Page 11 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)

H elen floated near consciousness and struggled to open her eyes. Her mind slowly cleared, and she prayed she would remember what had happened after she tripped, but for a moment her mind was blank. Then she recalled the humiliating conversation with the dowager. She shuddered just thinking of having to walk back toward Flemington Hall, intent on finding the cottage the butler told her about. Why had the dowager duchess dismissed the duke’s coachman without telling her? And why in Heaven’s name would she make Helen walk when she’d arrived in the Duke of Wyndmere’s carriage? Everyone else respected the duke, so why didn’t the dowager?

Her eyes opened, and the face staring down at her brought it all back. She was being held by the dark man hovering over her because of Baron Hardwell. His eyebrows connected into one thick line as he frowned at her. How could she have escaped the baron once, only to be tracked down by the man’s henchman and held for ransom? Thank goodness Emily was safe. Garahan would not let anything more happen to her.

Mulling over everything that had happened since she and Emily arrived at the duke’s estate, she wondered if she had made the wrong decision striking out on her own, when she had had an offer of protection and marriage—from an honorable, strong, handsome Irishman.

She dismissed that thought. O’Malley did not know of her past. A man in his position could never marry someone like her. She concentrated on what she needed to find—the coachman. The cottage.

She barely registered that she’d mumbled the words aloud.

“What cottage?” This time when she heard the deep voice, a sliver of unease slithered through her belly. She acknowledged the emotion, but did not give in to it. She had faced down the devil—Baron Hardwell—and could hold her own against the man who held her captive.

At least her vision was clear, though her chin ached. She shifted on the pallet where she lay and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her wrist throbbed. It would make escaping more of a challenge, but she would not be cowed by the man hovering over her. His presence unnerved her, but so far, he had only mentioned coin, not what he would do if there was none forthcoming. Would the duke pay the ransom…for her?

She shivered, realizing the man had been speaking to her. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

“Is your traveling companion waiting for you at the cottage?”

The depth and tone of the man’s voice now had a hard edge to it. She’d best answer him. “I did not have a traveling companion. I came at the dowager’s request…but then she told me to leave.”

He clenched his jaw and glared at her. “I’m not talking about the dowager. I want to know about the other woman!”

“There is no other woman.” The ache in her chin was spreading along her jawline. She ignored it and fought to hide her fear of the man. “You misunderstood what you heard when I mentioned the cottage. I was told by the dowager’s butler that there was one just out of sight, beyond the gates to the estate. Is that where I am?”

“Is she hiding at the cottage?”

Her heart sank to her toes. Had the man been hit on the head one too many times? Why else would he insist on asking about another woman, when Helen had told him that she had traveled alone? From the man’s very mien, she did not think he planned to hold his temper for much longer. Nor would he help her. What, then, did he intend to do with her? “Who are you talking about?”

“Bloody hell! Montrose’s daughter! Her life was worth that bag of coin he already paid me to end it. But she escaped, and I was not able to fulfill my end of the bargain. The baron will see that I am paid double if I capture her. You are going to be the way I lure her from where she is hiding.”

Bile sloshed in her belly. Emily! She needed to protect her friend, and the babe she carried, at all costs. She would never agree to help him. “I think you overestimate her loyalty to me.”

“We shall see. Until I have Montrose’s daughter, I’m keeping you.” His gaze dipped below her chin and settled on the swell of her bosom before he looked into her eyes. “I’m certain I can find a way to entertain myself…until the ransom is paid.”

Helen prayed her stomach would not rebel at his inference. “How long do you intend to wait?”

He tipped up her chin. Her skin crawled at his touch, and ached when he pressed on the sore spot on her chin. She flinched and jerked to the side to escape his painful hold, fighting against the feeling of dread that filled her. She would fight, if she had to. The realization that she had no idea where she was nauseated her. She was far from those she knew and trusted. She ached in so many places, but what hurt the most was her heart.

O’Malley .

Thoughts of the broad-shouldered guard had her wondering if she would have been captured and held for ransom if she’d been caught walking in the village of Windermere. Had this man been lying in wait for Emily or herself for long, or had he just arrived? Had he followed her from the Lake District to the Borderlands?

She knew in that instant that she’d had made a grave error in judgment leaving Wyndmere Hall. The intensity in the brilliant green eyes of the man who’d offered his protection filled her mind.

Lord, why did I refuse O’Malley’s offer?

Her captor glared at her and took a step closer to where she lay. She braced her weight on one hand, intent on trying to move away from him, but her wrist buckled. A sharp pain sliced through the injured joint as it began to throb in earnest.

