Page 12 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)
W idow Dawson opened the door to her cottage as O’Malley swung his leg over his horse and smoothly dismounted with Helen in his arms. The widow paused, blinked, then opened the door wide to admit them. If the woman was surprised that he could dismount with someone in his arms, she’d obviously never met any of the men in the duke’s guard. Strength and agility were essential in the performance of their duty.
O’Malley appreciated the way the woman schooled her features after a quick glance at Helen. He didn’t want the lass to worry about her injuries before Widow Dawson even unwrapped them. “We found her right where ye said to look. But there was no water nearby. Do ye need me to fetch some from yer well?”
“I already drew water from the well and have a large pot heating on the stovetop, and a pitcher of water for drinking on the table.” She nodded at the oak table in the kitchen area. “Why don’t you set Miss Langley on the chair by the table and wash up while I fetch her a cup?”
As if she were made of glass, O’Malley set Helen on the chair. He kissed the top of her head, then walked over to the alcove by the back door where the pitcher and bowl sat on a small table. Though he did not want to contribute to the conversation between the women, he felt justified in listening to what they were saying.
Helen’s safety was more important than her privacy, given the danger that had been following her from the moment Garahan arrived at Montrose House to protect Emily. Besides, Helen was to be his wife, and they would be privy to one another’s conversations once they wed. Well—at least he would be privy to hers. A good many of his conversations revolved around the duke and his family, and he would not be sharing those with anyone.
O’Malley walked over to stand beside Helen, who drank the water greedily. When her hands holding the cup trembled, he steadied her, wrapping his hands around hers, mindful of her wrist. His palms tingled from the contact. Waiting for her to finish her drink, he nodded to the widow. “I’m ready if ye need me.”
Widow Dawson worked quickly, beginning with the fabric he’d wrapped around the lass’s wrist first. Helen flinched when the cravat loosened. It took all of his control to hide his reaction from her—she needed his strength, not his concern as to the severity of her wound. Though a glance at the deep purple of the bruise and swelling were indicative of a break, which would take longer to heal.
“I need that larger bowl of hot water. The first thing I need to do is wash her arms and hands.” The older woman was careful to keep any expression out of her gaze. He appreciated that. “I will need your help with that.”
O’Malley was on his feet in an instant, returning with the bowl of water. He placed it near the widow’s elbow. A glance at Helen had him realizing the poor woman had begun to tremble. It was either the shock of all she had been through…or a reaction he’d seen happen with a broken bone. She would not be able to hold herself still. A delayed reaction from all that she’d suffered since leaving the dowager’s had begun to set in.
The widow took a cloth from the stack on the table, dipped it in the hot bowl of water, then added a few slivers of soap. Wringing out the extra water, she began the task of washing Helen’s injured arm. Halfway through she told O’Malley, “To save time, take another cloth off the stack and wash her other arm.”
He’d never washed any part of a woman before. The task seemed intimate to him. “I’ve never done this before, lass, so if I scrub too hard, ye need to let me know. Ma always taught me brothers and I to wash all of the dirt off the first time—or she’d have us washing a second time.”
Helen’s lovely lips lifted as she smiled at him. “Don’t tell me, you and your brothers scrubbed until your skin stung.”
He laughed. “Am I that transparent?”
“No, but some of the young men his lordship hired had to be shown how to wash without scraping skin off in the bid to have the first full meal they had eaten in a long time.”
“Why was that?” the widow asked while she gently began washing Helen’s wrist. “If you do not mind my asking.”
“Not at all. Lord Montrose was known for giving those of us without a home a second chance. The first thing we had to do upon arriving was to soak off the dirt in a hot tub of soapy water.” She smiled, and it warmed O’Malley’s heart. “The second thing was a meal fit for a king. Not one of us were able to eat everything on our plates. It had been some time since we’d gone to sleep with a roof over our heads and our bellies full.”
Her tears tugged at O’Malley’s heartstrings. “Montrose was a great man. I’m sorry I did not have the opportunity to meet him.”
