Forget Me Not (15 page)

Brian shot Brandon a murderous glare and stooped beside the bed. “The fact you’ve been incapacitated the last two nights prevented me from finding an opportunity to tell you about the posters, or that Roark is in Sharpsburg.” 
Damn it all,
he hadn’t intended to admit the last.

“Roark is here?”  The vise of anger lining her features solidified as her gaze fixed on him. “You lied to me. You went into town didn’t you?”

“Lydia,” he said softly, twining his fingers through hers, “please understand—”

“Understand what, Brian Donnelly?  Understand that you had no intention of telling me of Roark’s presence, or the reward posters. You had ample opportunity to do so when we
talked
last night.”

“That conversation never happened if you recall, we agreed on it.”

“
You
agreed on it. And once again you are treating me as every other man in my life, as though I am a child too fragile and dimwitted to comprehend the import of it all.”

“That is not true,” he implored. “I hadn’t told you yet because I wanted ye to concentrate on getting well. You gave me quite the scare, love; all I wanted was for you to be strong enough for the news.”

Her brow arched in challenge. “I am quite strong enough for the news now, wouldn’t you agree?”

Noncommittally he cleared his throat. “Aye.”

“Then do tell the tale, Brian. Brandon, would you like to sit?”

“Wouldn’t miss this story fer the world, Miss Lydia.”  The boy quickly clamored into the chair beside the bed.

Brian did his best to ignore him, and quickly related the events which had transpired during her illness.

“A soldier was showing the posters?  Do you think my father could be the one looking for me and offering the reward?”

“I’d be lyin’ to say I hadn’t entertained the very same thought.” Brian nodded. “My concern is the posters could very well be sent by Keith and I’ll not take the chance of puttin’ ye into his hands. Even if yer father commissioned the reward and search it would not be difficult for Keith to intercept you and finish his evil seeing as he is so close to Sir William.”

“True.”  Lydia’s teeth tugged apprehensively at her bottom lip. “What next?”

“The same as I explained yesterday. If yer feelin’ strong enough we leave for Viscount Coverstone’s manor tomorrow, and I’ll not let ye from me sight until ye’re safely with yer father.”  He hesitated before adding. “Even then I’ll be close, Lydia, I promise ye that.”

She nodded.

“And you,” he spun to Brandon, “will not be leavin’ my sight either.”

“The hell I won’t.”

Lydia looked aghast. “Brandon, a boy your age should never use such language.”

“Sorry, miss,” he mumbled. “Just the same, why won’ I be leavin’ yer sight?”

“In case ye’re of a mind to claim that 500 pound reward.”

“You mean 1000 pounds,” Lydia corrected. “If there is a price on both our heads, the reward is 1000 pounds.”

Brian ground his teeth at the triviality.

Brandon shrugged. “I’m not. 1000 pounds is a mighty tempting sum, but who in their right mind would give it to me. All ‘at would happen is I’d tell ‘em where to find you and some grown up would pocket me money.”

“Probably true.”  Brian raked a hand through his hair, contemplating the statement. Finally he cleared his throat, wanting nothing more than the conversation to end. “Well, then, Lydia if ye’d like to take a real bath I’ve been heatin’ some water downstairs. I’d be more than happy to prepare it in the washroom beside the kitchen. It’s promisin’ to be a very nice day.”

“That would be lovely.”  The whole of her countenance lifted at the prospect.

“Excellent.”  The whole of his body stiffened with the thought of her slipping beneath the sultry water. It had been entirely too long since he’d been with a woman, his imagination was running wild. Abruptly he stood. “Come along Brandon.”

*
             
*
             
*

A curl of mist swirled invitingly from the steaming contents of the tin tub beckoning Lydia. Surely no sight in heaven could be more alluring than the luxury of a long soak.

