Chapter Twelve

O 'Malley stalked toward the stables. He could not have envisioned events transpiring the way they had in the last twelve hours. He'd completed the first late night patrol to the village and back, relieved that all was quiet. Never one to take things at face value, he nodded to Garahan, who was guarding the exterior of the baron's house, and headed toward the village for the second trip…just to ensure all was as it should be.

The second time he approached the vicarage, he saw the back door open and a woman rush across the yard to the barn. As the moon slipped from behind a cloud, its shimmering silver beam illuminated the figure. Bloody hell! What was the lass doing out of the house at this time of night…and still dressed? Had she not been to bed yet?

O'Malley tried to move slowly so as not to call attention to himself, but the lass must have keen hearing. Her head shot up, and her hand went to her ample breast. Curse me hide for noticing. He was close enough that she instantly relaxed her stance, dropping her hand. Dismounting, he walked to the picket fence separating the gardens on either side of the vicarage from the road.

As if in a trance, the lass slowly walked toward the gardens. As she wound her way in and around the herbs and flowers, the hem of her gown brushed against rosemary and lavender, releasing their fragrance into the night. With the fence between them, she asked, "What are you doing here at this hour, O'Malley?"

"I might ask ye the same, lass."

They stared at one another for a few moments before she glanced away. "I couldn't sleep."

Striving to keep the frustration and irritation out of his voice, he leaned over the fence and asked, "So ye decided to take a walk outside. In the middle of the night, without an escort, when there's a good chance a madman is headed this way?"

She lifted a shoulder, and he could not help but notice how the moonlight cooled her fiery locks until they were pale in comparison to the brilliant red that had captured his attention when he first laid eyes on her.

"Do ye have no concern for yer own safety? Is that what had ye traipsing off to the pawnbroker instead of sending a message to yer uncle from the inn?" Before she could form an answer, he continued, "He would have sent me sooner, if ye had."

"Why would he send you?" Caroline asked.

O'Malley straightened to his full height. "I'm head of the duke's guard at Summerfield Chase. The baron sets great stock in Garahan, Flaherty, and meself. He depends upon us to protect Lady Phoebe, and now that they have taken the squire's twin sons under their wing, the lads are included in those we protect."

"Mrs. Garahan's cousins?"

"Aye, lass. The scamps are cousins to Prudence."

A cloud passed over the moon, and for a heartbeat, he could not see her face. They were standing close enough that O'Malley noticed her shivers. The moon emerged, caressing her face once more with its gentle light. Her freckles were darker, while her spectacles cast a shadow over her eyes.

"Best go back in the house, lass. 'Tis damp. Ye'll catch a chill." When she made no move to obey, he added, "'Tisn't safe out here."

"You're out here."

"'Tis me job to patrol to the village and back."

"From what Melanie mentioned, the baron's estate is a few miles from the village. Shouldn't you be concerned that it isn't safe?"

He chuckled. "That's different—"

Before he could say anything more, the lass folded her arms beneath her breasts, calling his attention to them once more. He resisted the urge to let his gaze drop.

"If you are going to say it is because you are a man," Caroline rasped, "do not bother." She turned her back on him and retraced her steps to the barn, mumbling to herself all the while.

O'Malley tied his reins to one of the pickets and whispered to his horse, "Be a good lad." He opened the gate and followed in her footsteps, and was a step behind her when the lass spun around and bumped into him. O'Malley reached out to steady her and felt her trembling. The urge to soothe took hold, and instead of releasing her, he pulled her into his arms.

"O'Malley?"

"Ye have a way of staying on a man's mind, lass."

"I… I do?"

He tucked a loose wave of silken hair behind her ear and traced the tips of his fingers along the curve of her cheek. O'Malley gently tapped a finger beneath her chin until she raised her head and met his gaze. There was little color except varying shades of gray at midnight, but he recalled with clarity the vibrant red of her wavy hair, and that the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and apples of her cheeks were pale brown. Drawn to her, he gave in to need and lowered his mouth to hers, pausing when their lips were a breath apart.

She whispered, "Thank you."

He chuckled. "Ah, lass, I haven't kissed ye yet."

Her soft laughter tied his guts into a hard knot. "Thank you for retrieving Mum's locket and my father's watch."

O'Malley splayed one hand against the middle of her back and drew her closer. "Ye're welcome, lass." He settled his lips on hers, pressing firmly while drinking in the soft feel of her supple mouth. Her lips warmed by degrees, and he inhaled the subtle scent of rosemary and lavender that clung to her from brushing against the herbs in the garden. Tasting the tangy-tart essence of her, he wanted more. Needed more.

He abruptly ended the kiss, carefully easing her out of his embrace, until he was holding her upper arms once more. "Ye pack a punch, lass."

"A punch?"

"Aye, feels as if ye just delivered an uppercut beneath me jaw." He shook his head and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "Ye need to go inside—ye're cold to the touch."

Hands to her lips, she continued to stare without speaking.

Concern filled him. He knew he hadn't asked permission to kiss her, but he had paused. She could have pushed away. "Are ye wanting an apology?"

She shook her head.

"Well then, that's something." It dawned on him that it had taken the lass a few moments to realize she was being kissed before the stiffness left her. When it had, she melted against him, kissing him back. "I have to ask ye, and I'm meaning no disrespect, but am I the first to kiss yer sweet lips?"

Her eyes filled. "Nay."

Moved by her tears, instead of feeling jealous that he wasn't the first to kiss her, O'Malley rasped, "I did not mean to rush ye, lass. Forgive me."

