Forget Me Not (7 page)

“Non-sense, child, you sit and rest, I can see to the pie.”  Anna bestowed her with a genuine smile for the first time that day, and bustled cheerily from the room.

Harvey kicked back in his chair and glanced conspiratorially between Brian and Lydia. “Now, before I hear your telling, let me have a go at guessing what ails you.”  A wide grin split his jolly face. “I’d wager the pair of you went to Scotland to get married, and you had not a
farthing to your name because her old man—” he jerked a thumb toward Lydia, “—caught the two of you, shall we say,
together
.”  He waggled a suggestive brow toward Brian who responded with a sheepish shrug. Harvey howled with laughter. “My old friend Brian Donnelly had to run off to get married after being caught with his trouser around his ankles!  Ho!  I never would have thought it, my boy, not in a hundred years.”

“Well, Harvey, ye thought wrong.”  Brian splayed his hands as though the facts were plain as day. “Of course, what with the wee one on the way, I really had no choice.”

Lydia spluttered in protest, mouth flopping open in blatant disbelief. For once the heat
drained
from her cheeks. “How, how dare you!”

“Come now, me lovely, ye can’t expect to keep the babe a secret forever.”  Brian proceeded to regale the Baker’s with tales of their exploits, weaving an entertaining yarn of how they’d met and narrowly escaped her father’s murderous rage to be married. Mortified, Lydia did her best to spear him with daggered glares, but he only grinned across the table, winking without a care in the world.

He would pay for this later.

“If you’ll excuse me.”  Lydia scraped her chair loudly across the thick planks of the kitchen floor. “I am going to bed.”  She barely caught the words
I’ve had quite enough of this masquerade
from slipping out.

“Aye.”  Brian followed suit. “It has been a long day. Harvey, Mrs. Baker, my wife and I cannot thank you enough for the hospitality.”

“No problem at all, Brian. Will you be needin’ supplies to see you to the next village?”

Brian hesitated, and Lydia understood his reluctance to take
any more
from his friend. “We couldn’t think to impose on ye anymore. The meal and a warm bed is more than enough.”

“
It wouldn’t be an imposition, son, in fact I have an offer, a trade, if you can spare a day. There is a length of fence to the north of my property needs mending, but I can’t get it done on my own. I’d be willing to trade a few days’ supplies for a day of your labor.”

Brian locked eyes with Lydia. She shrugged in response to his silent question.

“We could spare a day,” he nodded. “I’ll be up early to get started.”

“Good man.”

The door to the bedroom closed and Lydia was more than ready to unleash her fury. “How could you do that to me?  How could you tell them I was pregnant?  We aren’t even married and I would have you know, sir, that I have never done—” she squirmed uncomfortably, searching her sheltered vocabulary for the appropriate word, “—
that
with a man.”

“Glad to hear it, but it’s really none of my business.”  He shrugged with nonchalance, sat on a corner of the bed, and began pulling his boots off.

Oh!  The man was impossible!

He stood to untuck his shirt and caught her glowering stare. “What?  It was you who told them we were married.”

She narrowed her eyes murderously at the reminder.

“I couldn’t very well tell them we’re on the run for witnessin’ a murder. Knowin’ the truth could put them in danger. Now if any of Keith’s men come asking questions they’ll not bat an eye at the tale of a young couple run off to the Gretna Green.”

“Except for the fact the Baker’s know your real name. Felix’s men will hear the name Brian Donnelly and know we’ve been here.”

“Seeing as Harvey and I served three long years together I could hardly give him a false name.”

Stubbornly crossing her arms, Lydia refused to concede any measure in the argument. After his behavior at dinner Brian didn’t deserve condescension.

“Look, I admit to getting’ a bit carried away at dinner, but I wanted to lay our story on thick.”

“Rest assured, Brian Donnelly, I will make you pay for the yarn you spun tonight.”

He beamed, rising to the challenge. “I thought ye wanted a rogue, Miss Lydia.”

