Forget Me Not

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  “Why would ye be cryin’, lass?” Brian’s breath breezed across her ear.

  “As if you need to ask.” She fought the overwhelming pull of his scent, spicy and masculine mingled with the smell of fresh rain. It wasn’t fair. The man could insult her and still make her weak enough to swoon.

  He leaned down, rubbing his bristly cheek against hers. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “My greatest weakness is letting me mouth get the better of me. Forget everything I said.”

  She cried harder, too upset even to fight his hold. “I don’t want to forget. That was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, but—but—” hiccup, “—you ruined it. You didn’t even mean it.”

  “Oh, no, Lydia, no, I did mean it. Every word.”

  “Which part? The bit about my eyes, or talking too much, or-or—”

  “Well, uh… Damn it,” he cursed under his breath. “All of it I suppose.”

  “Oh,” she wailed. “So my breasts aren’t good enough!” Her tongue and ears were sure to burn for this conversation, but she couldn’t seem to leash her tempter or the words sailing forth. Humiliation reigned supreme. “You may not be a gentleman, Brian Donnelly, but I am quite certain any man with half his wits or a brain would not have said such a thing.”

  He stiffened, and gripped her upper arms as though to implore her, but she refused to look up at him. “They’re perfect, Lydia, I only said it because I was upset.”

  “And what would you have had to be upset about?” Her gaze remained fixed on the tanned curve of his shoulder.

  “Ye flew from the bed as though ye’d woke beside the devil himself.” His brogue thickened in testament to his mounting frustration.

  “Perhaps I had.”

  He tensed as though biting back another retort.

  Lydia yanked against his hold once more, breaking free. Attempting to adopt her most condescending guise she flicked her eyes the length of him and said, “It’s a wonder any woman has allowed you to see her breasts.” Oh, yes, Olivia would die of palpitations if she learned of this conversation.

  Brian’s eyes narrowed. “You did.” Before she could wrap her tongue around a suitable retort he strode forward, visage softening. “Now, before ye go off spouting another stream of epithets hear me out. From the sound of that rain poundin’ the roof we’re going to be stuck here for a long while. I don’t want to spend all that time arguin’. Would you please allow me to apologize, Lydia? ‘Twas not my intention to upset you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Why did he have to look at her that way? With eyes so soft and smoldering she could melt… Lydia sighed. She was melting, and right into him. She stiffened, clenching her teeth and straightened. “Very well.” She pertly inclined her head, and placed her back to him.

  “And Lydia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Yours are the loveliest eyes the sun and moon have ever been blessed to smile upon.”

  Delight tugged at her lips, she pursed them to keep a betraying grin at bay and refused to turn around. He wasn’t out of this yet. Brian didn’t like her chatty nature? Fine. See how he liked the silent treatment.

  Twenty minutes later, seated at the small scarred table, Lydia recognized the only flaw in her silent treatment plan. While she could not take the boredom Brian seemed perfectly capable of maintaining a comfortable silence. She managed a few minutes of distraction eating her share of the meager food stores and then a few more surveying the contents of the cabin. Four wooden walls with mud and clay packed into the crevices, the small table her fingers were impatiently drumming, one chair—Brian had burned another—and the wooden box bed complete with a straw mattress. Any trinkets or personal belongings had long been removed leaving nothing of interest in the room save for the three old woolen blankets Brian had found stuffed beneath the mattress. She would have liked to don the rest of her damp clothes, but to do so would require Brian’s assistance and for that reason alone the activity was out of the question. For a while she attempted carrying on a conversation in her head, but found that less than entertaining as she always knew what would be said.

  Finally she couldn’t take it anymore. “Tell me, Brian,” perched in the remaining straight backed chair she turned to face him, and realized he was reclined on the bed with his eyes closed. “Are you asleep?”

  “Not anymore,” he replied without opening his eyes.

  “Oh.” She gulped, could she do or say nothing right? “Well, seeing as you’re awake now, may I ask a question?”

