He'd been living in hell for years, anyway.
***
Caitlin shifted her weight as she knelt beside the huge canopied bed. She was fighting exhaustion, but she wouldn't give in to it. Not while she had strength enough to pray. As she saw it, prayer was the lad's only hope.
She'd done everything she could think of for the wee lord. And yet he'd not shown the slightest sign of regaining his senses. She feared ... Ach, no! That way lay certain failure. She'd not let herself fear!
"Hail, Mary, full o' Grace," she murmured for the countless time since kneeling. "The Lord is with Thee. Blessed art Thou among—"
"Mama, my leg hurts!"
A gasp from Mrs. Hodgkins at the doorway echoed in the still chamber. Caitlin's breath caught. Releasing it slowly, she raised her head. And met the clear-eyed gaze of the child on the bed.
"God be praised!" she whispered, but this was drowned out by the housekeeper's cry of wonder.
In a steady voice, the boy complained of thirst. Weeping with joy, Mrs. Hodgkins ran to fetch Jepson. Caitlin said a silent, "Hail, Mary," and helped the child sip from a cup of water she'd left on the bed stand.
"Caitlin, Are you my new governess?" the boy asked as Caitlin set the cup aside and checked him for fever. He was cool to the touch.
"No," she answered, smiling. He had the loveliest blue eyes. Like the sky on a clear summer's day, they were, and fringed with thick, sooty lashes. "Me name's Caitlin, and I'm ... a friend."
"My name's Andrew," he told her as she began to check his wounds. It was astounding... a miracle, really. Not only that he'd regained his senses, although that was astonishing all by itself. But the head wound! It had healed beyond anything she might have expected. A miracle, sure.
Andrew complained again about the pain in his leg, and she swiftly raised the blanket to check it. Murmuring words of reassurance when he began to whimper with the pain, she frowned. The leg hadn't fared as well as his head; it was still in terrible—
"Who the devil are you!"
Caitlin swung sharply about, saw a tall man charging through the doorway.
"And what the hell are you doing with my son?"he demanded in a furious voice, hovering over her with clenched fists.
Caitlin blanched, and hurriedly crossed herself. It was the man with the scar. From her dream.
Chapter 4
Heart slamming against her chest, Caitlin stared mutely at the irate lord. Dark ... uncommonly handsome, despite the scar ... imposing, he was the exact image of the man in her dream. The one who watched as she played chess with—
"Answer me, damn it!"
His demand jerked her mind from that chilling image. Caitlin licked lips suddenly gone dry, trying to gather her wits. "I ... I'm the new—"
"M'lord, is it true?" The butler's excited voice rang from the doorway. "Is his lordship awake?"
Adam tore his eyes from the red-haired girl and darted an irritated glance over his shoulder. Jepson hovered in the doorway, backed by several murmuring servants clad in nightclothes. All were straining for a glimpse of the bed. Swearing softly, Adam swung his gaze to it... .
He wanted to sob and shout for joy at the same time.
He'd done it! He'd saved his son. Andrew's eyes ... his own eyes ... looked back at him from his son's small face, their gentian depths lucid and focused.
"Andrew...," he murmured thickly, "I—" His voice cracked, and he fell silent, trying to master his emotions.
"Papa," the boy whimpered, "it h-hurts! My leg ..."
A sudden movement beside him drew Adam's attention. The stranger he'd surprised at the bedside was reaching for his son.
"Keep your bloody hands off him!" he snarled, shoving her away.
"Your lordship!" Jepson rushed into the room as Caitlin recoiled from the marquis's angry hands. "Please don't blame the girl, your lordship," the butler implored. "She's the one who worked this miracle. She's—"
"Explain yourself, man." Adam wanted to laugh at the biting irony of Jepson's words. No miracle had brought his son's cure. Far from it! But he worried the red-haired chit was somehow tied to Appleby. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the creature try to withdraw. He clamped a hand on her shoulder and speared his butler with an angry gaze. "Now, Jepson! Or I'll let the magistrate deal with this intruder."
Mrs. Hodgkins hurried forward. "B-begging your pardon, your 1-lordship, but she's no intruder. She—she's the Irish Angel, and she—"
"She's what?"