Helen willed her tears not to fall. She had not had the chance to look at her wrist yet. A quick glance had her head swimming and her hopes flagging. She could not tell if her wrist was sprained or broken just by looking at it, though it had begun to bruise and swell. She carefully touched her wrist to see if the bones felt out of place, and spots swam before her eyes. Not a good sign .

She did not want to let her kidnapper know how frightened she was, but she did need to know if he intended to do anything about her injuries. “If you’re keeping me, do you plan to bind my wrist?”

The dark-haired man’s grim expression worried her. There was not an ounce of concern in his black-as-night eyes. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Would you let someone else bind it for me?”

“The closest physician is an hour away on horseback, longer by carriage.”

Would he leave her here alone to fetch the physician? Could she escape then? She had to try—how else would anyone find her? She had no idea where she was, or how much time had passed since she left the dowager’s home. It was as dark inside the building as it was outside the window. When she escaped—because staying here with this madman was not an option—she would have to dig deep and use her will to survive to force herself to walk…to run…no matter how much pain she was in. Helen knew she had to try, because she would not give in. If she fell down, she would get up. If he caught up with her, she would scratch at his eyes, kick his shins, or, Heaven help her, knee him where all men had a weakness. Dear Lord, she hoped it would not come to that, but Lord Montrose had instructed her and Emily to use that as a means of defending themselves. She was resourceful, and knew there would be somewhere to hide, but first she had to cause a distraction to prevent him from following her… But what?

“There is, however, a local woman who tends to those in need. I suppose if I want to collect the full ransom, I may have to contemplate bringing her here, once darkness falls.” He locked gazes with her, his expression now unreadable. “If you lose the use of your hand because the bones are broken and do not heal properly, you could develop a fever from infection and die. Then I won’t get paid.”

His words horrified her. Fear sliced clear to her bones. She absorbed the emotion and then tucked it into a box to open up and worry about later. The thought of becoming crippled, losing the use of her hand, terrified her. It was that terror that galvanized Helen’s vow to fight to her last ounce of strength, and last drop of her blood, if that was the Lord’s plan for her. O’Malley slipped into her mind once again, this time wrenching a heartfelt prayer from her: Dear Lord, I need Eamon to save me!

She lifted her hand to her face, and he slapped it away. “Your hands are covered in dirt! I mean to get paid. Like broken bones that don’t heal, if your face gets an infection because you rubbed dirt in it…” He leaned close and grabbed hold of her sore wrist again until she cried out in pain. “I won’t get paid. And if I don’t get paid…you die!”

Her captor reminded her of Baron Hardwell—soulless. Heartless! Completely, totally mad! Drawing in a breath and slowly exhaling helped her regain her composure and control her fear. “Do you have water that I may wash with?”

He looked bored, as if she were a stain on his waistcoat that refused to wash out. “No.”

“A clean cloth?”

He glared at her. She took the look, and lack of response, to mean that he had no clean cloths either. At least he had not bound her hands together. Did he plan to now that she was awake? She’d have to be very cautious and move slowly so that she did not startle the man.

The longer he stared at her without speaking, the deeper her fear, but she could not give in to it. Needing to occupy her mind with thoughts—any thoughts—she concentrated on Wyndmere Hall. Her reasons for leaving the position she had enjoyed—watching the duke and duchess’s twins, caring for Patrick and Gwendolyn’s babe—no longer held validity. Not in the face of her abduction, or the realization that if her kidnapper would not be paid the ransom, he promised that she would die. But how?

Her mind raced. There were so many different ways that she could die. Without food or water, she could die of starvation or thirst. If the cuts on her face, or a broken bone in her wrist, got infected, that could kill her too. The way he had leered at her got under her skin like a sliver of wood until her heart began to pound—she would fight him! Helen knew she would welcome the beating if he chose to take his frustrations out on her…but she would never, ever submit to him.

Those dire thoughts circled around and around in her head until she thought she’d scream. Suddenly, a still, small voice inside of her whispered O’Malley’s name. Why hadn’t she had the common courtesy to have a conversation with him before leaving Wyndmere Hall? There was a chance that she could have gauged his reaction as she confessed her past, and stopped before confessing all of it. At least she would have known whether the man would have accepted her, despite her childhood thievery.

