by Lily Silver
He blew out a ring of smoke and continued as she remained impassive. “The constant flow of bloody bodies needing to be patched up got to me. Especially when it became little kids, casualties of the bombing you hear little about in the news. I started doing the morphine meant for the patients. After being dishonorably discharged, I was shipped off to a psych ward to be weaned off the drugs. It’s the part of my life I usually don’t share with anyone.”
“You saved his life.” Tara offered.
“We’re not done yet.” He returned, holding her grateful gaze.
Chapter Thirty Three
Why did a fever always come in the wee hours of the night?
Tara sat beside Adrian wringing out the cool water to apply the compresses to his burning skin. Mrs. Chatham was with her, dutifully tending the sick man as the long night stretched on.
I love you. I need you. We’re a family. I need you to stay with me.
Her desperate thoughts repeated themselves endlessly in a frantic prayer.
I need you. Don’t die. Without you, I have no future.
Tara soothed the silken locks on the pillow, winding one thin strand about her fingertip. Why did her attempt to save him bring destruction upon them? Why did O’Reilly believe Adrian was the informant? It was Reynolds, she remembered now. Reynolds betrayed his own by giving the time and place to the authorities, and the password to gain admittance to their covert meeting. And then he had the gall to send his co-conspirators a note stating that he could not attend the meeting due to illness.
And now her Adrian was being blamed for betraying them instead of him.
Was that her punishment for interfering with history? For changing Adrian’s fate? Was he to die a slow, lingering death from a gunshot wound instead of being hung as a traitor?
“Forgive me, my love.” Tara said in a choked whisper, unable to resist the condemning voice of her own conscience. “It’s my fault. I killed you.”
“There now, Madame.” Mrs. Chatham’s steady hands drew her near. “You’re exhausted. Let’s get you to bed. I’ll watch over his lordship.”
“I won’t leave him.”
“He’ll need you later. I’ll have to tell him when he wakes up that you are asleep. He won’t like it, Mum. Take your rest now. I’ll call you if need be.”
The clock chimed three in the morning. She’d been awake for the past twenty four hours. Twenty four hours of panic, crisis, and nerve rending terror.
Tara weaved back and forth, unable to resist her body’s yearning for rest. “I’ll stay.” She said with resolute determination.
“And you’ll rest, either way.” Mrs. Chatham’s voice became stern. “See now, that lounge chair in the corner. You’ll be only a step away.” The housekeeper didn’t wait for Tara to approve. With more strength then Tara believed the woman possessed, she took hold of Tara’s arm, pulled her from the chair and walked her to the sofa in an iron grip.
Bleary-eyed, and yawning, Tara gave in to her body’s craving for sleep.
Soldiers. Angry, rough soldiers woke her from her dazed slumber.
They pushed Mrs. Chatham to the floor as she tried to shield the wounded man in the bed from their rough hands. They were taking him away.
They were arresting Adrian as he lay half dead from his wounds.
Dublin prison. No–he’ll die for sure.
The soldiers dragged him from the bed, ignoring his cries of pain as they read the decree against him. “Lord Adrian Dillon, alias Quentin Hardwicke, Captain Midnight, you are under arrest for acts of treason, for stirring up sedition, and leading others in rebellion against the crown. Your lands and holdings are forfeit to the crown and you will reside in Dublin Castle’s prison suite until the day of your execution.”
“NOOooooo.” Tara vaulted from the couch to find the room peaceful and without the soldiers of her nightmare. She clutched the bedpost, breathless, as she gazed down at her sleeping husband.
“And a good morning to you, Madame.” Dan sat beside the bed.
Her hands flew to her mouth as dizzying nausea welled up. Tara spun about, looking for the chamber pot or the wash basin before the heaves overwhelmed her.
Spasms shook her as she emptied her stomach into the water pitcher. After several minutes she had no more to offer the porcelain god. Shaking, she crossed her arms over the opening, resting her head on her arms to regain her composure. The taste in her mouth was foul and rank. With a groan, Tara sat up straight, moved the fouled pitcher from her, and leaned against the wall, drawing her knees up about her chest and hugging them.
