Chapter Three

T he hostler approached as O'Ghill stroked his horse's neck. He nodded to the man. "I promised this lad an extra cup of oats earlier, but had business to attend to."

The man smiled. "I'll see that he gets it. How long will you be staying?"

"Me cousin and I will be leaving in the morning." O'Ghill walked over to the horse he'd hired for Miss Gillingham. "Thank ye for recommending the gelding for her. I'll see that we come down early enough to introduce her."

"Excellent notion. I have to say that although most of our horses for hire have an even temperament, every once in a while, there are people the animals take an immediate dislike to."

O'Ghill stroked the gelding's neck. "I'm impressed that there are no visible marks on any of yer horses' hindquarters."

The hostler narrowed his gaze at O'Ghill. "We do a brisk business and have a reputation for only accepting horses that have not been abused."

"I meant no disrespect," O'Ghill said. When the other man gave a curt nod, he continued, "I'm expecting another of me cousins to arrive late tonight. O'Malley's his name. About me height and build, but with light hair and green eyes. Fierce frown and will be irritated, though trying to hide it."

The hostler chuckled at the last part of the description. "Have you spoken to the innkeeper or his wife?"

"I have," O'Ghill replied. "O'Malley will no doubt be inspecting yer stalls and horses before he turns his mount over to ye for a good rubdown."

"I cannot fault any man for taking care of his horse."

"Or for spoiling him," O'Ghill said.

The hostler smiled. "Will he be staying the night?"

"Aye," O'Ghill answered. "He'll be bunking with me." He had a feeling his cousin would be more than irritated, but could not put his finger on the why of it. Anything that had to do with O'Ghill seemed to irritate his holier-than-thou O'Malley cousin.

He'd have to ask his ma—she'd know the family history and if there was bad blood between the O'Ghills and the O'Malleys somewhere in the past. It could be Ryan's da who had the falling-out with his cousin Eileen Garahan O'Malley.

He shook his head. Now was not the time to think of family arguments. "I have an appointment, but will return and be waiting for me cousin in the common room."

"Do you want me to send someone to tell you when he arrives?"

O'Ghill chuckled. "No need—O'Malley will make his presence known, whether we like it or not."

With that, he thanked the hostler and left the inn yard, confident that his plans were all in place, despite the wrinkle to them when he had to rescue the vicar's niece. Caroline Gillingham was attractive, but his heart had already been captured. Trouble was, the lass who'd done the catching was six and ten. Miss Chessy, the vicar's daughter, was a slip of a lass who should not be able to sneak into his thoughts as often as she did. He intended to keep his distance for at least another year or two.

Making his way through the village to the location where he was to meet his contact, O'Ghill noticed the street lamps had not been lighted near this section of shops. Four shops to the left of him were well lit, as were the five shops to the right.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end before he spun around in time to dodge the blow from behind. The heavy staff hit him in the shoulder instead of his skull. O'Ghill reacted with a swift jab to the man's face, followed by an uppercut. His attacker's eyes widened a moment before they rolled up in his head.

O'Ghill did not have time for this. His contact would be expecting him momentarily. Ignoring the unconscious man at his feet, he slipped into the alley between the shops and walked toward the man hidden in the shadows.

"You're late." His contact struck a match, and for a moment his pockmarked face was illuminated.

"Had to take care of an obstruction in me path," O'Ghill replied.

The man paused with the stub of a cigar halfway to his lips. "Obstruction?"

"Aye. If ye thought to have one of yer lackeys lying in wait for me, 'tisn't me fault that he was easy to take down." O'Ghill hedged his bets, anticipating that another man had crept up behind him. He kicked backward. The satisfying groan told him he'd hit his mark. "Now then, if ye don't want me to cripple the rest of yer men, ye'd best tell them to back off."

His contact swore ripely, then said, "To your posts, men."

The shuffling of feet had O'Ghill counting… Just two. Good to know how many would be waiting to exchange blows when he retraced his steps.

He stepped into the faint light from the window above them. "I came prepared to do business, but seeing's how ye decided to attack me and steal the coin I brought with me, ye just lowered yer fee by half."

"You aren't in a position to make demands."

"Well now, there's where ye'd be wrong." O'Ghill took aim. He threw his blade, which skimmed past the other man's ear, nicking it before sinking into the doorframe behind him.

