Forget Me Not

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  “Yes.” Brian whispered, longing to open his eyes and look into the glittering depths of her amber eyes, but like a coward he kept his lids closed. To let himself be lost in the oblivion of her eyes—her very soul—again was nothing but the surest folly. “Love, could I trouble ye with a question?”

  “Of course,” she said, the gentle tone a soothing caress all in its own.

  “Why do ye resent yer father?”

  Lydia’s hand stilled, and she sighed with such weight of emotion he couldn’t help but open his eyes. Tension and mayhap a bit of fear and pain lined her features. “What would make you ask such a question?”

  “This afternoon, when Henry mentioned him, I saw it in yer face.”

  “Oh, Brian, that is a very difficult question to answer.” She paused. “People look at my father and see an amazing, self-made man. What very few see is how selfish and cutthroat he really is.”

  “Come now, lass, surely cutthroat is the wrong word to describe yer father.”

  She shrugged. “I know you think well of him, Brian, but you don’t know him the way I do, my father is always… different around his soldiers. He can be very amiable, even generous, but only if it suits him, and there is the devil to pay if he’s crossed.”

  “But he’s given ye the world, love. Everything you could ever dream of is at your fingertips.”

  “I suppose most would agree with you.” She fell silent, contemplative for a long moment. “While I was growing up he was never home. He did not even come when my mother died; he was too busy with some business scheme or another, probably his ships. We never had the chance to be a family, and that is all I ever wanted. Do you understand?”

  Brian sighed. “Aye, lass. That I do.” Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps that was the problem…

  Chapter Twelve

  The moment Brian awoke he was certain he’d died and gone straight to hell. Sunlight pierced his brain, and pure fire-stoked agony scorched his right side. But if this was hell why was an angel leaning over him? An angel with chocolate hair cascading over one shoulder, and shimmering golden eyes… The hands caressing his face were softer than any silk he’d been privileged to stroke, and luminescent rays of dazzling sunshine reflected off every sparkling facet of the angel’s creamy pearl skin. He squinted against the brightness, drawn to the enticing part of her heavenly lips.

  Perhaps he’d gone to heaven after all.

  But if this was heaven, why was the angel shaking him with such urgency? And why was a sharp cut of straw jabbing directly between his shoulder blades? Slowly clarity invaded his mind. An all too familiar, incessant voice grated his eardrums. He was most definitely still alive… pity

  He groaned. “By Christ, Lydia, let me sleep.” Irritably, he batted her busy hands away, and shut his eyes, blocking out the offensive morning sun. “Is it not enough that I damn near had the life crushed from me yesterday?”

  “As much as I would love to let you sleep, I fear we will have company in our cozy little loft before the hour is out.”

  Reality crashed down around him. The barn. It was imperative they leave before anyone discovered their presence. With each passing day the risk of being captured, or more certainly killed by Keith grew more imminent. The posters served his evil hand well. It was incredible how the promise of a hefty reward sharpened the eyes of every person in the countryside.

  Brian rolled to the side. Every muscle in his body threatened to shear from his bones. “God in heaven,” he moaned, rocking forward to sit. Lydia and Brandon flanked him instantly ready to aide him to his feet. “What I wouldn’t give to sprout wings and fly to the ground.”

  “Ou’d look a bit funny with wings, Brian.” The lad threw him a sly glance. “And ‘ou sure couldn’t pass for no angel even if them wings was white.”

  “Ye’ve a smart mouth, lad. I’d advise ye to watch it.”

  “Afraid someone will take it ‘pon themselves to pop me, Brian? Maybe ‘ou?”

  For the first time in his life Brian contemplated cold blooded murder. “Brandon—”

  “All right both of you that is quite enough.” Lydia stepped physically between them. “We must go now. Brian you go down the ladder first, and Brandon stop teasing him. He is obviously not in the mood.”

  “Aye, I’m not, ye little demon.” Brian ground his teeth, and glared over Lydia’s shoulder at Brandon—who promptly rolled his eyes in return—before creeping down the gray tinged wooden ladder at a variable snail’s pace. He felt as decrepit as the stepladder looked. It was infuriating.

