Chapter Eighteen

O 'Malley reined in his horse in front of the smithy and dismounted. He bloody well hoped Coleman would be agreeable to sending his daughter to the baron's estate to ensure her safety. If he had to, he'd be stating hard facts to remind the man how his daughter had been abducted just a few storefronts down from his forge!

Coleman lifted his head and waved to O'Malley through the open double doors as he was tying the reins to a post outside. "Aren't you early for the midmorning patrol?"

"We're changing it up a bit," O'Malley answered as he stepped into the shop. "'Tis the best way to keep everyone on their toes." The blacksmith nodded as he worked the bellows, breathing life back into the fire. O'Malley watched for a moment, then said, "His lordship asked me to speak to ye and yer daughter this morning…at the vicarage."

Coleman's head snapped up, and his eyes blazed. "Is it about is that blackhearted bastard?"

O'Malley had a split-second warning. It was all he needed as Coleman's meaty fists pounded into the wooden support post a hairsbreadth from his face. Impressed by the force of the lightning-fast blows, he waited a beat before saying, "Yer jabs are a thing of beauty. Why haven't you taken Garahan up on his offer to spar with us? We'd welcome the chance to go a few rounds with ye."

Coleman scrubbed his hands over his face, ignoring the blood seeping from his split knuckles. "I haven't had the time. Every spring there's always a glut of repair work…plow blades and tools need straightening and sharpening. We seem to grow rocks around here. Don't get me wrong, they're a bonus when building stone fences, but are hell on the blade of a plow and the tines of a pitchfork."

"I remember well, as I grew up on a farm in County Wexford. We were always building rock walls from those we turned up with the plow."

Coleman nodded. "Please tell his lordship that I'm grateful for O'Ghill and the Stanbridge boy guarding my Olivia and Melanie. I have tried to keep an eye on my daughter, but with all this work"—he swept his hand toward the stack of tools and blades beside the forge—"I've been struggling to do both. The men are a godsend." He frowned. "Olivia and Melanie have been friends since birth, and both look for trouble…or are apt to wander off if the notion takes hold of them. I still cannot believe that Melanie got it in her head that she and Olivia needed to wash their faces with morning dew in the field beyond the graveyard the other morning. And all because of fairytales they'd heard when they were little girls."

"The lasses will need to be cautious of the tween times," O'Malley warned. "The fae prefer those times."

"What is that?"

"'Tis more when than what," O'Malley said. "The veil between worlds is thin at certain times of the day—the between hours, when it's easier to slip into the faery realm. Just as it is at certain times of the year."

Coleman shook his head. "Now you are starting to sound like my daughter and the vicar's." He glanced at his forge again and shook his head. "I can't leave to go to the vicarage and leave the fire untended. The chance of a spark igniting is too great. I wouldn't risk the safety of my daughter, or anyone in the village. I am more than happy to help, but you need to catch me before dawn, before I light my forge, or wait until after I bank the fire for the night."

O'Malley nodded. "Do I have yer permission to escort yer daughter there?"

"Aye, if you tell me the reason, and whether or not it has to do with Anderson."

"It does," O'Malley replied. "His lordship feels the safest place for yer daughter and the vicar's family is Summerfield Chase."

"Isn't Olivia safer now that the Stanbridge boy and O'Ghill are sharing the duty guarding them?"

"They are," O'Malley replied. "We understand that neither yerself nor the vicar can neglect yer duties to hover around yer daughters."

The blacksmith studied O'Malley for a few moments. "Has something occurred that I need to know about?"

"Anderson is being closely watched. I can say no more."

"I'll kill him if he comes near Olivia!"

"And hang for the murder of a member of the ton ?" O'Malley could not believe the widowed blacksmith would do that. "She'd be an orphan then. Ye'd leave yer daughter without her da?" Coleman fell silent, and O'Malley knew his question had hit home. "Leave Anderson to us."

The blacksmith nodded. "She can go with you to the vicarage, but she may not leave the village without my permission."

"Ye have me word on it. Thank ye." They shook hands, and O'Malley walked around the back of the building to Coleman's house to knock on the door.

*

O'Ghill reined in his horse in front of the vicarage, dismounted, and tied off the reins on the wooden fence. He opened the gate and walked to the front door. At the sound of rustling behind him, he looked over his shoulder in time to see his horse gently lipping at the vicar's flowers. "Ye cannot be eating those!"

His horse didn't bother to lift his head…or stop. O'Ghill mumbled about horses, and hardheaded females, while he untied the reins to lead his flower-nibbling horse toward the barn. "I cannot trust ye not to keep eating those blooms. Ye'll have to stay in the barn until I deliver Mrs. Garahan's invitation."

Soft laughter filtered out through the partially closed barn door. Intrigued by the sound, which was growing closer by the moment, O'Ghill slowed his steps and waited. He didn't have to wait long before the barn door burst open and the owner of the laughter ran into him.

He caught Melanie as she bounced off his chest, preventing her from landing on her backside. "Where are ye off to in such a hurry, lass?"

Wide, guileless blue eyes latched on to his. She all but melted against him. "I knew you'd come back for me." Without a hint of what she intended, the lass wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

O'Ghill slid his hands to her wrists and, as gently as possible, pried her loose. "What are ye thinking, lass? 'Tis the middle of the morning, and anyone could be looking out the window or walking toward the barn."

When she didn't answer him, he steeled himself to ignore the lass and walked toward the house. The front door opened as he was poised to knock. Had the vicar's wife been watching through the window? Should he tell her what happened in front of the barn just now, or wait for her to ask?

Bollocks! He had no time for schoolgirl games.

"I have a message for ye from Mrs. Garahan." At the concern on Mrs. Chessy's face, he added, "'Tis more in the way of an invitation."

"Thank you, O'Ghill. Why don't you come in and visit with Caro while I read the message? I may need to pen a reply."

"I can deliver a verbal message for ye, if ye like."

"That is so kind of you. Please. Come into the parlor." He followed behind the vicar's wife. "Caro, O'Ghill just arrived with a message for me—won't you keep him company while I read it?"

"Of course, Aunt. Good morning, Killian. I hope it is good news that you bring."

"I wouldn't be knowing." Now, he could guess, but he wouldn't be mentioning that fact to the lass. He glanced at her bandage. "How are ye feeling this morning?"

"A little better, thank you." Her eyes seemed clearer.

"I'm pleased to hear it, Caroline." He turned to the vicar's wife and said, "I'll wait outside for yer reply, Mrs. Chessy."

"That won't be necessary. I would love to accept Mrs. Garahan's invitation on behalf of my daughter, my niece, and myself," she replied. "We would be delighted to take tea with her this afternoon."

Caroline's choked cry had O'Ghill turning around to face her. "What's wrong?"

"Aunt Josephine, I can't go anywhere. Especially to Summerfield Chase! My face is still bandaged and would cause no end of speculation as to how horrific the scar will be."

Mrs. Chessy sighed, and Caroline said, "I shall be fine while you enjoy taking tea with Mrs. Garahan, Aunt. Lyman Stanbridge is still on guard."

Mrs. Chessy sighed. "I'm afraid we cannot go, O'Ghill. Please send our regrets."

He nodded and bade them goodbye. The baron would not be happy that the invitation had been turned down. He could understand why, but still, Summerfield would not be pleased. Mayhap O'Malley would have better luck with Olivia.