At the rear door leading onto the terrace, the duchess put a finger to her lips, opened the door, stepped outside, and gasped.

  Temperance heard Francis ask what was wrong before she heard the rumble of a deep voice. She wondered which one of the duke’s guard was on the patio, and if he would demand that they forgo their dawn plans.

  Constance sighed. “It appears that we shall have escorts. I do hope they will keep their voices down.”

  “Escorts?” Temperance asked.

  “I should have thought of that when the duchess mentioned her plans. The duke is especially protective of her now that she is expecting again.”

  “He sounds like a devoted husband,” Temperance murmured.

  “His Grace is the best of men.”

  “I hear more voices,” Temperance remarked. “Who else do you think is out there?” Before Constance could reply, Temperance heard the Irish lilt and suspected it would be one of the married men in the duke’s guard—mayhap all three of the married men. Two of the wives were pregnant, and Patrick’s wife was carrying their six-month-old daughter.

  “It appears all four of the duke’s men are waiting for us,” Constance said.

  “Well now, Miss Maddy,” Flaherty said, walking over, “I see ye woke yer ma. Did ye help her dress?”

  Temperance could feel her face flushing at the highly personal question, and hoped it was still too dark for Flaherty to notice. “Maddy is a very good helper.”

  “So I’ve heard. Do ye want me to carry ye, Maddy? Ye don’t want yer hem to get damp.”

  For a heartbeat, Temperance wished she were a little girl, and Flaherty was offering to carry her. Instead she urged her daughter to let him carry her. The guard was so broad and tall that for a moment she worried Maddy would wiggle too much and topple out of his arms. But as soon as he settled her in the crook of his arm, Maddy hugged Flaherty’s neck. She would be safe.

  When he offered his free arm to her, Temperance hesitated. Long-dead emotions twisted around inside of her as the musical lilt of his words wrapped around her. “May I escort ye, lass?”

  Temperance did not want to be the only one receiving such special treatment, and was about to refuse when she noticed those walking in front of them. The duke carried Abigail on one arm and had the duchess tucked against his other side. O’Malley carried little Deidre and had his wife’s arm looped through his. Eamon escorted Helen and Merry; Garahan had Emily and Constance. Looking around her, Temperance asked, “What about the basket?”

  “I ran ahead with the basket and quilts,” Flaherty replied. “His Grace did not want any of ye to be lifting or carrying. ’Tis still dark enough to trip or lose yer footing.”

  “Thank you, Flaherty.”

  “Mum!” Maddy sounded exasperated. “It’s Just Flaherty.”

  The rumbling chuckle warmed Temperance’s heart, but not as much as the way her daughter clung to the big man’s neck. In that moment she was hit by all that Maddy had missed out in life arriving after her father’s untimely death. The only memories she had were the ones Temperance had shared with her to keep his memory alive in their minds and in their hearts.

  As the group quietly followed the path, Flaherty must have sensed something was amiss. He bent close to Temperance’s ear. “Are ye worried Maddy won’t see any of the fae?”

  Temperance did not want to tell him what troubled her, so she shook her head.

  “Ah, ’tis yerself who’s worried.” The warmth of his breath on the shell of her ear and the deep, rumbling sound of his voice were sharp reminders of all she had lost and what she would never have again. “We are a big group,” he continued, unaware of her plight. “If they’re feeling kindly toward the wee ones, they may show themselves.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Aye. Did yer ma not teach ye to respect the Gentry—the Little People?”

  “She read me stories of mythic heroes—Odysseus and Jason.”

  “Well then, ye must have heard of Cú Chulainn.”

  “No.”

  “Fionn mac Cumhaill”

  Temperance giggled. “No.”

  “Lass, we’ll need to expand yer education to include Irish legends and heroes.”

  “Me too?” Maddy asked.

  “Aye, wee cailín.”

  Maddy put her hands on either side of Flaherty’s face. “It’s Maddy.”

  “Aye, but ye’re also a wee cailín, a little girl.”

  She let go of his face and leaned against his cheek. “And you’re Just Flaherty.”