  “Would it matter if I said no?”

  She would have bristled if not for the melting grin he flashed her, instead she smiled in return. “How long were you in the Army?”

  “Near ten years.”

  “Did you travel to any fabulous places like India or Greece? I should love to see Greece. My father brought me perfume from there once, but I’ve never been further than, well,” she laughed, “Cumberland.”

  He sat to face her, chuckling. “Sorry to disappoint, but Napoleon dominated the majority of my service. I shipped to France on three separate tours and spent a total of six years on the continent. I spent time in Spain and Russia as well. Not so very fabulous, I’m afraid.”

  She nodded. “Do you speak any languages? I was the bane of my tutors when it came to learning French.”

  Brian flashed a smile of true friendship. “Well, we’re kindred spirits in that regard. I have no ear for languages. I can understand a fair amount of French and Spanish, even a bit of Russian, but to speak them…” Brian shook his head wryly. “I’m a hopeless cause. Growin’ up Irish I was told time and again to mask me accent, but I gave up tryin’ years ago.”

  “I like your accent,” Lydia murmured with a low sigh.

  A slow, cocky grin stretched across his handsome face. “Do ye now?” The smile was suspiciously mischievous and stretched up into his twinkling eyes. He looked so boyish her heart flopped.

  She melted all over again, and all because of his warm gaze upon her. “And what of your family?” She asked before turning to a puddle in the middle of the floor. “Are they in Ireland?”

  The boyish glint faded instantly from his eyes. “I’m afraid the army is the only family I’ve ever known. I was raised in an orphanage in Dublin from the time I was two years old.” He shrugged. “When I was fifteen, I enlisted in his majesties service with me best friend, Paul Whitman.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, but Lydia detected wistfulness in his expression. It quite nearly broke her heart to know he’d never known a real family. Not that hers was anything save for dysfunctional, but she’d had a loving mother, a kind stepmother, and though her father wasn’t gifted at showing it, she knew he loved her as well. Was the mystery lurking behind Brian’s eyes simply that he needed someone to love?

  “Fifteen? You must have lied about your age to enlist.”

  “Aye. Told ye I knew a thing or two about runnin’ away, lass.”

  She narrowed her eyes, teasing. “So you did. I take it you’ve never been married?”

  “No.” He cleared his throat and walked to the fireplace to check his own shirt. She was entirely too disappointed when he slid the garment over his broad shoulders.

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw though he did not look at her as he slowly fastened the buttons of his shirt. “Once.”

  Lydia ignored the trill of jealousy ringing in her mind. “What happened?”

  “The lass was betrothed as it were to a man with much more to offer than me.”

  “Did she love you in return?”

  For a long moment he was silent and still as the night. “I suppose I’ll never know.”

  “Did you never tell her?”

  Brian stared into the fire, shoulders tense, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Given the choice between a lowly Irish foot soldier and a peer of the realm which do you think a woman would choose?”

  “I think I should choose the man I loved,” she murmured. “I shou
ld like to know that happiness. No riches or titles of this world can buy joy.”

  He turned to her then with eyes so burning and broken her heart actually stopped for half a beat. The blazing intensity of his gaze skewered her with such raw emotion she could have cried. This man needed her. She felt it to the depths of her soul. All she wanted was to go to him, and wipe the pain from his eyes. She longed to be loved as fiercely as he’d obviously loved this other woman… her dream come true.

  “Would you really? Could you choose a no one such as me over a lord?”

  “If you loved me,” she breathed, rising to step toward him. “I believe any woman would sooner be loved than titled.”

  Brian swallowed nervously, backing away as she moved forward. “W-would ye like to get dressed then?” The spell broke. “The rain seems to be lettin’ up.”

  Slowly she nodded, disappointed, and turned to the garments lifting the old stays. Without a word he assisted her with the laces and then strode to the door. “Brian?”

  “Aye?”

  Offering a small smile of encouragement she said, “If it’s not too late you should tell that woman you love her.”