When she burrowed into his embrace, he said, "I have to continue on me patrol. Flaherty's waiting to relieve me."

She gently pushed against him until he released her. "I'm sorry. I do not know what came over me."

O'Malley did not want to rattle the lass more than he already had by telling her he knew what had drawn her to his embrace. "Go on inside now, and bolt the door behind ye. The good vicar would have heart palpitations if he knew ye were wandering in his gardens at this hour."

She laid a hand on his forearm, and he felt pinpricks of heat through his coat sleeve. Did she realize her touch branded him as hers?

"Goodnight, O'Malley."

This time he let her go, waiting until she opened the door and he heard the bolt slide into place. He may not have been the first man to kiss her, but by God, he would see to it that he would be the only man from this moment forward!

He untied the reins, mounted his horse, and rode through the village. Half a mile out, he nudged his horse from a walk to a trot. The road ahead had a few dips that were not a problem by the light of day, but could be treacherous at night. When they reached the part of the road he knew was smooth, he leaned close to his horse's ear and promised, "There's a cup of oats waiting for ye, laddie." As if the gelding understood, he increased his pace to a fast trot.

Horse and rider rode the rest of the way to Summerfield Chase in silence, attuned to the shadows on the road and the forest creatures that roamed along the very edge where the fields met the woods. The hoot of an owl had him smiling. A mile away from the stables, he heard the call of a nightbird.

Pulling on the reins as he reached the stables, he rubbed a hand on his gelding's neck and dismounted. After leading the animal into the barn, he rubbed the horse down, watered him, and gave him the promised cup of oats. All the while O'Malley's thoughts were tangled, twisting him up with images of kissing the lass and tumbling down with her onto—

He called on his steely control and set those thoughts aside. Miss Caroline Gillingham was an innocent. O'Malley had no business thinking of her that way. With the trouble headed to their door, he had no business thinking of her at all. He had a vow to keep, and nothing would stop him from doing so.

A short while later, it was his turn to grab a few hours of sleep. Lying on his back staring at the ceiling, he knew that he would never be able to forget the feel of the lass, her smile, or her generous curves. He closed his eyes but could not stop thinking of her, so he started counting all of the bare-knuckle bouts he'd won to become champion. Finally, he was able to put the lass from his mind and steal a few hours of much-needed sleep.

A shout woke him. He sat up and ran a hand over his face as the call sounded closer this time. "O'Malley?"

"Aye, coming!" He tossed the covers aside, grabbed his frockcoat where he'd left it over the back of a chair, and headed for the door.

Garahan collided with him in the doorway. "O'Ghill sent word. Melanie and Caroline are missing!"

"They cannot have gotten far." He squinted at the horizon and saw the sun had barely broken over it. "The lass was in the garden about four hours ago."

Garahan grabbed him by the shoulder and bit out, "How in the bloody hell would ye know?"

"I was talking to her."

He let go of his cousin and shoved him backward. "Ye were supposed to be on patrol!"

O'Malley glared at Garahan. "I haven't even cleared the sleep from me eyes, and ye're thinking to tell me how to do me job?"

Flaherty joined them, his face unreadable. "Argue later. We have got to find the lasses."

Garahan put his foot out to trip O'Malley, who anticipated the move and leapt over his cousin's foot. "Ye're a predictable eedjit, Ryan."

" Feck that! What in the bloody hell were ye doing talking to Miss Gillingham at midnight?"

"Telling her she had no business heading to the barn at that hour and to go inside!" O'Malley curled his hand into a tight fist, but instead of tossing the punch his cousin deserved, he hit himself in the forehead…twice.

Garahan chuckled. "So it's like that, is it?"

"Like what?" O'Malley grumbled.

"She's got ye twisted up into knots so tight ye don't know whether to shake some sense into her or to kiss the breath out of her."

O'Malley snorted. "Something like that."

Flaherty raised his eyes heavenward and groaned. " Feck me, not another one."

Garahan put his arm around O'Malley's shoulders and said, "Now that yer head is clear, did ye see the lass go into the house?"

"Do ye think I'd leave without seeing for meself that she not only walked into the vicarage, but waited to hear the bolt slide into place and lock?"

Garahan grunted in response.

"What else did O'Ghill's missive say?" O'Malley asked.

"Mrs. Chessy heard a door close an hour or so ago, but thought she'd dreamt it."

"Where in the hell would the lasses be going before dawn?" O'Malley mumbled.

Flaherty rolled his eyes. "I have an idea where they've gone."

"Let's hear it, Dillon," O'Malley said.

"Me cousin Nora still likes to sneak out at dawn and head to the meadow." When his cousins stared at him, Flaherty shrugged, "Did ye forget about morning dew?"

O'Malley yanked on his hair. "Bugger it, Flaherty, just spit it out!"

Garahan groaned. "Ye could have the right of it, Dillon. Me cousins Siobhan, Brigid, and Aisling used to sneak out to a certain spot in one of the fields where a particular clump of wildflowers grew. They'd bathe their faces in the morning dew."

O'Malley was incredulous. "How old were they, and what in the bloody hell they would they do that for?"

Flaherty shook his head. "If ye don't recall that morning dew has been blessed by the fae and is sure to help a lass attract the man of her dreams, then ye've been gone from home too long."

"I didn't forget," O'Malley barked. "I never believed it."

"I'll stay here and speak to his lordship," Garahan said. "Send Flaherty back if ye don't find them in the fields behind the graveyard."

Jaw set, O'Malley nodded. "We will split up and enter the village from different directions. We will find them!"