Forget Me Not

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  With a little persuasion he would be panting at her heels. A smile tugged her lips. If not, tormenting him with her wiles was sure to be a good bit of fun.

  Chapter Nine

  Brian’s head was still reeling from Lydia’s proposal as he slipped through the backdoor of Henry’s cottage the following morning. To his mind the crisp morning sunshine was entirely too cheery, black thunderheads would far better suit his mood… Except for the fact that thunderheads would remind him of the storm which had stranded he and Lydia in the cabin; and then he would think of the subsequent night with her sleeping form curled around him; and if he dwelled on that overly long…

  Oh, Hell! He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re a fool, Donnelly.”

  Agitatedly he stalked the perimeter of the property checking for any evidence of Roark closing in, and hoping a little exercise would clear his sleep deprived mind. With the constant threat of discovery looming, he dared not sleep. Not that he would have slept anyway. Try as he might he could not shed the image of Lydia plying him with those huge, innocent bedroom eyes. The lure of her naivety had proved so unnerving. It had taken every shred of self-control not to surrender, and ravish her on the spot. By the grace of God alone he’d clung to his wits and denied her. Denied himself.

  Lydia’s upper story window drew his gaze like a beacon. Without cognizant thought he found himself staring at it as though able to divine her image through the bricks. Every time he blinked he saw her standing beside the bed in naught but her see through shift. Her ethereal beauty, nay, her very aura had the power to strike him dead in his tracks. Bring him to his knees. He sighed out the weight of his soul. That girl would see him to the grave.

  The knowledge he’d hurt her gutted him. He’d passed an exceedingly restless night propped in a chair outside her bedroom, listening to her cry. Even now the memory of Lydia’s sobs haunted him. He should apologize. Explain that he hadn’t meant it…

  No. What was wrong with him? Rejection was the only way to protect his heart—his very soul. The temptation to take her, sate himself with her body, tested the bounds of his self-control. Only the knowledge that Lydia wanted more kept him at bay. Lydia wanted forever, and forever was the last thing Brian would commit to a woman. Without doubt she hated him now, and that was how it must be between them.

  He needed to remember she was a typical rich, spoiled chit; the sort who thought of nothing but themselves. Whatever came of their flirtation she would leave him in the end just as everyone else in his life had. It was better simply to be alone than to have had and lose a life rendering love. This was the concept he lived by.

  Brian set off in the direction of the well, planning to begin heating water for her bath. If the hot water was prepared when she awoke it would undoubtedly land him back in her good graces. When crossed she was a devil and a half, and he was more drawn to her flushed with anger than lying wanton in his arms. A vision of her shooting daggers at him the night before flashed through his mind. Gorgeous. In any case, he knew better than to inspire more arguments between them or he’d never manage to control his mounting desire. At this point he hoped she would have the strength to wash herself. No, that wasn’t entirely true, Brian would love to bathe her, run his hands along her bare, wet flesh, watch runs of soap bubbles trail rivers along her breasts… The lord only knew what trouble he’d be in if he saw and touched her that way. The mere thought of her submerged in the steaming water caused his body to react in a most uncomfortable way.

  With concerted effort he shoved the vision of a naked, wet Lydia out of his thoughts, and turned his attention to the dawn around him. Under any other circumstances the morning would have been perfect. The rising sun cast rays of warmth along his face and neck erasing the lingering chill of night. The grass, wet with dew, squished beneath his feet and a squirrel scolded him from a tall tree just ahead. He smiled in spite of himself, turning his face to the sky, and breathing deep the sweet summer perfume swirling on the breeze. Perhaps thunderheads were not so fitting of his mood.

  A rustling alerted Brian to a presence behind him, a presence that could not belong to the squirrel still scolding him from the tree. Perhaps the mangy dog returning? Biding his time he listened keenly to the barely audible squish growing ever nearer. Definitely human.

  Without warning Brian spun. A young boy stood close, so Brian easily snared him about the waist. “What have we here?”

