vow to the duke. He could not react physically, unless a member of the duke’s family—or extended family—were being attacked. In that moment, he was glad Flaherty had accompanied him. His cousin was a stickler for rules. O’Malley needed to clear his mind, to concentrate on finding Helen, the coachman, and the footman. He needed to get the lay of the land beyond the road he traveled to find her. “I noticed a cottage a quarter of a mile or so before I reached the gates. Who lives there?”
“The widow Dawson and her son. Though the dowager would not appreciate my telling you this, the woman is a healer, and has a fine hand with stitches.”
O’Malley glanced at Flaherty, who gave a brief nod. “Thank ye.” They turned and began walking toward the stables.
“O’Malley,” the butler called out. “There is one more thing you need to know.”
His gut clenched. “What might that be?”
“Her Grace sent out missives to all of her contemporaries within the ton .”
“’Tis the reason meself and Flaherty are here. Baron Summerfield received one of the dowager’s missives and sent word to his brother-in-law, the Duke of Wyndmere.”
The expression on the man’s face was definitely one of shock. Knowing the dowager would come to regret her ploy was the only reason O’Malley was able to keep his mind on the end goal—find the lass, sweep her away to Summerfield Chase, and marry her before returning to Wyndmere Hall.
The butler shook his head. “In Her Grace’s words, Miss Langley’s reputation has been ruined, her having worked in the household of a man who was murdered.”
O’Malley saw red, and it took every single ounce of his considerable control not to lash out at the man. Flaherty intervened. “We understand ye’re the messenger… Not the guilty party here.”
“Thank you.”
“Tell the dowager that I will be informing Baron Summerfield what she has done, and her slander against a man who fought for his country, defending its king valiantly. For his efforts, he was granted a title.”
O’Malley struggled to keep the anger from his voice when he said, “And I’ll be informing His Grace, and his contact on Bow Street, of this atrocity and slander against the duke’s ward. The dowager will be hearing from His Grace’s solicitors.”
The butler flinched. “I hope you find Miss Langley safe and sound at the cottage.”
O’Malley gave a brief nod and continued walking to where the stable master had their horses ready and waiting for them. “Thank ye for yer help.”
“I hope you find Miss Langley. She may not realize it, but the dowager did her a favor.”
“Are ye daft?” O’Malley demanded.
Flaherty elbowed him. “Ye aren’t seeing it from another perspective. I’d agree with him. Miss Langley is too kind to be working for a shrew like the dowager.”
The stable master nodded. “Aye.”
As they walked their horses toward the gates, O’Malley grumbled, “I didn’t see hide nor hair of the lass on me way here.”
Flaherty narrowed his eyes as they reached the gate, each pulling one side of it open. “From the description from Caro, yer brother’s wife—”
“I bloody well know who Caro is.”
Flaherty snorted. “As I was saying, I did not come across her either. I asked at the inn between here and Summerfield Chase. No one saw a woman fitting her description.”
“As she was on foot, she must still be in the area,” O’Malley mumbled.
“Aye. We’d best not trample any clues.”
The men closed the gates behind them, and O’Malley paused for a moment, considering the best course of action. “We’d best search along the edge of the road for signs of a scuffle.”
Flaherty agreed. “If we don’t see anything in the next quarter mile or so, we can mount up.”
O’Malley had spent a few minutes scouring the side of the road when Flaherty called out, “There!”
O’Malley walked over to stand beside his cousin, who had been searching the road itself. He bent to examine the rock protruding from the road, and the way the dirt had been disturbed. “Do ye see that?” Flaherty asked.
“Aye.”
Flaherty got down on one knee. “The stone’s been loosened, and the dirt around it disturbed.”
It looked to O’Malley as if something had scraped through the loose surface dirt. His heart nearly stopped. “See those indentations? Could someone have put their hands out to break a fall?
Flaherty stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ye don’t need to ask, because I do think it’s the lass ye’re seeking. She may have smacked her forehead after a fall, then come to and wandered off.”
O’Malley studied the road a few moments longer. “Do ye see the large footprint?”
“Aye. And next to it could be the print from a knee.”
The cousins had tracked enough men back home to read the signs. Whoever it was had to be at least O’Malley’s weight, if not his height.
“From the direction of the footprint,” Flaherty said, “the man must have stepped from the wooded area over there.”
“And knelt beside where Helen tripped and fell.” Had she been unconscious? Bleeding? O’Malley couldn’t see any sign of it, but that did not mean someone hadn’t wiped away any evidence. Who had taken her? And why? To lend aid, or for some nefarious reason?
“Do ye think Lord Montrose’s murderer has been following Aiden and the others and latched on to Helen when he saw her leaving Wyndmere Hall?”
