She busied herself plumping pillows behind him, smoothing the
blankets, before removing a bowl of porridge from the tray.
"Perhaps some food will help. Bridget made this especially for you."
When she offered him a spoonful, he glowered at her. "I'm not an
infant to be coddled. I can see to my own feeding."
"Suit yourself." She handed him the bowl and proceeded to pour tea
into two cups.
When he'd managed to empty the bowl, she took it from him and
replaced it with a plate of biscuits and a steaming cup of tea. Though
he ate in silence she could see that his spirits were slowly being
restored.
"Now, about your arm..." She saw the sudden frown as he glanced at
her. "You'll need to begin using it, a little at first, until the strength
returns, and then a little more, and in no time it'll be as good as it ever
was."
"It's easy for you to offer such advice. You aren't the one in pain."
"But you must work through your pain."
"Is that so?" He shot her a dark look. "And how is it that you know
about such things?"
"I took care of my mother for several years before she died."
Though she wasn't aware of it, a hint of pain had crept into her voice.
Rory watched and listened, sensing that this was a recent loss.
"The longer my mother remained in bed, the weaker she became. Her
limbs began to shrivel from lack of use. I discovered that by moving
her arms and legs many times each day I could slow the process."
He was watching her in that quiet, measured way that .always left her
feeling so uncomfortable. To avoid looking at him, she turned away,
setting aside her empty cup, placing his dishes on the tray.
"We'll have to go slowly at first so we don't open the wound again.
You've lost too much blood as it is. But if we're careful, I think we can
manage to build your strength without straining that shoulder."
"We can, can we?" His tone was rougher than he'd intended. But the
wrenching pain, and the weakness that was so foreign to him, put his
teeth on edge. Besides, watching the ease with which she moved
about the room while he was forced to lie perfectly still made him
want to lash out at someone, anyone. "It would seem that I'll be doing
all the work, building my strength and restoring my arm. What will
the other half of 'we' be doing?"
"I'll be helping you."
"If it's all the same to you, I can do without your help." To prove his
point, he gripped his right arm with his left hand and forced it
upward.
Pain ripped through him, leaving him gasping. His arm dropped
limply at his side and he found, to his amazement, that he didn't even
have the strength to flex his fingers.
Seeing the look on his face, AnnaClaire's heart went out to him. But
she cautioned herself to hide her feelings. Pity was the last thing this
man wanted or needed, especially when he was in such a foul mood.
She picked up the tray and headed toward the door. "Well, if you'd
rather do it yourself..."
"AnnaClaire."
The sound of her name on his lips made her pause. She took a
moment to compose herself before she turned to him. "Is there
something you need?"
"I need..." He hated this. Would have done anything to avoid it. But
the truth was, he had no other choice. For the moment. "It would seem
I do need your help after all."
She crossed the room and returned the tray to the bedside table. Then
she straightened and rolled her sleeves.
The look of her, all crisp and efficient, had him silently cursing.
"Very well. If you're willing, 'we'll' begin at once." At her emphasis
on the word, he silently cursed again.
"You'd probably be more comfortable in the chair." She offered a
hand and helped him from the bed to the chair. The effort seemed to
drain all his strength.
She knelt in front of him and took hold of his right hand.
"Does this hurt?" she asked as she began to massage his fingers.
"Only a little." In truth, having her kneeling between his legs led him
to think of things other than pain. Things that would have her
blushing if she were to read his mind. He breathed in the fragrance of
roses that always seemed to surround her, and decided that he might
learn to like this sort of treatment.
"Good." She continued kneading his fingers, pressing them together
to make a fist, then slowly straightening them.
With each movement he could feel a tingling that began in his hand
and inched along his arm and shoulder. But he wasn't certain if it was
caused by the movement, or by the press of her hands on his.
Her fingers were long and graceful, the nails beautifully shaped. The
thought of those hands touching other parts of his body made him
smile.
"You find this amusing?"
He arched a brow. "Shouldn't I?"
"You'll not be smiling when we get to the more difficult part."
"And what might that be?"
"Using this arm. In no time I'll have you lifting your sword above
your head. And swinging it the way you did on the docks, the day you
were injured."
"Did I tell you that I saw you there?"
His voice, so close to her ear, had her looking up in surprise. But
when she found him staring directly into her eyes, she looked away.
"How could that be?"
"You deny you were there, AnnaClaire?"
"Nay. I was there. And I watched the battle between > our men and
the English soldiers. But how could you have possibly had the time to
see me, when you were busy fighting for your very life?"
"You'd be impossible to overlook, my lady." His voice lowered to a
caress. "Of all the women on the docks that day, your face is the only
one I remember."
