Page 28 of The Duke’s Sharpshooter (The Duke’s Guard #14)

Flaherty kept his eyes on his attacker while he disarmed him.

Intrigued, he wondered why the man did not seem worried that he’d been injured.

Moreover, why had he capitulated so quickly?

Nothing about the attack or aftermath made sense.

It wouldn’t until he had the name of whoever was behind it—and how much the sharpshooter had been paid. “I’ll take yer pistol too.”

“Coat pocket. If I had known who you worked for, I would not have shot you. We could have been friends otherwise.”

“I usually offer me hand in friendship—not a lead ball,” Flaherty grumbled.

“I’m sorry I let a woman talk me into this.”

“As I got yer shooting arm, I’m not surprised. I’ll bind yer wound if ye promise not to club me in the cheek that ye grazed.”

“You have my word.”

“That would take a leap of faith on me part to trust ye, but I’ve been known to do so when me gut urges me to. What’s yer name?”

“O’Brien.”

Flaherty noticed the hard gleam in the man’s eyes had been replaced by one of interest. He pulled the spare cravat from his frockcoat pocket, folded it into a square, and placed it on O’Brien’s wound.

“Hold that.” Flaherty untied the cravat from around his neck and wrapped it around the man’s upper arm.

“That should slow the bleeding, but ye’ll need threads to stop it. Me lead ball went clean through.”

“Felt like it. Hurts like bloody hell.”

“I’m more than familiar,” Flaherty muttered. “The chunk of me cheek that’s now missing best not disfigure me after she said yes.”

O’Brien stared at him. “You offered marriage recently?”

“Aye. Twice in the same day.” Satisfaction filled Flaherty. “She accepted the second time.” He did not bother to go into detail, to mention Maddy’s request or the angelic approval that followed.

“As we both managed to shoot one another,” O’Brien murmured, “we’ll call it even and be on our way.”

Flaherty snorted. “Why would I do that, when ye haven’t told me who sent ye?”

O’Brien scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. “If I had known you were one of the Duke of Wyndmere’s guards, I would never have agreed.”

“But if I had been anyone else, ye would have?”

O’Brien stared at him for a few moments before answering. “Aye. It isn’t because I fear any one of you—it’s because I respect the oath I’ve heard you and the others have sworn to protect the duke and his family.”

“Then ye’ll understand that as it is His Grace I work for, I have rules I must follow.”

The other man nodded. “I expected as much as soon as you walked over and I saw you were wearing black and recognized the symbol of Ireland embroidered over your heart.”

“If ye don’t cause any more trouble, and are willing to tell me the name of the woman who sent ye—though I have a fair idea who it was—the constable and I may be able to sway His Grace into putting ye to work for the duke instead of being taken to the gaol.”

“The innkeeper’s sister, Susana Harkness.”

Anger had Flaherty clenching his fists. “The woman has caused a great deal of heartache to me betrothed and her daughter with her slanderous lies. What in the bloody hell did I ever do to her to have her send ye to kill me?”

“I was to wound you—not kill you,” O’Brien replied.

Flaherty shook his head. “Ah well, that’s all right then, isn’t it?”

“You’re not dead,” O’Brien said.

“Neither are ye. If it had been daylight, and ye hadn’t been hidden in the thick of the trees, my aim would have been true, and I’d be carting yer lifeless body to the undertaker.”

O’Brien didn’t bother to argue. “I may have to learn to shoot left-handed.”

Flaherty eyed the man. If what O’Brien was claiming were true—and Flaherty believed it was—then he deserved a second chance. “How are ye at bare-knuckle fighting?”

“I hold my own.”

“The lot of us, me brothers, cousins, and I, were bare-knuckle champions back home.”

O’Brien flashed a grin. “I wouldn’t mind going a few rounds with you.”

The longer Flaherty talked to the man, the more he believed what O’Brien was saying. Thinking of Greene, he asked, “Did she offer ye certain favors if ye shot me?”

O’Brien’s eyes widened. He shook his head, turned, and spat on the ground. “She’s done this before.” It wasn’t a question.

“Aye. Though I’m certain ye’d be a fine catch for any lucky young lass—as long as ye change yer ways and aren’t duped into shooting a man for performing his duties.

A man ruled by his bollocks doesn’t always think things through.

But I’m willing to give ye a second chance. Are ye interested in one?”

O’Brien struggled to lift his arm, but managed to put his hand over his heart. Sweat beaded at his temples and trickled down the sides of his face. It was obvious he was in pain. “I am.” He let his hand drop to his side and blew out a breath, panting.

“Any man who would go to the trouble of swearing a vow with the same arm he’d just been shot in is a man worthy of being given a second chance. It’ll take some fast talking and maybe surviving a round of bare-knuckle with all four of us.”