That voice whispered again, reminding her of the duke’s magnanimous offer to welcome her back. She did have somewhere to go, someone who cared for and about her, but did the duke know of her past? His Grace was a cautious man, who protected his family with every means at his disposal. He would use his connections to Bow Street, and those through Captain Coventry. No doubt he would have had information on all of Lord Montrose’s staff before he sent Aiden Garahan and the others to escort Emily to the Lake District. The duke was known for planning down to the minute details. He would have had to know.

Did O’Malley know? If he did, why would he offer for her? In her mind, he could not know. She could not bear it if he rejected her because of her past. A hint of what he must have felt when she rejected his offer of marriage nauseated her. Helen needed to apologize! When she saw him again—if she saw him again—she would swallow her pride and apologize for refusing his suit…without giving him the explanation as to why.

She should have done that in the first place. It would have been the decent and correct thing to do. But she had been afraid that he would not accept her, even though she was more than just the woman who had worked as Emily’s maid and companion. Not all of it was something she was proud of. She had had a troubled family and lost them, and had a brief stint picking pockets on Bond Street until she bumped into Lord Montrose, and he realized what she was doing. But he had not turned her over to the Watch. He had given her a second chance, had given her a position on his staff that helped her rebuild her pride in a job well done. Something thievery had not engendered.

Even though she knew she did not have to continue to believe she was alone and without a soul who cared for her, one question continued to pound in her brain: would O’Malley have accepted her anyway, or would he have shunned her?

The possibility of the latter had had her skulking away, like the thief that she was. She never said goodbye to him! Her headache trebled in intensity. What if he did not shun her—what if he could accept the reasons she had turned to crime when she had no other way to obtain food?

If she escaped… when she escaped, if she did not have the chance to speak with him, she would pen a note to O’Malley and apologize for the angst she’d put him through. He deserved far better than her, but the feelings rioting in her breast right now had everything to do with the handsome guard and not fear of her captor.

Her mind still on O’Malley, she reasoned that if she spoke of her childhood, the loss of her father and then her mother, he would understand the reasons she felt that they would not suit. Her past breaking the law—and her unsuitability as a proper wife for a man of his caliber—were still at the forefront. Still the reason why she could not marry him.

Her mind began to wander, but kept coming back to the same question— why had the man abducted her? She had been alone, walking, not riding in the duke’s carriage. How would he have known of her connection with someone who had the coin to pay a ransom?

The answer was plain as day—he had followed her from Wyndmere Hall.

While she was turning all of these thoughts over in her mind, her captor had walked toward one of the windows that looked out into the dense woods tucked around the abandoned lodge. She took a moment to study her surroundings. It was small. One room… No loft… One door, and two windows on either side of the cottage. A table with three legs, and one chair, leaned against the wall beneath the other window.

The cold seeping up through the pallet she lay on in front of the stone fireplace had her shivering. Not wanting to attract his attention by shifting to pull the thin linen cover over her exposed shoulder, she lay still. Any sound might call attention to her and have him returning to taunt her, or to spew more of his contempt.

She should not have worried about it—of his own volition, he spun around and strode toward her.

“Sit up.”

The thick rope in his hands had her swallowing the bile that rushed up her throat. She would not disgrace herself in front of the man by casting up her accounts! With an eye on the rope, she tried to comply, but her wrist gave out again.

He muttered a curse, bent down on one knee, and yanked her upright. Grabbing her hands in his much larger one, he wound the rope around her wrists. She flinched. The rope burned as it rubbed the underside of her wrists. Not wanting to watch him tie the knot, she averted her eyes, and a flash of movement in the window behind him caught her eye.

A heartbeat later, both windows exploded! The resounding crash and flying shards of glass distracted her captor, and gave her the courage she needed to escape. A roar that sounded like that of a large, wild animal filled the window and then bounced off the walls, as a broad figure dressed in black dove into the cottage. His auburn hair and fierce expression had her heart leaping to her throat, until she noticed the golden harp and emerald-green Eire embroidered on his frockcoat…over his heart. Just like O’Malley’s!

She struggled to her feet, braced a hand to the wall, and dug deep to ignore the tearing pain shooting through her wrist. Biting her lip, she put distance between herself and where her captor and the auburn-haired member of the duke’s guard fought. Would he set her free? With her back to the wall, she inched her way to the other window, stumbling twice, but catching herself before she fell. Her half boots crunched on the broken glass in counterpoint to the sound of flesh pounding flesh. Finally, she felt the edge of the window frame. Her prayer of thanks was cut off when strong hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her backward through the window!

“Ye’re safe now, lass.”

The voice she’d never thought to hear again soothed her jagged nerves. She was spun around until she could look into the eyes of her rescuer. “O’Malley! How did you find me?”

He brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and gently took hold of her hands, swearing when she cried out in pain. “Where are ye hurt, lass?”

“Please, don’t leave me here?”

“I did not come all this way just to leave ye behind, lass. Where are ye hurt?”

Helen didn’t answer him fast enough. He grabbed hold of her wrists, and she groaned.

“Forgive me, lass, but if ye’d have answered me…” He gentled his hold on her. “Which wrist?”

“The right one.”

“Is that yer only injury?” She shook her head and moaned, while he frowned. “Where else?”

“My chin aches, and the side of my face stings.”

He gently cupped her face and studied her closely. “Ye’ve a few cuts and scrapes, nothing deep.” Helen started to lift her hand, and O’Malley took hold of it. “Yer hands have a bit of dirt and grit on them—’tis best not to get any of that on yer face. Let’s get ye out of here. I’ve arranged for ye to be tended to.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“There aren’t that many roads north to Flemington Gatehouse.” His expression darkened. “From the look of yer hands, and the disturbed dirt Flaherty and I found where ye tried to save yerself when ye tripped over that rock in the road, we guessed someone must have come up from behind ye.”

“How did you know? Were you there? If you were, why did you let him take me?”

“Ah, lass, did ye hit yer head then?”

“I don’t… No, I did not! I was grabbed from behind and a large hand covered my mouth and nose.”

O’Malley gritted his teeth, then cleared his throat to speak. “Could be the terror of what happened that has ye rattled, lass. Ye’re not thinking straight if ye believe that of me. I was not there, and I never would let any blackguard abduct ye.” He reached into his frockcoat pocket and pulled out a black cloth. “Easy now, while I wrap this around your poor wrist.”

“Is that a cravat?”

“Aye, the lads and I carry spares—they’re handy for binding wounds, or tying a blackguard’s hands together.” He trailed the tip of his finger along the line of her jaw and tapped her chin. “’Twill only take a moment. If it helps, close yer faery eyes, lass.”

She did without hesitation, trusting him, while he immobilized the joint with the cravat. She could not hide her wince of pain as he fastened the knot. “I’m sorry to cause ye discomfort, but we need to ensure that if yer wrist bones are cracked, or broken, that they don’t shift out of place.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her over to a fallen tree…a distance away from the building. Setting her on it, he warned, “I’ll try not to hurt ye, but I need to fashion a sling for ye, and I need both hands to do that.”

She was silent as he moved her arm. “Hold it against yer waist for a moment. There’s a lass. I’ve already used me spare, and will have to use the one I’m wearing. I hope ye don’t mind.” Helen watched as he removed the cloth from around his neck and explained, “I’m going to slide a corner of me cravat under yer arm now.” He paused and told her, “I’m not after startling ye, lass, but I cannot fashion a knot behind yer neck without moving the hair that slipped from its pins.”

She lost the ability to speak, positively mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes and the sight of his strong neck. She nodded.

“I need to pull ye closer, lass, otherwise I may bump yer wrist, which I do not want to do. May I?”

Her gaze locked on his, and this time she answered, “Yes.”

Helen could not look away from the width of his neck and muscles of his throat.

His voice rough, he grumbled, “Ye’d best stop looking at me like that, lass. ’Tis not the time or place to be thinking what ye’re thinking.”

She licked her dry lips. Even in the waning light, she could see that his eyes had darkened. “How do you know what I am thinking?”

“Ah, sweet Helen, ye’re innocent to be sure if ye’re asking me that. I’ll kiss ye senseless once I tie off this knot. Mayhap it’ll satisfy yer curiosity until Flaherty and I deliver ye to Widow Dawson.”

Confused, she wondered if the widow was a close friend of O’Malley’s. She had heard that some bachelors preferred forming an attachment with a widow rather than an unmarried woman. The thought of him with another woman had her rubbing the ache in her heart.

“Are ye feeling pain in yer chest?”

The concern and intensity of his gaze had her answering honestly. “I am.”

“How long has it been happening?” She didn’t answer quickly enough. He took hold of her arms and pulled her closer. “Yer heart may be reacting to yer fear, but it could be something more serious, lass. Answer me question!”

Unable to control the reaction she always had whenever she was worried, she bit her bottom lip.

“God in Heaven, lass. Don’t be biting yer lip now!”

It was then that it hit her… O’Malley was not just worried about her. He cared for her…mayhap even deeply! “Which would you have me do first, answer your question or stop biting my lip?”

