Page 4 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)

M asterson was lounging outside Coventry’s building on the corner of Hart and Lumley when they approached. The gaunt former soldier straightened to attention when he saw O’Malley riding toward him. “Is that who I think it is?”

O’Malley gave a slight nod and pitched his voice low. “We need to get her inside quickly.”

The former colonel in Wellington’s Fighting Fifth held out his arms. “Hand her to me.”

O’Malley hesitated. As one of the wounded warriors Captain Coventry had hired, Masterson was eminently trustworthy. But O’Malley’s heart refused to let go of the lass, while his head urged him to hurry. “I’ve got her, if ye’ll grab hold of me horse’s bridle to hold him steady.” He dismounted and stood next to Masterson. “She has more than one rib broken, and been clubbed on the back of the head. We need to get her warm, before a fever sets in.”

“I’ll take care of your horse and will alert you if necessary.”

“Thank ye, Masterson.” O’Malley entered the building and strode down the hallway past Darby’s rooms to Coventry’s. He adjusted the lass in his arms and knocked on the door. When it only opened a crack, he rasped, “’Tis Emmett. I need yer help.”

The door swung open and the captain’s wife ushered him inside. “The poor woman. Aimee, would you please put Emma down for her”—she paused—“N-A-P?”

Aimee didn’t move at first, staring at the woman in Emmett’s arms. “Michaela? What happened?”

Michaela opened her eyes, and O’Malley noted they were red-rimmed and glassy. He didn’t think it was from crying. Before he could lift his hand to feel her forehead, the lass locked gazes with Aimee and whispered, “It was him,” before going limp in his arms.

“Aimee!” Miranda’s tone got her attention. “Please see to Emma—she’s too little to see this.”

O’Malley sensed what Miranda did not say, that her little one should not be exposed to the bruised and battered woman in his arms. He nodded, silently agreeing with the captain’s wife.

Aimee scooped up the toddler. “Let’s go find your blocks, Emma.”

“Play with me?”

“Of course,” Aimee assured her. “Until your mum needs me, then I may have to help while you play quietly. Can you do that?”

Emma laid her head on Aimee’s shoulder. “Uh huh.”

As soon as they were out of the room, Miranda cleared off the kitchen table. “Lay her here.”

“She has a big lump on the back of her head,” O’Malley said. “I knew she wasn’t bleeding, and thought I would have had time to examine it more closely once outside the building, but I only had enough time to search for a lump with me fingertips. Do ye have something to cushion her head?”

Miranda grabbed a pillow off the chair by the settee and placed it on the table. “Is that the worst of her injuries?”

“Nay—two, mayhap three of her ribs are broken.” He ignored the pull toward the lovely woman as he laid her down. “The lass was worried about me seeing her while tending to her ribs. Can ye help me preserve her modesty by draping a cloth over her chest? I’ll be able to cut the sides of her chemise away and check for bruising. That’ll indicate which spots to press lightly on checking for breaks before I bind them.”

Miranda’s worry was evident. “Emmett, let me get Aimee to help. The two of us can bathe Michaela quickly, wrap her ribs, and put her chemise back on. That way we can check for injuries”—she glanced down at Michaela—“elsewhere.”

O’Malley couldn’t contain the tortured groan that escaped. Why hadn’t he thought of that possibility? “I didn’t ask… She didn’t say…”

The captain’s wife laid a hand to his forearm. “She may not have wanted to tell you. Let me get Aimee. Stay with Michaela. I’ll return in a moment.”

O’Malley’s heart absorbed the hit it took from the image Miranda had unknowingly planted in his brain. “God in Heaven, lass,” he whispered, bending over Michaela. “Did he violate ye, too?”

She didn’t bat an eyelash, nor did she open her eyes to answer him.

Miranda and Aimee joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later. He nodded to the women. “I’d feel better if I can see her ribs for meself,” he admitted. “The way her fever came on, ’tis a worry. We’ll need to ensure that her ribs are immobilized, but not so tightly that she cannot draw in a proper breath. A lung ailment would be a worry then.”

