Chapter One

T homas O'Malley waited while his cousin Ryan Garahan read the missive he'd received from his brother Darby. The youngest Garahan brother was recovering from a serious injury, and the entire guard had been on tenterhooks waiting for good news. After a few moments, the wait became uncomfortable.

A realist, Thomas knew dreams were best left to children, hopes to lasses just out of the schoolroom, and that prayers often went answered. "Sure and yer ma is a firm believer that bad news arrives ahead of the good, like me own."

His cousin's shoulders were rigid with tension. "Three weeks, and Darby's eyesight has not changed. How could one blow have such an effect? I've been punched in the eye too many times to count. When the worst of the swelling had gone, me vision always improved."

O'Malley was careful not to add to Garahan's worry. "'Tis the same for meself. Did yer brother say his sight worsened?"

Garahan sighed. "Nay. Did ye ever wonder how the lot of us avoided serious injury during our time fighting to claim our county's bare-knuckle championship title?"

"Skill, I'm thinking. Why?"

"Our older brothers held the titles before us," Garahan said. "We had to fight harder than they did, the competition was fierce."

"Aye, but not one of us were willing to let the titles our brothers fought for and won go to just anyone." O'Malley grinned. "Unless it was one of us—their stronger, smarter younger brothers."

Garahan nodded. "Did ye ever think that when it was our turn to cross the Irish Sea to seek employment that we'd end up serving His Grace?"

"Nay. I figured we'd be spread out across the city of London. 'Tis big enough."

"Why do ye think His Grace wanted Coventry to find us and hire us?"

O'Malley thought about it for a moment. "I'm thinking 'twas Uncle Patrick's doing. I've no doubt he has been gathering and enlisting his own band of bare-knuckle guardian angels in Heaven. Can ye just picture them, after going a few rounds, finding a few bottles of poitín and trading tales of glory?"

Garahan frowned. "Are ye telling me there's bogs in Heaven?"

"And why not?" O'Malley asked. "'Tis the best place to hide Ireland's illegal brew. It may be all the encouragement those walking that thin line between right and wrong here on earth need…if they knew they'd be sipping Ireland's uisce na beatha in Heaven."

"Water of life me arse ," Garahan grumbled. "I'll have to settle for me flask of the Irish, since ye can't find poitín in England. But ye won't find me wasting me time praying for something that won't happen."

O'Malley's frown was fierce as he remembered the gut-wrenching worry when his eldest brother was seriously injured protecting the duke and his family in London. "We all prayed Sean would not lose his arm." He met the intensity in Garahan's gaze. "Me brother did not heal without heavenly influence."

"What of two gifted surgeons, our cousin Emmett the healer, and the lass who married yer thickheaded brother?" Garahan asked.

"Sure and they helped, but prayer tipped the scales in Sean's favor."

"Are ye telling me that I need to pray harder?" Garahan asked.

"Aye," O'Malley said. "Every prayer whispered from the heart adds weight. Do not discount them, and don't forget that me ma may have married an O'Malley, but she was born a Garahan. She may be a distant cousin to yer da, but if I know Ma, she'll be spreading the word to family and friends to keep Darby in their prayers, as will yers."

When Garahan remained silent, O'Malley laid a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "If ye add the prayers of the rest of yer family, which includes the lot of us in the duke's guard, surely God Himself cannot help but hear and heal and restore yer pain-in-the- arse brother Darby's vision."

Garahan's snort of laughter was a relief. O'Malley had achieved what he'd intended to by distracting his cousin from the worry of Darby adjusting to life with half his vision. He waited a beat before adding what needed to be said: "I've heard more than one lass mention a black eyepatch adds intrigue and a bit of danger to a man's appearance. Though why a lass would be attracted to danger is beyond the likes of me."

"The lasses who've married into our families are living, breathing proof the element of danger attracted them," Garahan said.

O'Malley agreed. "Beautiful proof."

Garahan jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow and shoved him with a shoulder. "That's for staring at me wife yesterday. 'Tis past time ye found yer own woman."

O'Malley chuckled. "Ye might try putting a sack over her head. 'Tis the only way to keep us from staring at Prudence."

Garahan's expression darkened, and O'Malley recognized the look. He understood it wasn't only jealousy. His cousin needed to purge the twisted mass of temper and worry swirling inside of him. Luckily for Garahan, O'Malley had the cure. "Well now, I'd be happy to go a few rounds with ye."

