Page 16 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)

H elen sat while Mrs. Bertrum, the innkeeper’s wife, tended to the Hinkles, grateful that they had not suffered more than a bruising blow to the face. She knew from experience that it ached until a soothing poultice was applied to it, but would heal.

“Now then, Miss Langley, your turn. Though I do not know why you did not allow me to tend to the cut on your neck first.”

“It isn’t deep, and I am still very concerned about Miss Josina and Miss Jeanette. Are their eyes clear?”

“We’re fine, dear,” Josina replied.

“No sign of concussion to worry about,” Jeanette added. “Let Mrs. Bertrum cleanse and dress your wound before your handsome husband-to-be returns demanding to know why you have not already been taken care of.”

Dutifully chastised, Helen tried not to wince as the soap stung the shallow cut.

“I know it stings, Miss Langley, but my special healing salve soothes as well as heals.” The innkeeper’s wife applied the ointment, then the folded bit of linen over the cut, and wrapped a length of linen around Helen’s throat to hold it in place. “There, all finished. You are not to get the bandage wet, but should ask someone”—she glanced at the Hinkle sisters, who nodded—“to cleanse it and bandage it for you.”

“Oh, but am quite certain—”

Jeanette interrupted, “That you will allow us to do so.”

Her sister added, “Though I am sure O’Malley is more than capable, you cannot ask him to perform such an intimate task before you are wed.”

Mrs. Bertrum nodded. “I’ll send a jar of my ointment and extra bandages with you, in case your plans change and you are delayed reaching your destination.” She brushed her hands over her apron. “The stew I have had simmering for the last few hours is ready. Anyone hungry? I have a round of bread, freshly churned butter, and my mother’s currant cake for dessert.”

“I’m not really hungry, though I wouldn’t turn down tea with bread and butter,” Helen said.

The older woman’s sympathetic smile had tears welling in Helen’s eyes. Chilled, she pulled O’Malley’s coat closer until it was snug around her. She hated to appear weak. Before she could blink her tears away, a large handkerchief appeared in front of her face.

“Does it pain ye, lass?”

Helen stared at the large hand with the split knuckles and knew what had kept O’Malley. His hands told the story of the present and his past: a strong and honorable man who would use whatever weapon necessary to extract the truth from those who would prey on the weak, and to see justice served.

Her voice was unsteady when she replied, “Not really.”

While she struggled to regain her composure to show that she was worthy of his regard, he gently dried her tears and caressed her face with the tip of his finger. In that deep, rumbling voice that spoke to her in dreams, he asked, “Why the tears, then?”

She rasped, “The kindness of strangers.”

“Surely Miss Josina and Miss Jeanette are no longer strangers,” O’Malley said. “And neither should Mrs. Bertram be.”

“I could not have said it better,” the innkeeper’s wife remarked while gathering her healing supplies and placing them on her tray. “There are those who pass this way but once, and will leave knowing they are always welcome to return. You are all included among those special guests.” She lifted the tray. “I shall return with your meal in a few moments.” To O’Malley, she said, “Mayhap you can change Miss Langley’s mind. She only wants tea and bread.”

“With butter,” Helen reminded her.

“Well now,” O’Malley replied, “I’ll do me best.”

Mrs. Bertrum sent a silent message to Helen, which she received as if it had been said loud and clear. The innkeeper’s wife would be bringing her a bowl of stew along with the bread, butter, and tea—and Helen had best be prepared to eat it.

“Did Mrs. Bertrum warn ye about infection?” O’Malley asked.

“The cut was not that deep,” Helen protested.

“How clean was the blade? Did it have any rust on it?”

She shivered at the implication. That thought had never occurred to her. Her only exposure to a blade for protection had been via Lord Montrose, who was very particular in keeping his blades honed and free of dirt and rust.

“Knowing yer kind heart, lass, ye had Mrs. Bertrum tend to Miss Josina and Miss Jeanette before ye let her look at yer wound.”

“You know your bride-to-be well,” Josina remarked.

“That will make the adjustment easier,” Jeanette added. “Though ours was not to married life as we had hoped.”

Josina placed her hand on her sister’s arm. “It was to bury the brave soldiers we gave our hearts to and promised to wait for.”

“Ye waited faithfully,” O’Malley said as if he knew it was fact, “and made certain they were buried with honors. They would have been proud to have ye for wives, as we’re proud to have ye accompany us as chaperones. Thank ye, ladies.”

Helen’s heart broke for the sisters and all they had endured. What she had suffered could not compare.

She reached out and brushed O’Malley’s hand. He entwined his fingers with hers. “I’ve sent word to King apprising him of the situation. There’s one more duty I have to see to this evening, and while I do, I’m leaving ye in the company of these two fine women and the Bertrums.”

She wondered if he would be using his fists on the prisoner again. “Where are you going?”

He paused as if deciding whether or not to answer her. “All I can tell ye is that it’s a meeting. Know that I shall return shortly and explain what I can. I’ll need ye to trust me until then.” He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers. “Can ye do that, lass?”