  Hand on the door handle he stared at her with an oddly crooked expression and, truth be told, he actually looked a touch green. After a moment he nodded curtly and left.

  * * *

  Jesus Christ Almighty! Brian lifted a rock and heaved it against a tree. What a disaster this little adventure was turning out to be. Lydia was everywhere and his every attempt to distance himself from her either backfired—the comment about her breasts, God, he could be an ass—or being close to her became absolutely necessary—warming her so she wouldn’t freeze to death. He’d dreamt of loving her the night before, of making love to her, and that morning he’d woke wrapped with her in a lover’s embrace. Not a single cognizant thought had entered his mind. All he’d known was every soft curve of her body fitting to his, and how good she felt.

  If it’s not too late, you should tell that woman you love her… tell that woman you love her… tell that woman you love her…

  Lydia’s words echoed over and again in his mind. How would she react to know the woman was her? He lifted a stick and jabbed it into the mud. Would she laugh at him? Probably. Could he stand it? Probably not.

  As if he knew what love was? He’d never known a real family. Much of his life had been survival of the fittest, going to bed hungry until big enough to elbow his way through the food line. He knew camaraderie and loyalty… but, love? The heart and soul devastating brand of love Lydia was referring to, did he really know anything about it?

  No. No, he didn’t and, if he had his way, never would.

  None of it mattered anyhow, in a few hours’ time they would be in Sharpsburg, Henry Wallace was sure to help them, and she would be safely with her father and Lord Northbridge within a day, two at the most. He hadn’t worked out all of the specifics, but once they returned to Wheaton Abbey she could be placed under a twenty-four hour guard; Brian too would keep a secret watch over her to ensure the guards were trustworthy until Felix Keith was brought to justice. Lydia had witnessed Keith and his henchman committing coldblooded murder it shouldn’t take much to see him to the gallows. Then she would officially be out of his hair, free and safe to marry the viscount, that’s all Brian really wanted anyway…

  Or so he kept telling himself.

  The breath whooshed heavily from his lungs as he sought to squash the images of her floating through his mind. Life wasn’t fair. When he looked into Lydia’s heavenly eyes he could see everything he’d never dreamed to hope for in life. For as long as Brian could remember he’d saved every spare penny with the hopes of one day owning a stable, and breeding horses of his own. The finest horses in Britain. But the grudging truth was without Lydia, he wanted none of it.

  Christ, what did it all mean?

  He hadn’t had to take the job Sir William offered. He had enough money for a start, ergo not a big one, but instead he’d put the plans on hold. Time and again he told himself he worked for Sir William because he owed it to the man. The general had refused to take back any funds when Brian sold his commission, and had saved his life to boot. It didn’t ring true though, and deep down Brian new it. When Sir William presented the proposition the first thought through Brian’s mind was Lydia and that is why he was currently lead horse trainer at Wheaton Abbey.

  He was a fool. Pure and simple.

  “Brian?”

  He looked up to see her standing in the doorway, smiling, looking more like Aphrodite than any woman had a right to. Their eyes met, and in that single moment he saw his future, one version at least, stretching out before him. A little cottage… Children with Lydia’s golden eyes…

  It scared the living hell out of him.

  “Will we be leaving soon?” she finished.

  “Aye.” He nodded brusquely, and, averting her gaze, strode back to the hut to collect their meager belongings. Suddenly he couldn’t escape the suffocating confines of the cabin fast enough.

  Slinging the leather satchel over a shoulder, Brian breezed past Lydia waiting patiently in the doorway. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly hardly caring that his long strides would have her running to keep up. If she were running she certainly wouldn’t be talking, and more to the point he needed to move, get the blood pumping to clear his head, and away from other regions of his anatomy.

  He glanced back to Lydia, quickly filled her in on his plan to reach Sharpsburg and contact his old friend Henry Wallace. He also explained the hope that Wallace would be able to secretly spirit them back to Wheaton Abbey, or a village nearby.