Garahan's face lost all expression as he pivoted, balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, and struck the first blow.

O'Malley had been expecting the uppercut. He took it as his due for inciting his cousin to throw the first punch. He responded with a quick jab to his cousin's smiling face. Garahan's split lip had O'Malley grinning. "That's first blood, me boy-o!"

In answer, Garahan hit low and inside, close enough to O'Malley's bollocks to have him sweeping a foot under Ryan's leg, knocking him off balance. Garahan quickly recovered and rallied with a right cross. O'Malley evaded the blow and growled, "What the feck is wrong with ye? I'm after helping ye blow off steam—and ye thank me trying to cripple me ability to procreate?"

Garahan just stood there. No expression. No smart- arsed comeback.

O'Malley's blood chilled in his veins. He knew then that his cousin hadn't told him everything. He lowered his guard and stepped back. "What aren't ye telling me, Ryan?"

The pained expression lasted a heartbeat before his cousin set his jaw and shrugged.

"If ye don't tell me, how in the bloody hell can ye expect me to understand and try to help?"

"Ye can't help. No one can. 'Tisn't up to the likes of us to wonder why Ma's youngest will have to live the rest of his life with the use of only one eye!"

O'Malley understood the depths of his cousin's worry. "Why didn't ye tell me, or at least tell Flaherty?"

Garahan didn't answer.

O'Malley needed answers. "How long have ye known?" The stubborn eedjit shrugged again, prompting O'Malley to remind him, "Captain Coventry has learned to use the rest of his senses to balance for the loss of his vision—and his eye! Every one of us has seen him fight. The captain is fierce in hand-to-hand combat, and the very devil with a blade. I would know. I'm the family expert and dubbed the duke's rapier."

His cousin blew out a breath and glared at O'Malley. "Ye may be the expert with thin blades," he countered, "but I'm the duke's saber ."

O'Malley had prodded his cousin's pride to see how deeply Garahan's worry was. The fact that Garahan would use the thickness of his blade against his cousin's told O'Malley that Garahan's worry went all the way to the bone. O'Malley taunted him, "Ye want to cross blades with me?"

Before Garahan could respond, a familiar deep voice rumbled from off to their left. "I knew the Irish were a bloodthirsty lot, but you O'Malleys, Garahans, and Flahertys must be a rare breed."

O'Malley faced the baron and said, "'Tis why we were hired to protect His Grace. We're not just bloodthirsty, we know the importance of constantly testing our strength and skill against one another. Keeping our skills honed and sharp in order to protect and defend His Grace's family." With constant practice, the duke's guard had become a force to be reckoned with.

Garahan, God love the eedjit , squelched his temper instantly and told the baron, "'Tis our pleasure to be guarding yer family, especially those twin scamps ye have been fostering while waiting for the squire's trial and his wife's."

"They are a handful," O'Malley agreed. "A fond reminder of when we were their age."

Summerfield sighed. "As they're related to you, Garahan, it shouldn't be a surprise that they are always getting into mischief."

O'Malley grinned. "Ye're forgetting one thing, yer lordship."

"What would that be?" Summerfield asked.

"The squire's twins are blood kin to Prudence, but Garahan only through marriage."

The baron raked a hand through his hair. "True, it is a relief."

"Why would that be?" Garahan asked.

Summerfield chuckled. "It isn't in their blood to be as thickheaded as you and O'Malley."

"Don't forget Flaherty," Garahan replied. "His head is thicker than most."

"Are either of you going to tell me what's happened that has the two of you growling like a pair of territorial wolfhounds?" the baron asked.

O'Malley had to ask, "What makes ye think anything's going on?"

"You men have adhered to my request not to get involved in a bare-knuckle contest—"

Garahan interrupted, "Practice, yer lordship."

"I have seen your practice sessions, Garahan. This was not practice, leaving me to ask, what has you ignoring my edict?"

O'Malley didn't want the baron to think they would go against their word. "Ryan needed a well-placed reminder. He received news from Darby that has him rattled. I was encouraging him to share the rest of what the missive contained."

"With threats of crossing blades with him?" the baron asked.