Trust in O’Malley released a sense of peace that flowed through her. “Yes, Eamon. I can do that. We shall be waiting for your return.”

He brushed another kiss to her hand before releasing it. As he turned to go, she called his name. O’Malley paused and looked over his shoulder. “Aye?”

“Be safe, mo ghrá .”

His emerald eyes gleamed. “Aye, mo chroí . I’ll return shortly to collect a kiss from ye.”

Helen felt her face flame and her heart race. She could not wait to feel his lips possessing hers as she lost herself in another of his devastating kisses. Though her head told her it was unwise to say what popped into it, watching his lips caress her hand, her heart overruled her head. “I may need two kisses.”

O’Malley’s rumbling laughter warmed her from her nose to her toes and had the Hinkle sisters sighing. Helen could not wait for his return.

*

O’Malley and Flaherty were inside the cottage waiting for dusk to fall and the traitorous footman to arrive.

“Bailey?” a voice called as the door slowly opened. “Do you have the woman?” The man slipped inside and froze.

O’Malley and Flaherty stood side by side, arms crossed, glaring at him. O’Malley should not have been surprised, given Bailey’s description of the footman. “Foldroy!”

The footman’s eyes rolled up in his head a second before he passed out.

“That was unexpected,” Flaherty said. “So ye know him, but how did ye not know that he was the footman who accompanied Helen?”

“I was on an errand for the duke when the man was hired, and arrogant enough to think that anyone wanting to join the duke’s staff had already been vetted by Coventry—as well as the duke.” O’Malley nudged the unconscious man with the toe of his boot. “When I met Foldroy, I noticed that he rarely spoke to the women on the staff, though he was open enough to speak to the men. Given his age, I thought it odd, but then thought he did not want to lose his position working for the duke by flirting with the women. I should have questioned it.”

Flaherty grunted. “Unless ye’ve figured out how to be in two places at one time, I’m thinking ye need to forgive yerself for not questioning it. Besides, given what I’ve heard from Garahan’s wife—and yer brother’s wife—when would ye have had the time? Wyndmere Hall has been in a state of semi-upheaval since Emily and Helen arrived.”

“True, but—”

“But nothing. Let it go and concentrate on what’s in front of us. His Grace is going to want answers, and will want to avoid issues such as these in the future.”

O’Malley knew his cousin was right.

“I’ll be honest and tell ye, I’m happy I’ll be here in the Borderlands when the duke hears of it,” Flaherty finished.

“I should have—”

“Should have what? Read this bugger’s mind? Time to face that fact that ye aren’t perfect,” Flaherty said, “even if ye think ye should be, as ye’re one of the sainted O’Malleys.”

O’Malley shoved Flaherty. “ Feck off!”

Flaherty snorted with laughter as he bent and hauled Foldroy over his shoulder. “We’d best get moving. I’ll take care of the prisoner, while ye go and soothe Helen’s worry that ye aren’t dead.”

O’Malley followed his cousin out of the door. “How can she worry about something like that, given me reputation as a bare-knuckle champion back home, and the number of blackguards I’ve dispatched since joining the duke’s guard?”

“Has she had time to hear of yer exploits and feats of strength yet?”

O’Malley grumbled, “Faith if I know. The sooner we get Foldroy back to the inn, and restrain him, the sooner we can settle the women down for the night, and prepare them to leave just after dawn.” He slanted a look at his cousin as they walked side by side on the path. “From what I’ve heard from our cousins’ wives at Wyndmere Hall, that may take some doing. A woman doesn’t just roll out of bed, already half dressed, to toss on trousers and boots.”

Flaherty snorted. “I won’t be arguing with ye on that point.”

“If ye were one of our Garahan cousins, ye might.” When Flaherty laughed, O’Malley suggested, “Mayhap we’ll tell them we’re leaving at dawn, and when they start in with the reasons why we should not, we give in, and ask them to be ready after we break our fast.”

“Aye,” Flaherty agreed. “Then they’ll be ready to leave when we are—though not at dawn.”

“Ah, but you’re the thinking man, Flaherty.”

“Ye finally realized it?”

O’Malley laughed in his face. “Nay, but I wouldn’t want ye to think I’d hurt yer tender feelings on purpose.”

“Bloody bugger.”

They approached the back of the inn, and O’Malley asked, “Do ye want me to help ye unload yer burden?”

“ Feck no. I’ll see ye inside, after I’ve spoken to Jackson and the constable’s men.”

“I’ll be speaking to Hennessey before I speak to the women.”

“Good luck,” Flaherty called out. “Ye’ll need it.”

O’Malley did not bother to answer his cousin—he would have to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony of sound in the inn yard. Besides, he wouldn’t want to be overheard swearing, and having His Grace find out that he’d been crude with women in the vicinity. Another rule he tried hard not to break.

He was smiling when he opened the rear door to the inn. “Time to collect me kiss.”