  “That I am, ye wee charmer.”

  “Mum, I’m charming!”

  Temperance felt the warmth of Flaherty’s words for her daughter. “You certainly are, Maddy.”

  Someone in front of them hissed for them to be quiet as they approached the center of the rose garden. Temperance put her finger to her lips, and Maddy nodded until her curls fell into her eyes, causing Flaherty to chuckle as he brushed the hair away.

  Before they had to be shushed again, Temperance squeezed lightly on his arm. He turned toward her. In the soft early morning light, she saw a faint flicker of an emotion she had not seen in a long time. Was it due to the moment, or had it meant something more? Before she could decide, he schooled his features until he once more wore a neutral expression—one she could not decipher. Probably for the best.

  Merry and Francis spread out the quilts for the women to sit on, while Constance unpacked the basket. Flaherty helped Temperance and Maddy to sit and reminded them not to leave until he came back to escort them to the house. The married men bade their wives goodbye, and only the duke and Patrick remained behind, ostensibly to keep a close eye on the duchess, who was doing her best to ignore them.

  She motioned for Maddy to help her, and Temperance’s heart melted at watching how carefully her daughter carried an acorn top in each hand, filled with dandelion wine, over to one of the rosebushes.

  With Francis’s help, Richard and Abigail each carried a parsley leaf with a tiny piece of honey cake.

  It took a bit of time for the little ones to deliver the faeries’ treats, but the duchess insisted that they do so. The fae were usually more willing to trust a child than an adult. Then they all sat down again to wait. To watch.

  Maddy’s soft gasp had Temperance leaning close to ask, “Do you see something?”

  Maddy pointed to the roses farthest from them. Richard and Abigail were transfixed staring at the same bushes. Temperance blinked, rubbed her eyes, and blinked again. “I’ve never seen dragonflies out before dawn.”

  “Be careful not to startle the faeries,” the duchess warned.

  Temperance’s heart wanted to believe that they were indeed faeries and not dragonflies, but she could not be certain. If only they were not so far away. The duchess, her maid, and the others were watching just as intently. Was she seeing things, or did that dragonfly just fly over that rose petal, land on it, cup its hands, and pat dew on its face?

  A short, sharp whistle broke through the silence. The dragonflies—mayhap they truly were faeries—flew off.

  The duke and O’Malley shot to their feet. “Close ranks,” O’Malley ordered everyone.

  The duchess scooped up Abigail. Francis picked up Richard. Gwendolyn had Deidre in her arms by the time Temperance had Maddy in hers. Constance and Merry urged the others into a tight circle. Before Temperance could ask what was wrong, Flaherty appeared out of the mist that settled on the garden as the first rays of the sun lit the sky.

  Eamon O’Malley and Garahan joined the circle of men surrounding the women and children. While the other little ones did not seem to notice the men had drawn their weapons, Maddy did. “Mum,” she whispered, “they have pistols.”

  “To protect us. We’re safe here.”

  A few moments later, one of the tenant farmers approached from the path leading to the stables. “We caught him, Your Grace.”

  “I’ll be along directly to question him,” the duke replied. “O’Malley, escort everyone inside and stand guard.” He turned to Flaherty. “Go with him.”

  “Aye, Yer Grace.”

  “Him who?” the duchess asked.

  The duke shook his head. “Later.”

  All thoughts of magic evaporated as their group was ushered inside. Temperance was concerned, but the other ladies seemed to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Was no one else worried?

  She followed Constance and the others into the kitchen. “Has this happened before?”

  Constance sighed. “Aye, but now is not the time to talk—there are mouths to feed and children to be coddled.”

  The cook’s matter-of-fact tone reminded Temperance that now was not the time for discussion—it was time to prepare and serve a meal. The men would need to eat soon, too. “May I help with the morning meal?”

  The cook hesitated, then must have noticed the worry Temperance could not hide. “I could use two helpers. Maddy, would you like to help your mum put the plates and utensils on the big tray? One of the footmen will carry it into the dining room.”

