Chapter Twenty

A few days later, O'Malley was on patrol in the village again. Though his lordship had given him leave to stop by and visit with the lass, that had been before the recent missives going back and forth between London.

He felt the warmth of the sun on his back as the faint breeze caressed his face. It was a fine day. Finer still because he would see Caroline. Lord willing, he could get her alone long enough to satisfy the overwhelming need to kiss her again.

Shoving the need deep, he sighed. 'Twas more than that, he admitted—he enjoyed her company and was looking forward to seeing the lass without the bandage. Though he'd become used to seeing it, in another few days, the physician would be removing the threads as well.

A double-edged sword, he mused. He knew the lass was anticipating it, while at the same time, he sensed—nay, knew—she dreaded seeing the scar she would carry for the rest of her days. He should introduce her to Tremayne, the former lieutenant in the dragoons who carried a scar from forehead to chin from the slash of a saber. He'd survived the near-killing blow, though the prominent scar had ended his engagement.

Putting himself in Tremayne's place helped O'Malley to understand a bit more of what the lass was feeling and would be facing. After they apprehended Anderson—and they would—he would introduce the two. Gryffyn Tremayne bore the good looks of his forebears with his coal-black hair, a startling contrast to his green eyes. No matter—O'Malley knew the lass was partial to him. Their midnight kiss had spoken volumes.

O'Malley needed to get her alone and speak to her, tell her what was in his heart, and had been, since the day at the inn. The bold way she'd rushed out of her room had had him smiling. He'd automatically grabbed hold of her to steady her and keep her from falling. Their eyes met, and he'd been snared by the winsome lass with wavy red hair, freckles sprinkled on her face—as if by faeries—and eyes the color of morning mist enhanced by her spectacles.

Mine!

He'd thought it then. He was thinking it now. She was the only woman for him, and if he did not tell her that soon, he'd lose her once she got a maggot in her head that she should spend the rest of her life hiding because of her scarred face.

If Caroline had hit any other part of her head on that rock in the stream, her injury could have been one no physician could heal. He'd be reminding the lass of that, and though it would pain him to bring it up, he'd be blunt and tell her that Melanie's brush with disaster should be a stark reminder to all of them just how uncertain, and at times far too short, life could be. But then, the lass had already experienced that, hadn't she?

Reminding her about her cousin was far kinder than speaking of her da's illness and passing, or her mother's. 'Twas why he had spoken to the baron, who had sent missives to the duke and the earl. Thank God for fast horses. They'd delivered their communications between Summerfield Chase, the Lake District, and Sussex. O'Malley now had the blessing of the duke, the earl, and the baron, with the assurance that the vows he planned to take with the lass would not compromise the one he'd sworn to His Grace.

O'Malley would ask for, and receive, the vicar's approval today. By teatime, he would ask Caroline for her hand in marriage. She would shed a few tears of happiness and say yes, right before he pulled her into his embrace and sealed their words with a kiss that would fog her lenses.

For a heartbeat, he wondered if she would be the last hurdle, then dismissed the idea. He would not let the lass destroy what happiness they could find because she doubted he would still love her because of her scar. By God, he would convince her that she loved him, too! They would be taking that walk in the vicar's garden a little later in the day, where he would confess what was in his heart.

Inhaling deeply, he smiled. The stubborn lass was no match for O'Malley when he aimed his considerable charm her way.

All was right in his world as he continued on the road to the village. The sun seemed brighter and the breeze softer now that he'd settled the matter of the lass in his mind. He loved this time of year—it always gave one hope after the cold of winter. Flowers bloomed in bright profusion along the sides of the road, in the meadows, as well as in gardens around the village.

The road he traveled was as familiar as the one back home. He'd ridden this patrol countless times, and could point out the section of stone fence with gaps in it, the cottage with the worn roof, both of which were on the baron's list to be repaired. Up ahead was the copse of fir trees so dense, it was nearly pitch black beneath them. O'Malley reached the spot where the trees grew thick along the road, winding around the outskirts of the village, before they would thin out again, the landmark indicating he was but a short distance from the vicarage.

