Excerpt from Chapter One
Rory Flaherty did not mind the rain. He knew when he saddled his gelding earlier that at some point, between the village and Wyndmere Hall, it would start to fall. Hadn’t he and his horse caught the scent of it—and discussed it—when the pre-dawn breeze shifted?
“Well, laddie, we’re in for a good soaking.” The answering whinny had him chuckling. “Aye, there’ll be an extra cup of oats for ye at the end of our patrol. Don’t be distracting me now.”
Not for the first time, Flaherty cursed having to wear a frockcoat, waistcoat, and the bloody cravat. But His Grace had been immovable on the subject. The men in his private guard were to wear their full uniforms at all times, as the duke had reminded them on more than one occasion, appearances mattered. At least he and his brothers and cousins had a say in the color. They chose one that wouldn’t easily show bloodstains and would blend in with the shadows. The duke’s guard spent a good part of their time in the shadows. Unrelieved black from head to toe, with one small exception: the embroidered word Eire in bright green over their hearts and the gold Celtic harp beneath. Both symbols of the land of their birth.
O’Malley, Garahan and Flaherty: families bound through marriage, had spent generations digging their roots deep into the fertile soil of their island home. Loved ones had bled and died protecting their land in an endless cycle of hardship and toil laced with sorrow and joy. Rory and his brothers had been as determined as their cousins to save the family farms that had withstood the loss that bled down from one generation to the next. Following in the footsteps of so many young Irishmen, they left to find work abroad…the only option left open to them. They’d learned to live without the sweet smell of the rain-washed dawn and peat fires burning. The sight of standing stones and faery forts, as dawn broke over horizon, sunlight glistening off the dew-laden fields dotted with sheep. The sound of his ma’s voice calling his da, him, and him brothers, in for the hearty meal that would fuel them while their worked the land.
His throat tightened with emotion a bit too close to the surface, so he tucked thoughts of home safely away as he scanned his surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary on either side of the road. The breeze stilled as he reached the halfway point to town. Birds heralded the first few drops of rain as it began to fall. He breathed in the scent, comforted. It reminded him of home. He had expected to receive a letter from his ma last week and was surprised the one that arrived was from his new sister-in-law Mary Kate. He’d already been apprised of the situation his eldest brother had been embroiled in involving Viscount Chattsworth with the flurry of messengers arriving from Sussex—and London. Thankfully cooler heads prevailed and the duke’s guard had held strong.
“Did ye ever think Seamus would marry?”
His horse snickered…if a horse could snicker…that’s what Rory imagined it would sound like.
“’Tis my opinion as well.”
Rain soaked through to his waistcoat by the time he rounded the bend and saw the roof of the inn. While not a small village, there was a good-sized inn, and a few shops between the inn’s yard and the church on the other side of the village green. It was early yet, and only a few souls were out and about in the rain, mainly the stable hands that worked for the inn’s hostler.
He raised a hand to Scruggs. The middle-aged hostler was well liked, had a gentle hand with the horses…and children. Children… Flaherty’s thoughts turned once again to Mary Kate’s letter. It had been full of news—some good…some disturbing. He and his brothers had agreed years ago not to marry before their thirty-fifth year. Seamus marrying a few years before then wasn’t as much of a shock as the startling news that the duke’s distant cousin, Viscount Chattsworth—the family member Seamus and two of the O’Malleys protected—would challenge Seamus’s decision to check on his recently injured wife before giving his report to the viscount.
Riding past the inn, he wondered what man in his right mind would not want to see with his own eyes that his wife was well? For feck’s sake, the detour could not have taken more than a quarter of an hour! His temper flared in righteous indignation on his brother’s behalf before the rain soaking into his hair cooled his head. All of the Flahertys had tempers, Seamus’s was the hottest of the four of them. “’Tis lucky we were that Captain Coventry took our measure when he hired us, was pleased with and planning to use our tempers to his advantage.” The captain’s decision to separate the Flaherty brothers from one another and the same with the Garahans had been a good one. The O’Malleys weren’t as quick to rile, nor did they hold a grudge for long. To their credit they could be paired with any one of their brothers or cousins. He snorted, good thing as there were eight O’Malleys—four from Cork and four from Wexford.
The men in the duke’s private guard were beholden to Coventry as well as the duke. Working long hours with little time away from their duties hadn’t bothered them. Time away was time to think of home and dream of when they’d someday return. Dreams were for children. Flahertys were known to be fertile as well as hot-tempered. He slowly smiled, as pride filled him. If he knew Seamus, his brother had already planted the seeds of the next generation of Flahertys. Rory looked forward to becoming an uncle.