Hand to his bleeding ear, the man sputtered, spilling the information O'Ghill had been prepared to pay for. "Lord Anderson is free. Mrs. Barstow, and the squire and Mrs. Honeycutt, will go to trial in a fortnight."

O'Ghill digested this information. "Anderson was to be charged with kidnapping and attempted murder. He must have influential connections at a high level within the ton."

"The highest."

O'Ghill knew without asking that it was Prinny. He made the split-second decision not to hold back any of the coin promised for the information. His contact had told him what he needed to know, and with the prince regent involved, O'Ghill would do well to pay the man in full. Well used to being attacked, no matter where on this godforsaken land he stood, he braced for it, handing over the small leather bag of coins before turning to walk away.

"O'Ghill?"

He paused but did not turn around. "Aye?"

"Watch your back."

"No need to warn me. I know yer men'll be waiting for me."

The man with the pockmarked face corrected him, "Not my men…Anderson's."

O'Ghill glanced over, met the other man's gaze, and nodded. "Thank ye." As he strode out of the alley to make his way back to the inn, he wondered how soon O'Malley would arrive. He would have to convince his cousin to move quickly. Given what he had just learned, they could not wait until morning. They had to leave tonight. Having worked with O'Malley a few months ago, he knew the man would need to send an urgent missive to Baron Summerfield, His Grace, and their London contacts.

The duke's contact on Bow Street and his London-man-of-affairs would alert their men, and contacts on all levels of society, while the duke would alert his family and the individual arms of the duke's guard—spread out from London to Sussex, Cornwall, and the Borderlands—to be prepared for imminent attack.

O'Ghill intended to stand with his cousins and prepare for the onslaught before he continued on his rambling. Anderson had kidnapped three women, with the intention of violating his cousin Ryan's wife. God only knew what Anderson had planned for the two innocent lasses. O'Ghill still had trouble believing that the bloody bugger had stabbed Ryan in the back and lived to tell of it. Anderson could have killed Garahan—yet one more reason O'Ghill would stand beside his cousins. He was sick to death of a one-sided justice system where the poor and downtrodden were always convicted, while the rich and well-connected members of Society often received a warning or a slap on the wrist.

Resolved to put up with one of the sainted O'Malleys for the next few hours until they reached Summerfield-on-Eden, he returned to the inn. He needed to speak to Mrs. Black about their change in plans. For a moment he thought about knocking on Miss Gillingham's door, to let her know they would be leaving tonight. He chuckled. The surprise in her eyes when he shut and locked the door had been comical. She'd have something to say, mayhap at a volume that would attract attention. He decided to leave the pleasure of unlocking Miss Gillingham's door—and more than likely having to listen to an argument—for O'Malley.

He was smiling when he spied the innkeeper's wife and made his way over to speak with her. O'Ghill planned to be unavailable when the fireworks erupted upstairs. He couldn't think of a nicer welcome for the sainted Thomas O'Malley.

*

O'Malley rode like the devil was nipping at his heels. His mind raced with questions he would not have the answers to until he met the most irritating of his cousins—Killian O'Ghill. Then he could unravel how in the bloody hell O'Ghill had gotten involved, and why he was escorting the young woman O'Malley was supposed to be searching for.

What had happened to the lass to prevent her from getting on that coach? All O'Ghill had said in his message was that he'd rescued the vicar's niece from a pawnbroker and the Watch. Knowing O'Ghill, the black sheep of the clan related to O'Malley's ma, he could be stretching the truth, or bending it to suit his own needs.

O'Malley signaled to his mount to slow the pace as they drew closer to the inn where Miss Gillingham would be waiting for him.

The hostler approached and nodded to O'Malley, who had dismounted and was stroking his horse's neck, praising him for his strength and speed. "I promised this lad an extra cup of oats."

The hostler smiled. "I'll see that he gets it. How long will you be staying?"

"I'll be staying the night with me cousin." He nodded to his mount and told the hostler, "I haven't traveled far, but me horse would appreciate a good rubdown."

"I have just the young man to see to the task while you introduce yerself to Mr. and Mrs. Black—they own and run the inn."

"Thank ye." From the itch between his shoulder blades, O'Malley knew the man watched him walk away. He could have told the hostler who his cousin was, but did not feel the need to. O'Ghill had a habit of speaking out of turn, and O'Malley did not need their situation to be fodder for discussion over any of the guests' evening pots of tea.