  “Le’ me go!” The boy, no more than seven years old, beat ferociously against Brian’s chest and legs. A heel made sharp contact with Brian’s shin, he winced, but refused to let the scamp go. “I weren’t doin’ nothin’.”

  “Nothin’ but lookin’ to pick me pocket is all.” Holding firm, Brian stooped to the boy’s eye level. “Too bad for you I learned not to keep any valuables in my pockets a long time ago.”

  The boy’s chin jutted stubbornly. “Was not pickin’ nobody’s pocket, mister.”

  “Right,” Brian scoffed, “and I’m Saint Dismas.”

  “Who?”

  “The patron saint of…” Brian shook his head, and looked reproachfully at the lad. “Never mind. What would yer mother think of ye stealin’?”

  “Have to have a mother to care now, wouldn’t I.”

  Brian’s heart clenched as he looked into the boy’s huge gray eyes. Reflected in their depths was a sadness he knew all too well. Grubby, ill-fitted brown trousers hung from the lad’s waist stopping just above the ankle, both of his shoes split at the outer seams, and the shirt had also seen better days. Brian suspected his appearance at this age had not been much better. “Where do you live then, lad?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “How can it be that ye live nowhere?” Brian knelt to the boy’s eye level. “Not even ghosts live nowhere.”

  The boy shrugged. “Suppose I am a ghost?”

  “I’d suspect the bruise ye left on me shin would prove ye’re real enough.” He winked attempting to draw the boy out. “Do ye have a name?”

  The lad ground his teeth as wide mistrusting eyes bore into Brian’s. “Brandon.”

  “All right, Brandon,” he smiled again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Brian.”

  Solemnly Brandon nodded.

  “Who cares for ye then?”

  “Told you, I don’t need nobody.”

  “I see.” Brian nodded with equal solemnity. “You wouldn’t happen to be a hungry for a bite to eat? I could surely use the company.”

  The boy’s gaze drifted from Brian, to the cottage, and back again. He licked his lips, the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced with the gesture. “I could eat.”

  “All right then.” Brian kept a careful hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Help me carry this water to the house and I’ll see what we can find.”

  Once in the house Brandon situated himself close to the door his wide eyes darting around the visible rooms.

  “Don’t worry, lad, there’s no one here to harm you.” He dumped the water into a kettle on the stove and set about making two sandwiches from what was left of Harvey’s dry cured bacon, cheese, and a loaf of bread. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you were lurkin’ in Henry Wallace’s mill yard for whilst we eat.” He took a seat across from the boy.

  Brandon tore into the sandwich like a starved animal. “Nobody’s been here fer weeks,” he mumbled around monstrous bites of bacon and cheese. “Figured no one would notice if’n I slept in the barn.”

  “I see. Well, for as long as I’m here lookin’ after me wife you are welcome to sleep in the extra bedroom.” Brian couldn’t run the risk of Brandon heading to town and outing their presence, the reward was a tempting sum. Moreover Brian knew what it was to be alone, and couldn’t turn his back on the rogue child. “I’ll ask you not to take anythin’ from this house though. The man who lives here is a very good friend of mine.”

  Brandon shrugged indifferently loudly smacking the crumbs from his lips before reaching for the last crust of bread on Brian’s plate. “What’s wro
ng wit yer wife?”

  “She has taken ill.” He pushed the plate toward the scamp, chuckling at his voracious show of appetite. “There is more where that came from if yer still hungry.” Brian reached behind him to pluck the last of the bread loaf from the counter, and plopped it onto the table. “Eat up, lad, put some meat on those bones.” He crossed his arms over his chest and sprawled back in the chair waiting for Brandon to finish. “What about yer father, son?”

  “What father?” he muttered rhetorically, yanking a battered tweed cap low over his eyes.

  Brian cocked his head. “So is he dead or are ye a bastard?”

  “Don’t rightly see wha’ difference it makes.”

  Brian nodded. “What’s yer last name then, lad?”

  “Don’t know, mister.” Brandon flashed a jaunty, sarcastic look. “Why don’t ye tell me yours?”

  “You’ve a very smart mouth, Brandon, has anyone told ye that before?”

