Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (54 page)

“Actually, my lord. That’s not necessarily true.” Mr.
Barnaby informed them as he stood with his arm about Kieran. “We must act
quickly, Kieran, and seal his spirit in the grave so he cannot come back to
reek havoc from the spirit world.”

Kieran wavered. He staggered forward, looking as if he might
drop to the floor.

Donovan released Elizabeth and went to catch her brother as
he slumped forward. “Kieran is going to the surgery. He has a lead ball in his
shoulder. Ambrose, Pearl, take him, please.” The men stepped in to take Kieran
from Donovan. They carried him out the door and turned in the hall toward the
east wing where Donovan’s laboratory was located.

“Barnaby, I believe you’ll find Miss Ramirez to be a worthy
assistant for your magical endeavors. Her grandmother was the Voodoo priestess
here on the island. Miss Ramirez, if you would be so kind.” Donovan turned and
took Chloe’s hand, helping her to rise from the floor where she had been
sitting with little Gavin before Johnny took him in his arms. Leading her by
the hand to Barnaby, he continued. “If you’re going to bury the sot, my men
will assist you.” He pointed to the three guards from the indenture compound,
gesturing for them to follow Barnaby and Chloe’s instructions.

Elizabeth watched as her capable husband took charge of the
chaos around them, directing each person to a task and seeing that all the
wounded were being cared for. She loved that man. He was, and would always be
her hero.

Donovan crouched to check on little Gavin. Johnny was
holding the boy. Gavin clutched his older brother about the neck as if he would
never let go. Donovan spoke a few soft words to the boy and stroked his back
reassuringly. “Bring him to the surgery.” He told Johnny.

Donovan returned to Elizabeth, his face heavy with regret.
“Forgive me, my love. I must leave you to your maid’s care.” He cupped her
cheek, and brushed his thumb lovingly across her face. “I have to go pull a
lead ball out of your little brother’s arse.”

*******

Elizabeth’s work was over. Donovan’s had just begun.

He wished he’d kept Miss Ramirez and Mr. Barnaby close, as
both were well versed in the healing arts and could assist him with his
patients. Thankfully, his valet was present. Pearl had patched Donovan up time
and again during their adventures on the Indian Ocean.

Donovan would have jumped right into the fray, starting with
Kieran, but Pearl stopped him. Gareth and the stocky butler helped restrain
Donovan so Pearl could examine his wounds.

“My lord.” The gentle Indian argued as he held Donovan’s grazed
upper arm in his slim brown hands. “If you falter from your own injuries while
performing surgery on these men, your dear lady’s brothers, they will be
without a competent physician’s care.”

Unable to refute the Indian’s logic, Donovan submitted to
his ministrations with impatience. Pearl cleaned the gash, bandaged it, and
then inspected Donovan’s stab wound.

The force of Fletcher’s throw was hindered by his seated
position and the distance of ten feet to throw the blade. Fletcher’s need to
hold on to his two captives with his other hand further contributed to the
ineffectiveness of the knife wound penetrating deep enough to cause lasting
harm. Had it been a powerful thrust close up, Donovan might be the one needing
surgery at the moment or a mortician. But Fletcher was aiming for Lizzie. Had
the man succeeded in hitting her in the throat where she stood second’s before,
Lizzie would have been killed. Donovan’s battle carved hide provided a suitable
shield against the sharp missile aimed at more vulnerable flesh.  

He ruminated over his patients while Pearl washed his
puncture wound and applied a generous paste of Golden Seal to it. Kieran
concerned Donovan the most; his blood loss and the fact that he was presently
complaining of his arm going numb. Donovan had to remove the ball but if it hit
the sub-clavian artery, Kieran’s wound would be difficult if not impossible to
repair.

Michael, despite the profusion of blood seeping down his
leg, was the most fortunate. When Michael stood and shoved Gavin out of the
way, the ball aimed at Fletcher’s chest hit Michael in the right buttock. It
was a painful wound. No one could deny it. The boy wouldn’t be able to sit
without a cushion under his bum for a long time. Yet, with the large areas of
muscle and fat padding the human buttocks, Michael should not suffer permanent
damage.

Giles, Ambrose, and two footmen were hovering nearby. Pearl
had moved to Donovan’s cabinet to remove his surgical kit. “Did you order water
from the kitchen?” Donovan asked, having learned in the orient that instruments
purified by being dipped in scalding water before a procedure resulted in less
incidence of infection in patients as wounds healed.