  Lydia and Brandon quickly descended from the loft, waiting for the signal to leave. Brian opened the barn door a few inches and peered into the open yard. Nothing. Completely devoid of human activity. “Go, now. Run straight for the woods.” He waved them through, stealing into the open yard after them. The back of his neck crawled. Should anyone catch them running away, he would be damnably ineffective defending them against capture. Brandon was the first to disappear into the thick cover of the woods, Lydia was quick to follow, and Brian released bated breath as he too faded from the view of any wakeful eyes.

  Misery accompanied every strangled gasp Brian managed to drag into his lungs. Hell, it hurt just to think about breathing. “Argsh!” He dropped to one knee, clasping an arm around throbbing ribs.

  “Brian!” Lydia was at his side in an instant. Compassion and worry clouded her eyes. “We should stop, let you rest for a spell.”

  “No,” he wheezed, masking a grimace. “I’m fine. Feelin’ better already, just need to get the blood flowin’,” he lied, wanting nothing more than to curl up in the thicket and die.

  With uncertainly lining her face, Lydia stood slowly and held a hand to him. “Very well, let’s keep moving.”

  Gratefully he took the proffered hand, squeezing it in gentle reassurance. “Truly, lass, I’ll live.”

  And after another fifteen minutes, Brian began to believe it. Slowly the blood started flowing more freely in his veins, massaging the miserable ache of his body.

  The thick canopy of the forest made negotiating the woods difficult, but before the first half hour of travel was up they stumbled across a road. “We’ll be needin’ to stay away from that road, but we can follow it from inside the woods.” Brian squinted toward the wooden sign across the way. “This is excellent,” he murmured, more to himself than his companions.

  “What is excellent?” Lydia stepped to his elbow, shielding her eyes to gaze at the road sign as well.

  “We’re closer to Wheaton Abbey than I’d initially realized. We should make it home by this afternoon.”

  “Oh.” Lydia’s tone was flat, and totally devoid of emotion. He quenched the voice ringing through his mind I want you to run away with me but couldn’t help a glance down at her. Instead of looking elated at the prospect of being done running she looked… devastated. Broken. “At least we’ll be able to find you a proper doctor.”

  Heaviness bled through his soul, shredding it like a swarm of menacing locust. He opened his mouth to say… something… anything… perhaps even I love you but stopped short. What would the declaration change between them anyway? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Some truths were better left unsaid.

  With a sigh he trudged ahead, eager to put the whole ordeal behind him where it belonged.

  By noon the familiar outskirts of Wheaton Abbey were visible. With any luck they’d reach the Covington estate by three o’clock in the afternoon. Brian didn’t know whether to relax or become more vigilant.

  “Brian?” Lydia questioned, hesitantly touching his arm. “Were you still planning to stop at Lord Coverstone’s summer home until my father can be reached?”

  He raked a contemplative hand through his hair. “To be perfectly honest, love, I’m not sure what to do. The posters bearin’ our likenesses have worked well. I’m not certain we’d be safe at Lord Coverstone’s estate, one of the servants would no doubt decide to fill his pocket with reward money and turn us over to Keith. I’d thought to t
ravel straight to yer father today. He will help us.”

  Lydia’s eyes narrowed but she made no argument. “You’re right.”

  “I don’t care where we’re goin’ first so long as I get somethin’ to eat,” Brandon added, vehemently tugging the tweed cap further over his ears.

  “Couldn’t agree with ye more, lad. Shall we be off then?”

  With the promise of food, safety, and fresh clothes even Lydia moved toward home with more spring in her step. Growing bolder with each stride toward home Brian steered them onto the road. The trip was much easier without tripping over the roots and briars. Just another hour and they would be—

  “Arrest him!” The shout pierced the pleasant summer air around them. “That is the stable hand responsible for kidnapping Miss Covington.”

