C.H. AdmirandC.H. AdmirandC.H. AdmirandC.H. Admirand

Excerpt: The Duke’s Mercenary

Book 9: The Duke's Guard Series

Excerpt from Chapter One
©C.H. Admirand February 2024

Dermott O’Malley scanned his surroundings as he rode the last few miles toward Lippincott Manor. The earl would be pleased to know that all was as expected on his dawn patrol from the manor house to the village and back. The air was crisp. Though still hidden behind the trees, the sun was breaking just over the horizon.

Rounding a curve in the road, the sound of branches breaking caught his attention. Homing in on the sound, and the direction it came from, he urged his horse forward. A slip of a lass wearing a burgundy coat stood out among the dense green as she climbed onto the stone wall running parallel to the road. Her light brown hair was half up, half down, with leaves and twigs caught in it. Had she stumbled and fallen? Was someone pursuing the lass as she ran for her life through the forest? Before he could speculate further, she tossed her bag to the ground.

He’d guessed her intention before she struggled to her feet—hands extended to balance. He galloped toward the lass perched on the wall but knew he wouldn’t reach her in time. “Don’t… Ah, bloody fecking hell!”

He closed the distance between them, leapt off his horse, and knelt beside where she lay on the dew-drenched grass. “Lass?” She didn’t answer. He brushed the tangle of light brown hair, dirt, and leaves from her nearly translucent, satin-smooth cheek. The gash high on her forehead, hidden by her hair, was deep and bleeding and required immediate attention.

She was but breathing, but unconscious. First things first. The blood flowing from the wound high on her forehead was more urgent. Stanching the flow of blood had to be dealt with before the worry that the fall had rendered her unconscious. A concussion was likely.

He whipped the handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket, and one of the spare cravats he kept in his frockcoat pocket for emergencies—in particular, binding a miscreant’s hands behind their back when he’d forgotten to tuck lengths of rope in his pockets. Folding the linen into a thick square, he placed it against the wound, ignoring how quickly her life’s blood stained it. Dermott had to get her to the safety of Lippincott Manor! He wrapped the cravat around her head and tied it into a firm knot. Was she injured elsewhere? He prayed she was not, because checking for broken bones would have to wait.

He called to her again, still no answer. He pulled her closer. Laying his ear to her breast, he listened intently, praying to hear a sound that would confirm she was still alive. Relief speared through him as he heard the beat of her heart and her ragged, indrawn breath. She must have knocked the wind out of herself. ‘Twas a bit unnerving the first time it happened to him, mayhap she was too frightened to open her eyes as she struggled to breathe normally.

Thinking of the way she’d climbed up on the wall, then paused before leaping, he sensed she had more grit than a lass too skittish to scale a stone wall in the first place. Dismissing the idea that she was frightened, he wondered if she was in too much pain to open her eyes. He called for the third time, “Lass, can ye hear me?” Still no response.

Raised to believe that the Lord helped those who helped themselves, he began to check her limbs for broken bones. Miraculously there were none. He said a quick prayer, “God, I could use Yer help.” Omniscient, the Lord would know what O’Malley did not have the time to say. Carefully lifting the lass into his arms, he left her bag where she’d tossed it to the ground at the base of the wall. He’d retrieve later.

As he approached his horse, the animal shifted uneasily, spooked by the scent of blood  until he soothed, “Easy now, laddie. We’ve a lass who needs us.” The horse calmed at the tone of his voice, and he placed her on the animal’s back. Bracing her with his hand, he quickly unbuttoned his frockcoat and mounted behind her. The limp weight of her had unease slithering up his spine. He trusted his faith and the makeshift bandage he’d wrapped around her head would keep her alive until they made it the safety of the manor house. She was cold to the touch. No telling how long she had been in the woods—alone…or running from her pursuers. He gently drew her against the heat of his body, tucking the edges of his coat around her. His arm anchored her to him and emotions he had not felt in too long to recall battered him from the inside. Silently cursing, he refused to be distracted by the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips, or the way she felt nestled against him. “Ye’ll be fine, lass. I’ll take care of ye,” he vowed.