“Does he know?” Dan’s gentle baritone echoed in the room.
“Know what?” Tara lifted her head at his implication, daring him to say it.
Dan cocked his head sideways, a grin splitting his graying beard. “Do you know?”
“I thought it was motion sickness at first. The coach ride was worse than a hay cart for five days. And then I hoped it was just nerves from all this intrigue in Dublin. Dan, what are we going to do?”
“Have some breakfast. And then clean your husband’s wounds and try to get him to drink some water.” Logical, level-headed, objective. That was Dan.
Tara stood up. She meandered about the room and started removing the dangling pins from her tangled of hair. “I never thought of it. Isn’t that funny? A woman from the twenty first century and I didn’t even think of getting pregnant, even though we were—” A blush rose up from her neck as she left the rest unspoken.
“Going at it night and day. I thought of it. Hell, it’s not like you can go down to the corner drugstore and buy condoms. You married the dude. You’ll have to raise little lords and ladies to inherit Glengarra.”
“How is he?” Tara didn’t want to think about raising his child without him. He was all that mattered at the moment.
“Feverish. Thrashed about some, so I gave him Laudanum to keep him still.”
“Isn’t it addictive?” Tara set the hair pins on the small table and moved to the bed. Adrian lay unconscious on the white sheets, much the same as she’d left him last night.
“We’ll deal with that later. Let’s just get him through the worst of it for now.” Dan relinquished the chair to her so she could take up her bedside vigil. As she sat down, he jerked the bell pull and brought another chair over from the desk to sit beside her.
They exchanged the events of yesterday. Tara told him of Mr. O’Reilly’s visit, and the descent into chaos. Dan related his journey to Bond House, his swim in the River Liffey and his meeting with Fitzgerald before being smuggled home by coal wagon.
“I dreamed the soldiers came to take Adrian away, even as he lay dying. They were dragging him out of bed, bent on taking him to Dublin prison to be executed.”
Dan brushed her arm with his thick knuckles. “From what your man told me, no one, save Fitzgerald and some friends in Cork know of his midnight wanderings.”
“The Sheares brothers, Jasper and Horace.” Tara murmured.
“I believe that was the name. Aside from them, everyone believes Hardwicke is the man involved in the intrigues, which is why Adrian is not a true suspect at present. He’s merely a cousin of an outlaw. Hopefully, we’ll ride out the trouble here and take him home to Glengarra when he’s well enough to travel.”
“What of Lord Edward? You saw him yesterday?”
Dan slapped his leg. “Damn. I promised to send word about Adrian’s safety. Forgot. As soon as I walked in the door here I was back in the surgical unit outside Baghdad.”
He stroked his beard, his eyes taking on an enlightened gleam. Wagging a finger at Tara, he said, “Maybe that’s for the best. If Fitzgerald is in danger of being caught, it’s better if we don’t have further contact with him. He’s a dreamer, not a soldier. I caught that right off. Could be a liability.”
It sounded so cold. Lord Fitzgerald was her husband’s friend, and Tara had come to care for him, too, in the short time she’d come to know him. True, he was a dreamer, not a military
genius. Edward was their friend. He would not cut them off if they were the ones being hunted. Adrian wouldn’t do that to Edward and neither would she.
“No.” She said quietly. “Would you abandon me if the authorities were searching to arrest me or would you help me in the name of our friendship?”
“You have to ask, after all this?” Dan waved his hand at the wounded man before them. “It’s not about you and me, Tara. Fitzgerald is a stranger. We don’t want to court danger, not with Adrian so fragile at the moment, and you expecting his child.”
“Tara …”
The faint, desperate whisper from the bed ended their debate. Tara stood quickly and leaned close to her husband’s face. Pain and confusion met her as she gazed into Adrian’s murky grey eyes.
“Sweet Tara …” His hand waved at the air in an attempt to find her.
