Chapter Fourteen

W hen they arrived, Olivia was standing by the front door, waiting with Mrs. Chessy. The twin expressions of horror on their faces were telling—the two women had assumed what O'Malley and the others had. Before he could tell them not to worry, Mrs. Chessy lifted her chin and pasted a false smile on her face to greet them.

Olivia had a far different reaction—she wavered on her feet as her eyes rolled up in the back of her head. If not for the fast reflexes of Stanbridge, she would have crumpled at their feet. The lad swept her into his arms and followed the vicar's wife into the house. Once inside, Olivia came out of her swoon and Mrs. Chessy told Stanbridge, "Set Olivia on the chair by the window, Lyman." After Stanbridge did as the vicar's wife bade him, she cautioned him to stand by Olivia in case she felt faint again.

O'Malley and O'Ghill, followed by Flaherty, entered the house. O'Malley could not help but notice Mrs. Chessy's stilted movements, nor that her face was a mask of worry, as she glanced from her daughter to her niece and back again.

"I put the kettle on in anticipation of Melanie and Caro returning," she said, "but it appears that we'll need to heat more water." The woman's hands trembled as she took in her daughter's bloodstained gown, and that of her niece's. She started to reach for her daughter, then abruptly noticed the bandage O'Malley held to her niece's cheek. "I'll ask what happened later. There is so much blood that I cannot discern at a glance—is Caro the only one injured?"

O'Malley answered, "Aye. It appears as though yer daughter was helping her to walk from the stream to the road. When we reached them Melanie fainted, not from injury, but from exhaustion supporting yer niece as they tried to walk home."

"And fear." Melanie, who had been silent the entire ride back to the vicarage, finally spoke. "This is all my fault, Mum."

"We'll talk about it later, dear. Are you able to stand?"

"Yes."

Her mother's sigh of relief was audible. "I need you to put on a large pot of water while I examine Caro's wound." Studying her daughter closely, she hesitated, then asked, "Are you able to do that?"

Before Melanie could answer, O'Ghill spoke up. "I'll fetch the water for ye, and promise to keep an eye on her, Mrs. Chessy."

"Thank you, Killian." There was a sharp intake of breath from behind them. "Olivia, I need your help, too. Please fetch the bandages and my healing herbs from the cupboard in the alcove by the back door."

"Of course, Mrs. Chessy. I'm so sorry—"

"Not now, my dear. We need to take care of Caroline and Melanie."

O'Malley was impressed by the way the older woman took charge. She reminded him of Mrs. O'Toole, the duke's cook at his London town house, and Constance, the cook at Wyndmere Hall. Both women had been instrumental in keeping order among the staff while both residences were under attack a year or so ago.

When Olivia returned with a fresh stack of folded bandages, Mrs. Chessy turned to O'Malley. "Press this on her wound while I wash my hands."

"Aye." He did so and noticed the lass flinch. "Lass, can ye hear me?" Caroline bit her bottom lip, and he knew she had heard him. "Are ye in too much pain to open yer eyes?"

"Dizzy," she answered. "Queasy."

"'Tis expected that ye'd feel that way, given yer injury," he said. "Keep them closed, lass."

The front door swung open, and the vicar stepped inside. "I've brought Dr. Higgins."

O'Malley felt the lass trembling. He leaned close and asked, "Do ye want me to stay?"

Tears gathered among her dark lashes, and he realized she wasn't wearing her spectacles. "Would you, please?"

"Aye." O'Malley turned to the vicar and the physician. "Miss Chessy told us that the lass—er, Miss Gillingham—fell facedown in the stream and hit a rock." Before either man could question him, he added, "The lass said she's dizzy and her stomach is upset."

"To be expected with blood loss—head wounds bleed prodigiously," the physician stated.

"I'm thinking the loss of her glasses may be adding to her dizziness, too," O'Malley said. "They must have slipped off her face when she fell."

"Thank you, O'Malley, Flaherty," the vicar said. "Please thank his lordship—"

Caroline rasped, "Please don't make O'Malley leave, Uncle. I asked him to stay."

"With yer permission, of course," O'Malley said to the vicar.

"I will need someone to hold her still while I cleanse the wound and determine how many stitches it will require to close it," the physician said.

O'Malley frowned at the doctor. In a low voice, he said, "I'm thinking ye may not want to go into any more detail, if ye don't want the lass to paint the room with her bile."

O'Ghill had just entered the room and snorted at his cousin's words. "Best listen to O'Malley. He's been known to empty his guts, if he happens to be nearby when someone else is in the process of doing so. 'Tis a sympathetic reaction, I'm told."

O'Malley was about to curse when he remembered he was in the vicar's home. He grunted instead and watched the lass's lips curve on one side. He leaned down next to her ear and whispered, "Ah, so the idea of me casting up me accounts amuses ye, lass?"

As he'd hoped, both sides of her tempting mouth lifted as she smiled. "You came to my rescue again. Thank you, O'Malley… For everything."

"'Tis me job to protect and defend. Rescuing fair maids comes under the protecting part."