O'Malley knew he needed to explain fully. "As with all blows traded, it escalated when I used Coventry as an example of a brave, fierce warrior relying on the sight in one eye. I could not mention Coventry's skill in a fight without mentioning his skill with a blade."

"And I felt compelled to remind O'Malley that he may have earned the nickname of the duke's rapier, but I'm the duke's saber." Garahan turned and smirked at his cousin. "Everyone knows a saber is the thicker blade, and therefore deadlier."

"Neither blade is as thick as yer head," O'Malley grumbled.

"Enough!" The baron's voice brooked no argument. "I need to speak with you, O'Malley, before you leave to patrol the area between here and the village."

O'Malley and Garahan's attention instantly riveted on the baron. "Is there something ye need me to be on me guard for while on patrol?" O'Malley asked.

"Vicar Chessy sent word that his niece wasn't on the mail coach as expected."

O'Malley's gut clenched at the news. The baron had mentioned the lass's predicament to them in passing. Until now, Summerfield had not asked them to include Miss Gillingham with those they already protected. "Where was she last seen?"

"At an inn a few hours' ride from here. The missive the vicar received is from the keeper of the inn where they changed horses yesterday."

"Did the vicar give any indication as to what happened?"

"Only what the innkeeper advised in his message, and I quote: Miss Caroline Gillingham arrived as expected, but did not depart on the mail coach for the final leg of her journey." Summerfield added, "Miss Gillingham was last seen walking toward the shops near the inn."

"Alone?" Garahan asked.

O'Malley locked gazes with his cousin before asking, "There's more that ye aren't telling us. Isn't there, yer lordship?"

The baron inclined his head. "One of the female passengers approached the innkeeper, expressing her concern. Apparently, Miss Gillingham had confessed that she did not have the fare to continue on to Summerfield-on-Eden, but had a plan for how to get the coin."

Garahan's frown was fierce. "The vicar has to be beside himself with worry after what his daughter, me wife, and the blacksmith's daughter experienced when they were abducted a few weeks ago."

Summerfield reminded them, "No one was unduly harmed."

"Thanks to me wife, O'Ghill, and meself," Garahan added.

"Aye," O'Malley agreed. "Me cousin-in-law is a brave lass." He turned to the baron and asked, "Can ye tell us anything about Miss Gillingham's background, yer lordship?"

"Vicar Chessy's widowed sister passed away a fortnight ago. He has been in constant communication with his niece, but given his circumstances with what happened to his daughter, the vicar was not able to leave to collect his niece and bring her to the vicarage. He feels responsible and fears something untoward has happened to her."

The baron fell silent then, and O'Malley sensed his lordship was reliving the sequence of events that culminated with the baroness being struck on the back of the head and the squire's twin sons coming to live with them. To distract him, he said, "The vicar has had his hands full keeping a close eye on his daughter and the blacksmith's daughter. 'Tis common to have a delayed reaction to trauma."

"Prudence, having shared in that experience, seems to have helped the lass's recovery," Garahan reminded him.

O'Malley asked, "Do ye need me to go to the posting inn and make discreet inquiries?"

"Inquiries, me arse ," Garahan grumbled. "Find the lass!" When the baron cleared his throat, Garahan ducked his head. "Begging yer pardon, yer lordship, for speaking out of turn."

"As it happens, Garahan," Summerfield said, "that is precisely what the vicar has asked, and I have agreed to."

O'Malley nodded. "I'll need as many details as ye have, yer lordship."

A quarter of an hour later, O'Malley had a firm grip on his temper. Garahan had received yet another missive—this time from his cousin Killian. Whenever O'Ghill showed up, shite happened.

Somehow, O'Ghill had ended up at the same inn the vicar's niece had last been seen. Moreover, he had somehow gotten involved. Along with sending a description of Miss Caroline Gillingham, the irritating O'Ghill assured Garahan that the lass was unharmed and waiting for one of the duke's guard to come and fetch her, as O'Ghill had other business that prevented him from delivering her.

Hah! O'Malley ground his teeth together until his jaw ached. O'Ghill always acted on his own and never listened to reason. Damned if the bugger didn't always come out of whatever trouble he was in smelling like a fecking rose.

O'Malley urged his horse to a gallop as he rode hard toward the last place the vicar's niece had been seen…the inn. His gut had never been wrong, and he trusted it now. The lass was in trouble, and O'Ghill was somehow tangled up in it.