Chapter One
“Help! We’re over here!”
Ryan Garahan reacted instantly to the youthful voice and his cry for help. He leaned forward and whispered in his horse’s ear, as they raced toward the ancient oak on the edge of the village. “Hang on, lad!”
He leapt from his horse, glanced up, and noticed two things at once: a pair of scuffed half boots and stocking clad legs dangling directly above his head. He quickly averted his gaze, but not before he got a healthy glimpse of a curvaceous length of leg attached to—
“I brought help, Miss Barstow! It’s Garahan from Summerfield Chase!”
Garahan recognized the lad standing beneath the tree as one of the squire’s twin sons. The lads were always getting underfoot whenever he patrolled the village. Garahan snapped back to attention. Truth be told, he was grateful for the interruption, it distracted him from thinking about the lovely vision above him.
You’d have to hold his feet over a roaring fire before he admitted that parts of him were still reacting to the lovely sight. Whoever she was, she had not called for help…and she was no lad! He assessed the situation, the height of the lass—given the length of her legs, she was tall—and the distance she’d have to drop into his arms. ‘Twas not all that far, she could fall into his arms and not end up with a scratch. “If ye let go, Miss, I’ll catch ye.”
“If I could let go, I would have already done so!”
Her sharp reply had him swallowing a snort of laughter. “Well then,” he drawled, “why haven’t ye?”
The sound coming from above him was a cross between a growl and a screech before her strained reply reached him, “Has it escaped your notice that my hair is wrapped around a branch?”
How in the bloody hell would he have noticed? He couldn’t see beyond the heavenly sight of her long, lithe legs adorned with white silk stockings—tied with ribbon garters in a shocking shade of scarlet! The damned breeze chose that moment to swirl beneath the chemise and gown above his head, flashing the curve of her delectable derrière! He nearly swallowed his tongue. He’d been far too long without a woman. With the never-ending onslaught of slander and threats against the duke and his family, he hadn’t even thought of it until now. With a silent groan, he called on his steely control and girded his loins to ignore the goddess above him. He’d have to if he was going to extract her from her predicament.
Cursing his reaction to the lass, he wondered when in God’s name he would find the time to woo a willing lass into bed, when he was on duty twenty-four hours a day! He climbed the tree, hesitating for a moment when a shadow moved above him. Narrowing his eyes, he got a better look. It was the squire’s other son sitting securely above them. The lad grinned; he’d get to the why of that later. He noticed the branch, and the irritated expression in the lass’s wide blue violet eyes at the same time.
He straddled the limb, leaned down, and wrapped an arm around her. Mindful of the long, blue-black tangle in the branch above them, he lifted her into his arms. Instead of relaxing in his embrace, she started squirming. “Be still, lass, else ye’ll be pulling a chunk of yer hair out.”
She stilled, and he began the arduous task of extricating the silky-soft strands from the branch above them. The strands were long enough to wrap around his wrists, multiple times. He quickly squashed where that image was leading, in order to extricate her.
“Can’t you free me any faster?”
He felt her tremble. Was it temper or fear? Either way, he was grateful she wasn’t in a panic. Brave lass. “Aye, I can. Reach in me boot and extract me knife.”
Her gasp of shock had him chuckling, as a voice from beneath them called out, “Maybe you should cut her hair.”
Her face paled as she replied, “Percival, you are not helping!”
The voice from above him said, “If Mrs. Ball discovers we’ve snuck out again, we’ll be in the suds for sure! Cut her hair!”
“You’re not helping either, Phineas! If I wasn’t trying to help you down, I wouldn’t be stuck up here.”
“Percival, lad, why don’t ye run on home and—”
“They’ll sack me for certain!” the young woman interrupted.
The entreaty in her unusual-colored eyes had him wondering if this governess would join the others who hadn’t lasted more than a fortnight. It had been rumored the squire’s twin pranksters—and something slimy—had been behind the trail of governesses. Their antics were always good for a laugh whenever he passed through the village—reminding him of his twin cousins, Thomas and Eamon O’Malley when they were young lads getting into scrapes together.
“If they let me go, because I’ve failed to properly care for my cousins,” she whispered, “I won’t receive a letter of recommendation, then I have no idea what I’ll do.”
Surprised, he paused in his delicate task. “I thought ye were their governess.”
“It’s not an official position, but they are under my care. Since I’m family, my aunt and uncle do not have to pay me for watching the boys.”