He entered the inn and was pleased the innkeeper and his wife were both in the common room. He introduced himself. "Name's O'Malley."

"Welcome, Mr. O'Malley. Mr. O'Ghill is expecting you."

"Thank ye, Mr. Black. I have no doubt he is. I'm after speaking to our cousin Miss Caroline Gillingham as well. Where would I be finding her?"

The couple exchanged a glance and gave him the room numbers for his cousin and Miss Gillingham, advising that she had already retired for the night.

He nodded. "Thank ye." Mumbling to himself as he ascended the stairs, he wondered what in the bloody hell to say to the lass that would not frighten her. O'Malley hadn't had the time to request a letter of introduction from the vicar, or one explaining the situation. Mayhap just a quick conversation about the vicar and his family, and the baron and his, might be all that she needed as proof of who he was.

So as not to disturb the other guests, he knocked quietly on his cousin's door. No response. Of course . Knocking harder, he said in a firm, even tone, "Open up, O'Ghill."

He heard movement in the room next door, where Miss Gillingham was staying. "Even if O'Ghill was inside," she said, "he only answers if he wants to."

That certainly sounded like O'Ghill. "Miss Gillingham?"

"Who is it?"

Her voice sounded wary, hesitant. Good . The lass was sensible enough not to open her door to strangers. "Me name's O'Malley. I'm here to fetch ye to yer uncle."

"What makes you think I have an uncle?"

He didn't have time for long-winded explanations. "Vicar Chessy is worried sick about ye." That should convince the lass to open her door.

"How do you know the vicar?"

The cagey lass had yet to admit the vicar was her uncle. O'Malley heartily approved. "He and Baron Summerfield insisted I come after ye when ye did not arrive on the mail coach as anticipated."

There was a long pause—with the door still closed—before she asked, "How do you know Mr. O'Ghill?"

O'Malley scrubbed a hand over his face. "'Tis me great misfortune to be related." He was listening carefully for the sound of the key turning in the lock, but instead, he heard her soft laughter.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. O'Malley."

"Would ye mind opening the door? I need to speak to ye without a door between us."

"I… Er… I would like to comply, however, your cousin locked me in."

O'Malley's frustration shot straight to boiling. "He what?"

Silence behind her door. Had he frightened the lass?

"Forgive me, Miss Gillingham—I should not be shocked, as it does sound like something me cousin would do. I'll ask the innkeeper for the spare key to yer room." He put his hand to the door when she did not respond. "Lass?"

"Very well," Miss Gillingham responded. "When you unlock the door, it is with the understanding that you will not enter my room, and will allow me to precede you to the common room. There will be plenty of witnesses there. You, however, will remain right here and count to fifty before joining me."

He dropped his hand to his side and swallowed a chuckle. Well used to forthright women, he was more than pleased with the lass's gumption. "Well now, lass, that sounds intelligent and is agreeable to me. I'll be right back." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Begging yer pardon for asking, Miss Gillingham, but the innkeeper's wife said ye had retired. Do ye need time to dress?"

She sighed. "No. I have been waiting for Mr. O'Ghill to return and unlock the door."

"Fine, then. Ye'll be presentable when I open the door—no doubt the innkeeper and his wife will be counting the minutes to see how long it takes ye to appear downstairs after I let ye out."

"Whatever for?"

Her softly asked question had him adding innocent to intelligent . "Ah, lass, if ye don't know, I'm not the one to be explaining it to ye. Though if ye ask the innkeeper's wife, I'm certain she'll be happy to tell ye."

"Why would she?"

"Do ye intend to spend the next hour asking questions, when I could be fetching the key and unlocking yer door?"

"Forgive me, Mr. O'Malley. When I am unsettled, I tend to ask questions."

"I'll be right back with the key… Better yet, I'll return with the key and Mrs. Black."

"Thank you, Mr. O'Malley."

As he reached the bottom of the staircase, the innkeeper was waiting for him. "What can I do for you, Mr. O'Malley?"

"I need the key to Miss Gillingham's room."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Our inn has a rule about visitors, especially the rooms of our female guests, even if she is your cousin."

Thinking quickly, O'Malley replied, "Apparently there was a mishap. Me cousin changed her mind and was coming down for a pot of tea and a bite to eat. She explained that she was in the hallway with her key in the door, locking it, when she realized she'd forgotten her reticule. She rushed into her room and stumbled, knocking into the door, which closed and locked her in."