“Give us a few moments of privacy to bathe her,” Miranda said.

“From the looks of things,” Aimee said, “Michaela was not being held prisoner in a town house on Mayfair.”

“’Twas near the docks. Dank and dark,” O’Malley said. “I found her in an abandoned warehouse.”

When he could not bear to tear himself from her side, Aimee urged, “I know what you must be feeling, but please let us take care of her. I owe her my life and promise to treat her with the utmost care and respect.”

“I give my word to do the same,” Miranda said. “Please, Emmett. I promise we will not be long.”

O’Malley wondered why Aimee was staring so intently at Michaela’s face, but pushed the thought aside. The lass needed her injuries tended to immediately. “And you’ll call me once you bathe her torso, so I can inspect the bruising?”

“After we bathe the rest of her,” Miranda reminded him.

“I can be present when ye bathe her arms and legs,” O’Malley insisted. “When I broke down the door, her gown was twisted above her knees from her attempts to free herself from her bonds. Don’t be telling the lass that, though—I wouldn’t want to shock her tender sensibilities.” He brushed the tips of his fingers along the curve of Michaela’s cheek, wishing she would rouse and open her eyes. “Best hurry—she’s even warmer to the touch now.” With that, he turned and walked to the door, opened it, and closed it firmly behind him.

*

“You can open your eyes now, Michaela,” Aimee said. “O’Malley’s gone.

Michaela’s eyelashes fluttered. “He never touched me other than to kick me…three times.”

“Please do not be embarrassed,” Miranda said, brushing a lock of hair off Michaela’s forehead. “I had to mention that we needed to check for all injuries, and wanted privacy in order to question you.”

“Thank you.”

Miranda hesitated, then said, “O’Malley’s very protective of you.”

Michaela had no idea what to say to that. His reaction to her being injured was not unexpected. He was a member of the duke’s guard, and protecting others was second nature to them. Though she had to admit the intensity in his eyes and depth of emotion had had her wondering if he could possibly care for her.

When she didn’t respond, Aimee asked, “Did you see who struck you on the head?”

“I never saw who hit me. I remember stepping out of the door, then vicious pain in my head. I did not realize how dark one’s thoughts could be, trussed up lying on the floor in a dark room, scurrying noises in the corners. The longer I lay there, different injuries made themselves known until I found myself taking stock of them. Aside from my ribs and my head, my wrists are a mess from my trying to loosen the ropes.”

Miranda sighed. “What you tell us will never be repeated. Won’t you please trust me not to repeat what happened to you while you were held captive?”

Michaela understood her insistence and appreciated her promise to be discreet. She had done the same not more than a fortnight ago when the tables were turned, and Aimee was the one injured. “Nothing other than what I already told you,” Michaela said calmly. “I confided what happened to me years ago to Aimee. It was just the one time.”

The captain’s wife used a fresh cloth to bathe Michaela’s face. “Thank you for trusting me. I am in awe of what you have accomplished, and how many women you have saved. If you ever need my help, you have but to ask, and you shall have it.”

“Close your eyes,” Aimee said. “Let us bathe you while we see if you have any other injuries. You may have bruising on your back that you are not aware of. The pain in your ribs could eclipse minor bruises.”

When Michaela complied, Miranda shared a determined look with Aimee. “Help me get this chemise off her.”

Their soft voices and ministrations had Michaela dozing.

*

Mindful of the deep purple bruises mottling Michaela’s pale flesh, they surveyed the bruises and scrapes on her body as they bathed her. The scent of lavender wafted off the soapy cloth as Miranda and Aimee cataloged her injuries to relay to O’Malley.

Miranda had to rouse Michaela again to lift her and wash her back. “We’re almost finished. Why don’t you close your eyes again?”

When Michaela’s eyes were closed, Miranda motioned for Aimee to follow her. When they were on the other side of the room, she fought to hold on to her composure. “I have seen what the ravages of war can do to a man. But abducting her, holding her tied up for hours…and her ribs… That was done out of anger, mayhap pride.”