  “Oh, Christ,” was all Brian could manage before a horde of three burly men came barreling out of a field, tackling him to the ground. The ribs—which he’d almost been able to ignore for the last hours—ground agonizingly together. He gritted his teeth, guarding the injured side as one man straddled his legs. A second man grabbed a fistful of his shirt lifting his upper half clear off the ground, and yet a third trapped his hands above his head.

  “Brian!” Lydia shrieked, rushing forward to grab the arm of the assailant lifting Brian up with wads of shirt. “Unhand him this instant.”

  There was no immediate response from the brutes.

  “I said stop this madness, now!”

  The man straddling his legs was the first to acknowledge her presence. “Miss Covington?” he said, as though becoming cognizant of her presence for the first time.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Now, release this man immediately.” The command was positively regal. “This man is responsible for saving my life not endangering it. He will accompany me back to Wheaton Abbey and no one is to lay a hand on him. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Of course, Miss Covington.” Three brutes snapped immediately to attention.

  Brian’s head dropped against the hard packed dirt road along with his heart. Lydia stood with the stature of a queen, back ramrod straight, shoulders squared and brow arched with self-importance. Women of her station were trained and molded to be better than everyone else. It was not only her rank soaring high above him, but her as well.

  “You two help Mr. Donnelly off the ground,” Lydia commanded, “and you,” she swept a finger to the third man, “run ahead and inform my father that I have safely returned home. Also inform the servants I wish to have hot water ready for a bath, as well as hot water prepared for my companions.”

  The trek to the sweeping stone manor was a blur of pain both physical and of the heart for Brian. The estate loomed before them, a majestic monstrosity situated amongst beautifully manicured gardens and pristine outbuildings. Hard packed roads crisscrossed artistically across the grounds, outlining a pretty stream and Sir William’s private fishing pond—a portly man pulled a fat trout from the hole only to have the fish shake off the end of the rod and flop back into the water with a splash; Brian had never been permitted the opportunity to fish. The high spires and grand arched windows mocked him. He’d known better than to fall for Lydia and done it anyway.

  Brian held back in the circle drive immediately outside of the manse as Lydia strode up the stairs and waltzed through the front door with all the entitlement she in fact had and he could never hope for. Always shooting for the stars, and coming up short. So was the legacy of Brian Donnelly.

  Brandon followed Lydia into the manner at which point Brian had no further reason to dawdle and mounted the steps. He passed through the arched doorway, taking in the grandeur of the front hall—a bit ostentatious to suit Lydia.

  “Lydia! Lydia! Where is she?” Sir William’s thundering voice boomed from the staircase and moments later a thundering of feet rounded the corner.

  “Papa,” Lydia choked, rushing into his arms.

  Not quite fifty, the general was a man of formidable stature, and his burly arms swallowed his daughter in a fatherly embrace. “My darling girl, I have never been so worried or so sick in all my days. Just let me look at you.” His gaze sifted over her with more emotion than Brian had ever seen mirrored in the wise gray eyes. The general hardly portrayed the selfish man Lydia had described the night before, but just the same Brian kept a wary eye upon him. Lydia’s words the night before had rekindled the suspicion Sir William may be more involved with men of Keith’s ilk than Brian initially suspected. “When a boy from the stables carried back news that you’d been kidnapped I felt more helpless than any other time in my life. Worse than when your mother died.”

  “No need to worry further, Papa, Mr. Donnelly kept me safe.”

  Mr. Donnelly… The formal address seemed the final nail in his coffin.

  Sir William’s eyes rose as though cognizant of Brian’s presence for the first time. “Captain.” The general recognized him instantly. “I can think of no adequate words to express my gratitude in seeing to the safety of my daughter. Know that you will be generously compensated.” An arm still locked firmly about Lydia’s shoulders he extended a hand grasping Brian’s in thanks. “My only confusion is that you were originally named her kidnapper. I take it such was not the case.”

  “No, Papa.” Lydia said instantly. “Mr. Donnelly saved me. Both of us were kidnapped and threatened with murder by Felix Keith.”

  “What?” Sir William roared in disbelief. “Felix Keith? Surely you are mistaken. Felix has taken a great amount of the responsibility in trying to find you. He commissioned reward posters, dispatched search parties.”