“Shhh, my love. I’m here. Rest. Everything is all right. Just rest.” She showered his face with kisses as she captured his wandering limb. Here, take my hand.” He quieted at her touch, looking up at her with pain blurred eyes.
“I’ll leave you two for a while.” Dan rose and left the room.
“Tara …” His voice was thick and slurred.
“I’m fine. You’ve kept us busy for the last twenty four hours.”
“O’Reilly said … is it … true?”
She didn’t want to tell him, to worry him. He needed rest to regain his strength. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. “I haven’t heard if they captured him yet. There is a constable stationed on the front step and another on the corner, so there’s no reason to be concerned he’ll return.” She emphasized with a positive tone.
“No … the meeting… . the arrests?”
Tara tugged the covers up higher about his chest, avoiding eye contact. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in what Mr. O’Reilly said. He looked a bit mad.” She flinched, fearing he would think she meant the anger of O’Reilly rather than his fanatical raving. “Crazy–nuts, you know.” She spun her finger about her ear with a dismissive grin, hoping that would satisfy his curiosity in his drugged state.
“I love you, Tara.” It was a desperate plea, not a statement.
The words were like a stake driven through her heart. Adrian loved her, even though she thwarted him and prevented him from fulfilling his destiny, even as she looked into his eyes and lied to him about the fate of his friends. Their love created a child; a child who would need his love and his protection in this harsh world.
“… what … .what is this?” The dark eyes quickened as his hand found her face. He stroked her wet cheeks with languid clumsiness. “Don’t cry, Tara. Don’t cry for me.”
Tara returned his devoted gaze. “You need a shave, my lord.” She fingered the rough sandpaper of his cheek affectionately.
“I need you.”
“Satyr.” Tara teased, trying to lighten the mood. She knew that wasn’t what he was implying, yet couldn’t resist the rub. “Bed rest, indefinitely. I’ll not have you over-exerting yourself and then end up leaving me to raise our baby alone.”
The dark brows knit together as the grey orbs hardened. “A baby?”
Tara smiled down at him as he gazed at her with muddled confusion.
When he failed to get the drift, she removed his hand from her cheek and placed it on her abdomen. The dark eyes widened considerably.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. I just realized it. Actually, my father made the observation when I kept losing my breakfast these past days. I haven’t done the math yet.”
“I love you.” There it was again. That sweet phrase she’d lived most of her life dying to hear. Now the man proclaiming it to her so fervently was probably dying.
“Shhh, sweet Tara …” The raw emotion in his voice pierced her. “Don’t cry, I’ll be here for you … nothing will come … between us … . nothing … I promise.”
“What of your United Irishmen?” Tara whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes as she struggled to control her shaking breath. “They’ve come between us, my lord. Your association with them has left you mortally wounded, while I am to bring a child into this harsh world, a child who may well be an orphan before he’s born, thanks to them.”
The dark grey eyes became sharp and alert as he held her gaze. “I vow, should I live through this… . nothing will come between us again, my love … nothing.”
Four days later, the constable came to the townhouse asking to see Lady Dillon. Chatham informed Tara of the constable’s presence as she helped Dan with the changing of Adrian’s dressings.
“Let me finish. Go ahead. Stall him. I’ll be down shortly.” Dan assured Tara.
When she didn’t answer him, Dan lifted his head to give her a level look. The blue eyes urged her on. “It will be all right, my girl.”
That term of endearment had become precious to her. Tara nodded, straightening her shoulders for the task ahead, finding strength in Dan’s paternal presence. After making herself presentable, she met the corpulent Constable O’Rourke in the parlor.
“Good day to you, Lady Dillon.” The sing-song Irish brogue greeted her cheerfully enough, considering the circumstances. “And how is Lord Dillon coming along?”
“My husband’s condition is still very grave.”
“I’m sorry for it, My Lady.” The officer hung his head in true regret. “We chanced upon the assailant, one O’Reilly, a known member of the insurrectionists.”
The news served to further rattle her composure. O’Reilly’s fanaticism may have cost them dearly. O’Reilly had known that Adrian was involved. Suppose there were others who held that knowledge without Adrian realizing it?