Giving the animal his head, O’Malley raced toward help…and safety. Who was she? What, or who, was she running from? She had not stirred since he swept her into his arms. He felt the flutter of her heartbeat against his own as they covered the short distance between the curve in the road and the wall she had jumped from. A voice whispered, “Ask her”. Was it his need to have the answers, or a message from the lass’s guardian angel?

The road leading onto the earl’s land lay ahead. “Almost there, lass.” While he wondered yet again, who in the bloody hell she was. His worry increased. Then he remembered his brother Emmett, the healer in the family, mentioning even unconscious and seriously injured, a person could still hear when spoken to. Holding on to that thought, O’Malley glanced down at the woman in his arms, and the bloody bandage around her head. His heart began to hammer in time with the pounding of his horse’s hooves. Her face was pale as flour. Her thick, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks lay utterly still. She hadn’t roused yet and was still unconscious. “Who’s after ye, lass? Where are ye running to?”

He fought to control the worry slithering through him at her unnatural silence. Continuing as if she had answered him and asked who he was and where he was taking her, he introduced himself, “O’Malley’s me name…Dermott. Not to be confused with me cousin, Sean O’Malley, who ye’ll be meeting shortly. We’re stationed at Lippincott Manor with our cousin, Seamus Flaherty. We’re on assignment protecting the earl and his family, and are part of His Grace, the Duke of Wyndmere’s sixteen-man private guard. The earl is the duke’s brother.”

The eerie silence had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as bright crimson continued to stain the makeshift bandage he’d wrapped around her head. It needed threads to close it. He dug deep for patience… Never his strong suit. Ma’s voice echoed in his head, reminding him that patience was far more useful than worry. He’d need a boatload of it to keep his head and get the lass to safety and the help she needed.

He chanced another glance at the woman cradled in his arms and wondered aloud, “Where is yer escort?” The warmth of her blood seeped through the bandage and his waistcoat. His gut flipped over.  He called on his steely control and clenched his jaw as his mount galloped toward the end of the long drive leading to Lippincott Manor. Needing to keep his balance—and his seat—he could not risk leaning down to listen to her breathing again. Bloody hell! He needed to know that she was still breathing! Sliding the tips of his fingers to her neck, he searched for her pulse and found it. Relieved, he rasped, “Nearly there, lass.”

Confidence restored and flowing through him, he stole a quick look, noting the fit and quality of her coat. It was exquisitely made, as was the dark blue gown peeking from beneath it. “Ye’re too finely dressed to be a servant on the run from a cruel master.” His gut roiled as another possibility occurred to him, “Is it a cruel husband ye’re on the run from, or have ye been jilted by yer intended?”

To curb the anxiety slithering inside of him, he murmured, “No matter. I’ll protect ye.” He brushed his lips to the top of her head as a childhood phrase slipped into his mind… Finders keepers. Bollocks! He was no longer a lad. He shoved the thought from his mind, while his heart whispered: You found her. Keep her! O’Malley could not afford to let his mind agree with his heart. He’d taken a vow of honor to protect the duke, his family, and extended family with his life. The lass in his arms could wreak havoc with that vow, and that he could not allow! His decision firm, he made a vow he knew would not compromise the one he’d sworn to the Duke of Wyndmere, “I’ll protect ye, lass.”

Once his mind was made up, it was like a steel trap. His brothers and cousins had tried to change it over the years without success. As he glimpsed the first of the outbuildings, Dermott solidified his pledge to the lass, “Whoever set ye to running—whether they be family, friend, or foe—they bloody well won’t get past meself or me cousins! Ye have me solemn word, ye’ll have the protection of meself and the rest of the duke’s guard from whomever is hounding ye!” He pulled her closer to his heart and rasped, “Ye need not worry, as the duke’s mercenary, I’ll seek out and destroy yer enemies while ye’re recovering.”

He gave a sharp whistle as the stables came into view. His cousins, Sean O’Malley, and Seamus Flaherty, came running. Flaherty held out his arms, “Hand her to me, while ye dismount.”

Dermott’s mind rebelled at the thought, and his hands wouldn’t cooperate or let the lass go. In a bid to cover the emotions rioting through him, he grumbled, “I’ve dismounted without aid carrying yer wounded hide more than once, Flaherty. I can manage on me own with this slip of a lass.”