He was staring at her again. To hide the blush she knew was on her
cheeks, she ducked her head. But she couldn't help glancing at him
from time to time from beneath lowered lashes.
"You have beautiful eyes, AnnaClaire. Did you know they're the
windows to the soul?" Judging by what he'd seen so far, hers was the
most pure and innocent of souls.
"I think you should stop talking and concentrate on the work."
"Aye. The work," he said with a smile. "If this be work, I'll gladly
labor for a lifetime."
"I'll remind you of your words tomorrow, when we get to the difficult
part."
Just as he began to feel comfortable with the gentle flexing of his
fingers, she startled him by slowly raising and lowering his arm. The
pain of even that simple movement left him clenching his teeth.
"I'm sorry to have to cause you more pain. But it's necessary if you're
to regain the full use of your arm."
"I understand." He sucked in a breath and braced himself as pain hot
as fire seared his arm and settled in his stiff shoulder.
She continued the motion several more times, then lowered his arm
and heard his sigh of relief.
From the tray she removed the square of linen and rolled it into a ball.
"Whenever you have time, roll this over and over between the fingers
of your weak h
and. It will help strengthen them."
She got to her feet and shook down her skirts before turning away.
"That's it? That's how you intend to help me get back my strength?"
She nearly laughed aloud at his look of annoyance. "You're forgetting
how severely you were injured, Rory O'Neil. It's a wonder you even
survived. If you attempt too much too soon, you'll lose even more
strength. Now you need to rest."
He bit back an oath as she helped him to bed and handed him a glass
of water into which she'd sprinkled the now familiar opiate. By the
time she'd slipped from the room and descended the stairs, he was
already sound asleep. With the touch of her hands still upon him. And
the fragrance of roses still filling his lungs.
"My lady. I beg permission to enter."
AnnaClaire had no sooner returned to her bedchamber than she heard
Glinna's voice from outside her door. She took a moment to compose
herself, then opened the door.
"Yes, Glinna? What is so important that you would disturb my rest?"
"Bridget sent me to tell you that Lord Davis is here." She lowered her
voice. "And he isn't alone. There's a very handsome man with him."
AnnaClaire's eyes narrowed. "Lord Dunstan?"
"Aye, that's the name, my lady. He and Lord Davis are awaiting your
company in the parlor. Shall I help you change into something more
elegant?"
AnnaClaire caught sight of herself in the looking glass. Her gown
was a bit rumpled, as was her hair. Still, the thought of primping for
Dunstan held no appeal to her.
"Thank you, Glinna. This suits me. You may take my tray
downstairs."
"Aye, my lady." The girl didn't bother to hide her disapproval. If a
man of means like Lord Dunstan ever came calling on her, she would
move heaven and earth to look her best. But then, all the servants had
speculated for years on AnnaClaire's future. She had wasted too many
years caring for her invalid mother. Now she was simply too old, too
headstrong, too defiant of convention, to ever snag a husband. What
man would offer his name and his fortune to a woman who hadn't the
least idea how to use her feminine wiles?
The little housemaid frowned as she followed AnnaClaire down the
stairs.
"Lord Davis." AnnaClaire paused a moment on the threshold, then
crossed the room and offered her cheek.
"My dear." The old man kissed her lightly. "I hope you don't mind
this intrusion."
"You are as much family as my father. You could never intrude."
He gave her a radiant smile. "Lord Dunstan and I are heading to the
docks to greet an old friend arriving from London. We thought you
might come along and enjoy a bit of fresh air."
"I'm sorry. I have a...prior appointment."
"Then perhaps we could drop you," Dunstan said. "It would be my
pleasure to place my carriage and driver at your disposal."
"Thank you, Lord Dunstan." AnnaClaire forced herself to greet him,
offering her hand for his kiss. "That's most kind of you. But I have
already instructed Tavis to prepare my carriage."
"Perhaps another time then, my lady."
She inclined her head and forced a smile to her lips. "I look forward to
it."
"Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"I promised Lady Thornly I would pay a call tomorrow."
"Then Lord Davis and I shall take you there, since we have also
agreed to visit the dear lady. Isn't that so, Charles?"
The older man was grinning from ear to ear as he nodded.
AnnaClaire knew she was trapped. The old dear was determined to
play matchmaker. And Dunstan was nothing if not persistent. There
was naught to do but accept defeat with grace. "I thank you, Lord
Dunstan. I will accept your kind offer."
He bowed over her hand. ' 'Until tomorrow, then, my lady!"
She walked with them to the door and watched as they climbed into
their carriage. Then, to assuage her guilty conscience, she ordered
Tavis to prepare her carriage. Perhaps a ride in the fresh air was the
very thing she needed to clear her head.
