The cook waved them away. “Take all the time you need.”

  Maddy caught on to the excitement and started to run, tugging her mother behind her. “Hurry, Mum. Just Flaherty needs me.”

  To keep her daughter from tripping in her haste to get to her hero, Temperance scooped her up and carried her to the stables. “I think someone’s been feeding you boulders for breakfast. You’re heavier than you were.”

  Maddy patted the side of her mother’s face. “Constance is always trying to feed me, even when I’m not hungry.”

  “There they are, laddie,” Flaherty said to his gelding as he walked his horse over to meet Temperance and Maddy. “Thank ye for coming to speak to me. I only have a few minutes, or Garahan’ll be skinning a strip off me hide for being late to me patrol.”

  Temperance shot him a worried look. “Will he really?”

  “Nay, lass, it just feels like it when he uses his I-can-beat-ye-with-me-hands-tied-behind-me-back-blindfolded look.”

  Maddy giggled. “Can he really?”

  “Nay, I let him think he can.”

  The little girl leaned toward Flaherty, who took her from her mother’s arms and held her on his hip. “Then what happens?”

  He grinned. “I beat him!”

  Maddy wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. “Mum said you wanted me.”

  *

  “That I do. Can I be yer da? I asked yer ma to marry me, and she said yes.”

  Maddy squealed, kissed his cheek, and then eased back. As she looked into his eyes, her expression swiftly changed from ecstatic to thoughtful. “You’ll need to ask him.”

  Confused, Flaherty glanced at Temperance, who shrugged and shook her head. Turning back to Maddy, he asked, “Him who?”

  “My papa. Mum says he’s my guardian angel… He’s in Heaven.”

  “Ah, mo chroí, she told me that too.” He met the intensity of Temperance’s look with one of certainty. “Will you help me ask him?”

  Maddy nodded. “We have to kneel down and fold our hands.”

  Flaherty set her down, told his horse to mind his manners, and let go of the reins. Well-mannered horse that he was, the gelding stood still. Maddy reached for his hand. Flaherty knelt and urged her to kneel beside him.

  “Now fold your hands together like this,” she told him.

  He mirrored the little girl’s movement, interlacing his fingers. “Since I’ve not been properly introduced to yer da, would you do the honors?”

  She furrowed her brow, was silent for a few moments, then slowly smiled. “I will. Now close your eyes.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “And bow your head. No peeking until I say so!”

  He bowed his head. “Aye, Maddy-lass.”

  “Papa?” Her soft voice was reverent, as if she were used to praying. “I’m here with Just Flaherty. He rescued Mum once, and me twice, and wants to protect us and love us.” She paused and patted him on the shoulder. “Just Flaherty?”

  “Aye?” he asked without opening his eyes, lest she remind him she’d said no peeking.

  “Do you want to love us and protect us?”

  “With all me heart and every bit of me strength.” She kissed his shoulder, and he vowed to move Heaven and Earth if Maddy or her ma asked him to.

  “Papa, I had to check. Just Flaherty wants to love us and protect us, and I want him to…but only if you say so.”

  How in the bloody hell did she expect her departed father to give his blessing? He had no idea how to navigate the hurt that would surely follow when the little girl’s request went unanswered. Dear Father in Heaven, help me!

  A blast of warmth hit him in the heart and spread to his limbs, shocking him to the core, as a feeling of peace seeped into his very soul. He nearly opened his eyes, but he’d given his word, and he would keep it.

  “Thank you, Papa! Open your eyes, Just Flaherty!”

  He did as the little girl bade him.

  “Did you hear what he said?”

  “Nay,” he answered, “but I felt as if the warmth of the sun was pressing on me heart and soul a moment ago…and then peace filled me.”

  “My husband just gave his daughter and you his blessing,” Temperance rasped. “I felt the same warmth you experienced, Rory.”

  He held his women in his arms and breathed slowly as he thanked God for the miracle that they’d all witnessed. “I promise to protect the both of ye with me life, and if the Lord takes me first, ye’ll have yer da and me—two guardian angels—watching over ye.”

  “Flaherty! Move yer arse!” shouted.