O’Malley fought against the need to vomit. Dear God in Heaven, do not let the lass be suffering at the hands of the murderer! “King said the man all but disappeared.”
“If not him, it could be some other blackguard.”
“What if it is Hardwell’s lackey? What if the baron has a connection within Newgate Prison’s walls and has offered coin to whomever finds the lass and brings her back?”
“It could be we’re wrong.” Flaherty’s voice had dropped to a low pitch. “Mayhap it’s someone who saw her in the duke’s carriage and is thinking to hold her for ransom.”
Flaherty’s supposition bugged the ever-living shite out of O’Malley. He had to get word to His Grace, the baron, and the others, to alert them of the possibility that the murderer was on his way to Wyndmere Hall. Her Grace, and the women, needed to be protected at all costs!
O’Malley mounted, and Flaherty followed suit. They rode to the cottage in silence.
“We’ll find her, Eamon.”
“We have to.”
No one answered the door. Expecting trouble, given that Helen was missing and a murderer could be in the area, O’Malley dismounted. Flaherty did the same. It took a few moments for him to plan what he would do next.
“Flaherty, scout out the outbuilding. I’ll take a closer look at the cottage.”
Flaherty walked over to the small structure, while O’Malley peered in the cottage windows. It was not large inside, but appeared homey.
His cousin returned to his side. “There’s an empty stall, and ruts indicating a wagon or carriage. Do ye want to wait?”
O’Malley clenched his hands into tight fists. The need to relieve his frustration at coming up empty for the second time in less than an hour had him by the throat. His throat constricted as his mind came up with all sorts of dire reasons the lass was not at the cottage. “Where in the bloody hell is the coachman—and, for that matter, the footman?”
Flaherty shrugged. “We’ll find them all! The lass, the men—the duke’s carriage and team of horses. Wait here. I’ll ride toward the inn and see what I find.”
O’Malley hadn’t waited long when he heard a wagon and hoofbeats approaching. Flaherty was riding alongside an open wagon being driven by a gray-haired woman.
“I came across Widow Dawson on me way to look for the duke’s coachman.”
The widow asked, “Did the Duke of Wyndmere really lend his coachman, and carriage, to Miss Langley?”
Flaherty nodded at her. “Aye, Mrs.…?”
“Widow Dawson.”
Flaherty nodded. “His Grace is a generous man.” Turning to O’Malley, he said, “I found the coachman, but not the footman.”
“I was summoned to the inn to tend to the driver of the carriage.” Her expression showed her concern. “He was attacked from behind and has a huge lump on the back of his head.”
“Thank ye for taking care of him.” O’Malley shook his head. “Are ye certain there was only the one man?”
She answered without hesitation, “Yes.”
“What of the horses?”
“They were unharmed,” the widow answered. “Flaherty tells me you are also looking for a footman and a young woman, a Miss Langley.”
“Aye. She was not where she was expected to be.” O’Malley ignored the acid bubbling in his gut. “Flaherty here has arrived to escort us to Summerfield Chase. The duke’s sister is married to Baron Summerfield. When we find Miss Langley, she’ll be able to rest at the baron’s estate before I escort her back to Wyndmere Hall.”
“Will her maid be your chaperone? It would cause talk otherwise.”
O’Malley bit back what he was about to say. The woman had no idea what the duke and his family had been through for the last few years, and it wasn’t his place to discuss it. But he would set her straight on one important point. “There will be no talk about me intended. His Grace secured a special license for us. ’Tis in me pocket. We’ll be married by the vicar after Helen has a chance to rest. Then we’ll return to Wyndmere Hall.”
Flaherty snorted, then coughed to cover his laughter. O’Malley sent him a look that promised he’d be punching him later. Flaherty grinned.
“Flaherty advised that the both of you are members of the Duke of Wyndmere’s private guard,” the widow said.
“That we are.”
“He also confirmed what you just said, that Miss Langley is your intended. I still say that without a proper chaperone there could be talk.”
“Mayhap ye’d be obliged to help stem the talk. The lass has suffered enough.”
“Given what I heard at the inn, I agree with you. The dowager has been bitter for many years. I am sorry to hear that she treated Miss Langley in such a way…but she is not the first young woman to seek employment at Flemington Hall or Flemington Gatehouse that has been ostracized and vilified. How long has she been missing?”
“Since earlier today,” O’Malley replied. “From what we discovered halfway between here and the gatehouse, we have reason to believe she was abducted.”
The widow frowned. “I have been at the inn for a few hours. Otherwise, I may have noticed Miss Langley walking this way. You may be right, because I cannot imagine how far she would get on foot.”
O’Malley was encouraged by the sympathetic expression on the older woman’s face. “Then ye’ll help us counter whatever rumors ye hear?”
She nodded and stood up. “I will, but first you need to find her.”