Passing by the shops, he noted all was quiet, as expected. The shopkeepers in the village opened their establishments mid-morning to provide a service to travelers staying at the inn. The habit proved to be economically sound, as most were doing a brisk business by eleven o’clock in the morning. At this hour, not a lamp had been lit, nor curtain drawn back to greet the day. “Not everyone enjoys the rain like we do, laddie.”
His horse snuffed in response. Flaherty did not expect to see anyone out and about this early, and was immediately on guard when a shadow shifted by the base of one of the tall oaks by the corner of the graveyard. His gelding reacted to the reflexive tightening of Flaherty’s quadriceps. He was ready to defend, or chase down a vagrant. “Who goes there?”
The shadow shifted, and Flaherty got a better look at the figure as it turned to flee. “Stop! By order of the duke!”
The figure obeyed. Flaherty dismounted and strode toward who he deduced to be a lad, given his height. “Turn around and show me yer hands.”
To his shock, the wide green eyes, smallish nose, and full lips were decidedly female. Her face was a bit too thin, as if she had not had enough to eat recently. “Are ye after riling me, lass? Show me yer hands.”
She lifted one small hand. Frustrated, and for a moment concerned, he asked, “Have ye only the one then?”
“I have two, the other one’s busy.”
He snorted, and tried to cover his laughter at the grit in the young woman’s voice. “Well now, if it’s a blade or pistol ye’re hiding beneath yer cloak, ye’d best turn it over to me now. Then I’ll escort ye to the constable. The duke won’t be happy if ye’re here to cause trouble.”
When she didn’t move, he sighed. “Me name’s Flaherty. I’m one of the Duke of Wyndmere’s private guard. What’s yer name, lass, and who have ye come to visit?”
She relaxed her stance. “I do not know anyone in the village. I’m looking for work.”
Flaherty’s frustration doubled. “Did ye arrive by mail coach?”
“We did.”
The coach would have come and gone by now. He glanced around her, and behind himself, though he would have heard if anyone were behind him. “Ye’re trying me patience, lass. State yer name, and show me yer other hand and be quick about it!”
“Temperance.”
“Well now, ‘tis a fine quality to have, but I’m asking yer name.”
She lifted her chin and narrowed her rain-drenched eyes at him. “Temperance Johnson—Mrs.”
“Ah, so when ye said we, ye meant yer husband. Why didn’t he leave ye at the inn where ye’d be warm and dry?”
The fire in the lass went out. “He’s dead.” When she shivered and wavered on her feet, Flaherty reached out a hand to steady her. “Ah, lass. I’m sorry for yer loss. Is that why ye’re sitting in the rain alone, at the edge of the graveyard?”
Her eyes met his, and something shifted inside of him, as if to make room for the feelings he normally controlled. Compassion, and the need to protect, surged through him. A muffled cry, like the sound of a small animal, had him staring at her cloak. Had it moved? And then it hit him—eedjit, she was protecting her babe!
“Come with me over to the inn. I’m well known in the village, and have the duke’s approval to aid anyone I deem in need of it in His Grace’s name.”
She tried to shift out of his hold. “Here now, Temperance, I’m after helping ye. Ye need to get dry, mayhap to feed yer babe. How old is he?”
“She just turned four. Her name’s Madeline.”
Worry lanced through Flaherty, why was the lass hesitant to accept his offer? Normally people cried out to him for help. He was about a to ask, when a tiny hand pushed the clock aside. “Mum, I’m hungry.”
Utterly charmed by the curly headed tot in Temperance’s arms, Flaherty smiled. “Well, now, wee cailín, I’ll escort ye and yer ma to the inn for tea and cake.”
“That’s not my name.”
“You have to excuse Madeline. We’ve traveled a long way, and I am too weary to walk back to the inn.”
Flaherty sensed there was something more the lass left out of the telling. “Begging yer pardon, Miss Madeline. Ye see, cailín is Irish Gaelic meaning young girl.”
She wrinkled her nose. “My name’s Maddy.”
Charmed, Flaherty smiled. “’Tis a lovely name, sounds similar to the duke’s housekeeper. Her name’s Merry. You’ll like her and Constance, too.”
“Who’s Constance?”
“The duke’s cook. She has a fine hand with sweets. Lavender scones are a favorite of Her Grace and her twins, Richard and Abigail. But they’re half yer age.”
Maddy’s little face scrunched up. “Half?”
“Aye, Miss Maddy. If ye had one kitten for each one of yer years, ye’d have four kittens.”
She nodded, and he continued, “Half that would be just two kittens—one for each hand.”
The little darling batted her eye lashes at him. “I always wanted a kitten. Mum said no.”