  “Language, ye bloody eedjit!” Flaherty’s gelding nudged him between his shoulder blades. “Well now, if me horse is poking me in the back, I’d best be going. Promise me the two of ye won’t be getting into any trouble while I’m guarding the perimeter.”

  “We promise—don’t we, Mum?”

  “We promise, Rory.”

  “Can I still call you Just Flaherty when you marry my mum?”

  “Aye, mo chroí.” He kissed Maddy’s forehead, and Temperance’s cheek, slowly stood, and helped them to their feet. “Off with the two of ye now. I’ve work.”

  Temperance held out her hand to Maddy while Flaherty vaulted into the saddle. “Be safe, Rory.”

  “I will, lass.”

  “Bye, Just Flaherty!”

  “Bye, wee cailín.” He urged his horse forward and rode toward the front of the building. At the bend in the drive, he turned and waved to them. “God, thank ye for me latest blessing, and thank Maddy’s da for me and tell him ’twill be me mission in life, and an honor, to love and protect his wife and daughter.”

  Picking up the pace, Flaherty scanned both sides of the road, seeking anything out of the ordinary that would indicate trouble lurking nearby. As he rode past the section of meadow on both sides of the road, he added to his prayer, hoping Maddy’s father was still listening. “Just so ye know, should anything happen to me, I’ve three brothers, four Garahan cousins, and eight O’Malley cousins who will stand in me stead and protect Temperance and Maddy with their lives.”

  The warmth returned, more intense than the first time. Flaherty had his answer. As he continued on his patrol, all was right with his world.

  The dense forest was up ahead on the left. He slipped his rifle off his shoulder, ready to fire off a warning shot or return fire. Flaherty never worried that any sharpshooter would be able to shoot him before he got a bead on the gunman first. His O’Malley cousins in America had sent Kentucky long rifles to Patrick O’Malley as a gift when they first learned they had pledged their lives to protecting the duke and his family. No other rifle that he’d ever possessed was as accurate at four hundred yards. His thoughts drifted to the woman he would marry instead of the densely wooded area.

  He heard the shot before he spotted the sharpshooter. Pain seared his cheek, momentarily distracting him. Just as suddenly the pain receded, and he felt a sudden urge to duck. He did, and a second shot whistled past, missing him. He concentrated on the direction the shots were coming from and fired. The grunt of pain told him he’d hit his target. Loading his rifle quickly, he took aim and fired again. The resounding crack and thud that followed had him racing toward the broken limb and the man who had fallen with it.

  Flaherty dismounted and muttered a curse. The nick to his face wasn’t serious, but would be if it got infected. He grabbed hold of the saddle as thoughts of Temperance and Maddy filled his mind. Would they worry about him every time he went on patrol? Would his being injured, even slightly, cause them to change their mind?

  The slash of pain surprised him and had him wondering why the graze to his cheek bothered him now, when it hadn’t until he’d shot his attacker off his perch. The answer surfaced—the intensity of the moment had passed. He recognized the feeling. It had happened before when he’d been clubbed or stabbed fighting to protect his duke and his family. ’Twas part of his make-up to stand his ground, even when injured, until the threat had been contained. Then pain would make itself known.

  Flaherty walked over to the prone man. He swiped at the blood that trickled from his wound. Frustrated and angry, he growled, “Who in the bloody hell sent ye?”

  The man had a hand clamped around his upper arm, but it didn’t do much to stop the bleeding. Flaherty nudged him with toe of his boot, but did not receive the reaction he expected.

  The man who’d had the bollocks to shoot at him glared. “Wasn’t worth it.”

  “Getting shot, or getting caught?”

  “I’ll tell you, if you help me bind my arm. I can’t manage it one-handed.”

  “Where’s yer knife?”

  The man surprised Flaherty by chuckling. “There’s one in my left boot.”

  Flaherty kept his eyes on his attacker while he disarmed him. Intrigued, he wondered why the man did not seem worried that he’d been injured. Moreover, why had he capitulated so quickly? Nothing about the attack or aftermath made sense. It wouldn’t until he had the name of whoever was behind it—and how much the sharpshooter had been paid. “I’ll take yer pistol too.”