“Well now, doesn’t seem fair to me,” he said. “’Tis work, isn’t it?”
Her eyes welled with tears, and he wiped them away. “Don’t be crying, lass,” he soothed. “I’ve just a few more strands, and ye’ll be free to return to yer charges. Though if I were yer relations, I’d be paying ye a fair wage. I’ve heard and witnessed for meself that those two are more than a handful.”
She gamely sniffed back her tears. Needing to distract her while he continued unwinding her hair, he asked, “How badly did ye hurt yer hands, lass.”
“What makes you think I injured them?”
“I’ve been climbing trees since I was younger than yer cousins. ‘Twas a necessary skill growing up, and it added to the calluses to me hands.” When she remained silent, he prompted, “Now then, how badly did ye scrape them dangling from the limb—while trying to hold yerself up so as to not tear yer hair out?”
She let go of the limb and showed him one hand, grabbed hold of the branch and showed him the other. He winced. “Ye’ll be needing those scrapes and that cut tended to before infection sets in.”
“How do you know so much about cuts and scrapes?” Phineas asked.
Percival answered before Garahan could, “Don’t you remember the stories everyone tells at the inn about the duke’s guard? All sixteen of them were injured when the Duke of Wyndmere’s estate was attacked!”
Phineas snorted. “Not all of them. Besides, it wasn’t scrapes or cuts—they were shot at!”
Garahan agreed. “Aye, and clubbed, stabbed, as well. Me older brother James survived being hanged, but that was before the duke hired us. Me cousin Finn O’Malley survived a hanging just a few months back.”
Both boys whistled at that last statement. “Truth?” Phineas asked.
“I don’t lie, lad. Took three men to save Finn. ‘Twas me brother James, and two former soldiers, Tremayne and Hennessey, both friends to Captain Coventry.”
The lads were properly impressed as they mulled over the information. Finally, Percival asked, “Did your cousin steal a horse?”
As they warmed to the topic, he realized, his error. “I shouldn’t have said anything, lads. ‘Tis not something me brother—nor me cousin—speaks of. Can I have yer word, ye’ll not mention it to anyone?”
“They’ll promise,” Miss Barstow answered for them, “won’t you boys?”
“What’s in it for us?” Percival demanded, hands on his hips.
“Yeah!” Phineas echoed from above. “How much will you pay for our silence?”
“I’ll not hear such talk, boys,” Miss Barstow proclaimed. “Bribery is as evil as placing a wager! The two of you will give Mr. Garahan your word—”
“Just Garahan, if ye please, Miss Barstow.”
“Very well. Percival and Phineas, please give Garahan your solemn word that you will not speak of what happened to his brother.”
“But we’d have one up on all the other boys in the village,” Percival whined. “We actually know someone who had a noose around their neck!”
“Two someones,” Phineas added. “And they survived!”
“Ye’re a pair of bloodthirsty hooligans,” Garahan told the pair, who didn’t seem to mind the nickname at all. He loosened the last silken strand and said, “I’ll have yer word now, lads, or I’ll turn ye over to me cousin, Thomas O’Malley. He’s head of the duke’s guard at Summerfield Chase.”
“Is he related to Finn?” Percy asked.
“Did he have a rope around his neck, too?”
“Thomas is one of the Wexford O’Malleys, cousin to Finn of the Cork O’Malleys.”
“Anyone else have a noose—”
Garahan interrupted Percy, “Enough! I’m after yer solemn word, lads.” He glared at one and then the other, before telling them, “A man of honor keeps his word.”
Miss Barstow squeaked as she was suddenly freed from the branch and lost her grip. Garahan caught her in time, pulling her roughly to his pounding heart. Their eyes met, and he swore he saw his future unfolding in the blue violet depths of her eyes—hands joined standing before a man of the cloth while the baron and baroness beamed at them. Miss Barstow in his arms as he stepped across the threshold of a pretty, little thatched cottage. Pressing his lips to hers as he helped her remove her gown—
“Are you all right, Prudence?” The worry in the lad’s voice was evident and thankfully brought Garahan back to the present.
“We’re not supposed to use her name, remember?” his brother said. “No one is supposed to know she’s our cousin and not a real governess.”
“Well now, lads,” Garahan said. “It seems as if ye have a secret ye want to keep, too. I’ll be keeping yers, if the two of ye promise to keep mine.”
Return to The Duke’s SaberBuy the Book