Br
i
a
n lingered by the doorway, looking most adorably boyish and nervous. “Would ye be needin’ assistance with anythin’ else, Lydia?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at his overt discomfort. “I don’t think so, but I’ll be sure to call if I change my mind.”  The eyes nearly popped out of his head with her last statement, she knew better than to have said it, but this morning she was feeling a bit, for lack of a better word… naughty. Definitely unladylike.

“I’ll just leave ye be,” he muttered.

She shrugged, bobbing her head from side to side, and winked. “Suit yourself.”

Again he looked thoroughly shocked by her words. He turned to leave, seemed to think better of it, and mumbled irritably under his breath.

“I’m sorry, did you say something, Brian?”

“I said take care not to trifle with me, lass. Ye may regret the consequences.”

“I doubt it.”  She flashed him a flirtatious, demure smile—at the very least she hoped it looked flirtatious and demure—and flounced to the tub, wiggling the robe off of her shoulders.

The door slammed and the sound of Brian grumbling furiously—something about his flaming trousers—made it impossible to hold in a giggle. Tormenting the man was entirely too much fun. If only it didn’t hurt so much to think of last night’s cool rejection.

Slowly she doffed the clothing and slid beneath the surface of the water. She took a moment to simply relax before scrubbing the sweat of illness from her body. She closed her eyes, letting her mind whirl around the events of the morning. It was all something of a puzzle. The obviously homeless young boy appearing in her doorway—her heart could break for his rapscallion appearance—was not a thing she could have anticipated, and the confirmation she had seen Roark was more than a little frightening. Brian could easily have been injured or… killed. She clenched her teeth. Who was she kidding?  With Roark here, both their lives were in more imminent danger than she’d anticipated. At the very least she had prevented one disaster by steering clear of the tavern. She tapped her fingers on the side of the tub. Roark and Brian obviously had a significant, less than kindly history. What she wouldn’t give to know the story behind that relationship.

A vision of Brian floated across her mind’s eye. He looked adorably grumpy, the singular furrow between his brows gathered the way it always did when he concentrated or felt irritable. She smiled a moment before the thought of losing him or the very least never being with him invaded her senses. It was suffocating, crushing to think of never seeing him wink or smile again.

She plunged her head beneath the water, holding her breath in as long as her lungs would allow. Life was so unfair. Brian surrounded her, filled her up, made her feel whole, even now she could hear him calling her name.
Lydia. Lydia.
From his lips it was more than a name, it was…  Wait, why was her fantasy Brian shouting?

“Lydia!  Someone is coming. We must leave here, now!”

Her head broke above the water’s surface at the same moment her fantasy man exploded through the washroom door. God, but no fantasy could do him justice. Half way to her feet she froze in a mixture of shock and horror. Brian stood statuesque, eyes riveted on her, a new sense of urgency emanating from his rigid form.

“By Christ, girl, have a care and cover yerself,” he spat.

Prompted by his angry tone she moved to shield herself the best she could with her hands and stepped from the tub, cheeks on fire. A towel was tossed across the back of a chair a few feet away, hastily she reached for it, but the rivulets of slippery water cascading from her hair and body made the footing precarious. “Oh!” she cried, as her right foot slid across the hardwood planks, both arms flailed uselessly at her sides, and she was sure to crash into the chair holding her towel and clothes.

In an instant Brian was across the room, arms outstretched to catch her. However, he too misjudged the amount of water and the slickness of the floor and crashed into Lydia’s teetering form. His arms snaked around her—though she couldn’t be sure if the gesture was protective or purely instinctive—as they tumbled in a tangle of limbs backward into the tub of warm water.

“De-chr-sw-ff!” Brian spluttered a stream of colorfully vehement, though unintelligible, curses as his mouth bobbed in and out of the waterline.

Gasping for air, Lydia made a desperate attempt to extricate herself from confines of the tin tub. With one knee trapped between Brian’s hips and the metal siding and the other leg slung half over the edge, maneuvering out of the compromising position was near impossible.