“I thought there were more than that.”

Flaherty grinned and cursed. Every time he shifted his facial muscles, his face hurt like bloody hell. “There’re sixteen of us in all, but we’re spread out, as the duke has more than one estate that needs guarding.”

O’Brien’s shoulders slumped and he hung his head. “The way word travels in this village, and if Susana hears what happened before you speak to her, no woman would have me after what I’ve done.”

Flaherty’s ancestors had been pitted against similar situations for years. He wasn’t a stranger to such tactics. “We’ve countered lies and slander successfully before. But if ye prefer, and if His Grace agrees, I’m certain we can find a spot for ye in London.”

“I’ll confess my sins to the vicar, and apologize to the duke, if you will convince him to give me a second chance.”

“I’m thinking Miss Harkness needs to be confessing her sins,” Flaherty grumbled. “She embroiled another man who worked for her brother in her schemes that I wouldn’t have minded adding to our number, but it’s out of me hands now.”

O’Brien’s frown was fierce. “I have only been working for Harkness for a sennight. His sister tried to tempt me into more than a few lascivious kisses.” He shook his head, looked up, and met Flaherty’s gaze. “But bloody hell! We were in the stables. Anyone could have interrupted us.”

Flaherty nodded, more than pleased that his gut feeling was bearing fruit. “Ye have principles. But I’m needing to know what had ye accepting her offer in the first place.”

“I won’t lie to you, it was the way she walked and sidled up next to me that set me on fire. I haven’t had the pleasure of bedding a woman in a while.”

“Working for His Grace, it has been some time for me as well. If ye work for him, ye won’t have time to even think about a quick tumble. Ye’ll be dodging lead balls, cudgels, knifes—”

“All manner of weapons,” O’Brien interrupted.

“Aye. Grab on to me arm, and I’ll help ye up.”

O’Brien stood and seemed grateful for the aid.

Flaherty waited a moment for the man to stop swaying on his feet.

As he’d been shot before, Flaherty knew O’Brien was fighting the pain, hoping it would subside to a bearable level.

“If yer aim had been slightly to the right, me cousins would be praying over me corpse this night. It would have put off me wedding.”

O’Brien’s shout of laughter had Flaherty smiling. “Wouldn’t that be a tale to tell, that a lass in the Lake District married a corpse!” O’Brien’s laughter died as his expression changed. “She didn’t mention that you were getting married. When is the wedding?”

“As soon as the vicar has five minutes.”

O’Brien sighed. “Maybe someday I’ll find a woman that puts that kind of look in my eye.”

“Look?”

“Aye. You’re head over heels.”

Flaherty drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “That I am, O’Brien, though me cousins prefer telling me that I’m arse over head.”

“A more apt description.”

“I’ll not tie yer hands behind yer back if ye give me yer word ye won’t try to escape.”

“You have it.”

“Where’s yer horse?”

O’Brien pointed. “I left him just behind the oaks grouped tightly together.”

“Whistle for him. If he doesn’t come, then I’ll fetch him.”

O’Brien whistled, a rustling sounded, and a few moments later a horse pushed his way through the branches, and trotted toward them.

“Good lad,” Flaherty crooned, reaching for the gelding’s halter.

“I know yer arm must be paining ye. I’ll give ye a leg up.

” O’Brien groaned as Flaherty helped him gain the horse’s back, careful not to let the man topple over the other side of his horse. “Ye’ve a fine horse.”

O’Brien smiled as his horse lifted his head as if agreeing. “He knows it.”

“I’m thinking we made a friend, laddie,” Flaherty told his horse as he vaulted into his saddle.

“But it’ll take more than me horse taking a shining to ye to convince His Grace to help ye.

I’ll need all me powers of persuasion, and yerself to be honest with the duke when he questions ye. Can ye do that?”

“I will do that.” O’Brien’s gaze latched on to Flaherty’s. “I may need to ask a favor.”

“Ye can ask, but I won’t guarantee that I’ll be able to do it.”

“Are you handy with a needle and thread?”

Flaherty’s laughter was his answer. “We’ll see that yer wounds are sewn back together, with boiled threads and a sharp needle that has been seared to lessen the chances of infection.”

“I don’t deserve your kindness after letting me cock make decisions for me.”

“Well now, ye wouldn’t be the first man to be led astray by a wanton woman,” Flaherty replied. “Ye won’t be the last.” His horse snorted, and Flaherty apologized, “I’m sorry to have mentioned it.”

O’Brien stared. “How long have you been having conversations with your horse?”

“Any Irishman has the gift—he just has to open his mind and become attuned to what his horse is thinking.”

“No wonder you offered me a second chance,” O’Brien grumbled. “You’re insane.”

Flaherty’s answering laughter followed them back to Wyndmere Hall.