  While they performed the task, Temperance could not help but wonder who the man they’d captured was. Furthermore, what in Heaven’s name he’d expected to do at this hour of the day. The confidence the duke and his guard exuded went a long way toward alleviating her immediate concern for Maddy’s safety and that of the other children. Remembering how difficult the first few months of her pregnancy were, she realized it was time to think of others—not herself.

  “A good breakfast will set you to rights,” Constance said. “That and a cup of my special tea.”

  Temperance smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Can Maddy and I eat with you?”

  The duchess swept into the kitchen and frowned. “Why haven’t you joined us in the dining room, Temperance?”

  “I… Well… That is to say—”

  “We cannot let the food get cold.” As she led the way to the dining room, the duchess pitched her voice to just above a whisper. “We keep the women and children with us at times like these. It helps to stay together. Less fretting.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  She slipped her arm through Temperance’s, watching Maddy skip ahead of them. “Your daughter is such a joy. Would you like to join us in the nursery after breakfast? Maddy likes to read to the twins and Deidre.”

  Temperance did not hesitate to reply, “I would love to.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Duke of Wyndmere entered the outbuilding his men used for their bare-knuckle bouts to keep their skills sharp. “Where is the prisoner?”

  O’Malley tipped his head toward the back corner of the large room, where a young man stood with his hands tied behind his back and his chin resting against his chest. “He’s not talkin’.”

  The duke strode over to the prisoner. “State your name and reason for skulking around my family’s home at this hour of the morning!”

  The man did not raise his head, nor utter a sound.

  “Very well. I shall leave it to my men to extract the information from you.” The duke started to walk away, paused, and said, “They have a variety of methods, and I should warn you that they are bare-knuckle champions back home in Ireland.”

  The sharp intake of breath pleased him, but he did not plan to stay to question the prisoner. It was far more effective for his private guard to do so. Let the rumors continue to abound—the more people who knew that he had a well-trained force guarding himself and his family, the better. “Let me know when you have the information, O’Malley.”

  “Aye, Yer Grace.”

  When the door closed, Flaherty, Garahan, and Eamon O’Malley stalked over to stand in a semicircle in front of the man. Garahan spoke first. “Now then, we’ll only be asking once more.”

  “State yer name,” Flaherty said.

  “And why ye’re here,” Eamon added.

  O’Malley crossed his arms in front of his chest, and as if on cue, Garahan, Eamon O’Malley, and Flaherty did the same. Every one of them were a full head taller than the man they stared at. Judging by how quickly the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, their bid to intimidate him was working.

  “Name’s Greene.”

  “Who sent ye, Greene?” Patrick asked.

  “She did.”

  “She who?” Garahan grumbled.

  The wild look on Greene’s face was a surprise. He shook his head and clenched his teeth.

  “Well now,” Garahan mused, “if he won’t tell us who sent him, we’ll have no choice but to begin extracting information.” When no one objected, he continued, “I’ll start with me right cross.”

  Eamon spoke next. “I’ll be showing off me uppercut.”

  Flaherty grumbled, “Ye know it’s me favorite punch. Now I’ll have to pick another.” When Eamon O’Malley shrugged, Flaherty said, “I’ll be using me jab.”

  “Right or left?” Garahan asked.

  Flaherty felt a wave of satisfaction build as it warmed his chest. “Both.”

  “Well then I’ll be wanting to deliver two blows,” Garahan said.

  “Two for each of us,” Eamon stated.

  Flaherty was proud of his cousins. Every one of them made a show of ignoring the prisoner, when in fact they were highly attuned to the way the man’s breathing became more shallow by the moment. When beads of sweat trickled down the sides of the man’s face, Flaherty knew the prisoner would be telling them who’d ordered him to spy at Wyndmere Hall. Anyone who lived in the village and had not heard of the duke’s guard’s skills was either living under a rock or daft altogether!

  “Her brother will kill me.”

  “Killing’s a sin and a crime,” Garahan said. “Best tell us who she is.”