The innkeeper's wife joined her husband and placed her hand on his arm. "Poor woman. She must be desperate for a meal and that pot of tea by now. It has been a few hours since she went upstairs."

"If the key was in the lock—" the innkeeper began.

O'Malley interrupted him, "It wasn't just now. Must have fallen to the floor and someone picked it up."

"One moment, Mr. O'Malley," Mrs. Black said. "I'll get the spare key and accompany you upstairs."

"I'd be grateful. Thank ye."

A few moments later, the innkeeper's wife had the key in the lock and opened the door. Miss Gillingham rushed out, tripped, and nearly plowed into Mrs. Black. O'Malley reached out, grabbed hold of her arm, and steadied her. "Easy, lass."

She tipped her head up and stared at him. Wide eyes the color of morning mist, magnified by her spectacles, locked on his. Her expression, a mix of wonder and attraction, went to his head like three fingers of the Irish on an empty gut. Her red head and sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, dotting her cheeks, charmed him. He briefly wondered if her freckles had been painted by a wood sprite or flower faery. The lass reminded him of home.

When the innkeeper's wife cleared her throat, he dropped his hand. "Ye'll need to mind yer step."

"Thank you so much for bringing the key. You see, I was afraid—"

"That someone ye did not know would find the key and open the door while ye were sleeping. Understandable. I've explained to Mrs. Black how ye locked yerself in yer room by accident."

"I have done that myself more than once changing the bed linens," Mrs. Black admitted. She linked arms with Miss Gillingham and proceeded toward the stairs. "Mr. O'Malley mentioned you were hungry. You missed the evening meal, but there is plenty of stew left over. Would you like a bowl?"

"Yes, thank you," the lass answered. "I am hungry."

"I'll bring you a bowl, too, Mr. O'Malley."

"Thank ye," O'Malley said. "And the pot of tea?"

"Of course," the innkeeper's wife replied. "I will be happy to bring that to you, along with cream and sugar. Would either of you like something sweet to go with the tea? I baked tarts earlier."

O'Malley noted the hint of moisture pooling in the lass's eyes. Before the first tear could fall and splash on her spectacles, he chuckled. "Ye sound like me ma. Always offering something sweet with tea. Thank ye for yer kindness, Mrs. Black."

The older woman's face flushed a soft rose, reminding him of his ma even more. "Think nothing of it. Would you be comfortable in the taproom, or would you prefer a private room?"

"Taproom, please," Miss Gillingham answered before O'Malley had the opportunity.

He was preoccupied wondering why a beauty like Miss Gillingham was not married. Mayhap she was a widow. There were many due to the Peninsular War. For once, his gut and his head were in agreement. Both needed to know the answer. He would be asking the lass later.

They were soon settled on the far side of the taproom near the fireplace. The entrancing lass thanked him when he pulled out her chair. "Ye're welcome. If ye get too warm with yer back to the fire, let me know and we'll switch places."

"This feels lovely. I did not realize how chilled I was. It has been a long…and eventful day."

"Up with the sun to catch the mail coach, no doubt. I've ridden in one a time or two when me brother and I arrived. Packed us in so tightly, the hostler at the first stop needed a bar to pry us out."

Her smile reached her eyes, and he found himself getting lost in their changeable gray depths.

"I wondered when ye'd get here," a familiar voice rumbled from behind him.

The lass shot to her feet and poked O'Ghill in the chest. "How could you?"

Without missing a beat, his cousin grabbed her finger and wrapped his arm around her, escorting her back to her seat. "I was not certain until the last minute that our cousin would be joining us," he glibly replied.

"You—"

"I did not mean to be gone so long, Caroline." From the way he interrupted her, it was obvious O'Ghill did not want the lass to have a chance to speak. O'Malley's suspicion was confirmed when his cousin said, "Did ye forget that I had a meeting to attend?"

O'Malley did not like the fact that his cousin and the lass were on a first-name basis. He shoved that emotion aside and told O'Ghill, "Our cousin locked herself in her room and has been waiting for someone to realize it."

O'Ghill turned and held O'Malley's tension-filled look for a moment, then asked, "How did it happen?"

Shapely, dark brows drew together above eyes darkening to the hue of winter storm clouds. "I'll tell you—"

"Here you are," the innkeeper's wife, followed by a serving girl carrying a tray, approached the table. "Oh, Mr. O'Ghill. We did not expect you back so soon. Will you be joining Mr. O'Malley and Miss Gillingham for a meal?"