O’Malley and Widow Dawson finished their tasks, and she asked him to fetch more water. He did as told, dumping out the used water into the bucket by the back door. He returned with another bowl full of hot water.
“Thank you. Now then, why don’t you wash Helen’s face, while I’ll set out what I need to immobilize her arm? I’m going to need your help lining up the bones.”
Helen gasped, and O’Malley had to control the urge to flinch. “Close yer faery eyes, lass. I don’t want to get soap in them.” He carefully and thoroughly washed her face, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the length of her lashes, and the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose that he had not noticed before. “There now. Let me blot yer face dry.” A few moments later, he glanced at the widow. “Did I miss any spots?”
She smiled at him. “Not a one. Thank you.”
“Ye can open yer eyes now, lass.” He watched the flutter of Helen’s lashes as they slowly lifted, revealing her violet eyes.
“Now then,” the widow said, “all you need to do is sit behind Helen, wrap your arms around her, and hold her arm still.”
The lass looked worried.
“And what will ye be doing?” he asked the widow.
“I will be standing in front of you, holding on to Helen’s hand and manipulating her wrist until I’m satisfied the bones are where they should be.”
Before Helen could ask, or the widow could warn them, O’Malley told her, “This will hurt, lass, but ye need to stay as still as possible. Lean into me as close as ye can get—I’ll help absorb yer pain.”
Helen couldn’t speak. She nodded.
“The only way this will work is if the lass sits on me lap—unless ye have a bench?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Not a problem. Hang on, lass.” O’Malley lifted Helen into his arms, sat down, and settled her on his lap. “I’m going to put me arms around ye, and hold yer arm steady. All right?”
He had to lean forward to hear her whispered yes.
“Do ye have wood slats to hold her wrist in place if it’s broken?” he asked the widow.
“I do over on the table by the far wall. I think two will do.”
“Now that her face is clean, I can see there is more bruising than I thought, and scrapes on her face.”
The widow nodded. “I shall take a close look at those after we set the bone. Do not worry, I’ll take good care of Miss Langley.”
He murmured quietly to the lass while the widow held Helen’s arm in her hands, manipulating her wrist. The lass trembled with what O’Malley knew was a combination of pain and fear.
The widow stopped. “Do not move!” She reached for the wooden slats and placed one on either side of Helen’s wrist. Holding them in place with one hand, she began to wind a length of linen around the wrist until she was satisfied. “There, that’s finished.”
O’Malley silently thanked God that Helen’s wrist had not fractured with the bone poking through the skin. He’d witnessed that type of a break more than once—had known more than one man who’d lost an arm or leg due to a break of that nature.
“Ye’re a brave lass, Helen Langley.”
The widow agreed. “You will need to keep your wrist dry and leave the bandage on for at least a sennight unless you are experiencing an unusual amount of pain. Then, of course, seek the advice of your physician, who may wish to unwrap it and see how the break is healing.”
“Thank you for taking care of me, Widow Dawson.”
“I’m thinking ye’re going to be depending on me more than ye bargained for, lass,” O’Malley added.
She nodded. “I’m grateful that it’s you.”
“Is there another man ye’ve given yer heart to that I need to have a conversation with?”
Helen slowly smiled. “You are the only man I have given my heart to.”
He puffed up with pride. “Well now, that’s as it should be, as we’ll be married tomorrow at Summerfield Chase.”
“Before you leave, I have a poultice that you can take with you,” the widow interjected. “It’s on the table by the stove.”
O’Malley got up and carefully set Helen on the chair. “I’ll be right back.” He lifted the poultice and sniffed it. “Comfrey root. Ma has a section of her garden where she grows it—with the four of us and Da, she needed it more often than not.”
The widow was smiling when he rejoined them. “When you remove the splint after a sennight, you can use the poultice to reduce the swelling.”
“Shouldn’t we have done that before ye wrapped her wrist?”
“If it was just a sprain, yes. But not with a break. Oftentimes bones heal faster than one realizes, and you run the risk of bones healing in the wrong position.”
“I cannot thank ye enough for taking care of me intended.”