Approaching the vicar's home, O'Malley reined in, surprised to see a horse and carriage in front of the barn. He frowned. It wasn't the vicar's carriage. Guts in a knot, he urged his horse toward the barn. Stanbridge was nowhere in sight. There was no reason for him to abandon his post! Bloody hell , he and O'Ghill had trusted the lad, had spoken to him more than once about the seriousness of the situation with Anderson, and the probability he would come after the women. O'Malley had specifically warned Stanbridge that under no circumstances should he admit visitors into the vicarage without O'Malley's or O'Ghill's knowledge and approval.

He dismounted, tied his horse to one of the posts of the enclosure, and stormed up to the front door. Intent on rescuing the lasses inside, he pounded on the door. Before he could turn the knob, the door swung open.

"O'Malley!" Stanbridge's guilty expression had O'Malley's hackles rising. "I can explain."

"There's nothing to explain. Ye disobeyed orders. No one is allowed to visit without me approval, or O'Ghill's."

"O'Malley?" Mrs. Chessy walked toward him. "Come and meet Mr. Humbolt. You remember us talking about him. Nelson and Agatha had high hopes he would offer for Caroline's hand."

He remembered, and had meant to track down the blackguard to pummel him for what the man had said to Caroline. He would leave Humbolt with a reminder that he'd never forget for the way he'd treated the lass in her darkest hour.

Without waiting to be introduced, O'Malley strode into the parlor. The lass's eyes were tear-filled and red-rimmed. Her pale-as-flour face called attention to the dark stitches on her cheek. He tried to contain his anger, but her tears had him seeing red!

Incensed, he spun around to face the uninvited guest. "What did ye say to the lass?"

The man blanched at the anger and the pointed question. "What concern is it of yours?"

O'Malley closed the distance between them. "We can handle this one of two ways: ye answer me question, or I toss ye out on yer head."

Mrs. Chessy rushed over to them. "But O'Malley, this is Mr. Humbolt. He's—"

"Nothing to the lass!" O'Malley wanted to plant his fist in the man's face to wipe the superior look off it. After the lass had confided what happened the last time this blackguard showed his face, Humbolt deserved to feel the sharp edge of O'Malley's anger…and the power of his fists. "He disrespected Caroline and maligned her character." He glared at the shorter man and growled, "Ye're leaving. Now!"

The vicar's wife wrung her hands together. "O'Malley, don't you think Mr. Humbolt deserves the opportunity to explain?"

"Nay." He turned back to the man who'd reduced the lass to tears…again. "Well? Will ye answer me question?"

O'Malley gave the man credit for standing his ground, but Humbolt was a fool to do so. It only took a moment to sum up his weaknesses. Too many to list. The widower was no match for O'Malley.

He glanced at the lass and was instantly captivated by the change in her expression. Gratitude, instead of fear, shone in her mist-gray eyes. He wanted more than that from her, but he would not press right now. "I'll be right back, lass. I need to remove the rubbish from the parlor."

"Tell him that we're betrothed, Caroline!" the bag of wind demanded.

The lass darted a look at Humbolt before meeting O'Malley's confident gaze. "We were never betrothed."

"You are mine!"

Humbolt's roar had the lass curling into a tight ball, and she tried to hide in the corner of the settee.

O'Malley's control snapped. He reached for Humbolt's cravat and twisted it. The man's face turned beet red, and his eyes bulged in their sockets. Unable to trust his voice to speak, lest he say something that would have the lass and Mrs. Chessy cringing in fear, O'Malley tossed Humbolt toward the front door. When the man tripped over his own feet, O'Malley lifted him up by the back of his coat and shoved him toward the front door.

O'Malley had enough sense to shut the door behind him. Outside, he shook Humbolt until the man's teeth clacked together and he went lax in Thomas's grip. "Do not ever come near the lass again! If ye so much as even think me intended's name, I'll know, and will chase ye down and make ye wish ye were never born."