“Would you care for some tea, or a glass of brandy?” Tara found herself saying with easy grace. She had to remain calm, give this man no reason to suspect what her husband had been about on that morning four days past.
“No, my lady. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions.”Tara nodded. Steeling herself, she sat down, waiting.
“On the morning of the attack, can you tell me what happened, exactly?”
“It happened so fast.” Tara twisted the ring on her finger and tried to look pathetic. Men in this century believed women were weak and helpless, literal numbskulls. She tried to play the part, much as she despised it. Her husband’s life might depend on it.
“I’ve no doubt it was horrifying for you, my lady. However, I need to clarify the reasons behind the attack to assess the case as to whether it was part of this uprising business or a grudge of a more personal nature that the man may have held for your husband and decided randomly to act upon on the morning of March twelfth.”
“Until that morning I had never laid eyes on the man before, nor had Lord Dillon ever mentioned him. As far as I know he was a stranger. What did Mr… .?”
“O’Reilly.”
“What reason did he give? You mentioned that you had him in custody.”
“Nay, he was shot. Decided to take a few soldiers down with him rather than surrender to us. Bit of a fanatic, was he. His reasons for shooting your husband are still a mystery. We have evidence that the rebels had plans of seizing parliament and holding them hostage. Considering your husband is a peer of the realm, I’m thinking he may have been a blind target. My superiors in the English garrison will not allow me to close the case until I clear up the details. Did O’Reilly say anything before shooting Lord Dillon?”
Tara put her hand to her brow for effect, as she whispered in a frail voice. “Oh, I’m afraid I cannot recall—“
“Good afternoon, Constable.” Dan’s voice boomed from the doorway.
Tara rose, relishing the intrusion. She had never been very good at lying.
“Constable O’Rourke, I would like you to meet my father, Dr. MacNeill. Papa, this is Constable O’Rourke.”
The men nodded in polite acknowledgment of each other.
“Nasty business, this rebel rubbish.” Dan rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. �
��Nearly killed my son-in-law. Would you like a drink?”
The officer declined once again.
“Well, I need one.” Dan moved to the cabinet across the room and poured himself a glass of brandy. “Sit down, don’t let me interrupt.”
“Regarding O’Reilly, my lady, do you recall if he said anything?”
“It seems he said something about Irish Peers being in league with the English … . forgive me … it was so unexpected. He just charged in, yelling something of that nature, and shot Adrian.” Tara did her best to look fragile and broken.
“As I suspected, then. He was out for blood sport.” The constable commented. “Now, for another matter. One of Quentin Hardwicke.”
Tara stiffened.
Dan downed his brandy in one hard gulp and poured himself a second glass. “Who is that, my girl?” Leave it to Dan to pick up the pieces. “Isn’t he some relative of Adrian’s, second cousin, or some such thing?”
Tara shrugged, giving Dan a bewildered, blank look.
“Is he the one that was rumored to be involved in all this rebellion rubbish?” Unlike Tara, Dan was a superb actor in the face of danger. “The one who died a few years back. From what I’ve heard, my lord despises that one.”
“You’ve never met the bloke?” The officer asked with amazement.
“No, of course not?” Dan answered for them. “We only arrived from America a couple of months ago.”
“Did your husband have any contacts with him since your arrival in Dublin?”
He wasn’t going to give up easily. Tara tried looking confused. She shook her head, regarding the constable with doe eyes. “He’s not seen him for years, and yes, I do believe, Papa, that he told us the man died some years ago. At least, that’s what he’s been told. Why? Has he done something wrong?”
The constable’s face hardened. “Aye, Mistress. He’s one of the leaders of this nasty revolution mess. Much as he’d like everyone to believe he’s dead, he’s alive, and we’ve issued a warrant for his arrest, along with Lord Fitzgerald and the others.”
A loud noise outside stopped their conversation as someone ran up the stairs and entered the front hall. The drawing room door opened for Lady Fiona Dillon, with Dr. Magnus in tow.