“I said I’d prefer you were a gentlemanly rogue.”

A bark of laughter escaped him as he
dragged
the blue work shirt over his head, chucking it into a corner. “I’m afraid such a man does not exist, love.”

Lydia opened her mouth to protest further, but the words fizzled on her tongue. Brian stood before her, a mildly amused expression adorning his handsome face, waiting for her to continue, but she was mesmerized by the vivid sight of his naked chest. Smooth sun bronzed skin stretched taut over straps of thick corded brawn. Muscles rolled across his shoulders wrapping down his arms and over his chest. His abdomen was flat and firm with yet more hardened muscles rippling along his ribs down to the line of his trousers. She’d seen workman in the fields with their shirts off a time or two, but never so close, and never like this.

“I, uh—” she sought to tear her eyes away from him, at the very least look into his eyes, but words and actions remained just beyond reach. At last he stepped back, turning toward the bed. “Wait,” she cried in alarm as he reclined on the left side. “What are you doing?”

“Goin’ to bed, love.”

“Not with me.”

“Where would ye have me go then?”  He gestured obtusely about the modest room before settling back on the quilt, eyes closed. “If it’s any consolation I have no intention of ravishing you in the night.”

“It’s not.”

“I’ll keep me trousers on as well.”  He rolled to the side folding the single pillow beneath his head. “You’re more than welcome to sleep on the floor, love, ye can even have the quilt.”

“Oh!”  She stomped across the room. “Is that so?”  Kneeling on the lumpy mattress she put her hands to his back and heaved.

Brian’s eyes flew open as he teetered on the edge of the bed. Too late he shifted to his back and slipped off the foundation, dragging Lydia down as he fell. The two tumbled to the
floor in a heap of limbs, Lydia landing squarely on top of him. With a gulp she scrambled to her knees, but Brian’s hands gripped her in a steely vice, locking her against his chest.

“So ye’re wantin’ to play dirty then?”  His green eyes flickered as he rolled her swiftly beneath him. “Two can play dirty, my lovely.”  His weight settled across the length of her, hard and toned, she stopped breathing. A rough thumb traced the line of her cheek, shooting tremors of awareness along her spine. He wrapped her hair around his palm, holding her gaze to his, and the tremors shuddered through her, enveloping her arms and legs. His ring
burned
into her finger. Her lips tingled in secret yearning for his touch. “Are ye afraid of me, lass?”  The warmth of his breath caressed her lips, and unwittingly her hands curled against the heat of his bare shoulders.

“No,” she murmured.

“Good,” he stated matter-of-factly and shoved to his feet. “Then there is no reason I can’t share half of the bed. Now, move,” he ordered, jerking a thumb toward the corner.

Cheeks aflame she obeyed, moving to stand by the wooden chair in the corner. Brian lifted the end of the bed and pulled it across the floor until the side was flush against an outside wall, she flinched.

“I will be sleepin’ by the wall should ye be of a mind to drop me on me
ars
e
again.”  Swinging into the bed he shot her a pointed look, grabbed the pillow and curled on his side on top of the quilt.

Childishly Lydia stuck her tongue out at his turned back. Fully clothed she stomped to the bed, lifted the edge of the quilt, and slipped beneath, careful to maintain as much distance between them as possible.

Clutching the blankets to her chin, she stared at the shadows playing along the wall, listening to his deep breaths. Neither of them spoke, and she wondered if he was already asleep. She was exhausted, her bone weary body begging for relief, but Brian’s proximity assailed her senses making it impossible to relax.

Would he roll into her during the night?  And, God forbid, would she cuddle into him?  No matter how badly she craved his touch, she couldn’t allow herself to be so near, it was downright dangerous.

What would Olivia say if she laid eyes on this scene?  Nothing. Her Stepmother would not say a word. Instead she’d make good on her perpetual threat to swoon and pass dead away.