The sound of water dripping had O'Malley looking down. He quickly extended his arm, stepped back, and checked his boots to ensure they weren't wet. Pleasure ripped through him. He'd literally scared the piss out of the bugger. Stepping over the puddle, he tightened his grip on the back of Humbolt's coat and carried him to his carriage. Shoving him toward it, O'Malley stared down at the man, crossed his arms, and waited. He did not need to say another word. Humbolt scrambled into his carriage and, with the crack of his whip, got his horses moving toward the barn. Visibly shaking, the man maneuvered his carriage around until it faced the road.

The carriage passed by the spot where O'Malley stood. The wild-eyed expression in the older man's eyes lifted his spirits. He waited until the carriage disappeared before going back inside. Mrs. Chessy was speaking quietly to the lass, while Melanie and Olivia bustled about in the kitchen. No doubt tea was in order. If he were home in Ireland, his ma would have had the whiskey out and ready to pour.

Caroline's eyes met his. He could see the remnants of her tears, and it gutted him. He walked over to her. "I did not mean to make ye cry, lass. I apologize for letting me temper get the better of me. He won't bother ye again." She nodded, and he asked, "Was the man lack-witted? 'Twould explain why he thought ye'd want to speak to him again."

It was Mrs. Chessy who answered. "Apparently, Mr. Humbolt got wind of Bertram's connection to Baron Summerfield."

O'Malley sighed. "And through the baron, he discovered the connection to the earl, and His Grace. Both of who, by the by, would have done exactly what I just did." Which reminded him of the puddle on the front steps. "May I borrow a bucket?"

"Of course, but why would you need one?" the vicar's wife asked.

O'Malley could not hold back his grin. "I need to rinse yer front steps. Seems Humbolt got the message loud and clear enough to scare the—" He cleared his throat. "I'd best leave it at that."

Mrs. Chessy's eyes were bright with laughter. "I see. Thank you for taking care of that chore for me."

He nodded to the vicar's wife and turned back to the lass. "I'm sorry ye had to endure whatever he said to ye. I know it must have been cruel, because he refused to tell me. I won't press ye. I'll be alerting his lordship and the rest of the guard to add Humbolt to the list of those who are not allowed anywhere near ye, lass."

Caroline bit her bottom lip and rasped, "He was surprised to see my injury, and he made a few derogatory comments before telling me how it would turn his stomach to have to see my fractured hatchet face across the breakfast table every morning."

O'Malley wanted to jump on his horse and chase after the bleeding bastard! But the lass's feelings needed soothing. When she bit her plump bottom lip a second time, need rushed through him. He wanted to soothe her lip with the tip of his tongue before he pressed his mouth to hers. Passion and desire twisted inside of him, forcing him to grind his back teeth in frustration.

The lass had just been insulted by the man who had already stomped on her grieving heart the last time he dared to show his face at her home. "I'll make certain he never bothers ye again. After I speak to the vicar, I'll be needing to have a word with ye. Would ye feel up to taking a walk with me in the vicar's gardens this afternoon?"

"I would like that, Thomas."

Looking deep into her eyes, he leaned down and brushed a kiss to her forehead. "Well then, lass, best get yer rest now."

"I'll be looking forward to it." The way her eyes lit, as if from within, enchanted him. The need to enfold her in his arms threatened his control.

He cleared his throat. "I'll just get that bucket." He nodded to the women and walked through the house to the kitchen on his way to the back door.

"It is hanging on the tree by the pump," Mrs. Chessy called out. "Just outside the back door."

His heart was pounding by the time he'd filled the bucket. Caroline was hard to resist, but he could not just grab the lass and haul off and kiss her, especially in front of her aunt, even if the untested passion in Caroline's eyes begged him to. Need wreaked havoc with his control, his heart, and his head. Was this what his brothers, Sean and Michael, and his cousins went through when they realized they'd met the woman who held the other half of their heart?

He attended to the task of cleaning the front steps. Three full buckets of water took care of the lingering odor. By the time he finished, he realized the only thing that would ease the pain in his gut was the lass's promise to marry him. That and kissing the breath out of her until she went limp in his arms. He needed to speak to the vicar at once! Composing a list in his mind, he added that item to the top:

Ask the vicar for Caroline's hand. He could court her after they wed.