“Yes, my lord. Fritz brought it now. Which brother will you
begin with?”

“Kieran.” He replied decisively. “The ball is in his chest,
at the subclavical bone, near the shoulder. It’s a dangerous place, so close to
the heart. You may begin cleaning the wound.” As he spoke, Donovan noted the
short cook hurrying in with a steaming bucket of hot water. “Where were you
when all this was happening?”

“Moi?” The man’s moustache quivered and wiggled, like a
grotesque caterpillar above his lower lip. “Hiding in the pantry, M’sieur.” The
wiry man admitted without shame. “I have no stomach for violence and blood. But
I make
magnifique
pastries and
chocolat
every morning for
la
comtesse
. Is why you keep me here, eh? Make the missus fat and happy, and
when the mistress is happy, soon we will have little mouths to feed,
Oui
?”

Donovan waved the impudent cook away and turned his
attention to his patients.

*******

Two days later Donovan awoke alone in the bed. He’d slept
later than usual, but Lizzie was not one to leave their suite before him. He
found his wife in Michael’s room.

Michael was lying on his side, facing Lizzie. She sat in the
chair next to his bed, holding his hand. Michael was in pain. Kieran was
standing behind her, his right arm resting on the back of Lizzie’s chair, his
left arm in a sling due to his wounded shoulder. The Irishman gazed with a
fierce protectiveness at his two younger siblings.

They were silent; the three stunned survivors of a devastating
domestic war that spanned nearly two decades.

Lizzie was unharmed physically, aside the wrist she’d broken
a week earlier. Emotionally, it was different matter. He expected it would be
some time before this last encounter with Fletcher was behind her.

As long as Michael’s face was swollen and bruised, so would
her heart be. The lad had taken the brunt of Fletcher’s fury. He had a
concussion from the blow he took to the back of his head when Fletcher
initially subdued him on the jungle road. Added to that dangerous injury,
Michael had a black eye, a broken nose, burn marks on his neck from the leather
strap Fletcher used to garrote him, and he’d been shot in the bum. Loss of
blood and emotional devastation added weakness to the lad’s condition.

Donovan watched the trio, unwilling to intrude. He wanted to
be with Lizzie, but he knew he mustn’t be greedy about his time with her given
the circumstances.

“Good Morning, my lord.” Mr. Barnaby stepped into the room,
looking for Kieran, he suspected. “I was hoping I might be able to talk with
you regarding Lord Greystowe’s condition?”

Donovan raised a brow at the man. Lord Greystowe’s heart was
giving out. There was naught to be done. Not even the noble Foxglove plant
could help, Donovan concluded, as had several physicians in England. James
Wentworth was going to die in matter of months.

“He intends to return to England soon with my boy, there.”
Barnaby gestured to Kieran.

“Does he?” Donovan responded. “And pray what brought about
that foolish idea?”

“I was talking to him about his condition, sir.” Barnaby
admitted. “I may have a potion that could help strengthen his heart, giving him
a little more time. You see, there is this bark that comes from South America.
The natives there used it with the aged to even out the pulse.”

That was refreshing news, indeed. Barnaby had been an apothecary
for several decades. If the old man had a potion that could make the surly Lord
Greystowe strong enough to leave his home and sail back to his own, Donovan was
vastly in favor of it.

“Well.” Donovan sighed, eyeing his wife, whose attention was
fixed upon her brothers.

“It appears I’m free at the moment. Perhaps you’d care to
join me in my laboratory.”

“I’d love to.” Mr. Barnaby said with the excitement of a
child about to enter a toy shop.

*******

Once Michael was asleep again, Elizabeth left him under the
watchful eye of Mr. Marceau, his tutor. She liked the man. He seemed to have
developed a genuine fondness for her brother. He was a pleasant, jovial fellow
when out of Lord Greystowe’s grim shadow, as different from the dour, stern
tutors she and Michael endured as children as day was from night. Donovan
appointed the man, and that explained a great deal.

She smiled at the tutor as Kieran escorted her out of the
room. She had yet another reason to be grateful to her husband. He wisely chose
a man to teach Michael who would do so by being his friend instead of his disciplinarian.