“One more thing.” The widow reached for a large linen square, folded it in half, and slid it beneath the lass’s arm. “O’Malley, would you hold Helen’s hair out of the way? I don’t want to get any tangled in the knot. It hurts when it’s pulled out.”
Her hair was soft as silk, distracting him with thoughts of running his fingers through it. O’Malley set those thoughts aside. Now that the lass had been seen to, his brain immediately focused on the next problem on his list. He needed to get moving as soon as possible. They had a prisoner to deliver before dark.
As her husband-to-be, ’twas his duty to ensure that she received the best of everything from this moment on, but delivering the prisoner had to come before that.
“Why don’t you carry Miss Langley over to the settee? She’ll be more comfortable there.”
He lifted Helen into his arms and nearly groaned—she fit perfectly. Her curves filled the planes and hollows of his body. His mind took a short trip to their wedding night, and he had to call on his ironclad control to keep from salivating, thinking of the thousands of nights ahead where he could undress her, touch her…whenever he wanted. Wherever he wanted.
“O’Malley!”
He blinked. “Aye? What? Sorry, me mind was elsewhere.”
The widow pursed her lips and had her hands on her hips. “I was just telling Miss Langley that she will rest and keep her arm in a sling. She is not to use that hand, or it will strain her wrist and could cause further injury.”
The distress on Helen’s face bothered him. “How will I eat or write to Mrs. Minnover and the others?” she asked.
“I’ll be helping ye, and if I am on a shift away from Wyndmere Hall, then we’ll enlist Constance or Merry to help ye,” O’Malley replied.
“But I cannot expect you or—”
“Did ye forget that ye agreed to marry me? Ye’ll need to learn to listen to the man who’ll be yer husband.”
“Only if he makes sense,” she countered.
He laughed. “Isn’t she wonderful?”
The widow smiled. “I believe you two will have a long and happy marriage…if you learn to listen to one another and to compromise.”
“Listen?” Helen echoed.
“Compromise?” O’Malley asked at the same time.
“Your days will be smoother as you learn one another’s likes and dislikes, fears and sorrows.”
“What about happiness?” O’Malley asked.
“I wish you a lifetime of it,” the widow replied.
“Thank you for taking such good care of me,” Helen said.
“It is my calling in life, but you are most welcome.”
“Ye have me gratitude as well,” O’Malley added. “Did ye happen to notice the sparkle in me intended’s faery eyes?”
“I was preoccupied—let me take a look now.” The widow stared at Helen. “I do not believe I have ever seen violet eyes before. I do believe I see a bit of sparkle.”
“Everyone who sees me bride-to-be will be captivated by her eyes. Ma always told us that violet eyes were a gift from the fae.”
“Did she?” Helen’s voice wavered, but thankfully she wasn’t crying. O’Malley had expected her to when the widow was manipulating the bones in her wrist, but she hadn’t.
“That she did. She also told us that the fae would take the babe from yer cradle and leave a dark-haired changeling in its place.”
“Do you believe that?”
Pleased that he was able to distract Helen, he chuckled. “Did ye not notice that all of me Garahan cousins have dark hair and eyes?”
He wasn’t surprised when Helen did not laugh, instead leaping to one particular Garahan’s defense.
“Aiden is not a changeling, and has been wonderful! He protected Emily and I when we were ambushed in the park in London, and then along the route to reach Wyndmere Hall. How can you—”
O’Malley interrupted, “I’m after distracting ye, lass, not arguing with ye. There isn’t a Garahan who would not lay down his life for those he protects. The same is true for our Flaherty cousins—and naturally, meself and the rest of the O’Malleys.”
“Aye,” a deep voice intoned from the doorway, “good to know ye haven’t forgotten yer better-looking cousins, O’Malley.”
“I’ll pack up the poultices for you,” the widow said. “If you do have a physician examine her wrist, and he agrees that it is healing well but the swelling has not gone down as much as it should have, use the poultices. Soak them in hot water, then leave it on for at least half an hour.”
“Aye. Thank ye,” O’Malley said.