Make love to the lass…

No! Not yet! Speak to the vicar, bloody hell! That was already on his list.

Kiss the lass senseless. That he could do after the vicar granted him permission.

Make love to the lass…

Bugger it! Not yet !

Vow to love, honor, and protect the lass for the rest of his days.

Kiss the breath out of the lass after they exchanged vows. Then…and only then, would he be able to make love to the lass. Finally!

With the list complete, his plans firmly in mind, he returned the bucket and opened the back door. "Mrs. Chessy? Me boots are wet, so I won't be coming inside."

"Be right there!" The vicar's wife hurried to the back door. "Thank you, O'Malley. You are more than welcome to remove your boots and have a cup of tea with us."

"Thank ye, but I have to return to me duties. How is the lass?"

Worry evident in her eyes, she apologized, "I'm so sorry that I did not notice how upset Caro was. All I could think was that Humbolt had changed his mind and would offer for her. Thank you for interfering when you did, O'Malley."

"Would ye do me a favor, Mrs. Chessy?"

"Of course."

"Do not let anyone else in yer house."

"I won't," she promised.

"I need to speak to the vicar—will I find him at the church?"

Mrs. Chessy studied him for a moment before her smile bloomed. "Bertram will be so pleased, O'Malley. We could not ask for a man worthier of Caro than you. I have noticed the way she looks at you, and you look at her when you think no one is watching."

Her reaction surprised him. He had thought she might be resistant, since the lass had only been living with them for a fortnight. "Thank ye, Mrs. Chessy. Would ye please tell the lass that I'll be stopping by later for a short visit…in the garden?"

"Of course." Her smile faded as she confided, "I cannot believe that I trusted Humbolt. Thank you for reminding me that she did not trust the man. I had completely forgotten what Caro confided about his actions after Agatha passed. A few days in the stocks or pillory would do the man a world of good. No one has the right to disrespect or demean another the way he did to our Caro."

"He won't ever do so again," O'Malley promised. "Ye have me word on that. I'll be passing that information along to the rest of the guard. Between the three of us and O'Ghill, we'll get the word out. Humbolt won't be able to enter the village without a sending up a hue and a cry."

Mrs. Chessy's eyes filled, but she blinked away her tears. "If you hurry and speak to Bertram now, he can have the banns read on Sunday."

Gratitude filled him. "Thank ye for approving of me, even though all ye know of me is that I have been in the right time at the right place to rescue yer daughter and yer niece."

"I know love when I see it. Sparks fly every time you two are in the same room. You'd better be going. My husband will be delighted to have you marry our niece. I know I am. Do not forget to tell Caro that I told you about David. It has been a few years, but the heart heals in its own time, and cannot be rushed. Will you wait for her if she is not ready to marry?"

"I'll wait for as long as it takes for the lass to accept me offer."

Mrs. Chessy surprised O'Malley by placing a hand to his cheek. "I cannot wait to welcome you to the family, Thomas."

He grinned. "Thank ye, Mrs. Chessy. I…er…need to return to me duties after I speak to the vicar. I'll be by again this afternoon."

"I'll let Caro know."

"Thank ye." He closed the back door and noticed Stanbridge standing at the edge of the property. He walked over to him. "I hope ye realize, by the way I dispatched with that blackguard, that he is never allowed near Caroline again."

"Aye, O'Malley. I'm not used to saying no to Mrs. Chessy. It won't happen again. Before you feel it necessary to remind me, I do know how to follow orders and will not let anyone sway me again."

O'Malley studied Stanbridge's earnest expression. "Even if it's yer ma or da?"

The younger man clenched his jaw, relaxed it, and said, "I will tell my parents what happened so they will understand why I will obey orders from you or O'Ghill over theirs."

"Well then, I'll leave ye to yer post." O'Malley retraced his steps to where he'd tethered his horse. "Time to speak to me future uncle-in-law." Scratching the animal behind his ears, he added, "Then we'll make the rounds again. Are ye ready?" His gelding ignored him until O'Malley pulled a carrot out of his pocket. "I got this for ye earlier and forgot to give it to ye… If ye're not wanting it—"

His horse nipped the carrot from his fingers and ate it.