“Owe!” Brian howled as, in her haste to scramble away, her left knee landed squarely between his legs.

Lydia stilled instantly. “Oh, Brian, I am so sorry.”  She didn’t know much about male anatomy, but she was aware of the delicate nature of the area where her knee currently resided.

“Be sorry later. Right now just move yer damned knee.”

Instantly she set to action. “Of course, what was I thinking?”  Once again the awkward position proved too much and her foot slipped sending her splashing on top of Brian all over again.

“You will be the death of me,” he groaned, lifting her bodily off of him and dumping her over the edge of the tub. Close behind he rolled over the side, slipped, and landed on top of her, his face snugly nestled in the crevice between her breasts. “The death of me indeed.”  He
scrambled away from her, nearly losing his footing once again, grabbed the towel from its place on the chair, and flipped it across her naked body.

“You know,” a small voice piped from the doorway, “men have been forced into marriage for less than that.”

“Brandon, if you do not shut up this minute I swear upon the stars I’ll kill ye in yer sleep,” Brian barked.

The boy shrugged. “Just sayin’ is all.”

“Aye, I am very well aware of what ye’re sayin’,” he hissed. “It’ll behoove ye to know there are some things better left unsaid.”  He shook his head as though to clear it. “Now, we don’t have time for this. Lydia, get dressed. Brandon, with me.”

“Brian, who is coming?”

Flashing eyes turned to her. “Jonathan Roark. Now, move.”

“Roark!  But how do you know?”

“This is not the time fer your twenty and one questions, Lydia. I’ll explain everythin’ once we’re on the move.”  He strode dripping toward the door.

“And, Brian?”

“Christ, Lydia, what now?” he snarled.

“We must bring Brandon with us.”

He nodded curtly and swung the door closed.

“I’ll go wit’ ‘er, but I’m not sure I’d go anywherst wit’ the likes a ‘ou, Brian.”

“Figured as much.”

Despite her welling panic, Lydia couldn’t help but smile at them bantering back and forth. She rather suspected Brandon’s antics stemmed from deep seeded feelings of mistrust. She would work on that. If of course the three of them managed to escape Jonathan Roark. Lydia
dressed quickly, though she was unable to lace the bothersome stays, braided the sopping, tangled mass of her hair the best she could, and emerged from the washroom. The sight of Brian soaked through with bathwater nearly sent her into a fit of laughter. Perhaps the illness had addled her brain.

“Ready?”  It was not a question as Brian tossed the satchel over his shoulder and grabbed her arm.

“I feel terrible leaving your friend’s house in such a mess.”

“Would ye like to stick around and clean it for him then?  I’m sure Keith’s henchman would very much appreciate the opportunity to shoot ye through the kitchen windows.”

Appropriately chagrined she let him usher her and Brandon through the backdoor. The day was lovely, bright and sunny, but in the open Lydia felt exposed. “How is it you know that Roark is on his way here?”

“I’m not positive this is where he’s coming, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to take any chances.”

“Brian, I am confused, where did you see him?  Or
when
did you see him?”

He dragged her bodily toward the woods. “I walked up to the old mill when you got in the bath.”  She strained to hear his hushed words. “Roark and his men were searching the buildings on that side of town. I didn’t want to take the chance of being caught in Henry’s house.”

“But when Roark’s men see what a state we left the house in they’ll know we were there, that we left in such a hurry.”

“Which is why I want to be long gone before that happens. Worry not, Lydia, I’ll do everythin’ in my power to keep ye safe.”  Almost as an afterthought he nodded to Brandon. “The boy as well.”

“I know, and I trust you, I’m just scared.”  The canopy of the woods loomed dark and foreboding, adding to her fears and the sensation of being lost. What would she do without Brian Donnelly?

Brian turned back to her, a keen question skimming the surface of her eyes. “Why do ye not hate me, Lydia?  After last night ye should.”