He scooped her into his arms, stared deeply into her eyes, and lowered his mouth toward hers. His lips hovered over hers for a heartbeat. With a moan, he took her mouth in a possessive, devastating kiss that numbed her body from head to toe. The last thing she remembered was the wondrous thought that O’Malley had indeed kissed her senseless.

*

Flaherty stuck his head out of the window and swore. “What did ye do to the poor lass? She was standing when I grabbed hold of her captor. ’Twasn’t me job to keep an eye on her, while I roughed him up a bit. ’Twas yers !”

O’Malley ignored the question. “I pulled her through the window and had to use both me cravats. One to bind her wrist, the other for a sling. I cannot tell if it’s sprained or broken. We need to get her to Widow Dawson.”

Flaherty stared at the woman in O’Malley’s arms. “She looks like she’s sleeping peacefully.”

“I think it’s her injuries, and having the life scared out of her. She’ll come round in a moment or two.”

Flaherty climbed out of the window, reached back inside, and tugged his prisoner by the arm to pull him through. “Ah, well now, that makes sense. Poor lass.”

“Who do you think you are?’ the battered man grumbled. “You’ll pay for laying a hand on me. I have connections!”

“Well now, as I’m in an accommodating mood, I’ll tell ye we’re members of the Duke of Wyndmere’s private guard,” O’Malley replied. When the lass stirred in his arms, he glanced at her face and watched her eyelashes flutter. Ignoring her for a moment, he told their prisoner, “We have connections and the law on our side. Ye’ll be answering for the fact that we found ye in this abandoned hunting lodge, about to tie off the knot on the ropes ye placed around Miss Langley’s wrists.”

Flaherty sent O’Malley a look out of the side of his eye—a sly look that Flaherty was fond of using when he meant to confuse one of their prisoners. “Well now, if ye tell us yer name, we might be letting ye go with a warning.”

“Warning? I’ll have the both of you arrested!”

O’Malley and Flaherty ignored him. “I don’t think we can just let the man go,” O’Malley said, keeping up with Flaherty’s game of misdirection. “Even if he tells us his name and that he worked for Hardwell. Besides, the poor lass is coming to. I know she will attest to what happened to her and our actions rescuing her.”

“Yes,” Helen rasped. “I certainly will!”

“What do you know about the baron?” the prisoner asked.

Flaherty and O’Malley glared at the man, who must have realized he’d said too much. He shifted from foot to foot.

“I don’t recall saying ‘baron’—did ye, Flaherty?”

“Ye didn’t, and neither did I. Neither did the lass.”

“Well then,” O’Malley said, “I’m thinking this bleeding bugger has more than a passing connection with Hardwell. Probably works for the man.”

“Just because I took coin—” The man’s face grayed.

The bleeding bugger realized he’d just damned himself, confirming what they suspected. He was the blackguard Wilson, and had all but confessed to the crime.

O’Malley grabbed the man by his collar with his free hand and shook him hard enough to rattle his brains. This was the man responsible for the death of Lord Montrose! “Did ye follow the lass from the Lake District, Wilson?”

O’Malley had been present more than once to see the face of a condemned man as he faced the gallows. ’Twas the expression he saw on the man’s face now. Though Wilson didn’t admit to the name, O’Malley knew the only way the man could have found the lass was to have followed her here from the duke’s estate.

“Flaherty, take the lass for a moment.” He passed her off to his cousin then turned back to the man he still had a hold of. Tightening his grip, O’Malley shook the bastard harder. “Ye’ll be joining us on a short trip to the village to speak to the constable, and then on to Summerfield Chase. His lordship will be waiting to speak to ye, and mayhap one of our connections from Bow Street will make the trip up to interrogate ye. Have no fear, arrangements will be made for yer transportation to London.” O’Malley leaned close to the prisoner and pitched his voice low so the lass wouldn’t hear him. “’Tis where ye’ll answer for the charge of murder.”

“I did not murder anyone. That’s a lie!”

O’Malley wanted to strangle the man for shouting out what he’d wanted to keep from the lass. He glanced over his shoulder at Flaherty, who frowned. Helen quickly looked away. Judging from the tears in her eyes, she had to have heard. Turning back to the man, he ground out, “I never lie.”

“’Tis part of our vow to the duke,” Flaherty said. “None of us lies. Ye’d best rethink yer plan to plea that ’tis all a mistake, because every one of Captain Coventry’s men, Gavin King of the Bow Street Runners, and the duke and his connections know veracity is part of the oath we took when we joined the duke’s guard.”