“Well now one of the cats that lives in the stables just had a litter of kittens. Three orange and white striped ones, and one tiny black one. ‘Tis the runt of the litter—” before the inquisitive tot asked, he explained, “The smallest of the bunch.”
“Could I see them?”
From her mother’s frown, Flaherty expected her to say no.
“Mayhap. First we need to count how many coins we have left. If I don’t find a position soon, we’ll have to push on to the next village.”
“Here now, let me take ye to the inn for that tea and cake. As me ma’s fond of reminding meself and me brothers, ‘tisn’t wise to make any decisions on an empty belly. I’ve a mile more to go on patrol before I head back into town. I’ll stop at the inn on me way back and take ye with me to Wyndmere Hall. No one will bother ye if they know ye’re under me protection, but there are those in the village who are wary of vagrants.”
The threat of being apprehended for being homeless or jobless sparked her temper. “I’m not a vagabond!” As if she regretted raising her voice to him, she added “I would not want to put you out, Mr. Flaherty.”
“I’d rather know the two of ye were safe and sound, warm and dry at the inn than being mistakenly identified and hauled before the constable.”
“But wasn’t that what you threatened a few moments ago?”
She had him there. “Aye, but that was before I knew ye weren’t armed and hiding a dangerous weapon.”
The lass sighed. “Thank you for your concern, but Madeline—”
“Maddy,” her spitfire of a daughter reminded her.
“Maddy is dry, but I’m soaked, and do not believe we would be welcomed at the inn.”
“Ah, there’s where ye’d be wrong then, lass,” Flaherty corrected. “The hostler, Scruggs is a friend and has a soft spot for little ones and horses. The innkeeper is a fair man who is known for his hospitality.”
Maddy patted her mother’s face and reminded her. “I’m hungry, Mum.”
“It’ll be me treat to two lovely, damp lasses on a soft spring morning.”
“It’s cold and raining.”
“Rain makes it a lovely morning. The flowers will be drinking it up, and when the sun comes out, they’ll be opening their blossoms to show them off. If ye wait right here, I’ll whistle for me horse. The lad is partial to little ones and would be honored to give ye a ride to the inn.”
“It’s not that far a walk,” Temperance protested.
“I thought ye were too tired to walk. Isn’t that why I found ye sitting here in the rain?”
She shrugged.
He would wager and win that her reason for leaving the inn had more to do with the fact that she and her little girl were traveling without an escort, than lack of coin. It would rouse questions she might not be up to answering, especially if her husband had died recently. More often than not there were folks who judged a woman alone harshly—a woman with a young child or babe—harsher. He’d be asking her the details later. For now, he intended to see them settled at a table near the fire in the inn’s taproom. “Leave it to me, I’ll see that ye have tea, and cake or whatever yer mum feels is best.”
“Cake!”
When her mother did not answer right away, he said, “Cake it is, Miss Maddy.” He whistled for his horse, chuckling when the ladies gushed over how smart and handsome the gelding was. “Shall I set ye on me horse first, while Maddy stands beside me, or Maddy first?”
“Maddy first.”
He nodded and told his horse to be still, while he lifted the little one onto the animal’s back. “Now then, Miss Maddy grab hold of the saddle, while I help yer ma up.”
“I can manage,” Temperance insisted.
“I don’t doubt it, but me horse is used to me movements, not the excess fabric of yer cloak and gown fluttering against him. If it’s me ye’re skittish about, ye have no worries. Me ma would have me hide if I forgot me manners or mistreated a lady.” He put his hands around her too-thin waist and decided he’d order a full breakfast for the both of them. “Up ye go.”
After he’d settled them on his horse, he praised the animal, “There’s a lad. We’ll detour back to the inn, settle the lasses inside, finish up our rounds, stop back, and take them to meet the duke.”
“Oh, but I never said we’d go with you to Wyndmere Hall.”
“Don’t ye want Miss Maddy to meet Merry and Constance?”
“Another time. I need to secure a position first.”
The desperation underlying her tone, told Flaherty all he needed to know. They were likely down to their last few coins. They weren’t vagrants as long as they had a few in their pockets, but he had a feeling they had been treated warily—mayhap even badly.
“I’ll introduce ye to Scruggs first, as he’ll want to spoil me horse with an apple as he does every time I pass through the village on patrol. After we get ye settled by the fire with a meal and hot tea, we’ll ask the innkeeper if he needs kitchen help.”
“Thank you Mr. Flaherty.”
“Ye’d be welcome, lass, and it’s just Flaherty.” He walked his horse to the inn, grateful the rain had let up. He was worried about the lass and her little girl.
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