  “Coat pocket. If I had known who you worked for, I would not have shot you. We could have been friends otherwise.”

  “I usually offer me hand in friendship—not a lead ball,” Flaherty grumbled.

  “I’m sorry I let a woman talk me into this.”

  “As I got yer shooting arm, I’m not surprised. I’ll bind yer wound if ye promise not to club me in the cheek that ye grazed.”

  “You have my word.”

  “That would take a leap of faith on me part to trust ye, but I’ve been known to do so when me gut urges me to. What’s yer name?”

  “O’Brien.”

  Flaherty noticed the hard gleam in the man’s eyes had been replaced by one of interest. He pulled the spare cravat from his frockcoat pocket, folded it into a square, and placed it on O’Brien’s wound. “Hold that.” Flaherty untied the cravat from around his neck and wrapped it around the man’s upper arm. “That should slow the bleeding, but ye’ll need threads to stop it. Me lead ball went clean through.”

  “Felt like it. Hurts like bloody hell.”

  “I’m more than familiar,” Flaherty muttered. “The chunk of me cheek that’s now missing best not disfigure me after she said yes.”

  O’Brien stared at him. “You offered marriage recently?”

  “Aye. Twice in the same day.” Satisfaction filled Flaherty. “She accepted the second time.” He did not bother to go into detail, to mention Maddy’s request or the angelic approval that followed.

  “As we both managed to shoot one another,” O’Brien murmured, “we’ll call it even and be on our way.”

  Flaherty snorted. “Why would I do that, when ye haven’t told me who sent ye?”

  O’Brien scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. “If I had known you were one of the Duke of Wyndmere’s guards, I would never have agreed.”

  “But if I had been anyone else, ye would have?”

  O’Brien stared at him for a few moments before answering. “Aye. It isn’t because I fear any one of you—it’s because I respect the oath I’ve heard you and the others have sworn to protect the duke and his family.”

  “Then ye’ll understand that as it is His Grace I work for, I have rules I must follow.”

  The other man nodded. “I expected as much as soon as you walked over and I saw you were wearing black and recognized the symbol of Ireland embroidered over your heart.”

  “If ye don’t cause any more trouble, and are willing to tell me the name of the woman who sent ye—though I have a fair idea who it was—the constable and I may be able to sway His Grace into putting ye to work for the duke instead of being taken to the gaol.”

  “The innkeeper’s sister, Susana Harkness.”

  Anger had Flaherty clenching his fists. “The woman has caused a great deal of heartache to me betrothed and her daughter with her slanderous lies. What in the bloody hell did I ever do to her to have her send ye to kill me?”

  “I was to wound you—not kill you,” O’Brien replied.

  Flaherty shook his head. “Ah well, that’s all right then, isn’t it?”

  “You’re not dead,” O’Brien said.

  “Neither are ye. If it had been daylight, and ye hadn’t been hidden in the thick of the trees, my aim would have been true, and I’d be carting yer lifeless body to the undertaker.”

  O’Brien didn’t bother to argue. “I may have to learn to shoot left-handed.”

  Flaherty eyed the man. If what O’Brien was claiming were true—and Flaherty believed it was—then he deserved a second chance. “How are ye at bare-knuckle fighting?”

  “I hold my own.”

  “The lot of us, me brothers, cousins, and I, were bare-knuckle champions back home.”

  O’Brien flashed a grin. “I wouldn’t mind going a few rounds with you.”

  The longer Flaherty talked to the man, the more he believed what O’Brien was saying. Thinking of Greene, he asked, “Did she offer ye certain favors if ye shot me?”

  O’Brien’s eyes widened. He shook his head, turned, and spat on the ground. “She’s done this before.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Aye. Though I’m certain ye’d be a fine catch for any lucky young lass—as long as ye change yer ways and aren’t duped into shooting a man for performing his duties. A man ruled by his bollocks doesn’t always think things through. But I’m willing to give ye a second chance. Are ye interested in one?”

  O’Brien struggled to lift his arm, but managed to put his hand over his heart. Sweat beaded at his temples and trickled down the sides of his face. It was obvious he was in pain. “I am.” He let his hand drop to his side and blew out a breath, panting.