“Where are you off to now?” Kieran asked, following her as
she moved down the hallway to the main staircase. “You should rest upstairs.
You’re still recovering from the stress of the other day. And the baby needs
rest, Elizabeth. That’s quite a shock we put him through.”

“I promised to visit little Gavin.” Elizabeth replied,
ignoring his caution. Only Kieran knew of her pregnancy. She hadn’t even
noticed, not yet. But when she’d asked him what he meant when he’d chanted so
precisely ‘By the power of three, bound by blood; my blood, your blood,
O’Flaherty blood’ during their skirmish with Fletcher as it was only the two of
them to add their blood to the blade, he’d informed her she was with child .

“Walk with me, Kieran.” She wanted to tell him something
important while they were alone.

As they entered the garden and meandered slowly toward the
stables, Kieran invited Elizabeth to sit with him on a stone bench. The
Mastiffs came bounding after them, yapping and barking, frightening away the birds
in the nearby bushes.

“I don’t understand it.” Kieran told her as Elizabeth
stroked the massive heads. “How could Fletcher have gotten past these two?”

“Donovan told me; when Johnny O’Reilly went with the men to
search for Michael, he instructed his brothers to go upstairs to their quarters
above the stables and to stay there until he came back because of the incoming
storm. Well, they did so, but Danny took the dogs upstairs with them. Danny
loves them so. After the men left, Michael returned with Fletcher holding a gun
on him. When he rang the bell at the back gate Gavin went to go unlock it,
thinking Donovan had returned from the mill.”

Kieran pondered her answer. “So, the dogs were upstairs,
with Danny, and little Gavin was at the mercy of Fletcher. Damn that man. Has
Gavin talked yet? Is he going to be able to talk after what that bastard put
him through?”

“I don’t know.” Elizabeth admitted. “Donovan isn’t certain
if his vocal chords are damaged, or if he’s just not speaking because of the
fright he received.” She pushed Ares’ nose away from the basket of scones and
strawberry jam she’d picked up in the kitchen to take to the boys. “That’s one
reason I wanted to visit him this morning.”

They sat in silence. Elizabeth searched for the right words as
she prepared to tell her brother of her decision. “Kieran, I need to tell you
something. You won’t like it.”

That pulled his attention from the distant horizon. “You’re
evicting me again.”

“No, of course not. It’s this gift.” She sighed, and licked
her lips. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to be the seer anymore, or the
priestess of Clan O’Flaherty.”

“It’s not something you can give back.” Kieran pointed out.
“It’s hereditary. You’ll have the gift of seeing all your life, regardless of
whether you want it or not.”

Elizabeth scrunched up her face. She’d been thinking of how
to say this to him all night long. She hadn’t talked to Donovan about it, but
she knew what he would say if she did, and that solidified her decision. “It
may be hereditary, but it isn’t practical. Not in this time, Kieran.”

“It’s a timeless gift--“ He began, warming to his own
argument.

“No, it is not.” She countered. “It’s an outdated tool. This
isn’t the 13th century anymore. We’re not tribes and clans. Ireland is part of
the modern world, ruled by England.”

“He’s talking you out of it, isn’t he!” Kieran looked away
with anger. “I know, it’s all logic to him, cut and dried. You’d think after
all that’s happened he’d respect the gift and--“

“No, dear brother.” Elizabeth transferred the basket handle
to hang over her bound hand. She touched Kieran’s hand with her free one.
“Don’t blame Donovan. He knows nothing of my decision, although his penchant
for logic may have helped me to see reason. He slept last night while I worked
this out for myself. Listen to me, please? Just listen to what I have to say.”

Kieran gave a toss of his head, intimating his reluctant agreement
to let her speak unhindered. He laced his fingers with hers, and stared down at
the cobbled stones.

“My home is here, with Donovan. I can’t be the hereditary
seer and priestess of Clan O’Flaherty if I live thousands of miles away from
our people. And I cannot ask Donovan to leave his plantation and move to
Ireland. The gift is useless here, with me. I might still have visions, and see
things in the people here, but I’m not moving to Ireland and I’m not going to
be of any use to the clan living here. So, you’ll have to take the O’Flaherty
Book of Secrets into your keeping. It’s the historical record of our clan;
births, marriages, deaths, wars, and alliances spanning centuries. You must
take over the charge of it and find someone to take my place when you go back
to Ireland.”