Page 18 of The Duke’s Lance (The Duke’s Guard #12)

T o ensure the absolute safety of the women, O’Malley and Flaherty took turns on the overnight shifts—half the men kept watch over the women, and the other half the prisoners. As expected, the night was quiet, but there was a niggling feeling in the back of O’Malley’s mind that something was about to happen. He’d never claimed to have the sight, like his brother Michael, who had been plagued with visions all his life.

Now that dawn had arrived, and Hennessey and Jackson took over their shifts, O’Malley and Flaherty were eager to get on with their plans for leaving.

“I’ll speak to the hostler and his men.” Flaherty stared at the activity in the inn yard. “No one skulking about, or paying undue attention to any of the guests or those working for the Bertrums.”

O’Malley had just scanned the area and come to the same conclusion. “I can’t help but feel something’s wrong.”

“’Tis normal for a man on the verge of taking vows.”

He should have known his cousin would be ribbing him until he actually wed the lass. The hard shove from behind was a none-too-gentle reminder from Flaherty. “Bloody hell! Pay attention, or ye’ll end up dead, not wed, like Emmett.”

The thought of dying like his cousin arrowed through O’Malley’s heart. “After hearing what happened to Emmett, I’m apt to believe he died, but it wasn’t his time, so the good Lord sent him back.”

Flaherty scowled. “I’m not sure I believe that, though Darby witnessed it and was there when it happened. Both he and Michaela swear that Emmett stopped breathing. As skilled a healer as Emmett, Michaela was trying techniques none of us have ever heard of to shock his heart into beating.”

“I’ve heard part of the tale—ye must have heard the rest from Ryan Garahan’s wife.”

“Enough of such talk. The hostler just noticed us, and I’m for checking the carriage wheels, the team, and our horses. Then I’ll meet ye in the taproom—me gut’s empty.”

O’Malley gave his cousin a shove toward the hostler before retracing his steps, returning to the inn. The first person he saw was Hennessey. “Everything under control?”

“Aye, Miss Langley and the Hinkle sisters should be downstairs momentarily.” Hennessy frowned. “Is there something I need to know?”

O’Malley didn’t know how to put what he felt into words, other than to say, “Be on yer guard and watch yer back.”

Hennessey had been a lieutenant in the Royal Marines too long not to immediately take O’Malley’s gut feeling to heart. “Understood. I’ll warn Jackson.”

O’Malley nodded and, when hailed by the innkeeper, walked over to speak with him. “Morning, Bertrum. Something on yer mind?”

“It was unusually quiet last night. I had the girls warm the sheets for the ladies. Climbing into a warm bed after a long day that included the ladies being abducted—and from our outhouse, no less—I’m thinking they fell asleep within minutes of climbing into bed.”

Bertrum’s words went right to the part of O’Malley that kept him wide awake when he should have been sleeping—centered around thoughts of the black-haired, violet-eyed lass he planned to wed tonight! He called on every bit of his control and said, “I know the lass and the sisters appreciated yer kindness—and the warm linens. Thank ye.”

“O’Malley, there you are.” Mrs. Bertrum bustled toward him, her eyes as bright as her smile. “I hope you and the others are hungry. I have cooked enough to feed a small army, but need to know how you want to handle feeding everyone. In shifts, or shall I send meals out to the men guarding the prisoners? I did prepare enough for the prisoners—do they get to eat, too?”

“I’d appreciate it if ye’d send the meals out to the men…and the prisoners, thank ye. According to Hennessey, Jackson should be escorting the women downstairs at any moment.”

She nodded and asked her husband, “Would you mind taking the food outside? I do not want our daughters to get too close to the men being held in our stables.”

“Of course. I was going to offer, if and when you brought up feeding the men outside.”

O’Malley observed the exchange between the couple and prayed that one day, after being married more than a decade, he and Helen would have the same thoughts at the same time. “How long have ye been wed? If ye don’t mind me asking.”

Bertrum answered, “Sixteen years next month. Do you mind a bit of advice?”

“I’d welcome it.”

“Never go to bed with harsh words or a disagreement between you.”

“Is that it?” O’Malley would have thought the innkeeper would have more to say.