He watched her thick, dark lashes flutter open a smidge more. "I wish I could see your smile, but without my glasses, your face is a blur."

"Ye'd best not be opening them any wider, then, lass. Ye don't want to become dizzy again… It'll make yer stomach churn."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I hate to ask, but when you have time, would you promise to look for my glasses? It will take weeks if I have to replace them."

"That I will, lass. Now rest while the doctor and yer aunt finish washing up."

True to her word, the lass closed her eyes and was so quiet, O'Malley thought she'd fallen asleep until he positioned himself behind her head, prepared to place his hands on either side of her face to hold her still.

"Will you count the stitches for me, O'Malley?"

He had not planned on actually watching the physician sew her face back together. Now he would have to in order to do as she asked. O'Malley raised his eyes to the ceiling before asking, "Are ye certain ye want to know? I could just say 'twas a few, or more than a few."

Caroline licked her lips, and he followed the path of her tongue as it moved across her plump bottom lip. He stifled a groan, surprised when she answered, "No."

"No?"

"I would rather not have you tell me it was only a few, or more than a few," the lass stated.

Curious as to why, he asked, "Is there a reason ye need to know?"

Her eyes opened wide, searching his face before she squinted, then frowned. "It is my face, and I will bear this scar for the rest of my life. When people who have not seen me recently ask what happened, I will be able to tell them what occurred, and how many stitches were needed to close the wound." She dropped her voice to a whisper, adding, "I do not want them to speak of it—it would upset Melanie unduly, as she blames herself, when it wasn't her fault in the least."

She lifted a hand to her cheek, without thinking, and her fingertips brushed against O'Malley's. She dropped her hand to her side and continued, "I would rather my aunt and uncle be spared the retelling of something that should not be made much of. Accidents happen in our lives, and how we react is more important than the whys and wherefores. Aside from that, I would rather be the one questioned about what happened, as I was there, and will be able to tell anyone who asks the exact number of stitches required to set my face to rights."

Her aunt must have heard what they were discussing. Mrs. Chessy walked over to stand at Caroline's side. "Surely you don't mean that, my dear."

"I most certainly do. I remember those poor men returning to our village with scars and missing limbs after the Battle of Salamanca." Caroline's voice broke, but the brave lass never shed a tear.

Giving her and her aunt a few minutes to calm themselves, he changed the subject. "Well now, Miss Gillingham, do ye mean to tell me that if I asked to escort ye to tea at the inn, ye would refuse to go with me because of a paltry wound to yer lovely face?"

She blinked and stared up at him in disbelief. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. "I would never subject you to such public scrutiny."

He wondered why she did not mention the scrutiny she would have to face, as most people with visible scars eventually did. "I've gotten to know most of the shop keeps, as well as the innkeeper and his wife, and most are a friendly lot," O'Malley told her. "Besides, I doubt anyone would say a word when I escort ye, as I am head of the duke's guard."

"We need to close the wound on Miss Gillingham's face before infection has a chance to take hold," the doctor said. "Please place your hands gently, but firmly, on either side of her face."

"Aye, doctor." O'Malley was glad the lass had closed her eyes. He looked over his shoulder and frowned at the ghoulish way Melanie and Olivia stared at the lass. He met the intensity of O'Ghill's gaze. O'Ghill understood the unspoken request and escorted them from the room. Mrs. Chessy stayed behind as chaperone—not that he felt they needed one. They were in the vicarage, after all.

The lass flinched the first time the physician's needle pierced the skin of her swollen cheek. O'Malley wished he could take her place. He'd been sewn back together more times than he could recall and was immune to the discomfort.

He felt when she clenched her jaw against the pain, and heard the soft rush of air as she tried to use her breathing to control the pain. "Easy, lass—halfway there." She opened her eyes. The tears that welled up unmanned him. "Close yer eyes, lass, and focus on the sound of me voice."

When his words did not seem to help, he struggled to think of something—anything—that would take Caroline's mind off the jab of the needle and pull of the boiled threads. Finally, he thought of the times Ma would rock him after she had had to stitch up one wound or another. When she would rock, she would start to hum, and then she would softly sing.

He began to hum softly at first, and he noticed the lass relax her jaw. Encouraged, and since no one told him to be quiet, he began to sing the lullaby that was as familiar to him as Ma's warm brown eyes, and Da's brilliant green ones.

By the time Dr. Higgins had tied off the last knot, the lass was breathing quietly and on the verge of sleep. The physician reached for the ointment and bandage. "Now then, O'Malley, please lift Miss Gillingham up so I can wrap this thin strip of linen around her head to keep the bandage in place."

The lass opened her eyes and began to breathe rapidly. "Easy now, mo chroí —ye won't want to disturb the doctor's fine stitches," O'Malley said. "Now do ye?"

"I didn't realize he would have to cover half of my face with a bandage and hold it in place with a linen strip," she murmured.

"Ye need to cover yer wound for a few days, lass, and not be worried about it slipping off."