Widow Dawson glanced at Flaherty and frowned. “You’ll need your knuckles tended to.”
He grunted. “A wash will do me fine, but thank ye for the offer. I understand ye have a constable. Is he nearby?”
“We do. You’ll find him in the village, which is half a mile past the inn. His name is Saunders, and he’s a man you can count on to sort out troubles and get to the heart of the problem.”
O’Malley kept his eye on Helen, pleased that she seemed steadier. “Sounds like a man we could use on our side, Flaherty.”
His cousin agreed. “I’ve left our prisoner tied up by the outbuilding. He won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Did ye get the lass a cup of water yet?”
“Do ye think I’ve bollocks for brains? Of course I did!”
Flaherty snorted. “Bet ye almost forgot, and I’m thinking the lass would not be reminding ye, because she doesn’t appear to be one who would think of herself first—even injured.”
“I was raised to think of others first,” Helen said. “After Lord Montrose saved me, I continued to put others first—it was essential in my role as maid and companion to Emily.”
When Flaherty murmured something, O’Malley was about to blast his cousin, but Helen continued, “If O’Malley had forgotten, I would have eventually asked Widow Dawson for a cup of water… after she finished.”
Flaherty grinned. “Yer intended is a wise woman, O’Malley. Ye’d best be taking good care of her, or else ye’ll answer to me.”
O’Malley shook his head. “Ignore me cousin—he’s full of blather most of the time.”
Instead of taking offense, Flaherty laughed. “O’Malley would know, as he’s fuller of it than me.”
A muffled sound reached them from the open window. Flaherty strode to the door. “I’d best be checking on the prisoner.”
“Want me help?”
Flaherty looked over his shoulder and grunted. O’Malley understood it was an answer…and an insult.
“If you two are through, I’d like to find out what accommodations you’ve made for Miss Langley,” the widow said.
“We aren’t staying,” O’Malley answered. “We need to reach Summerfield Chase by nightfall.”
“I’m here to act as escort,” Flaherty said. “After we send a missive off to His Grace and another to his lordship, we’ll be on our way. Do ye feel up to riding, Helen?”
She didn’t hesitate to answer. “I’ll be fine.”
When Flaherty closed the door behind him, Helen thanked the kindly healer again. “You did not have to take me in and tend to my wounds, Widow Dawson. But you did, and I thank you for your kindness. You don’t even know me, and yet you have gone out of your way to help me. I’m afraid I lost my reticule. What can I do to repay you?”
The woman smiled. “It would be wrong to ask payment for the gift of healing. But there is something you can do for me, while I ask my son to fetch the constable.”
“Anything. Just tell me what you need.”
O’Malley was proud of the way his bride-to-be quickly agreed without knowing what the widow would ask of her.
Widow Dawson motioned toward a chair by the fire. “I know that O’Malley is in a hurry to be on his way, but given the fact that you were unconscious for more than a moment, I’d like you to stay a bit longer to satisfy me that you are well enough to travel.”
When Helen agreed, Widow Dawson told O’Malley, “I shall be right back to straighten up. We’ll have tea with some of the bread I baked this morning.”
He waited until she closed the door behind her before he saw to the task himself, gently placing Helen in the chair.
When the widow returned a few moments later, she stopped and stared, then slowly smiled. “Thank you, O’Malley. Redmond will be back in a little while. Let me see to our tea.”
While she measured out the tea leaves, she asked O’Malley to set out the cups and plates, then nodded at Helen.
“I believe our tea is ready.”
O’Malley walked over to where the lass sat, scooped her up, and carried her over to the table. “I can walk, Eamon,” she protested.
“I know.” He placed her on a chair, then pulled out the healer’s chair and waited until she sat before taking a seat himself. Widow Dawson poured their tea and passed around plates of thick-sliced bread.
O’Malley waited until the ladies had helped themselves before he added butter and jam to two pieces of bread. After sliding one onto Helen’s plate, he sliced it into manageable pieces for her.
He sniffed his slice before taking a bite. “Heaven, Widow Dawson. Thank ye.”