Jepson coughed discreetly and set a hand on the housekeeper's arm. "Ahem, actually, your lordship, she's a new housemaid we've hired." He glanced at Hodgkins. "But those who ... where she was formerly employed, ah, sometimes called her the Irish Angel." The staid butler looked almost comical as he tried to summon an explanation that would satisfy his employer.
"Ah ... for her extraordinary healing skills, your lordship."
"Indeed." Adam offered the word coolly, running his eyes over the trembling girl in the silence that followed. Satisfied Appleby had kept his word regarding Andrew, he considered the odd coincidence of the girl's appearance.
His gaze moved to a poultice applied to his son's brow. That hadn't been there before. Someone had made a clumsy attempt of some kind ....
His eyes returned to the girl, and he gazed at her thoughtfully. The servants' claims were all rot, of course. But he all at once saw the advantage in letting them stand. He'd be saved unwelcome speculation about Andrew's otherworldly recovery.
"What's your name, girl?" It was a command, though he tried to soften the tone somewhat. With a growing awareness, he noted the chit was young ... and inordinately pretty.
"C-Caitlin, sorr—I mean, yer lordship." Caitlin was still dealing with the shock of recognition. And the fact that he still had her pinned by the shoulder wasn't helping her composure. "Caitlin O'Brien," she added, summoning the bravado to raise her chin a notch.
"The Irish Angel?"
Caitlin bristled. The mockery in his voice was subtle, perhaps meant to go over a poor Irish peasant's head, but she hadn't missed it. She forced a nod, not trusting her voice. It wasn't just his tone that angered her; the child was hurting, and he stood here asking questions!
"Very well, Caitlin." The marquis released her shoulder. "I collect I am obliged to you for my son's .. . miraculous recovery."
Adam's gaze shifted to his two upper servants. "She's to have a rise in wages," he told them, then gestured at the doorway. "Now remove everyone at once. I wish to be alone with my son."
"Oh, but yer lordship!" Caitlin pulled her gaze from the softly fretting child and looked up at him. "I cannot leave the lad yet! He's hurtin', and I've some willow bark in—"
The marquis's quelling look stopped her cold. "Remove everyone, Jepson," he said dismissively, and he turned to the bed.
Caitlin opened her mouth to protest, but a look from the butler froze the words in her throat. Mrs. Hodgkins placed a hand on her arm, and the two upper servants led her hurriedly from the chamber.
***
Livid with anger, Adam paced the bedchamber. Andrew was asleep, finally. But not before his father had spent nearly thirty long, agonizing minutes hearing him cry with pain. The leg wasn't healed at all!
Appleby had tricked him. Andrew was alive, yes, but his leg was so badly crushed, even a layman like himself could see he'd never walk again. His son would be a cripple.
Rage, naked and terrible, welled up like lava inside him. "Appleby, you bastard!" he screamed. "Come back here. You've unfinished business with me!"
The walls rang with Adam's fury. The child whimpered and stirred restlessly on the bed. Yet nothing else happened.
No one came.
Adam Lightfoot, fifth marquis of Ravenskeep . .. war hero .. . rakehell... unbeliever, clenched his fists and howled.
***
"Have some honey with your tea, Caitlin," Mrs. Hodgkins urged solicitously. "I've always found peppermint tea soothing when taken with honey, and you do seem a bit out
of sorts. "They were sitting at a heavy oak table in the servants' hall, just off the kitchens. Having sent the rest of the staff back to bed, the butler and the housekeeper had ushered Caitlin here after the marquis's brusque dismissal.
"Looks as though she could do with some sleep," Jepson pointed out as Caitlin stifled a yawn. "Fact is, we all could," he added, taking a sip of his own tea. "Been a long night."
"Indeed," Mrs. Hodgkins said cheerfully. "And who'd have imagined it would turn out so different from the way it began?" She beamed at Caitlin. "Thanks entirely to the Irish Angel here."
Caitlin shook her head tiredly. "I truly didn't do all that much." She kept seeing the vastly improved head wound in her mind. Only the Almighty could have done that. She reminded herself never, ever, to underestimate the power of prayer. "But I do worry for the lad's leg, sorr," she added, frowning. "It needs further tendin', and—and ..." Thoughts of the marquis's abrupt dismissal had her biting her lip.