“Retaliation for the loss of coin,” Aimee added. “While I was being held, before Darby rescued me, I saw bruises like that and received more than my share.”

Miranda slid her arm around Aimee’s waist and urged her back over to where Michaela was quietly resting. “O’Malley will be champing at the bit. Let me see if I can rouse her again and let her know I have a nightrail for her to put on, but that O’Malley will need to see her ribs first.”

Aimee’s eyes welled with tears as she stared at the area where the deep bruising was the worst. “How do you think he will react to seeing this? Emmett seems overly worried.”

“I don’t think he realizes how much he cares for her yet.” Miranda leaned down and called Michaela’s name. She slowly opened her eyes. “We will make absolutely certain that you will only have your ribcage exposed. I trust Emmett. He is a healer and will never treat you with anything but respect and care.”

Michaela sighed and moaned softly. “I know it. I think it’s a reaction left over from…”

Her voice trailed off, and Aimee grabbed hold of her hand. “I understand. If it wasn’t for the worry that one of your ribs could shift and cause more damage, Miranda and I would wrap them for you.”

Miranda nodded. “I’m going to get one of my nightrails, a shawl, and two bed linens to cover you. I shall be right back.”

When she returned, Aimee draped the bed linen from Michaela’s waist down, while Miranda draped another linen over the top half of Michaela, covering her breasts completely.

“I couldn’t help but notice that the size and shape of the bruises on your ribs look like the imprint of a large foot,” Aimee noted.

Miranda asked, “Do you have any idea who could have done this?”

When Michaela did not answer, Aimee reminded her, “We both heard you whisper that it was him before you fainted.”

“With what you have been doing these last few years,” Miranda said, “I am certain there could be any number of unscrupulous people who could be angry with you. Which him was it?”

Aimee’s eyes welled with tears, though she held them back. “I would never break your confidence, and you must believe me that I would not press you for a name if it wasn’t necessary. You could have succumbed to a fever and died, and the person or persons responsible would have gotten away with your murder!”

“Do you want him to kidnap another young woman, repeat this crime?” When Michaela remained silent, Miranda’s eyes filled with tears. “I cannot even begin to imagine the reason you would protect this blackguard, but I do know that a person’s actions are often motivated by an event, something from their past that compels them to act. Is that why you have made it your mission to save other young women?”

Aimee told Miranda, “I was on my way to Gretna Green to marry the man who swept me off my feet.”

Miranda didn’t reply. She had a feeling what she was about to hear would break her heart, so she waited for Aimee to continue.

“I did not encourage him,” the younger woman said, “but he…he anticipated our vows. When I did not agree to become his mistress, instead of marrying me as he promised, he dumped me in an innyard.”

Miranda reached for her hand. “Oh, Aimee. I cannot imagine what you went through. You are so brave to have turned your life around.”

Aimee locked gazes with Michaela and waited for a sign from her to continue. Michaela nodded. “I would not have been brave enough to do so, or felt that I was worthy of another chance, had Michaela not confided what happened to her.”

“Then Garahan found you and set you free,” Miranda reminded her.

“When I asked him to go back and rescue the three other young women at the boarding house, he gave his word that he would. It was a good thing he went back with Emmett to help him, because I did not know about the two little girls.”

The captain’s wife shook her head. “Three young women and two little girls. Garahan and O’Malley would give their lives to protect the duke and his family…and anyone else they discover that needs rescuing.” Miranda hugged Aimee. “You are so brave, and so lucky to have been rescued by Garahan. He is honest, brave, and would never judge another for something that was out of their control.” She turned to Michaela and asked, “Are you certain you do not know the man’s name?”

“I know him. I’m not certain that I’m ready to confide in Emmett, but I know that I will have to. Lives and reputations are at stake.”

“I’ll go let him in.”