“We have two witnesses who saw someone fitting yer description the night ye shoved Lord Montrose into the path of a fast-moving carriage. He died from his injuries.” O’Malley turned to Flaherty and said, “I’m thinking our man here didn’t know that His Grace, the Duke of Wyndmere, would do anything to protect his ward. He was named guardian to Montrose’s daughter.” He turned back to Wilson. “His Grace means to see that ye pay for yer crime.”

“You’ll never be able to prove it.”

O’Malley wanted nothing more than to club the blackguard in the gob. “We’ll be adding kidnapping to the charges against ye.”

Wilson’s mouth hung open a moment before he clamped it shut.

O’Malley was satisfied for the moment. They’d gleaned enough information to add weight to the already damning evidence Gavin King had. O’Malley noted the hatred in Wilson’s expression and was satisfied the man knew he was well and truly caught. He would pay for his crimes.

“Well now, the trip to Summerfield Chase will be more pleasurable if he doesn’t talk.”

Flaherty sent a knowing look at O’Malley and passed Helen back to him.

O’Malley nodded and held the lass to his heart, prompting Flaherty to ask, “Why don’t ye tell me what really happened back there?”

“If ye must know,” O’Malley grumbled, “she swooned after I kissed her.” Flaherty’s knowing grin irritated him. “Don’t say another word!”

“That might work on someone who isn’t related to ye, Eamon. I’ll be telling ye what I think whether ye like it or not. We’ve all heard about the way the two of ye couldn’t keep yer eyes off one another the day Garahan arrived with the woman he loved.”

O’Malley should not have been shocked to learn that had spread this far north. “Were there rumors in the village?”

Helen gasped. “People near Summerfield Chase are spreading rumors about Eamon and I?”

Flaherty grinned. “No need to listen to or spread rumors. Aiden’s wife shared the news in a letter she wrote to her sister-in-law, Darby’s wife, who delighted in passing on the news to Ryan’s. Ye know not one of the Garahans can keep their gobs shut where our sainted O’Malley cousins are concerned. Neither can their wives.”

“Neither Emily nor I have met their wives,” Helen whispered.

“Don’t start up with that moniker again,” O’Malley warned. “O’Ghill never should have said it to Ryan. All the Garahans, and now yerself, have taken to using it.”

Flaherty ignored him and continued. “Too many of the men in the duke’s guard are falling, too fast for me liking, and for the lasses they’re rescuing. And before ye get yer dander up, I’ll tell ye I believe ’tis a good thing.”

O’Malley stifled the urge to pop Flaherty in the mouth, suppressing it when he saw nothing but sincerity in his cousin’s eyes.

“Thank you, Flaherty.”

Flaherty stared at Helen for a moment. “Not at all, lass. Kiss her again, O’Malley—I want to see if she swoons.”

Helen frowned. “I am sorry I thanked you, Flaherty.”

O’Malley looked from Flaherty to the lass and back. “Are ye both out of yer minds?”

“’Twill be like a fairytale. The handsome duke’s guard kissing his lady love awake. Go on!” Flaherty urged.

O’Malley did not want to admit that he was tempted, but a glance at the lovely lass in his arms—with the bruise on her chin and scrapes on the side of her face—pulled at him. But it was the glare in her eyes that had him reminding his dull-witted cousin, “She’s wide awake and her temper’s on the rise.”

“Will you please stop talking about me as if I am insensate?”

O’Malley’s admiration for the lass grew, as did the feelings rioting inside of him. He stopped fighting against what he felt. She’d already suffered so much already, and had been ridiculed by the dowager and become the subject of rumor and innuendo because of that vile woman.

“Forgive me, Helen.”

The poor lass may have a broken bone, and all because of her need to leave in search of a position where she’d be too far away from him to protect her. Why couldn’t she have stayed at Wyndmere Hall? The overwhelming need to coddle her, protect her, and love her filled him. He brushed his lips across hers in a featherlight kiss…an angel’s kiss.

“Mayhap next time, lass, ye’ll not be running away from me. I could have protected ye from this happening.”

“He would have followed the trail to Wyndmere Hall—I’d feel even worse if he somehow got inside and threatened Her Grace or her babes, or Gwendolyn and her babe.”

“She’s got a point there, O’Malley,” Flaherty admitted.

O’Malley’s heart thundered behind his ribs. Worry for the lass and what could have happened at Wyndmere Hall had him by the bollocks.