Mrs. Bertrum smiled. “Trust one another completely, especially when you are afraid you cannot speak your mind. Holding in your worries could lead to misunderstandings aplenty.”

O’Malley smiled back. Now that was more along the lines of what he was expecting, and sounded like advice his ma would have given him. “Thank ye both. I’ll be sharing yer advice with me bride-to-be.”

He heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to watch the woman he loved walk toward him. Studying her face, he looked for signs that she was suffering from more than her injuries, but did not notice any. She was pale, but not flushed from a fever—a good sign. Her sling was in place, and when she saw him, her eyes lit up as if she had swallowed a shooting star.

“There ye are.” He held out his hand and placed hers over his arm. “I trust ye had a good night’s rest.”

Her smile set off a volatile reaction inside of him…one he’d best get under control before things got out of hand. The Hinkle sisters seemed to be in good spirits and greeted him effusively. It was going to be interesting adding them to their small party traveling to Summerfield-on-Eden.

“Before we sit down to eat, ladies, do ye have yer things packed and ready to go?” As soon as the words left his lips, he could have kicked himself. He had forgotten to ask the duke’s coachman if he still had the lass’s portmanteau.

“We do,” Jeanette replied.

“Thank you for agreeing to let us act as chaperones,” Josina added.

*

Helen stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. She did not hold out any hope of finding her bag—whoever had hit the coachman on the head probably took her portmanteau with them. She wished she had her reticule, but that had not turned up either.

As if an angel whispered in her ear, she had the thought that whoever had taken her things must have needed them far more than she did. She sent up a prayer that the person’s life had improved with the taking of her things.

O’Malley slid his hand so it was cupping her uninjured elbow. “Lass, I am so sorry not to have thought to ask the coachman if he still has your bag stored on the carriage. I can ask him now and join ye in a few moments, or if ye’d rather, we can wait until after we eat and you can accompany me when I speak to the coachman.”

“We will order for the both of you,” Jeanette said.

Her sister added, “Your breakfast will be waiting for you by the time you return.”

Helen smiled at him. “I’d like to go with you now, and see for myself that the coachman is on the mend. It is all my fault that he was injured.”

The sisters immediately protested. O’Malley held up a hand, and the three of them fell silent.

“Ye’d best listen to the Hinkle sisters and meself when I tell ye to get that thought out of yer head, right now! ’Twasn’t yer fault that Hardwell had a vendetta against Lord Montrose.” He told the sisters, “Thank ye for ordering a meal for us. Helen and I will be right back.”

He escorted her from the room and lowered his voice so only she could hear him. “I have more to say, but it’ll wait until we’re alone in the hallway.”

A few moments later, he said, “I’ll repeat what I said just now—ye are not to blame. The what and the why of it, we have yet to discover. The one thing King and Coventry have helped uncover is that the man had three contingency plans regarding Lord Montrose—and made sure that no one would have been able to connect him with what happened to his lordship, his daughter…or yerself.”

“What if the reason for his vendetta had to do with nearly starving, without a way to earn coin to buy food?” When O’Malley shook his head, she quickly confided, “I understand about the basic need to survive—find food. You said you know about my past—a decade ago. I did steal from those I thought could spare the coin. I never took more than I needed to buy enough food to survive. My only other choice would have been the workhouse. Boys and girls my age died there.”

O’Malley paused in the hallway and pulled her into his arms. “The thought of ye slaving with the others, doing tasks until yer fingers bled, will haunt me, lass. Far better that ye used yer cunning and skill to pick the pockets of those who would have spent their coin on fripperies…something they didn’t want, nor need, but desired.”

Her wrist ached where he’d crushed her against the wall of muscle that defined his broad chest, but she couldn’t move, did not want to break the connection that tied them together. The comfort of his words, and the warmth of his body, wrapped around her, cocooning her. Eamon’s strength, his faith in her, was a balm to the deep wound in her soul that she had all but forgotten existed until that moment when it throbbed to life.

She gasped from the pain of having it exposed and open until his lips found hers and he poured every ounce of what she sensed he held in his heart for her. His mouth caressed hers while invisible strands of hope closed the wound. Her need to open her heart to him was met with his need for the same. Their hope added the healing salve that would prevent her soul from being scarred.