The widow smiled. “Do you think Flaherty will want a cup of tea and jam and bread?”
O’Malley chuckled. “Aye. He’s mad for jam, but there’s no reason to interrupt his guard duty. If there is any left, we can share it with him.”
Helen frowned at him. “But he’s your cousin.”
“That he is, lass.”
“And he jumped through the window and subdued the man who abducted me.”
“Aye, and now Flaherty’s guarding him to ensure he doesn’t escape.” O’Malley couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter. “Ah, lass, I’m sorry to be teasing ye. Yer sense of fairness does ye credit. Thank ye for thinking of me cousin.”
“We’ll set aside a plate for him,” Widow Dawson remarked.
A short while later, the widow got up to brew a second pot of tea for Flaherty. “My son should be returning soon. Would you like to lie down, Miss Langley?”
“No, but thank you for asking.”
“I’m curious to know if you traveled alone, or with a companion, Miss Langley?”
“The Duke of Wyndmere was kind enough to have a footman accompany me as protection…” Helen’s voice trailed off, and she was silent for a moment before adding, “I’m afraid I have no idea where he or the coachman ended up.”
The widow turned and frowned at O’Malley. “Didn’t you tell her what happened?”
“Forgive me, lass, but I was a bit preoccupied earlier and neglected to tell ye that Widow Dawson tended to the duke’s coachman earlier at the inn. He’s got a nasty bump on the back of his head, but will recover, and may be able to return to Wyndmere Hall in a day or so. No word on the footman’s whereabouts.”
“I see.”
From the expression on her face, he knew Helen sensed what he suspected—that the footman had been injured, potentially by the man in their custody. They would not leave the area until they found him.
“Wouldn’t it be more prudent to travel together?” Helen asked. “That way, if the coachman has difficulty on the way back to the duke’s estate, we would be on hand to help him.”
Instead of readily agreeing, the older woman was still frowning. “I don’t believe that would be acceptable at all.”
O’Malley could not imagine why. The lass would have protection on the way to Summerfield Chase, and to Wyndmere Hall on their return journey. “And why not?”
“Miss Langley’s reputation is at stake if she travels without a female companion.”
“I did not think of asking someone to act as chaperone on my journey here,” Helen said. “I was so confident that I would be offered the position of companion to the dowager. Companions do not have chaperones—they are the chaperones. I am certain that His Grace already considered the ramifications of the poor woman traveling alone back to Wyndmere Hall if I had asked to have one with me. What of her reputation?”
“The lass has a point,” O’Malley added.
The widow was shaking her head again. “Arrangements could have been made by the dowager, if she were not so stiff-necked.”
Helen pressed her lips into a thin, disapproving line. “I do not want anything from her.”
O’Malley agreed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t trust her.”
“Mayhap, if they have decided to linger at the inn…” Her voice trailed off, and O’Malley wondered whom the widow was talking about. She tapped a finger to her chin, obviously deep in thought.
“Who may still be at the inn?” O’Malley asked.
“As I was getting ready to leave the inn, a carriage arrived with two white-haired, amiable-looking women. If they are still there, you could ask for their assistance.”
“For reasons I am not at liberty to discuss, time is of the essence,” O’Malley grumbled. “We need to return to Wyndmere Hall.”
“There would have been another way,” the widow mused. “It would ensure Miss Langley’s reputation is not damaged, but you would have needed to have a special license.”
O’Malley patted his waistcoat pocket and slid his gaze from Widow Dawson to Helen. “The duke secured one for me before I left. Me brother, Thomas, is stationed at Summerfield Chase. I was hoping to have him stand witness, along with me cousins, when Helen and I wed.” He was rewarded with a soft smile from the lass.
By the time he could bring himself to look away from his intended, the older woman’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Well then, why wait? The vicarage is only a few doors down from the constable. Word would get back to the dowager that Miss Langley, in the company of her chaperones, was wed to one of the duke’s guard at our vicarage.”
O’Malley studied the widow’s face and was pleased that he did not see a hint of subterfuge, or malice, in the depths of her pale gray eyes. She had been generous with her healing talents, and her worry for the lass warmed his heart. “Ye’re truly concerned for Helen’s reputation?”