When Miranda rushed over to the door, Aimee straightened the linens covering Michaela and reached for her hand. “Trust O’Malley with what happened. He will not judge you—he may want to go after the man and exact revenge on your behalf, but he will not judge you.”

“That is what I am worried about,” Michaela whispered.

*

“What kept ye?” O’Malley demanded, entering the room. The withering look directed at him had O’Malley immediately apologizing to the captain’s wife. “Begging yer pardon, but I’m anxious to see to Michaela’s ribs.”

“I understand, but you have to realize taking care of a woman who has been brutally injured requires a bit more consideration than if it were a man.”

The firm tone of Miranda’s voice did not keep him from replying, “Not if the man has a lead ball in his arse .”

Aimee gasped in shock, but Miranda smiled. “You are so like Gordon that it warms my heart.”

“Well then, let me see to Michaela.”

“It took a bit more time, and gentle encouragement, to ascertain if there were hidden injuries.”

O’Malley’s face lost every ounce of color. “Is the lass awake?”

“Yes. She told us that she had not been harmed other than her head, ribs, and wrists, which she said she said she managed to do on her own.”

O’Malley blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. “Michaela’s a strong woman, and a gifted healer—she would know the importance of telling ye about all of her injuries.”

He walked over to the kitchen table and had to fight his reaction at seeing Michaela draped in bed linen with her torso exposed. Her skin was pale and smooth. Tamping down his body’s reaction, he focused on her side and the deep bruising. His heart began to pound as worry took hold of him. “God in Heaven, lass! I am so sorry I did not know ye were missing. I could have saved ye from suffering.”

Michaela licked her parched lips and rasped, “I know Greenwood got word to Mr. King as soon as he was able to.” Her eyes opened and locked on his. “Let Miranda and Aimee wrap my ribs.”

“That I will, but after ye let me examine them more closely.” When she looked away from him, he added, “I’ll be fetching Lieutenant Sampson otherwise. ’Tis me or him.”

Michaela frowned. “I do not need a physician—even one who served in the King’s Dragoons.”

O’Malley was nearly out of patience. “Well then, let us all sit down and wait for ye to find the strength to sit up and wrap yer own ribs!”

“Turn your back,” Michaela ordered him, “and I will.”

“Ye’ll roll off the table and crack yer hard head if ye try.” He grumbled, “Lie still,” then looked deep into eyes the color of moss in the spring. “What I need to do will pain ye, but know that it pains me as well.” He hated like bloody hell to cause the lass more pain, but it had to be done. He had to exert a bit of pressure to see if her ribs shifted, indicating they were cracked or broken.

“I’m not used to receiving care,” she whispered. “Giving it is another story. Forgive me, Emmett. I will try not to vex you while you press on my ribs.”

He felt sweat bead on his brow and was about to press down on the bottom of her ribcage when she said, “It’s the two ribs in the middle that are broken.” He nodded and pressed on the ribs she indicated. When she sucked in a breath and held it, he said, “Forgive me, lass. I felt movement that would indicate there are breaks. The good news is that the bones are intact, not shattered.”

Her eyes met his. “Thank you, Emmett. I’m sorry to be a difficult patient.”

The need for vengeance swamped him. “All I need is the man’s name, and I’ll ensure he never uses that foot again.” The blood of ancient warriors surged through his veins as he planned which blade he’d use.

“O’Malley. O’Malley ,” Miranda called before he noticed she was standing beside him. “Let me raise Michaela into an upright position and support her, while Aimee holds the cloth covering the upper half of her torso in place.”

O’Malley frowned. It would take twice as long to do as she suggested, but he didn’t see any other way to preserve the lass’s modesty. And he sure as hell didn’t trust anyone else to wrap her ribs properly. The danger of one of her ribs poking through a lung scared the life out of him. He’d had broken ribs himself and never had a problem, but this was the angel of the streets, the woman who’d unknowingly caught his interest from the moment they’d met, and now it seemed had grabbed hold of his heart.