  Greene’s expression was telling—he was either protecting whoever had ordered him to spy on the duke’s household, or he’d been bribed, mayhap threatened.

  “Which is it?” Flaherty asked.

  “What?” Greene looked perplexed.

  “Are ye being bribed?” Flaherty asked. “Or threatened?”

  O’Malley took one step closer, cracked his knuckles, and slipped out of his frockcoat. “I’m done talkin’.”

  “M-M-Miss H-H-Harkness.”

  Flaherty could not believe it. “Is the innkeeper’s sister bribing or threatening ye?”

  The younger man flushed, and Flaherty wondered if he was younger than they’d pegged him to be. There was only one reason a young man would blush at the mention of a woman’s name.

  “’Tis a bribe, I’m thinking.”

  Garahan glanced at him and nodded. “Aye.”

  Eamon stared at Greene, rubbed his chin, and shook his head. A look of disgust flashed on his face. “She did not offer ye coin, did she?”

  Greene’s mouth opened and closed, but only a squeak emerged. He did not have to answer when his reaction spoke louder than words.

  O’Malley grabbed the front of Greene’s frockcoat and lifted him off the ground, shaking hard enough to rattle the man’s brainbox. “Ye’ll tell me now, or I’ll deliver the first blow we promised.”

  “No coin.” Greene swallowed audibly. “She promised me favors.”

  O’Malley set him on his feet, but did not let go of the man’s collar. “Did she now? Ye aren’t thinkin’ to prevaricate, are ye?”

  Greene held up both hands. “Nay. She sent me a message to meet her behind the stables at midnight.”

  When he paused, Garahan urged, “And?”

  “Said she’d make it worth my while, if I rode out here to see if the rumors were true that the black-haired strumpet and the little girl she kidnapped were hiding out at Wyndmere Hall.”

  O’Malley let go of the man and eased back just in time for Flaherty to push forward. He was incensed on Temperance’s behalf. The way Greene’s voice modulated to imply that she was a woman of low morals and a kidnapper scraped his gut raw. No one would insult the lass or impugn her honor!

  Flaherty connected with a solid jab to Greene’s throat. The man crumpled at his feet. He drew back his leg to kick Greene, but Eamon shoved him off balance. Flaherty stumbled, but managed to keep from falling on his face. “’Tis me right to avenge the lass’s good name.”

  “Aye. Though now we won’t be getting’ him to tell us anythin’ more about his arrangement with Harkness’s sister,” O’Malley reminded him. “Get a bucket of water and rouse him.”

  The order effectively stopped Flaherty, who dropped his fist. Though he nearly hauled off and punched Eamon for trying to trip him.

  “Save it,” O’Malley warned. “Eamon will feel obligated to retaliate, which would have ye sharing barbs, then blows, if either of ye makes another comment. Remember Her Grace’s delicate condition and our promise to His Grace.”

  Garahan agreed. “We know ye’ve feelings for the lass. Didn’t I help ye question half the people in the inn who were there to witness the innkeeper’s sister blatantly ignoring the lass and Maddy when they’d been waiting for her to take their order?” When Flaherty grunted, Garahan continued, “But that doesn’t mean ye can put an end to the questioning before we get all of the information we need.”

  “He slandered Temperance’s good name—”

  Before Flaherty could work up a head of steam, he realized he’d let his emotions interfere with his duties. Bloody hell! That had never happened to him before. He’d watched his cousins lose their heads a time or two whenever an off-handed comment was made about the women who later became their wives…and rightly so. But this was different. It wasn’t just the horrible slur against Temperance’s character, it was the suggestion that she’d kidnapped Maddy! The last thing he wanted was for the wee lass to overhear such comments and begin to question whether Temperance was her ma.

  “And ye know His Grace prefers that we each land one punch—not two, nor three, nor more—to encourage Greene to tell us all he knows,” O’Malley reminded him.

  Flaherty grunted and locked gazes with O’Malley. “I’ve delivered me punch. I’m going to the inn.”

  “Ye’ll not be going anywhere,” O’Malley warned. “’Tis yer turn on the rooftop.”