“I am.” The look of consternation on her face was explained when she continued, “The dowager has no doubt already begun to weave her web of lies. It is what she has always done.” She turned to Helen and assured her, “It is not that our villagers judge others as swiftly and without reason as the dowager. But when circumstances seem to point in one direction, they follow the reasoning and arrive at the conclusion the dowager has painted for them. Though not all of us do.”
“Manipulative.” O’Malley wished he could think of a reason to wait just a bit longer. Thomas was not just his brother—he was his twin. It never mattered to either of them that they were not identical. The resemblance between the two was still there for all to see.
He walked over to where Helen sat, lifted her hand to his lips, and brushed a kiss to the back. “What do ye think, lass? Ye’ve already agreed to be me wife. ’Tisn’t right for me to make a decision based on what I want without asking what ye want.”
Helen was silent long enough that he prompted her, “Do ye want to wait until we reach Baron Summerfield’s estate, where ye could meet me twin, or would ye prefer to have the vicar marry us before we leave? I must warn ye, though, we’ll be stopping at the inn first. I need to see for meself the condition the coachman is in, and we’ll need to make arrangements for him to stay. Then we’ll be meeting with the constable regarding transporting the prisoner, and lastly, there’s the matter of locating the footman and sending missives.”
Helen met the intensity of O’Malley’s gaze with a hesitant smile. “I do want to marry you, Eamon, and would love to have your brother be there to witness our pledges. If I had a family member still alive, I would ask to wait until he or she could make the journey to Summerfield Chase or Wyndmere Hall…but there aren’t any left.”
Widow Dawson’s eyes were suspiciously damp, but she blinked, and relief filled O’Malley. He did not do well with tears. “There is still an outside chance that the two women I mentioned earlier may be willing to accompany you to Summerfield Chase and then return to the inn,” she said. O’Malley was about to speak when the widow added, “After all, it is not every day that one has the chance to meet a member of the ton .”
He shook his head. What was it about the toffs that had those not at their elevated level of Society clamoring to meet them? Hoping it would convince the widow that their party needed to leave without delay, he said, “Did I fail to mention the baron is married to the duke’s sister?”
The widow stood and smoothed her gown, though O’Malley did not see any wrinkles. “I do believe your best course of action would be to stop at the inn and see if the sisters are still there. I am confident they would be willing to make the trip. Summerfield-on-Eden is no more than a few hours from here.”
“Thank ye, for tending the lass and for caring enough about her wellbeing to help us find a most expeditious plan that will not have an adverse effect on her reputation…other than the lies the dowager has already begun to spread.”
He was about to bid the widow goodbye when he noticed the worry in Helen’s violet eyes. “What’s troubling ye?”
She lifted one shoulder in reply.
“A shrug isn’t an answer, lass. Ye’d best be knowing ahead of time that I’ll be expecting ye to tell me what is wrong when I ask.”
Helen narrowed her gaze and stared at him long enough to have him wondering why that would irritate her.
“Have ye something to say to me?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
O’Malley was about to tell her to just get it said, but she flinched as if she were feeling pain. How could he have forgotten so quickly that the lass had been badly injured? Helen had been stoic while the widow tended to her—the least he could do was not rush her to answer his question when something was weighing heavy on her mind.
He brushed the tip of his finger along the curve of her cheek. “I’m listening, lass.” She grunted, and O’Malley could not help but stare at his bride-to-be, slack jawed. “Did ye just grunt ?”
“Oh, good. I was afraid you couldn’t hear me.”
“Why in God’s name would ye grunt instead of speaking to me?”
Her smile tipped O’Malley off to the fact that the lass was enjoying his shock. “You have grunted more than once in answer to questions since I have met you. Prior to meeting Aiden and the others, I was never grunted at in answer to a verbal question. I assumed if you communicated that way, then I would need to learn to do the same.”
“But ye’re a woman!”
Her musical laughter filled the cottage and surrounded him like a hug, and just like that, he ceded the victory to her.