"Aye, thank ye for asking, Mrs. Black. Me cousins and I have much to catch up on."

The serving girl placed the meals on the table as the innkeeper's wife instructed her, "Bring one more order of stew."

The girl nodded and hurried off.

"It must be wonderful to come from a large family," Mrs. Black remarked.

"Aye," O'Ghill replied.

"At times," O'Malley added.

Mrs. Black shook her head. "Without family, where would we be?"

"Alone," Miss Gillingham murmured.

O'Malley heard and turned to her. "We miss them too, lass."

Attuned to the conversation going on at their table, the innkeeper's wife glanced over her shoulder and motioned for the girl to bring O'Ghill's meal.

He looked up as he was served and smiled at the young woman. "Thank ye, lass."

Mrs. Black told them to enjoy their meal and shooed the serving girl toward the kitchen.

After the women left, O'Ghill leaned close to O'Malley. "We need to leave right after we eat."

"Best tell me why," O'Malley said.

O'Ghill's sharp glance swept the room. "Not here."

O'Malley could tell from his cousin's expression that whatever the news was, it was bad. "Do ye need to send someone to fetch yer things?"

O'Ghill shook his head. "Already have what I need, though Caroline will need to collect her belongings."

"Do you need help packing your things, Miss Gillingham?"

"No thank you, Mr. O'Malley. I—"

O'Ghill reached for her hand and patted the back of it, interrupting her. "With the news our cousin has brought from home, I am certain we can impose on Mrs. Black, or one of the servants, to do so." He nodded to her bowl and asked, "How is your stew?"

"Is that your way of changing the subject?" she asked O'Ghill, who smiled and dug into his meal.

"Have you spoken to the hostler yet?" O'Malley asked.

"Aye," O'Ghill replied.

"After everything that's happened—since the abduction," O'Malley said, "we'll not be leaving ye alone, lass. I'll speak to the innkeeper or his wife. If I have to invoke me employer's name to get their attention, I will."

O'Ghill frowned and shook his head.

Caroline spoke up. "You used your connection to the baron and the duke—is there a reason why your cousin cannot?"

O'Malley's eyes narrowed. Glaring at his cousin, he asked, "And just who did ye mention it to?"

Caroline glanced about her, leaned close to O'Malley, and said, "He told the Watch and the pawnbroker."

O'Malley touched a hand to his heart, and the embroidered emblems of his status. "Well now, that'll come in handy, as I'm head of the duke's guard at Summerfield Chase."

Caroline's gaze met his. The emotions swirling in the depths of her smoke-gray eyes—hesitation, hope, and wonder—had his gut clenching as his instant attraction to the lass deepened. But he had no time to listen to his heart. He was on a mission: find the lass and bring her home. Although it irked that O'Ghill had somehow managed to arrive before him, and in time to rescue the lass. He did not have the time to delve too deeply into the reasons why. The end result was the same: the lass was unharmed, and O'Malley would deliver her safely to her uncle.

"Why would it help matters that the watchman and the shopkeeper know of Mr. O'Ghill's connection to Baron Summerfield and the Duke of Wyndmere?" she asked.

For her safety, O'Malley had no intention of telling her. "We'll meet ye at the stables as soon as we finish eating."

"Was even half of what you just said to Mrs. Black the truth?" Miss Gillingham asked O'Ghill.

From her tone it was clear to O'Malley that this was a woman who would not bow under pressure. He bit back on the urge to smile. She had grit and was as lovely as a morning in May. When she snorted in disbelief, he realized his cousin must have answered her.

"Knowing me cousin, probably not," O'Malley said. O'Ghill glared at him, and O'Malley glared back. "Ye'd best have a good reason for it."

The temper in O'Ghill's eyes fizzled out. "I have."

O'Malley nodded, finished his meal, and blotted his mouth with his linen napkin. While he waited for the lass and his cousin to finish eating, he made a quick study of those gathered in the common room. Satisfied everyone seemed as they appeared—travelers who'd stopped for a meal or the night—he turned back to his cousin and the lass. They had finished eating.

Before O'Ghill had the opportunity, O'Malley stood and held the back of the lass's chair, then helped her to her feet. "I was planning to hire a carriage in the morning, but circumstances have changed. I hope ye know how to ride, Miss Gillingham."

His cousin answered before she could. "She does. Let's go."