"There, there, child." Mrs. Hodgkins patted her hand. "His lordship isn't a cold man, despite how he seemed. He's just been under a terrible strain, what with all that's happened. I'm sure he'll be more ... approachable in the morning."
"Exactly," said Jepson. He gave Caitlin a level look. "There's no question but that you'll remain, of course."
Remain? In the very house belonging to—
"To oversee Lord Andrew's recovery, if nothing else," said the butler, noting her frown.
"Oh, but I—"
"Indeed, my dear," Mrs. Hodgkins put in quickly. "You've already won a rise in wages, and Jepson and I can see your duties are manageable, so never fret. The important thing is Lord Andr—"
An agonized howl resounded from the upper quarters of the town house. The marquis's quarters.
"Good heavens!" the housekeeper cried. "What—"
It came again. Raw... chilling in its intensity. Frozen, the three looked at one another, worry vying with fear in their eyes.
It was Jepson who broke the tableau. "Perhaps something's happened to ..." He couldn't say the thing they all feared. He leapt instead from the table and made for the stairs. The two women quickly followed, Caitlin's pulse hammering in her throat. Had the lad been taken, after all? Was it the wail of a father's grief they'd heard?
Signaling the women to wait down the hallway, Jepson gingerly approached the marquis's bedchamber. As he raised his hand to knock, something crashed against the door. He hesitated. The sound of splintering wood reverberated through the oak panels. Alarmed, he mastered his apprehension and knocked.
There was a moment of silence before the door swung wide. "I'll wring your stinking—bloody hell! Jepson, I thought I told you to go to bed!" The marquis's face was thunderous, his eyes crackling with rage.
"Beg pardon, your lordship." Jepson backed carefully away. "I ... I was just—I'm on my way, your lordship. At once, your—"
"No, wait!"
The butler stood absolutely still. He'd never seen his employer like this, and he'd served the household many years. The man looked crazed. Had events unhinged him? A soft whimpering from the bed told him the child was alive, thank heaven, but—
"My son ..." Adam made a helpless gesture toward the bed. "It's his leg. He's—"
"I understand, your lordship." Jepson's face sagged with relief: Lord Andrew's suffering had brought on this terrible anger. He took in the broken vase on the carpet, the splintered chair. Understandable . . . entirely understandable. "Shall I fetch someone to tend him, your lordship?"
"Yes ... do that," Adam said tightly. He reached for the coat he'd slung over a chair sometime during the night. Rage still seethed inside him. He'd all he could do to keep it in check, yet he knew he must. Anger sapped the ability to think clearly, and he was having difficulty doing that right now; his emotions were bubbling over. It was why he couldn't go near Andrew. The child's pain threatened to tear him apart.
But overriding all was the burning need to get hold of Appleby. To find that demonic piece of slime and crush him under his boot heel like the vermin he was! "Have my curricle brought round," he told the butler. He'd an idea, and the sooner he moved on it, the better.
"At once, your lordship." Jepson paused, glanced down the hallway where the two women waited. "Ah, shall I fetch the young miss to attend his lordship? The young Irishwoman, that is, your lordship. I mean, since she's already—"
"Yes, yes," Adam replied absently, drawing on his driving gloves and moving toward the door. His thoughts were already on his club. It was where he'd met Appleby. Someone at Brooks' ought to be able to direct him to the bastard's lodgings. Some other damned fool.
***
"I've never heard anyone who talks like you, Caitlin," Andrew told her shyly. "It's quite different, d'you know ... all lovely and—and a little like singing."
The child's smile displayed deep dimples. They made Caitlin wonder if he resembled his father in that respect as well as others. But then, she couldn't imagine that dark lord smiling, no matter how hard she tried.
"Is it, now?" she returned with an exaggerated look of surprise. "Ach! And here I was thinkin' I'd mastered tyin' me tongue in knots and soundin' just like a proper Englishwoman!''
The sound of Andrew's laughter was a joy. Such a far cry from the pitiful whimpering that tore at her heart when she'd first come to try to ease his pain. But the willow bark tea had done its work, and perhaps the fresh poultices she'd applied to the leg as well.