  The boy shrugged indifferently for what must have been the umpteenth time that morning and Brian elected to hold the montage of questions at bay, understanding Brandon would not be inclined to confide in him as of yet. “Finished?”

  Brandon nodded, wiping a sleeve across his mouth, and belched.

  “We’ll be teachin’ ye some table manners as well. Come along then.” Brian jerked his head toward the stairs. “I’ll show ye to yer bunk.”

  “Don’t trust me down here alone?”

  “Nope. But I reckon you don’t much trust me either.”

  The shadow of a smile haunted Brandon’s lips. “I’d reckon ye’re right ‘bout that.”

  “We’re even then.” He held a hand toward the stairs. “After you, lad.” The pair mounted the stairs in tandem, and Brian sighed audibly with relief when the sight of Lydia sleeping quietly met his gaze through the open bedroom door. He turned to the smaller bedroom door. “This will be your room…” His voice trailed off as he realized Brandon was no longer with him. Instead the boy stood just inside of the room where Lydia lay sleeping. “Come along, Brandon, leave me wife be.”

  “She’s pretty, but she sure as hell ain’t yer wife.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You ‘eard me. I know she ain’t yours. Her face is posted on e’ery door from ‘ere to kingdom come, and you’re the kidnapper.”

  Brian froze, the words goddamn it lodged in his throat. If the kid ran out to talk they were done for.

  “Mmm…” The gentle hum lifted from the bed. As if on cue Lydia yawned and rolled with catlike leisure and grace to her back. “Who’s face?”

  “No one’s face, love.” Brian entered the room and crossed it in two strides, shooting Brandon a withering glare. Hopefully Lydia would keep up the pretense of good relations despite his callous rebuff. “How are ye feelin’?” Irritably he waved Brandon out of the doorway. The boy didn’t budge, but came to stand at the foot of the bed, smirking.

  “Quite revived.” She began to sit, he propped a pillow behind her back dreading the cascade of questions sure to come. Her gaze fell instantly to Brandon. “I say who might this be?”

  “The name’s Brandon, Miss.”

  “Brandon, what a lovely name.” She flashed what was undoubtedly the most melting motherly smile Brian had ever seen, and folded prim hands above the quilt. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Lydia.”

  The boy beamed in return, his stern demeanor crumbling beneath the warmth and acceptance radiating from her honey eyes. “‘Tis a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss, ye’re the prettiest girl I e’er seen.”

  A tinkle of laughter burst from her mouth. “Aren’t you a charmer in the making? Now, how is it you came to be here with us?” A questioning eye flicked to Brian.

  “Caught him pickin’ me pocket this mornin’,” Brian grumbled.

  “Oh, now we can’t have that.” Lydia clucked her tongue disapprovingly, albeit with motherly disapproval. “Why would you need to pick anyone’s pocket?”

  “I was hungry,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “My goodness, that is truly awful.” Lydia’s eyes widened with alarm and she fixed an accusing gaze on Brian. “Did you feed him?”

  “Of course.” He raised his palms in defense. “What do ye take me for, some sort of heathen?”

  “No need to get surly, Brian.” Lydia’s gaze moved back to Brandon. “We have much to discuss about your situation, young man, but for the moment please tell me what you were talking about on the stairs. Whose face is posted from here to kingdom come?”

  Brian immediately moved to intercept the question. “No one, love, it was—”

  “Yours,” Brandon supplied instantly.

  Sweet Jesus, Brian groaned inwardly.

  “My face?” Utter shock laced her features.

  The lad nodded.

  “On what sort of posters?”

  “Reward posters, Miss Lydia.”

  “What?” She paled considerably. “Brian, were you not going to tell me this?”

  “Doesn’t appear that way. I’d wager—”

  “Would ye shut up, Brandon? I haven—”

  “Do not tell him to shut up.” Lydia rankled, shooting a pointer finger in his direction. “Why haven’t you told me this, Brian? My life is in danger and I think it is very much my right to know who is posting reward posters and why!”