He could not let go of the idea that he could have spared her from this beating. To begin to make it up to her, he knew he needed to acquiesce to the captain’s wife. He inclined his head. “Aye, lift her carefully now.”

The trio worked together, and surprisingly, it did not take as long as he’d envisioned.

“If you would turn your back, Emmett,” Miranda said, “we’ll slip this nightrail over her head and wrap a shawl around her to keep her warm.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward, but did as she asked.

“Would you mind supporting Michaela for a few minutes? I’ll fetch her a cup of water.”

He slipped an arm around Michaela’s back and tried to ignore the whisper-soft cotton nightrail and brush of the woolen shawl she wore. “Are ye thirsty, lass?”

“Mayhap just a sip or two. My stomach is unsettled.”

“With all the worry over yer ribs, I neglected to check yer eyes to see if one pupil’s dilated more than the other.” He placed a knuckle beneath her chin, and she raised her gaze to his. Her soft eyes were riddled with pain, but the pupils were the same size. She was able to follow his instructions when he tested her ability to focus on his finger as he moved it side to side and up and down. “When was the last time ye ate?”

“I had breakfast.”

“Yesterday,” he ground out.

Her eyes flashed with temper, and his heart soared with relief. If the lass was vexed with him, she wasn’t as badly injured as he feared! His admiration for her grew.

“Astute observation, O’Malley. As I was otherwise occupied most of yesterday, and then today, until you discovered where I had been taken.”

He snorted to cover his laughter, then asked Miranda, “Do ye have a bit of bread that we can soak in some broth, milk, or tea? I’m thinking her stomach may be unsettled from lack of food.”

“I need to send my son to fetch milk for us, but I do have tea. Let me get that for you,” Miranda said, then turned to Aimee. “Would you please check on Emma?”

The young woman smiled. “I checked on her twice, and she was quietly playing. But I’d be happy to check again.”

While the two women were busy with their tasks, Emmett lifted Michaela into his arms and carried her over to the settee. His body reacted instantly as her rounded hip brushed against him. He gritted his teeth and drew in a breath, digging deep for control. Finding it, he said, “Ye may be more comfortable sitting here while ye have a bite to eat. Something that won’t upset yer belly.” He settled her on the settee and, though there was plenty of room, sat in the chair next to her. It wouldn’t do her any good if he jolted her by sitting beside her.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, Emmett.”

He traced the tips of his fingers along the curve of her cheek, tucking a silky brown strand behind her ear. “I’ve been known to growl meself when I’ve cracked a rib or two.” The earnest expression on her face nearly brought him to his knees. “Whatever is on yer mind, let it go for a bit longer. I promise, I won’t go hunting for whoever did this to ye until ye’re ready to confide why ye’d withhold the bloody bugger’s name.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m not trying to protect him.”

In that moment, he thought he understood. “Whatever happened in the past has no bearing on the present.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “The past has the ability to destroy my father’s reputation. And that I cannot allow.”

He fought to control his anger at what had likely been done to the lass. “What of yer reputation?”

Her eyes met his. “I no longer have one.”

“Ye’d be wrong about that. I’m not the only one who’s seen ye put yer life on the line daily to help those no one else would think to. Ye’re strong, capable, determined, and have a code of honor I have only seen in me brothers and cousins.”

She looked away from him and gathered her composure.

“Ah, lass, I did not mean to make ye sad.” He gently nudged her chin until she was looking at him once more. A tear slid past her guard, and he brushed it away and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“See if you can get this down, Michaela.” Miranda handed her a bowl with a spoon. “Something in your stomach will go a long way to helping you feel better.”

“Thank you, Miranda. I’m in your debt.”

The captain’s wife shook her head. “You have it all turned around. I’m in yours. If you finish that, I have a scone and weak tea that you can eat.”

“Scones?” O’Malley asked.

Miranda’s soft laughter was soothing as she told him, “I’ll bring a plate over.”

“Thank ye, Miranda.”

The door opened and Coventry entered, followed by Garahan. “Miss Michaela, a word.”