O’Malley held out his hand. “Let me help ye down, then we’ll unhitch the horse for ye.”
Flaherty dismounted. “If ye could wait here, in case she has been turned around and wanders back.”
“Of course. Poor woman. She must be devastated.”
“We need to scour the area,” O’Malley said. “Are there any paths through the woods nearby?”
Her face lit up. “I’d nearly forgotten about that. There’s an abandoned hunting lodge.”
The men shared a look, and O’Malley asked, “How far from here?”
She paused to think. “A quarter of a mile or so. There’s an overgrown path on the left. You’ll miss it if you aren’t looking for it. I don’t think anyone has been to the lodge in years. The old duke used to have hunting parties there. Such a commotion and goings-on between Flemington Hall, the gatehouse, and the duke’s hunting lodge back then. More than one inebriated lord tramped through my herb gardens.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” O’Malley said. “Not all of Society acts like that.”
“Aye,” Flaherty agreed. “His Grace and his relations are all honorable men.”
She slowly smiled. “It sounds as if the duke is a man of high moral fiber.”
O’Malley mounted his horse. “The highest. Thank ye for yer suggestion. May we stop back here when we find Miss Langley? We may need yer help.”
“Of course,” the widow replied. “It’s refreshing to hear how positive you are that you will find her. I pray it is so, and promise to have my poultices and herbs set out. Always pays to err on the side of caution.”
With the violet-eyed beauty on his mind, and in his heart, O’Malley nodded to her. “Thank ye.”
“I forgot to tell you!” the widow called out. “One of the serving maids at the inn told me a dark-haired man about your height was asking if anyone had seen two young women traveling together.”
O’Malley’s gut iced over. Two women. Emily and Helen. Coincidence? O’Malley did not believe in them. He had a feeling deep in his soul that Widow Dawson described the killer he and the rest of the guard had been searching for. “Did the stranger have any distinctive features?”
“The young woman mentioned a straight-ish nose, heavy, dark brows, and that he scowled. Especially when she told the man she hadn’t seen two women without escort at the inn. She also told me that one of the stable lads mentioned a dark-haired stranger riding a roan gelding. Not sure if that will help.”
“Thank ye, ye’ve been a great help.”
Flaherty picked up his reins. “When I stopped by earlier, the hostler mentioned ye have yer son living with ye. Will he return soon?”
“I believe so. Do you need to speak to him too?”
O’Malley answered, “Nay, we’re concerned with ye being alone while the stranger could be lurking about. Don’t go anywhere unescorted.”
She held his gaze long enough to have him wondering if she’d be disagreeable. Finally she inclined her head. “I am usually cautious around strangers. The two of you would be the exception.”
O’Malley was humbled. “Thank ye for yer trust, Widow Dawson. Me ma would have me hide if I disrespected a woman. His Grace would have me drawn and quartered.”
Her eyes rounded. “Would he?”
Flaherty shook his head. “O’Malley is known for stretching the truth. His Grace would not. But he may take one of us to task, or dismiss us from his guard.”
“Make certain that ye alert yer son to what’s happened,” O’Malley warned. “We’ll be back soon with Miss Langley and the blackguard who kidnapped her. We’ll be needing to speak to the constable. The man is dangerous.”
“Do you really believe he abducted Miss Langley?” the widow asked.
“Aye.”
“I pray that you will find her soon. I overheard talk at the inn about the dowager’s latest outrageous plans. No one should be treated that way, and I pray that it was just talk.”
O’Malley frowned. “Ye mentioned that before. Just what did ye hear?”
“The dowager was incensed that the person who answered her advert was not what she purported to be and that the lord she worked for did not inherit his title. Apparently, the dowager duchess sent out a half a dozen messages to her closest circle.”
“I take it she has done this before.”
“She has. I think her heart shriveled up and shrank after her husband, the former duke, passed away. Well, that is neither here nor there. I shall be waiting and praying you find Miss Langley quickly.”
Flaherty grumbled, “News travels fast… Gossip, faster.”
“We need to find her before dusk falls,” O’Malley said. “I pray she doesn’t have extensive injuries.”
“No matter what she has suffered, I will be ready to tend to her wounds,” the widow replied.
“Thank ye.” He and Flaherty urged their horses to a fast trot. They didn’t have far to go, but that did not stop O’Malley from asking for a bit of divine intervention. For good measure, he rubbed the side of the stallion’s neck and urged it, “We’ve got to find her, laddie.”
Flaherty clenched his jaw. “We will find her.”
They rode in the direction of the inn, keeping an eye out for the path into the woods that would lead them to the duke’s abandoned hunting lodge…and Helen.
“There!” Flaherty shouted, pointing to the nearly obscured path.
O’Malley led the way, with a prayer in his heart that she would be there. “Hang on, lass. I’m coming for ye!”