O'Malley chuckled. "There's a lad. On our way to the church, we need to stop at the inn. I need to ensure that the blackguard's carriage is not still in the vicinity. I'm thinking Humbolt got the message, but he seemed to be a bit of an overconfident blowhard to me. Best to be certain."

The animal lifted his head and whinnied.

O'Malley mounted his horse and headed down the road toward the inn. With his plans for the future mapped out, his heart settled back to its normal beat.

Alert, eyes scanning his surroundings, O'Malley was prepared when the first shot sounded. He ducked to the side. The lead ball hit his shoulder…instead of his head!

He urged his horse to gallop in the direction the shot was fired, dodging the second blast from the tallest fir tree between the vicarage and the inn. Knowing he had seconds to act, he aimed his primed and loaded rifle and fired. The answering cry of pain was music to his ears.

He wasn't surprised to see Stanbridge riding hell for leather toward him. O'Malley nodded toward the large tree. "Sharpshooter's up there. Think I winged him."

The younger man nodded and aimed his rifle at the center of the tree, where O'Malley could just make out the shadow of a man squatting on a branch with his arms wrapped around the trunk. "Climb down, or I'll shoot ye in the arse!" Stanbridge called.

O'Malley snorted with laughter. "Good one, Stanbridge—ye got his attention."

"Don't shoot," the man yelled. "I'm coming down!"

"Toss yer rifle to the ground first!" O'Malley commanded.

They watched the rifle fly out of the branches, followed by the man scurrying down. He jumped the last few feet to the ground, turned, and faced O'Malley and Stanbridge. "Don't shoot!"

"I won't," O'Malley told the prisoner, "if ye tell me who sent ye."

The man glanced around him. "Some nob from London. I won't get the other half of my payment if I don't kill you."

O'Malley sighed and nodded to the man's bleeding hand. "Ye'll be needing a new plan after the constable arrives."

"How did you see me? I was well hidden."

"I was scanning the area—'tis the perfect spot for a sharpshooter to lie in wait for his quarry."

"I was told you would be an easy target," the man mumbled.

"By the nob from London?"

The prisoner nodded.

"None of the men in the duke's guard are an easy target."

The man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Duke?"

"Aye. I'm a member of the Duke of Wyndmere's private guard. Who did ye think ye were shooting at?"

"An Irish drifter."

Stanbridge pulled a length of rope from his pocket and tied the man's hands behind his back, then picked up the rifle. "You'd best let Dr. Higgins remove that lead ball, O'Malley."

O'Malley winced and would later swear he felt the lead ball move. "How do ye know it's still in there?"

The young man shrugged. "From the way you're pressing your arm to your side. What should I do with him?"

"Coleman said we could use the vacant stall in his barn, if need be, while we wait for the constable. We've never had a need to summon the man before now," O'Malley admitted. "I'm told the constable oversees the three villages nearby along with ours."

"Aye. My father has had dealings with him in the past. Says he's a good man," Stanbridge said.

"Are you going to take me to the doctor, too?" the prisoner asked.

"Well now, I may, but first I'll be needing yer name, and the name of the man who hired ye. Otherwise, I might just be letting ye bleed." O'Malley leaned to the side to get a better look at the man's hands, which were tightly bound behind his back. "Ye're bleeding like a stuck pig. Now would be the time to confess what ye know."

O'Malley's words had the desired effect. "Name's Greeley." The prisoner mumbled something, then told O'Malley what he needed to know: "The swell who hired me did not tell me his name, but I overheard someone calling him Anderson."

"How many men did he hire besides yerself?" Greeley stared at his feet, and O'Malley urged, "The sooner we get yer hand taken care of, the less chance of lead poisoning."

The man's head snapped up. "Two others."

O'Malley's mind raced. "Sharpshooters like yerself?"

"Aye."

"Where are they?" Stanbridge asked.

"Blue and Flowers should have reached Summerfield Chase by now and positioned themselves within shooting distance of the house."