When she entered her room, she was startled to see the door to the
attic room open. Rory was leaning weakly against the landing at the
foot of the narrow stairs.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Keeping one ear to the door."
"You should have been sound asleep by now."
"Aye. I was. But the sound of a certain voice roused me." He took a
step nearer. "What did your Englishman want this time?"
"I told you. He isn't my Englishman. He merely offered me the use of
his carriage."
"With him in it, I'll wager."
"That's none of your concern, Rory O'Neil."
He caught her by the shoulder. "Damn you, AnnaClaire. Everything
that happens in this house is my concern. The man is as much a
butcher as is Tilden. And you let him fawn over you and court you..."
Her eyes blazed. "I cannot help his fawning. But no man courts me
without my permission. Lord Dunstan is far from home and missing
his own kind. He sees in me a kindred spirit."
He caught her by the chin, forcing her to face him. His eyes were as
stormy as hers. "If you think that, AnnaClaire, you're only fooling
yourself. The man covets you. And why not?' His thumbs traced the
fullness of her lips, sending heat curling along her spine. "A fairer
lass I've never seen."
She drew back, afraid of the feelings his touch caused. "That's just the
opiates, Rory O'Neil."
"The drugs may have weakened me, but they haven't affected my
vision. Or my mind. Do you not see in yourself what others see,
AnnaClaire?"
"I see..." She trailed off. For in truth, she could see herself reflected in
his eyes. And it gave her the strangest feeling.
She was accustomed to flattery from the peacocks at Court. Such
words from the lips of one such as Lord Dunstan would merely sound
slick and condescending. But when spoken by this man, they took on
a whole new meaning.
"Come now." She indicated the stairs. "I'd better help you back to bed
before you find yourself unconscious right here in my room."
"Aye." He bit back his temper on a long, deep breath, then made his
way slowly up the stairs, with AnnaClaire trailing behind him.
Minutes later he lay in his bed and listened to the sounds of activity
one floor below. Soon he heard the sound of carriage wheels. And
then there was only silence.
The pain was forgotten, as was his temper. He lay very still, thinking
about AnnaClaire. She was unlike any woman he'd ever known.
Bright, educated, articulate, with a sharp wit and a clever mind. A
wealthy woman who seemed to shy away from the grand displays of
society. Though her home was fashionable, and every bit as grand as
his home in Ballinarin, her life-style was simple. She was a woman so
beautiful she took his breath away, and yet she seemed completely
unaware of her effect on men.
And she was the daughter of Lord James Thompson, a close friend
and advisor to the queen.
As he finally drifted into sleep, the image
of AnnaClaire's lovely face
played through his dreams. He would have been stunned to know
that, alone in her carriage, AnnaClaire was experiencing a nearly
identical situation. As she had so often lately, she found herself
enumerating a certain rogue's fine qualities. And struggling to find a
valid reason why she should continue to hold him at arm's length.
Chapter Six
'Lord Dunstan, I understand you met friends at the docks yesterday."
Lady Thornly took a seat in her formal parlor and fanned her skirts
out around her, while her guests took their places nearby. "What was
the news?"
Dunstan looked pleased with himself. "The queen received my first
missive, and obliged me by sending a boatload of soldiers. I've
ordered them to sweep the city in search of the Irish brigands."
AnnaClaire's heart nearly stopped. "More soldiers?"
"Her Majesty has assured me she will take all of my advice to heart,"
Dunstan said with importance. "After all, that is why she sent me
here."
AnnaClaire took a deep breath. Since she was forced to endure an
entire afternoon in the company of Lord Dunstan, she decided she
may as well attempt to glean all the information she could. "I would
think by now the rebels have left Dublin far behind and have secreted
themselves in the countryside. Do you not agree?"
"Nay, my lady. I disagree. We've had soldiers watching every road
leading out of Dublin since that day on the docks, and not one of the
brigands has been spotted. That tells me they've decided to hide out
here in the city."
"What will you do?" AnnaClaire visibly tensed. "Go door to door in
search of them?"
"If we must. But there might be an easier way."
"And what is that?" Lady Thornly asked.
"Put such a price on their heads, especially on that of their leader, that
even their own people will be hard- pressed to ignore it. After all, half
these peasants are starving. The thought of a king's ransom should be
enough to tempt at least a few of them to come forward. All we need
is the hiding place of a couple of these rats. We'll make an example of
those who would disregard the orders of their queen. In time, the rest
will become so frightened after witnessing a hanging or two, they'll
even refuse to give shelter to their own sons and brothers. And this
little rebellion will die like a whimpering dog."
Rory Page 7