  “Any man who would go to the trouble of swearing a vow with the same arm he’d just been shot in is a man worthy of being given a second chance. It’ll take some fast talking and maybe surviving a round of bare-knuckle with all four of us.”

  “I thought there were more than that.”

  Flaherty grinned and cursed. Every time he shifted his facial muscles, his face hurt like bloody hell. “There’re sixteen of us in all, but we’re spread out, as the duke has more than one estate that needs guarding.”

  O’Brien’s shoulders slumped and he hung his head. “The way word travels in this village, and if Susana hears what happened before you speak to her, no woman would have me after what I’ve done.”

  Flaherty’s ancestors had been pitted against similar situations for years. He wasn’t a stranger to such tactics. “We’ve countered lies and slander successfully before. But if ye prefer, and if His Grace agrees, I’m certain we can find a spot for ye in London.”

  “I’ll confess my sins to the vicar, and apologize to the duke, if you will convince him to give me a second chance.”

  “I’m thinking Miss Harkness needs to be confessing her sins,” Flaherty grumbled. “She embroiled another man who worked for her brother in her schemes that I wouldn’t have minded adding to our number, but it’s out of me hands now.”

  O’Brien’s frown was fierce. “I have only been working for Harkness for a sennight. His sister tried to tempt me into more than a few lascivious kisses.” He shook his head, looked up, and met Flaherty’s gaze. “But bloody hell! We were in the stables. Anyone could have interrupted us.”

  Flaherty nodded, more than pleased that his gut feeling was bearing fruit. “Ye have principles. But I’m needing to know what had ye accepting her offer in the first place.”

  “I won’t lie to you, it was the way she walked and sidled up next to me that set me on fire. I haven’t had the pleasure of bedding a woman in a while.”

  “Working for His Grace, it has been some time for me as well. If ye work for him, ye won’t have time to even think about a quick tumble. Ye’ll be dodging lead balls, cudgels, knifes—”

  “All manner of weapons,” O’Brien interrupted.

  “Aye. Grab on to me arm, and I’ll help ye up.”

  O’Brien stood and seemed grateful for the aid. Flaherty waited a moment for the man to stop swaying on his feet. As he’d been shot before, Flaherty knew O’Brien was fighting the pain, hoping it would subside to a bearable level. “If yer aim had been slightly to the right, me cousins would be praying over me corpse this night. It would have put off me wedding.”

  O’Brien’s shout of laughter had Flaherty smiling. “Wouldn’t that be a tale to tell, that a lass in the Lake District married a corpse!” O’Brien’s laughter died as his expression changed. “She didn’t mention that you were getting married. When is the wedding?”

  “As soon as the vicar has five minutes.”

  O’Brien sighed. “Maybe someday I’ll find a woman that puts that kind of look in my eye.”

  “Look?”

  “Aye. You’re head over heels.”

  Flaherty drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “That I am, O’Brien, though me cousins prefer telling me that I’m arse over head.”

  “A more apt description.”

  “I’ll not tie yer hands behind yer back if ye give me yer word ye won’t try to escape.”

  “You have it.”

  “Where’s yer horse?”

  O’Brien pointed. “I left him just behind the oaks grouped tightly together.”

  “Whistle for him. If he doesn’t come, then I’ll fetch him.”

  O’Brien whistled, a rustling sounded, and a few moments later a horse pushed his way through the branches, and trotted toward them. “Good lad,” Flaherty crooned, reaching for the gelding’s halter. “I know yer arm must be paining ye. I’ll give ye a leg up.” O’Brien groaned as Flaherty helped him gain the horse’s back, careful not to let the man topple over the other side of his horse. “Ye’ve a fine horse.”

  O’Brien smiled as his horse lifted his head as if agreeing. “He knows it.”

  “I’m thinking we made a friend, laddie,” Flaherty told his horse as he vaulted into his saddle. “But it’ll take more than me horse taking a shining to ye to convince His Grace to help ye. I’ll need all me powers of persuasion, and yerself to be honest with the duke when he questions ye. Can ye do that?”