"How's the leg, lad?" she asked with as little concern as she could muster. No sense frightening the child. "And none o' that stiff upper lip blather, me boyo!" she added, wagging a finger at him.
He'd suffered through her ministrations so bravely, she'd wanted to cry herself. There'd been tears in his eyes, and his small square chin had trembled, but not a sound out of him. The lad was brave as they come. Not to mention sweet-tempered, and bright as a brand-new penny. Her heart had gone out to him at once.
"It hardly hurts at all," he said, then slid a glance to the plate standing beside a glass of milk on the bed stand. "But perhaps ... " he added, eyeing her carefully, "if I had another biscuit, I'd feel even better."
"Hmm ... ," she replied, making a great show of giving this due consideration. "D'ye really think so?"
"Oh, yes! Cook makes the most delic—uh, the most helpful biscuits."
Sharp as a tack, and no mistake. Caitlin handed him one of the sugared treats Mrs. Hodgkins had brought up from the kitchens. She, Jepson and Caitlin were, none of them, getting any sleep this night; yet they were so buoyed by the lad's recovery, they seemed to have tapped into a store of energy they hadn't known was there. "But," she said to Andrew, "ye must drink up yer milk with it, lad. Milk's what's wanted for mendin' broken bones, and ye've yer share o' those."
Andrew dutifully took the glass she handed him. "You know lots of things," he said around a yawn.
Caitlin nodded to herself. The sleeping draught she'd given him was working. And high time, too. 'Twas a couple of hours before dawn. "Do I, now?" she said.
Andrew nodded sleepily, swallowed the last of his milk. "Like milk for mending bones. Who told them to you?"
Caitlin saw Crionna's beloved face in her mind's eye, and suddenly she found herself fighting a wave of grief. It was stronger than anything she'd experienced in months. She wondered why she should be so affected now.
The reason wasn't that hard to piece out. She'd been alone for so long, throwing herself into her work. It had kept her busy .. . kept the darkness at bay. But now, suddenly, she was in the midst of a large household. A household with people she'd already come to know in a way she never knew those she encountered in her far-ranging travels. People she'd come to know, aye.. . and care about.
And the caring awoke kindred feelings ... memories of the woman she'd loved. Ach, Crionna! I miss ye so.
How I long for your wisdom and strength. Especially now I've blundered into the dream's terrible—
"Caitlin ... ?" Andrew's prompting pulled her back to
the moment. Reminding her he'd asked her a question.
"Who taught me?" she said with a smile. "A wonderful auld wise woman, lad. She told me such things ... taught me all I know. All that's important, that is."
"Was she your governess?"
Caitlin laughed. "In a manner o' speakin', she was. But she was also somethin' more."
"But she wasn't your mother, was she." It was not a question. Andrew stared intently at his lap. "Mothers don't have time to tell you things."
Caitlin felt a stab of pity. So, his mother hadn't had "time" to tell him things, had she? Was that a clue why the lad hadn't asked for her? She'd been thinking them lucky. She and the two upper servants had discussed the marchioness's death, and how it might affect him. They'd decided it wasn't their place to tell him, but they'd worried what to say it if he asked for his mother. Now it seemed there might be reasons why he hadn't. And Caitlin didn't like what she was hearing.
"I think 'tis time ye were asleep, lad," she said. She eased him down and began to tuck the covers around him. "But I'll sing t' ye, t' help the sleep along, if ye like."
Andrew's eyes went wide. "Oh, yes, awfully! Nurse used to sing to me." He frowned. "But that was a long time ago. I have a governess now"—he yawned sleepily—"instead of Nurse. And my governess ... says"— another yawn—"I'm too old ... for a lulla—a lulla—"
"A lullaby?"
He nodded.
"Well, that may be because she doesn't know any— but I do!" Caitlin winked at him, and when he grinned back at her, she began to sing ....
***
Dawn was lighting the eastern sky above the rooftops as Adam returned home. Telling the sleepy-eyed footman on duty to find his bed, he made for the stairs. His mood was foul. No one could tell him where Appleby might be found. Fact was, the more he asked about the mysterious stranger who'd appeared in their midst in April, the less he could be sure anyone knew.
Come Midnight Page 5