Brian’s breathing deepened, becoming slower. She adjusted on the bed, trying to peek discreetly over her shoulder. His wide, muscular back faced her. His hair fell against his neck and brushed the pillow, her fingers itched to run through it. Pushing the thought aside, she gritted her teeth and tightened her death grip on the blanket.

I will not touch him. I will pretend he isn’t there
.

He released a small groan and shifted slightly closer.

Pretend he isn’t here?  Not likely.
Her pulse leapt into high gear. Oh, why did the embodiment of her every girlish fantasy have to be lying not two feet away, in a bed, with her?

And why didn’t he want to ravish her?

*
             
*
             
*

Bone weary after another long day traveling on foot, Lydia could hardly put one foot in front of the next, she could not quite bring herself to smile weakly at Brian as he held open the battered door of the hackneyed inn. Concern reflected in his deep green eyes, briefly he touched her hand, the contact intimate.

“Afternoon, Donnelly.”

Lydia faltered as her eyes fell to the man, Roark, from the stables of Wheaton Abbey. They’d been found. Protectively Brian pulled her behind him.

“Shall we take this outside?”  Roark asked pleasantly.

“So you can shoot us and be done with it?” Brian scoffed. “I think not.”

“Do not think these people,” he gestured the crowded pub, “will be of any help. I’ve already informed them we’re hunting dangerous criminals. I could shoot you here and now, n
o one will think twice of it.”
Two men stepped from the back wall, flanking Lydia and Brian. “I will ask you again to step outside.”

“Never,” Brian seethed, lunging at Roark. The two struggled for a long moment, Brian quickly gaining the upper hand before the two henchmen
dragged
him forcibly to his feet.

Roark climbed to his feet, wiping a smear of blood from his chin. “Have it your way.”  Without warning he pulled a flintlock from his trousers and fired a ball direct into the center of Brian’s chest.

“No!”  Lydia shoved past the henchmen, catching his head and shoulders in her lap as he collapsed to the floor. “Please, God, no,” she sobbed, holding his face in her palms.

“Lydia,” he choked, a small river of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Lydia, I – I—” The state of his breathing grew increasingly laborious, chest heaving as he coughed and struggled for air. The light of his eyes, so vibrant and alive flickered, growing dim.

“Brian, no, please don’t leave me.”  His fingers fluttered at her wrist, before all strength left his body.

Lydia sat bolt upright in bed. Hysterical sobs racked her body as her eyes darted frantically about the darkness.
Where am I?  Brian!
  Strong arms slid around her waist, drawing her into a warm haven.

“Lydia, hush, love, it was only a dream.”

A dream?
  But it had been so real.
Brian? 
She whirled against him, throwing her arms about his neck. “Brian, thank God, you’re alive.”  Her hands trailed across his chest. Perfect. No gunshot, no wound. “You’re all right.”  She clasped his face, memorizing his visage through a veil of tears, the fear of losing him raw on her nerves.

“Love, of course I’m all right.”  He folded her into a warm embrace, pulling her across his lap. His head bent and his breath warmed her hair. His lips touched her brow and cheeks, kissing away her tears. “There, there, Lydia, no need for tears. ‘Twas only a dream.”

“It didn’t feel like a dream, Brian. It was…” She gulped. “Real.”  Her eyes met his. Grace Covington, her mother, had had dreams like this, dreams so vivid she’d forever slept with a light on. Her father called them night terrors. Until tonight Lydia had never experienced such a dream…

She shuddered, laying her head against Brian’s chest, taking comfort in the steady drum of his heart. If she never had a night terror again it would be too soon. She’d always thought of herself as a strong, independent sort of woman, and hated to admit being overwrought after their ordeal.

“Close yer eyes, love, I’m here for you.”  Brian held her close, rocking her and murmuring a soothing Gaelic rhyme. The words were a salve, spoken as a song, and slowly the ragged rhythm of her breathing quieted. She was enchanted. He lay back, pulling her with him, cradling her in the crook of his arm, his fingers tracing steady paths along her back. Again she knew the sensation of heat fusing the whole of her being, and a point of certainty solidified in her mind.