  “Probably to get his hands on us before Miss Lydia could reach home and confess to the murder she witnessed him commit,” Brian added.

  A myriad of emotions flickered across the general’s face, the hue turning from white to the oddest shade of reddish purple in no less than three seconds. Before Sir William could reply Lord Northbridge wandered into the hall wearing a bored expression, and cradling a brandy in his right palm. Brian tensed; he hadn’t realized the viscount would be visiting the Abbey.

  A disdainful eye raked the length of Brandon before the viscount turned a bland smile to Lydia. “Good to see you home safely, but who may I ask is this?”

  At first Brian thought the viscount was referring to him, but he followed Northbridge’s gaze to Brandon standing wide-eyed and stricken half behind the door. Christ, but he’d nearly forgotten the lad. Brian stepped protectively to the boy’s side.

  “This is Brandon, er, uh, King. Brandon King,” Lydia provided, a notable quaver in her voice. “He is an orphan and I took him in.” Her chin lifted stubbornly, daring anyone to question the announcement.

  Northbridge glared dangerously at Lydia before turning an icy gaze to Brandon and Brian. The boy slipped his small hand into Brian’s as Brian returned the glare stare for stare.

  “It seems everyone is in need of some rest and I’ve no doubt a bite to eat.” Sir William strode to the center of the hall, taking charge of the situation. “We can all convene after these three have had an opportunity to freshen up.”

  “And, Papa?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Mr. Donnelly was injured most severely last night protecting me. He is in need of medical attention.”

  “Of course.” Sir William affirmed. “Harkens?” He hailed the butler. “See to it my personal physician is summoned and show Mr. Donnelly and Mr. King to individual rooms in the East Wing guest quarters.”

  “The East wing, sir?” Harkens raised a skeptical brow.

  “Did I stutter, man? The east wing guest quarters. See to it each of them is provided a bath, clean clothes, a meal and whatever else they may need. Also see that a bath is prepared for my daughter in her quarters.”

  “Of course, Sir William.”

  The East Wing quarters? Brian could not begin to squelch his astonishment. The East wing quarters were in the same section of the house as the family rooms and reserved for esteemed guests and clos
e friends of the family only.

  How close would his room be to Lydia’s? Moreover if he was already entertaining such thoughts in regard to her proximity could he ever manage to control himself?

  * * *

  “Ouch!” Brian winced as Dr. Byler wrapped his ribs with a wide swath of white cloth. “Ye could leave a little room for me to breathe, Doc.”

  The practitioner didn’t so much as glance up as he fastened the bandage. “Oh, quit, your grumbling, Donnelly. If you hadn’t gone and broken those ribs, breathing wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Brian snorted. “Yer bedside manner certainly hasn’t improved over the years.” The words were teasing. He and the good doctor had known each other for a long time. Dr. Byler had served as an Army Surgeon under General Covington and was now on Sir William’s retainer.

  “It’s not the bedside manner, but the healing touch that counts,” the doctor countered good naturedly. “You of all people should know that.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  Dr. Byler straightened. “You’ve seen broken ribs before, Donnelly, so you know the drill. Keep them tightly wrapped, and make sure to take deep breaths no matter how badly it hurts.”

  “I will, sir. Thank you.” Brian shifted on the enormous feather mattress in his guest room, intending to rise and show the doctor out.

  “Tell me, Donnelly, have you settled down with a family yet?” Dr. Byler asked, stowing the leftover bandages in his black bag.

  Brian ground his teeth.

  “If I recall,” Doctor Byler’s continued jovially, “you left a trail of broken hearts across three different countries.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Brian shook his head, trying to suppress a wry smile. “But, to answer your question no. No family, and that’s how I’d like to keep it.”

  “Oh, come now, Brian, you just haven’t met the right girl. Mark my words some comely lass will catch your eye and you’ll never manage to resist.” Dr. Byler paused at the door, thoughtfully shaking a finger. “I used to be just like you. Even after I married the thought of a family scared the living hell out of me.”