O’Malley kissed away her tears, sliding his hand low on her waist, pressing her intimately against him. They would fit their bodies together after they said their vows. She was not quite certain how that would work, but she knew in her heart that once they were completely one, not even death could part them. They would love each other long after their hearts stopped beating.

Time would pass. Worlds would collapse. But their souls would be entwined forever.

He groaned. “Lass, ye should not encourage me when me will to leave ye untouched is stretched to the breaking point. Ye have me word that I’ll not make ye mine until we’ve our vows have been said before the vicar…and God himself.”

She sighed and tucked her head beneath his chin. “How long will it take to arrive at Summerfield Chase?”

His strangled laughter had her smiling. A lightness settled around her as the love between them grew and solidified with each moment they shared.

“Ye’ll be the death of me, lass.”

Fear that he would be taken from her before they reached their destination swept up from her toes. She pushed away from him, bumping her wrist in the process. Her sharply indrawn breath had him easing his hold on her to cup her elbow.

“Here now, I did not mean to cause ye more pain than ye’re already feeling.” While she fought to control the ache, he brushed away her tears, trailed his fingertips along the line of her jaw, and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Try to slow yer breathing, lass—controlling it with yer mind is the first step.”

When she was finally able to draw in a deep breath and slowly exhale, he said, “That’s it, lass. Two more deep breaths.”

She did as he asked and met his worried gaze. “When you kiss me, Eamon, I get swept away to the point where I can ignore my wrist and what happened since I left Wyndmere Hall.”

“Me mind goes places best left unsaid, if I’m to leave ye untouched until after we’re wed.”

His brilliant green eyes glittered with emotions she had yet to name, and could not wait to experience with him. “Your honor is just one of the things I have come to love and depend upon.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and raked it through his hair, making it stand on end. The sight of this giant of a man fighting the need he confessed to her, as if it were a battle, only made her love him more. Eamon O’Malley—this handsome-as-sin man—was temptation in the flesh. She would have to be strong to help him step back from the precipice of the heat and want that flared between them.

“You started to tell me that you thought the baron had plans for Lord Montrose.” Helen felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment at the intimate way he’d held her against him. She cleared her throat. “What were they?”

Though his eyes still swirled with desire and passion for her, he drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He blinked, and his face once more held the neutral expression she was accustomed to.

“Thank ye, lass. Ye’ve more strength that meself.”

She smiled. “Mayhap because I have yet to experience even a smidgeon of what I think I saw reflected in your beautiful eyes.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Ye think me eyes beautiful?”

“Oh yes. And your strong jaw, sculpted lips, and handsome face.”

“Handsome, is it?” He dipped his head toward hers and froze. “Lass, I need ye to give me a moment.” His groan seemed to come from deep inside of him. “Ye’re wreaking havoc on me senses when I need to be concentrating on protecting yerself and the others.”

She did as he asked, and he nodded. “Hardwell’s plans didn’t just involve ending Lord Montrose’s life. That was just the first part. The second was to steal his daughter’s virtue, her dowry, and her inheritance. The third was to destroy yer reputation and add more coin to sweeten the pot and pay for someone to steal yer virtue, too.”

His words did not reassure her, but they did ease some of the self-inflicted guilt she’d accepted when she and Emily heard that Lord Montrose was dead. “Did he actually confess his plans?”

“Nay, lass. He bragged of them. Hardwell underestimated the power Gavin King has within the Bow Street Runners. ’Twas a misstep by the baron. He may have connections high up within the ton , but between King, Captain Coventry, and His Grace, he won’t be wiggling out before he is exposed as the one who planned the murder, and paid others to execute his plans.” His eyes met hers, and his conviction washed over her. “Aiden and Masterson—one of Coventry’s men—stopped Hardwell from carrying out the rest of his plans for Emily and yerself.”

She shivered, and he reached for her, but at the last moment dropped his hand. “Remember that he failed. Now then, if we’re going to reach Summerfield Chase before teatime, I’d best be checking on the duke’s coachman before I forget meself, toss me control to the winds, and ravish your mouth as yer eyes are begging me to.”

Helen couldn’t seem to form the words in her mind, let alone speak them. She inclined her head and followed O’Malley to the bedchamber at the end of the hallway.