Flaherty smiled. “Aye, that ye can. But didn’t our cousin, Sean here, tell me ye had me draped over yer shoulder at the time…and not cuddled in yer lap?”

Dermott ignored Flaherty and asked Sean, “Remind me to clip Flaherty in the gob later.”

“Done!” Sean studied the young woman and the blood-soaked bandage. “I’ll send for the physician.” Turning toward the building where two stable lads stood watching, he sent one of them to summon the doctor, and the other ahead of them to the house with instructions to alert the earl, his housekeeper, and cook.

Dermott’s steps faltered when fresh blood seeped through the bandage. She’d wake up soon, she had to! His heart chose that moment to remind him of his first reaction, and silent vow about keeping her, and nearly repeated it. Best to keep that thought buried, he told himself. Once spoken aloud, he would feel obligated to move mountains to keep the lass. And not because of some childhood phrase, but because of the soul-deep connection he’d felt the moment the lass leapt off the wall. Her courage and determination were rare in the Englishwomen he’d met since leaving Ireland. The curve of her lips and fullness of her curves were a temptation he could not afford. Her beauty…before his brain could finish the thought, Dermott shoved it aside. He needed to tell his cousins of his pledge, “I’d best be telling the two of ye now, lads. I’m the one who’s found her—”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Flaherty interrupted.

Bollocks, Dermott,” Sean scoffed, “Don’t say it!”

“Ye don’t even know what I’m going to say,” he griped, striding toward the manor house with his precious burden.

“We’ve known ye all our lives,” Flaherty reminded him. “Of course we know what ye’re thinking.”

“She isn’t a stray kitten,” Sean said. “Ye cannot just keep the lass because ye found her unconscious on the side of the road,” his cousin reasoned.

“Let me finish what I was going to say,” Dermott ordered. “I’ll beat the bloody shite of both of ye, if ye don’t shut yer gobs!”

“Finish it then,” Flaherty ordered.

O’Malley’s hackles rose at being told what to do, but the lass in his arms needed him to finish the ridiculous conversation. Her injuries required immediate care. “I pledged to protect her—and I will as long as there’s breath left in me.”

Sean grunted. “If that’s all, ye can honor yer vow to His Grace, and add the lass to the list of those under yer protection.”

Flaherty poked Dermott in the back of the head, irritating him. “What?”

“Aren’t ye going to wax poetic and tell us ye’re keeping the lass?”

Frustration twined with anger and filled him to bursting at the realization that he wanted to keep the lass. He’d go to his grave before admitting it to his cousins.

Flaherty grumbled, “I take it that ye’ve yet to make up yer mind on the matter. Now then, if ye did not find her on the side of the road, where did ye find the lass?”

Dermott’s heart hammered in his chest, recalling the sight of her frantic climb to the top of the wall before she leapt after her bag. Striding toward the house, he explained, “I heard someone moving through the trees, treading on fallen branches, on the other side of the stone wall a few miles from here. With the recent threats against the baron, and the bloody bastard who abducted our cousin Darby’s wife, I was prepared to handle whoever was rushing toward the wall.”

“Was anyone following her?”

Dermott was not surprised that Sean had reasoned out what he’d been thinking. Mignonette had been the target of attackers before Sean had rescued her…and married her.

“She was alone when I saw her climbing onto the wall,” he replied. “The lass stood up, tossed her portmanteau onto the ground, and jumped after it.”

Flaherty nodded. “Ye had to leave the bag behind as the lass was unconscious and bleeding.”

“Aye,” Dermott answered, as they arrived at the back door.

“I’ll fetch it after the physician’s seen to the lass,” he promised. The door opened as Sean reached for the handle.

The earl’s cook was waiting for them inside by back door. “Hurry now,” Mrs. Wyatt urged, and beckoned O’Malley into the room closest to the door. She clucked her tongue at the sight of the injured woman in Dermott’s arms. “Bring that poor woman in here and lay her on the cot. Gently now!”

Dermott lay her on the cot and knelt beside her. He figured he was on good enough terms with the Lord that He would hear O’Malley’s silent prayer: Send as much of me strength as the lass needs to heal so she can wake up!

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