“Forget about what could have happened, lass. We need to tend to ye and yer injuries.” He’d noticed rope burns when he bandaged her wrist. It must have happened after the blackguard wrapped the rope around them. He had watched Wilson from the window. The man was still holding tight to the rope when Flaherty tugged him away from the lass. Bloody, fecking bugger should have let go of his end. If he had, the lass wouldn’t be suffering now.

Worry such as he’d never known lanced through him. As gently as possible, he traced the tip of his finger across one arched brow and then the other. “Trust me, lass. I’ll protect ye… I need ye.” He nearly shouted with relief when she frowned. “That’s the way, Helen-lass. Irritated or happy—I’ll take either emotion, if ye’d just say ye’ll have me.”

She met his gaze and whispered, “I’ve been dreaming of you.”

He ignored Flaherty’s grunt of satisfaction—he was too busy smiling, and didn’t bother to hide it. “Have ye now?”

She licked her lips, and he wished there was a pitcher, or cup even, of water to offer her. But there hadn’t been a source of water in the small abode. They were surrounded by dense forest, and there was no water source nearby that they’d noticed on the path leading to the hunting lodge. Water for the lass would have to wait until he could get her to Widow Dawson. Thankfully, they did not have far to go.

“Ye can have a bit of water as soon as we arrive at Widow Dawson’s home.” He turned to Flaherty. “I’ll ride ahead with the lass. I’m thinking the prisoner needs a bit of time to reflect on his sins. Do ye have enough rope to tie around Wilson’s waist with a bit of length left over to hold? Ye can let him walk beside ye, while ye ride yer horse to the widow’s cottage. ’Tis what I’d do.”

“Ah, we think alike, O’Malley. I’m hoping her son has returned. Never hurts to have an extra pair of hands.”

“The blackguard is going to pay for thinking he could just take ye,” he told Helen.

“I vaguely remember his grabbing my sore wrist and pinching my chin where it hit the ground.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Then his huge, gloved hand covered my nose and mouth—I couldn’t breathe. I’m sorry that I left without saying goodbye to you, O’Malley.”

Tears welled in her eyes again, tying O’Malley’s gut into knots. “Don’t be crying now, lass. Ye’re safe.”

“Thank you, Eamon.”

He nodded. She was a bonny lass, even with the scrapes and light bruising on her pretty face. Her other injury was worrisome until the widow verified what he feared—that her wrist was broken. Even if it wasn’t, he planned to reciprocate, and give the bugger Wilson a few bruises and mayhap a broken bone of his own.

O’Malley tamped down on his building anger—he would be speaking to the prisoner alone later and would leave his mark on the man then.

’Twas time to get moving. The lass’s eyes appeared clearer than they had a few moments ago. “Now then, Helen-lass, as far as I can see it, we have two choices here.”

“Two?”

Lord, she was adorable the way her nose wrinkled when she frowned. He pressed his lips to the tip of it, and she sighed. “As I was saying, two choices. I can toss ye over me shoulder, or ye can ride in me lap. Which do ye prefer?”

The emotion in her violet eyes captivated him. The yearning…the hesitation…the trust . “I would like to ride in your lap. I think I’d be dizzy if I were upside down over your shoulder.”

“On me lap, then.” When she nodded, he admitted, “That’s me preferred way to deliver ye to the Widow Dawson’s cottage. She’s promised to tend to yer wounds. I’m thinking ye’ll want something to eat. From me impression of the woman, she’ll want to feed ye, too. Then we’ll see if there is a wagon we can borrow—or buy—to transport the prisoner to Summerfield Chase.”

Her expression changed to one of worry.

“What has ye worried now, lass?”

“Will you be leaving me behind?”

He gently cupped her chin. “Not on yer life. From this day forward, ye’ll go where I go.”

“But that would be scandalous!”

He stared into her eyes, waiting for her to realize his intention. She bit her bottom lip, sending a shaft of heat from his heart to his gut.

“Not if we’re married. Will ye have me as yer protector, yer husband, the man who’ll kiss ye good night, and good morning, every day for the rest of our lives?”

She hesitated, and he struggled not to groan as impatience warred with the knowledge that he should not press the lass. She had to accept him of her own free will. But O’Malley wanted her answer—now! At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to mold his mouth to hers, drink from her lips, and swallow her sighs—but she had to willingly agree to marry him first.

“Will ye, lass?”

She blinked, and sorrow filled her gaze.

His gut felt as if he swallowed the shards of glass that littered the floor of the abandoned cottage…they sliced him from the inside out.

She was going to refuse…again!