  Brian shot Brandon a murderous glare and stooped beside the bed. “The fact you’ve been incapacitated the last two nights prevented me from finding an opportunity to tell you about the posters, or that Roark is in Sharpsburg.” Damn it all, he hadn’t intended to admit the last.

  “Roark is here?” The vise of anger lining her features solidified as her gaze fixed on him. “You lied to me. You went into town didn’t you?”

  “Lydia,” he said softly, twining his fingers through hers, “please understand—”

  “Understand what, Brian Donnelly? Understand that you had no intention of telling me of Roark’s presence, or the reward posters. You had ample opportunity to do so when we talked last night.”

  “That conversation never happened if you recall, we agreed on it.”

  “You agreed on it. And once again you are treating me as every other man in my life, as though I am a child too fragile and dimwitted to comprehend the import of it all.”

  “That is not true,” he implored. “I hadn’t told you yet because I wanted ye to concentrate on getting well. You gave me quite the scare, love; all I wanted was for you to be strong enough for the news.”

  Her brow arched in challenge. “I am quite strong enough for the news now, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Noncommittally he cleared his throat. “Aye.”

  “Then do tell the tale, Brian. Brandon, would you like to sit?”

  “Wouldn’t miss this story fer the world, Miss Lydia.” The boy quickly clamored into the chair beside the bed.

  Brian did his best to ignore him, and quickly related the events which had transpired during her illness.

  “A soldier was showing the posters? Do you think my father could be the one looking for me and offering the reward?”

  “I’d be lyin’ to say I hadn’t entertained the very same thought.” Brian nodded. “My concern is the posters could very well be sent by Keith and I’ll not take the chance of puttin’ ye into his hands. Even if yer father commissioned the reward and search it would not be difficult for Keith to intercept you and finish his evil seeing as he is so close to Sir William.”

  “True.” Lydia’s teeth tugged apprehensively at her bottom lip. “What next?”

  “The same as I explained yesterday. If yer feelin’ strong enough we leave for Viscount Coverstone’s manor tomorrow, and I’ll not let ye from me sight until ye’re safely with yer father.” He hesitated before adding. “Even then I’ll be close, Lydia, I promise ye that.”

  She nodded.

  “And you,” he spun to Brandon, “will not be leavin’ my sight either.”

  “The hell I won’t.”

 
Lydia looked aghast. “Brandon, a boy your age should never use such language.”

  “Sorry, miss,” he mumbled. “Just the same, why won’ I be leavin’ yer sight?”

  “In case ye’re of a mind to claim that 500 pound reward.”

  “You mean 1000 pounds,” Lydia corrected. “If there is a price on both our heads, the reward is 1000 pounds.”

  Brian ground his teeth at the triviality.

  Brandon shrugged. “I’m not. 1000 pounds is a mighty tempting sum, but who in their right mind would give it to me. All ‘at would happen is I’d tell ‘em where to find you and some grown up would pocket me money.”

  “Probably true.” Brian raked a hand through his hair, contemplating the statement. Finally he cleared his throat, wanting nothing more than the conversation to end. “Well, then, Lydia if ye’d like to take a real bath I’ve been heatin’ some water downstairs. I’d be more than happy to prepare it in the washroom beside the kitchen. It’s promisin’ to be a very nice day.”

  “That would be lovely.” The whole of her countenance lifted at the prospect.

  “Excellent.” The whole of his body stiffened with the thought of her slipping beneath the sultry water. It had been entirely too long since he’d been with a woman, his imagination was running wild. Abruptly he stood. “Come along Brandon.”

  * * *

  A curl of mist swirled invitingly from the steaming contents of the tin tub beckoning Lydia. Surely no sight in heaven could be more alluring than the luxury of a long soak.

  Brian lingered by the doorway, looking most adorably boyish and nervous. “Would ye be needin’ assistance with anythin’ else, Lydia?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at his overt discomfort. “I don’t think so, but I’ll be sure to call if I change my mind.” The eyes nearly popped out of his head with her last statement, she knew better than to have said it, but this morning she was feeling a bit, for lack of a better word… naughty. Definitely unladylike.

  “I’ll just leave ye be,” he muttered.