"I… Well…" she murmured. "I had no idea, but I suppose you must be right."

"Place that pillow beneath her head, would you, O'Malley?"

"Aye, Dr. Higgins." O'Malley did as the physician asked, grateful that the lass had closed her eyes once more.

"Mrs. Chessy, I'd like to leave instructions with you, if I may."

"Of course, Dr. Higgins."

"O'Malley?" Caroline whispered.

He leaned closer. "Aye, lass?"

"Could you stay a little longer?"

"I wish I could, but I need to get back to me post." Her tears would be the undoing of him if they continued to fall. "Let me see if I can convince O'Ghill to take me shift for an hour or two. That way, his lordship and his family will be protected."

She placed her hand on his forearm. "Never mind, O'Malley. Mayhap when it is your turn to patrol to our village and back, you might stop in and visit for a few moments."

"That I can do, lass." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a feather-soft kiss to the back of it. The coolness of her hand had him wishing he could stay long enough to hold her while she cried. He sensed she was holding on to her control for his sake, mayhap because she was used to keeping her tears to herself. A mixture of sadness and pride filled him. Caroline Gillingham was a lass he would be proud to claim as his own.

Claim as his own?

His head spun at the thought that just popped into his brain. Examining it from all angles, he realized that his heart was certain, and had been from the moment he unlocked the door to her room at the inn and she stared up at him. His mind slowly warmed to the idea. He'd need to speak to Garahan, to ask for suggestions as to how to go about courting the lass. Ma would split a gut, she'd be so happy—and surprised—that O'Malley would even consider courting a lass. He hadn't since he left Ireland.

His decision made, he gave a slight tug on her hand until she met his gaze. "Promise ye'll do whatever the physician tells ye to, and that ye won't argue with yer aunt when she's standing beside ye, tapping her toe waiting for ye to finish every drop of the calves' foot jelly ye'll no doubt be eating for the next few days."

Caroline made a face, as if she recalled how vile the remedy tasted. The freckles on her scrunched-up nose distracted him. "I promise."

He nodded. "Then I'll be leaving ye in the excellent care of Dr. Higgins and yer aunt."

"You promise to stop by tomorrow?"

He rubbed his chin and went over the patrols for tomorrow in his head. "If I can convince Flaherty to take me midnight shift, I could take his early morning shift—not the dawn shift."

The lass flinched in pain before thanking him. He wished he could take the pain away, but she would have to navigate the road to recovery and all that went with it. He would be able to visit with her, but as he did not possess a magic wand, or crock of gold, he would be unable to take her pain as his own.

He pushed aside the feeling of helplessness and turned to the vicar's wife. "Would ye mind if I knocked on yer door tomorrow after breakfast, Mrs. Chessy?"

"Not at all, O'Malley. Caro will be looking forward to seeing you."

"Thank ye, Mrs. Chessy. Lass?"

Caroline opened her eyes. "Yes?"

"Twenty," he rasped.

She frowned for a moment and then understood he referred to the number of stitches. "I will have no trouble remembering the number, as it's my age."

Though he had not asked outright, he was relieved that she was older than he thought her to be. "When is yer birthday, lass?"

"In a few weeks."

"Rest now, lass."

"I will. Thank you, O'Malley." She started to close her eyes, and he breathed a sigh of relief now that the worst was over.

"Ye're more than welcome, mo chroí ."

Her eyes opened and met his. "You said that before. What does that mean?"

"Me heart."

The lass's mouth fell open, and she made an endearing humming sound before she whispered, "Your heart?"

He grinned. "Aye, lass."

She smiled. "Goodbye, mo chroí ."

O'Malley was still smiling when he thanked the physician and made his way outside. Flaherty's horse was missing. He hadn't noticed his cousin leaving, but Flaherty must have made the decision to report back to his lordship. The lasses had been found, safe and more or less sound. Flaherty would no doubt explain why O'Malley had needed to stay.

"I'll be courting the lass," he told his gelding as he mounted. "Sweeping her off her feet."

"Does that mean ye intend to marry her?" O'Ghill asked, walking toward him.

Bugger it —O'Malley hadn't heard his cousin approaching. "I suppose it does."

O'Ghill grinned. "Well now, I wouldn't celebrate until ye're certain the lass will have ye."

His words were like a blow to the solar plexus, but O'Malley managed not to show how deeply they affected him. "The lass is partial to me."

"We'll see how she feels about ye in the morning."

O'Malley grunted. "Do ye have anything I need to report to his lordship?"

"Nay."

O'Malley stared at his cousin for a few moments before saying what had to be said, though it irked him to do so. "Thank ye for staying on to help watch over the lasses, Killian. It means more than ye know, that ye'd willingly step in to a job ye didn't ask for—working with the likes of me."

O'Ghill snorted with laughter. "Well now, 'tis pure pleasure working with one of the sainted O'Malleys again."

O'Malley shook his head. Leave it to O'Ghill to take the heartfelt thanks he'd offered and make light of it. He was chuckling to himself as he rode back to Summerfield Chase.