Braced for her rejection, he straightened, shutting down the hope that had been vibrating inside of him a moment before. He had his pride and would not beg her to marry him!

“Before I answer, I need to tell you about my past. You have a right to know. When you do”—her voice broke—“you will retract your offer.”

Not in this lifetime . Then her words hit him and he nearly crowed with victory. She did not say nay!

He kept his expression neutral, because it would not do for his bride-to-be to think he was ignoring the seriousness of her words. O’Malley’s world once again made sense. And in that moment, he knew what worried the lass.

Lifting her onto the back of his horse, he leaned close and whispered, “If ye’re worried about that wee bit of thievery, and pockets ye picked, I know all about it.”

Her gasp of shock had him chuckling. Her frown had him clearing his throat.

“How long have ye known?”

O’Malley told her the truth: “Since we learned of Lord Montrose’s will, naming the duke as Emily’s ward. Coventry and King wanted to ensure that Emily was safe—even from her staff. His Grace authorized the captain and King to look into their backgrounds. Her safety was paramount to the duke—and to us.” Her look of confusion had O’Malley nearly at the end of his patience. “Is that a problem?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did not realize it would be an impediment to yer accepting me offer. Are ye thinking I should have told ye when I asked ye to marry me the first time?”

“You didn’t ask me,” she reminded him. “You said, and I quote, ‘That would be me.’”

And there was the feisty lass he’d come to love. O’Malley knew then she wouldn’t be refusing him a third time. “Aye, in answer to yer question of who would marry someone like you…let me repeat, that would be me.”

When she remained silent, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. He needed her to hear him—nay, to listen to him! Her dazed look of hope, and desire, nearly drove him to his knees.

Calling on all of his control, he told her what was in his heart: “I’m proud of what ye’ve overcome. Impressed by the way ye turned yer life around when given the chance by his lordship. Ye’ve a work ethic that matches me own, a loving way with babes and little ones, and a heart of gold, lass. I’ll never love another like I love ye. Ye’re mo chroí, mo ghrá .”

She stared up at him with tear-bright eyes. “You’re certain that you won’t change your mind?”

“Never.” He gave in to need and kissed her with a tenderness that had her melting against him. O’Malley would remember this moment till he died. “I promise to cherish ye and any babes the Lord blesses us with, Helen-lass.” Deeping the kiss, supping from her lush mouth, he nearly groaned when she placed her hands to his chest and gently pushed. God in Heaven, what now?

“Would you answer just one more question?”

His bride-to-be had an irritating habit of asking questions when he needed to be kissing her. But he loved that irritation as well as her spine of steel. O’Malley imagined winning her over without words…but now was not the time… Later . He kissed the tip of her nose. “Ask away, lass.”

“What do mo chroí and mo ghrá mean?”

“Ye’re me heart, me love.” Everything she felt was right there in her violet eyes. “Say yes, Helen-lass.”

“Yes.”

His heart stumbled to his feet and then jumped back up behind his ribs. “Yes?”

She put her arm around his neck. “Yes, Eamon O’Malley, I would be honored to marry you.”

He spun around, shouting, “Did ye hear that, Flaherty?”

“Aye, and so did Lady Phoebe and his lordship all the way back in Summerfield-on-Eden.”

O’Malley didn’t care that his cousin was ribbing him. Nothing mattered at the moment beyond the fact that the woman who’d had a hold of his heart from the moment he set eyes on her had agreed to marry him.

He mounted his horse, pulled her onto his lap, and wrapped an arm around her. “Ye can close yer eyes and rest. ’Tis but a short trip. We’ll see that ye’re tended to and send missives off to His Grace, and the others, that ye have been found and that we’ve apprehended Lord Montrose’s murderer. Though I’ll ask Flaherty to do that while I offer me two hands to help the widow if she needs them.”

Just when he thought she’d remain silent the rest of the ride back to the cottage, she whispered, “Thank you, Eamon.”

“Sure and ye’d be welcome, lass.”

“Eamon?”

“Aye?”

“I was afraid to tell you how I felt, for fear that you would revile me.”

“Never, lass. I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I love ye, lass. With the whole of me heart.”

She snuggled into the curve of his arm and sighed. “Do you know what, Eamon?”

“What?”

“I love you too.”

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of wild roses and sunshine. A scent that would always remind him of the moment the woman he loved professed her love in return. As they rode, he let the warmth of her words sink into his heart…all the way to his soul.

Thank ye, Lord, for the gift of her love. I’ll protect the lass with me life and surround her with me love…until I breathe me last.