“Ah, lass, ye’ll keep me on me toes, just like me ma keeps Da on his toes.”
“Just because I am a woman, does not preclude me from responding to you nonverbally.”
“I’m looking forward to our first argument.”
Her mouth gaped open for a moment before she asked, “Why would you anticipate such a thing?”
“Making up.” O’Malley captured her lips in a searing kiss.
She stared up at him when he took a step back, and he’d be damned if the lass didn’t frown—again! “That’s not a proper answer.”
The fire in her eyes and the sharp edge in her voice pleased him. He slid his arm around Helen’s waist, and this time, he gentled his kiss, pleased when she sagged against him. “There’s where ye’d be wrong, lass. There’s more than one type of kiss—with more than one meaning. Ye’ll have to pay close attention until ye figure out what I’m saying without words…with me kisses.”
O’Malley let go of her, and had to reach out and steady her when she wavered on her feet. “I’m thinking ye’ll be a quick learner.” She nodded, and he snorted to cover his laughter. “Well now, a nod is an acceptable nonverbal response. In case ye’re wondering. Now then, ye have yet to answer me question about what ye’re worrying about.”
“Will the dowager’s attempts to blacken my reputation among the ton have a ripple affect on His Grace and his family?”
“I doubt it. If anything, they’ll rally around ye and call on everyone they know to do the same. They’ve done it before.”
“What if the duke changes his mind about…things?”
O’Malley knew what the lass was referring to and silently agreed that no one else need to know about her past. “Trust me, lass. Once the duke makes up his mind, he never changes it.”
“I do trust you, Eamon.”
“That wasn’t so hard, confiding yer worries to me, was it?”
She lifted to her toes and kissed his cheek. “It wasn’t. Thank you.”
O’Malley brushed the tip of his fingers along the curve of her uninjured cheek and kissed her forehead. “Ye’re welcome.” He turned to the widow. “Ye’ve been kind to us, taken care of me bride-to-be, and offered yer best advice. Thank ye. Oh, and if ye’re ever in need of assistance, I can be found at Wyndmere Hall in the Lake District, or ye can contact me brother Thomas at Summerfield Chase. No matter the reason.”
“Thank you, O’Malley, but there is one last thing I can do for Miss Langley.”
“Oh, and what might that be?”
“You haven’t taken your eyes off Miss Langley since you carried her inside, and yet you still haven’t noticed.”
“That she needed yer help?”
The widow shook her head. “Take a close look at her gown.”
O’Malley shrugged. “’Tis dark blue, and complements her dark-as-night hair and faery eyes.”
“Look closer.”
He was horrified to have overlooked the dirt, torn sleeve, and tiny spots of blood from the scrapes on her face. “God in Heaven! Forgive me for thinking to take ye to the inn—or anywhere, for that matter—without seeing that ye had a clean gown to wear.”
Helen glanced down and shrugged. “I didn’t notice either.”
The widow tsked. “Completely understandable. You have been so brave through all you have endured today. Now then, if you wait here for a moment, I have a trunk where I store gowns in a few different sizes.” At the questioning look in O’Malley’s eyes, she added, “Miss Langley is not the first female I have tended to whose gown was unfit to wear. I like to be prepared for any emergency. I have a supply of men’s trousers and shirts, too. I will be right back.”
O’Malley marveled at the realization that Widow Dawson had been performing the same tasks, and felt the same duty, as his cousin-in-law Michaela O’Malley had—only the widow helped others on the outskirts of the Borderlands instead of the heart of London’s stews.
A few minutes later, she returned with a deep green gown, shook it out, and held it up to Helen. “I believe this will fit. Come with me.”
O’Malley stared at the door to the bedroom and tried not to imagine being the one who undid the buttons before carefully slipping Helen’s gown over her head. He ordered his heart not to pick up the pace at the thought that soon he would be the one to help the lass dress…and undress .
An image of ebony hair spilling over slender shoulders had him clenching his hands into fists. Before he could imagine sliding his hands from her shoulders to her wrists and back, while slipping her chemise over her head, the door opened, and a vision in dark green emerged with a hesitant look on her face.