"And ye're the only other man Anderson hired?" O'Malley said.

Greeley nodded. "I've been in that tree for the last hour waiting for a giant of a man dressed in black from head to toe patrolling through the village. You fit the bill."

O'Malley narrowed his eyes. "Where's yer horse?"

"I left him tied up in the woods. You'll never find him unless I guide you to him."

O'Malley snorted with laughter. "If that's what ye're thinking, then ye're not as smart as ye think ye are. We'll find yer horse. Stanbridge, take Greeley to the blacksmith's and lock him in."

"But I told you all I know!" Greeley protested.

"Guard him with yer life, Stanbridge. I've got to warn Garahan and the others. If Greeley cooperates and goes willingly, ye can leave him with Coleman long enough to fetch Dr. Higgins."

"Who's Coleman?" Greeley asked.

"The blacksmith. Ye'll want to cooperate," O'Malley advised. "He has a wicked jab. I had the pleasure of watching him crack more than one of the posts in the smithy by punching them when he was angry."

The prisoner paled, and O'Malley knew he'd gotten his point across.

Stanbridge asked, "What about your shoulder?"

"It'll keep. After ye fetch the physician, tell Coleman ye need to escort Olivia to the vicarage and stay there guarding the women."

"What about the prisoner?"

"Coleman can handle it. He has all manner of sharp weapons, as well as the forge, at his disposal." Greeley keeled over, and O'Malley sighed. "He'll be more cooperative unconscious."

Stanbridge picked the prisoner up and draped him over his saddle.

"Ye're a good man to have at me back, Stanbridge. Thank you."

"When I take Olivia to the vicarage, I'll let Miss Gillingham know that you've been shot."

O'Malley frowned. "Let's just keep this between us." He gave the gelding his head and urged, "Run like the wind, laddie!"

At a gallop, the miles between the village and the baron's home flew by. Lord, please let me warn the men in time.

His head felt light, but he dug deep for the reserves he knew he had and could count on. He'd hold out until he alerted the baron and his men, and got Lady Phoebe, Prudence, and the twins to safety.

He whistled as his horse thundered toward the stables. "Two sharpshooters already in place! To yer posts, lads!" He heard the echo of two more whistles, and knew his cousins would find the bleeding bastards. Those with rifles would get into position. Those assigned to gather the women in Lady Phoebe's upstairs sitting room would be on task as well. His rifle again primed and loaded, O'Malley dismounted and ran toward the house.

Summerfield burst out of the back door, and the hair on the back of O'Malley's neck stood on end. "Sharpshooter! Get down, yer lordship!" He heard the crack of the rifle and used his body as a shield to protect the baron. He jolted as intense heat grazed the side of his head. Ignoring the pain that followed, he spun around, aimed in the direction the shot had been fired, judged the distance, and waited to see movement in the trees on the other side of the stables.

His vision grayed, but he blinked, and it cleared. A branch moved halfway up the tree. O'Malley fired. The scream of agony wasn't as loud as it should have been from that distance. Another shot, oddly muffled, sounded closer to the outbuilding where their quarters were located.

"Get inside, yer lordship!" he shouted. "I'm right behind ye." Numbness crept up his legs. He stumbled.

"O'Malley!" A strong arm wrapped around his back. "I've got ye."

"O'Ghill?"

"Aye."

"Get his lordship inside. I've got to tell Garahan and Flaherty about the sharpshooter in the village before I man me post."

O'Malley's legs gave out as his blood loss hit a critical level. He felt himself being lifted high. His breath whooshed out as his chest hit O'Ghill's shoulder. He started to demand to be put down, but the side of his head banged against O'Ghill's back as the man ran toward the rear entrance, shooting a searing pain through O'Malley's skull.

Fighting to hang on to consciousness, O'Malley rasped, "I can walk."

His cousin jolted to a stop, bent down, and set O'Malley on his feet. "Have at it, boy-o!"

O'Malley wavered, but did not fall. Before he could take a step, his field of vision grayed at the edges and shrank. "Bloody fecking hell."