  Lydia merely nodded and he chose to ignore the haunting flicker of disappointment that danced elusively across her face. “How long will it take us to reach Sharpsburg?”

  “About three hours if the weather holds out.”

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later Brian glanced over his shoulder to see Lydia leaning heavily against a waist high boulder. Fatigue laced every delicate feature of her face. Mentally Brian kicked himself. How could he have forgotten how fragile she was? Like a little porcelain doll.

  He strode purposefully toward the boulder. “Are ye feelin’ all right, love?”

  “Fine. I just need a moment to rest.” Lydia swayed on her feet and all but crumbled in his arms.

  “Easy, lass. Steady, now.” He slid one arm behind her shoulders and the other around her the slim column of her waist, supporting her weight.

  “No, really, Brian, I’m all right.” Weakly she tugged against his arm.

  “Must ye be so stubborn, lass? Let me help ye.”

  “I’m not stubborn. We’ll be to Sharpsburg soon… and… then—” She glanced briefly into his eyes, before her head lolled against his chest.

  Damn! Brian groaned, he should have realized something was wrong sooner. She hadn’t said a word in nigh an hour, and he knew she was incapable of keeping her mouth shut for more than twenty minutes at a time, she even mumbled in sleep. He caught the side of her face in his right hand and tilted it toward him. Lydia was ashen with cheeks flushed a less than healthy pink. He covered her forehead with his palm.

  Damn.

  It was hot. Not burning, but definitely feverish.

  Chapter Seven

  As they drew into the small village of Sharpsburg the keenest sense of déjà vu assailed Lydia. The sounds and the smells even her sense of weariness seemed familiar… It reminded her of a small village she’d visited with her parents a few months before her mother died. Lydia had fallen extremely ill in that place as well.

  Brian slid a sheltering arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “How are ye farin’, love?”

  She sagged against his strength, absorbing his radiant heat and battling the ache settled in her joints, every step took monumental effort. “Fine,” she lied, wanting nothing more than to appear strong and capable in his eyes. She looked up to him, not quite able to offer a smile of reassurance.

>   His soft eyes glistened with concern as he gave her a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get you to that inn, Lydia, ye can rest a spell while I find Henry Wallace.”

  Her eyes drifted down the road to the inn. The battered sign creaked on its hinges, Traslow’s Tavern and Inn, Established 1743. The sign should read Heaven… it would certainly feel like heaven once she laid her head down for a spell. A few people milled through the dusty muddy streets and a tall dark haired man in particular caught her eye. Panic surged through her veins. “No!” She stopped dead in her tracks. “Brian, we cannot go in there.”

  He looked back in surprise. “Why ever not?”

  “The man from the stable, Roark, he is in there. I just spotted him walking up the steps.” She grabbed his arm, imploring him with her eyes. “Please, Brian.”

  “Lydia.” He glanced from her face, to the inn, and back again with obvious confusion. “I’ve been watchin’ that inn since we walked into town. No one has walked in or out of the building. Ye are not well. I’m certain ye’re not thinkin’ clearly. Let me get you inside to rest, please?”

  “No.” She shook her head, pulling back on his arm. “He’ll shoot us. Finish the job he started. I can’t bear to see you killed, Brian, please.” Tears of desperation swam in her eyes. “We can ask after your friend and rest elsewhere.”

  He drew a long breath and studied her face intently. At long last he shrugged. “Very well, but I’ll not have ye up for much longer whilst ye’re sick.”

  Securing a protective arm around her waist, he steered them toward a small dry goods store. The interior of the shop was rosy and warm and Lydia walked to the small fireplace like a bee to flowers. The day was not terribly unpleasant, but cold seeped clear to her bones. She had not stopped shivering for the last two hours, and wanted nothing more than to curl up and fall asleep. Brian strode to the redheaded woman behind the counter. Apprehensively Lydia glanced toward the window terrified one of Keith’s men would amble by and spot them.