O’Malley felt the punch to his gut first, to his heart second. She slowly walked toward him, and he extended his hand and captured hers—it felt like ice. When she trembled, he drew her to his side, pleased when she settled against him. “Ye’re chilled, lass.” Regret filled his voice when he said, “I wish we could hold off transporting the prisoner.” He tipped her chin up with his knuckle. The uncertainty in the depths of her eyes tugged at his heart. “I do not want ye worrying, but I do need to tell ye that the man who abducted ye is connected to Hardwell.”
“I heard what you said before,” she rasped, “that he was a murderer.”
O’Malley watched tears well in her eyes, but was immensely proud when she blinked them away. He hated to bring up the blackguard’s name, but had no choice. She deserved to know whom the prisoner was connected to. Baron Hardwell was the man who’d attacked Emily—and Helen—at the inn a few weeks ago.
He bent and kissed her lips. “There’s a lass. I have the feeling Flaherty and I will need a few men guarding our backs—not that we cannot handle an attack from the rear, with one hand tied behind our backs, but ’tis for caution. Whenever coin and the ton are involved, trouble follows.”
Helen licked her lips and nearly broke through O’Malley’s control. “I’m not afraid. You and Flaherty will protect me.” She brushed the tips of her fingers along the line of his jaw. “I’m safe with you.” He grunted, and she smiled. “I believe that is your way of agreeing with me.”
O’Malley snorted, and for the second time that afternoon her light laughter echoed through the room, surrounding him like a hug. “Right ye are, lass, on both counts. Ye are safe with me and mine—in this instance Flaherty. I was agreeing with ye.”
The widow had disappeared while O’Malley and the lass were speaking. She approached them now with a woolen shawl in her hands. Handing it to Helen, she said, “You’ll need this shawl to ward off any chill riding to the inn, as dusk is not far off. O’Malley, see that Miss Langley does not catch a chill.”
The nearness of the lass had his body putting out enough heat to start a fire. There would be no problem keeping Helen warm. “As long as the lass agrees to ride on me lap.” He paused, staring at Helen until she gave a brief nod, then continued, “She’ll be warm and safe in the circle of me arms. Ye have me word. Thank ye again. Don’t forget to send word, should ye need me.”
“Thank you, O’Malley. I won’t forget, and please thank His Grace for watching out for Miss Langley. Oftentimes, when I am called to care for a young woman who has been injured, she has no one.”
Helen shifted in his arms, and O’Malley released her. She walked over to the widow and hugged her. “Thank you for taking care of me, and for caring about me. I am so lucky to have His Grace and his guard looking out for me.”
“I’ll be doing more than that once we’re wed, lass.” The flush on her face pleased him. When he got her on his lap, he planned to ask if it were embarrassment or anticipation that caused that reaction.
He opened the door and escorted Helen outside. Flaherty was waiting for him, but he wasn’t alone. A tall, lanky young man stood beside him.
“Redmond Dawson, meet O’Malley. Redmond just told me the constable was in a meeting when he arrived.”
“I alerted the constable that you and O’Malley would be stopping at his office after you stop at the inn.”
Flaherty stared at Helen’s sling and shook his head. “Ye should not have to be riding on a horse in yer condition, even if it is essential to yer safety.”
“She won’t be riding the horse,” O’Malley replied as he lifted her on to his horse’s back. He waved to the widow and nodded to Redmond and Flaherty. After mounting his horse, he gently settled Helen onto his lap and wrapped an arm around her. “’Tis a short ride, then we’ll see that ye have at least half a pot of tea with a warming meal. Me ma always stressed that a warm meal was best when traveling.”
Helen waved to the widow and her son and leaned against him. When he didn’t feel an ounce of warmth where she was pressed against him, despite the borrowed shawl, he slipped out of his frockcoat, wrapped it around her, and settled her higher up on his lap. O’Malley prayed she didn’t notice his body’s instant response to the weight of her curves in his lap.
The distance may be short, but the ride would seem an eternity!