Forget Me Not (33 page)

Gently he settled Lydia on the bed, assessing the ashen hue of her face. He squeezed her hand, and the white imprint of his thumb remained on her knuckles. Damn, she’d lost a lot of blood. “Focus, Donnelly, ye’ve done this a time or two before.”

Quickly he scanned the room in search of clean bandages to apply pressure to her wound. His eyes fell to a white muslin gown hanging on the bureau door—Lydia’s cursed wedding dress no doubt—he tore off a layer of the soft fabric and rolled Lydia to her side. A deep puddle of burgundy blood soaked the sheets. “Christ.”  He shoved the wadded cloth against the wound, stemming the ooze. “Where is that goddamned doctor?” he bellowed. His gaze moved to the door and collided with the huge terrified eyes of Brandon.

“What happened to her?”

“Brandon, go back to yer room.”

Wide watery eyes flicked from Brian to the blood soaked bed. “But—”

“Do not argue with me, lad. Get out of here. I will come fer you when this is over.”

The boy stumbled back a step, colliding with Olivia.

“Lydia! Lydia! Where is my daughter?” Olivia’s frantic eyes flitted
about the room. “Oh, my god.”
Olivia clasped a hand over her mouth, chest heaving on a sob. “Is she…?”

“No,” Brian bit tersely, not entirely sure what he’d answered
no
to. The situation was spinning rapidly out of control.

Brandon darted back into the room, tears streaming down his cheeks. “She’s goin’ to die isn’t she?  Miss Lydia—”

“Will be fine!”  Brian jerked an arm toward the door. “Mrs. Covington, get him out of here. Now.”

“I—I…”
She looked from Lydia’s battere
d form to Brian and back again.
“Very well.”  Olivia caught Brandon’s shoulder, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go to my room and say a prayer, shall we?”

No sooner than Brandon and Olivia left the room but three harried servants rushed in with boiling water and bandages.

“Where is the doctor?”  Brian barked, setting to work ripping the bloodied layers of clothing from Lydia’s body. Not once did she rouse.

“Here.”  Dr. Byler strode coolly into the room, a pensive mask on his face.

Relief flooded Brian. “Finally.”

“I’ll need the water and bandages laid out on the table,” the doctor ordered, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. “Mrs. Hayes, you will assist me again.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Brian was quickly shoved back and away from the bed. An overpowering sense of uselessness assailed him. He moved to wipe a hand over his face but stopped short… blood dripped to his elbows. He wiped his hands on his trousers, stomach churning. Heavily he sank into a chair, trying to catch even a glimpse of Lydia behind the wall the doctor and his assistants created.

“I’ve got the bullet, now let’s roll her back. Easy does it.”

An arm, limp like a ragdoll, flopped over the side of the bed.

“Damn it,” Dr. Byler cursed. “She’s not breathing!”

Chapter Eighteen

Fog, thick and ominous, settled dismally around
Wheaton Abbey
. Brian stood in the yard outside the house, battling the melancholy permanently attached to his soul, gazing upon the ancient cemetery nestled against the stone wall. Wisps of mist curled around the tombstones, lonely spirits beckoning, pleading, for a mate.

“Thought I might find you here, Donnelly. How are you holding up?”

Brian turned as Sir William approached, warily gauging the general’s reaction. “Well enough, Sir.”  Brian hadn’t been allowed to see Lydia since that fateful night. He met the general’s haggard gaze and for once all that reflected back was Lydia’s father. No cutthroat politician, just a man about to lose everything of
value in his world. “And you?”

“Just taking a break.”  Sir William scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Seeing her that way…”

Brian could well imagine…
Unmoving…
terrified each shallow breath would be her last.
“I understand, sir.”

Sir William looked away, eyes suspiciously moist. “Brian,” he began slowly. “I never had, er—” Clearly uncomfortable, the older man cleared his throat. “I hope you won’t hold our conversation in your cottage the other day against me.”

Brian quirked a brow. General William Covington apologizing?  Had hell frozen over?

“This,” Sir William gestured obtusely about the yard, “has given me a bit of perspective on life, and I may have overreacted. You’re welcome to stay on as my horse trainer for as long as you’d like.”

For the briefest instant Brian’s spirit lifted, if—

“However,” the general continued ominously, “if by some miracle Lydia lives she is not for you.”

An apology, arms open, welcoming Brian into the family would have been far too much to hope for. “Still lookin’ out fer your interests I see.”

Sir William’s face hardened. “My daughter can do miles better than you.”

“I know.”  Brian shifted his gaze back to the ghostlike mist. How could any man prove so callous while his daughter lay dying just inside the house?

For a long moment Sir William was silent. “Dr. Byler just left.”

“And?”  Brian’s gaze drifted up to Lydia’s third story window.

“No change. No improvement.”  The general sighed. “If anything more happens to her I will never forgive myself.”

The fatherly guise flashed back over the older man’s face, and Brian took momentary pity on the general. In some ways the two of them were kindred spirits. “Do not blame yerself, sir. Her bein’ shot is not yer fault.” 
It’s mine.
If only the shot he’d fired into the viscount’s back had proved truer. A vivid replay of the events two days before spun sickeningly through his mind. The gunfire… the rain… Lydia collapsing limp in his arms… the crimson blood staining his hands. She’d saved his life.
Why? 
He wasn’t worth it. Didn’t deserve such sacrifice. Brian would give anything to take her place.

Sir William stepped to the hall window, gazing upon the swirling vapors tripping through the cemetery. “Isn’t it?  I betrothed her to that murdering bastard.”

Brian didn’t know how to respond, Sir William had done nothing less than hundreds of fathers before him. “How is yer wife farin’?”

The older man scrubbed a hand across his face. “Not well. I finally convinced her to rest a spell.”

“Sir William?”  The gentle voice of Harkens interrupted the conversation. “The magistrate is here to see you. Are you able to receive him?”

“Of course.”  The general cleared his throat, straightening the navy blue jacket he’d worn the last two days. “Bring him to my study, and ask Mrs. Hayes to prepare tea and coffee.”

“Certainly.”  Harkens bowed and strode down the hall.

“Would you like to come to the house and sit in, Donnelly?  The magistrate is sure to hear what you have to say again.”

“No thank you, sir. I’ll just stay out here.”  Keeping his silent vigil outside Lydia’s window. Brian had no desire to participate in the muddle of the late viscount’s death. Rumors flew through the countryside, and every precaution had been taken to keep the truth tightly under wraps until the new lord arrived. The whole debacle sickened Brian. The peerage never answered for their crimes… not even the murder of innocent women.

The general nodded, a keen glimmer of understanding in his eye, and clapped Brian’s shoulder before following Harkens toward the staircase.

“Sir William?”

“Yes?”

“Would ye check on Brandon for me?  The lad hasn’t left his room since Lydia…” His voice broke.

“Of course.”

Brian would have gone to the boy himself, but he lacked the strength to lie to Brandon again. All along he’d told the lad everything was being done for Lydia, that he only needed to pray a little harder… the same empty lines nuns had filled Brian’s head with as a child.

Heart heavy, Brian ambled about the yard below Lydia’s window. Surreptitiously he sidled up to the servant’s entrance and slipped through, quietly negotiating the halls to Lydia’s chamber. He had to see her. Part of him hated to go in, to see the sallow pallor of her skin, but he feared wasting even a moment while life still lingered. Should she rouse for even a moment, he wanted to be at her side. Softly he rapped the wooden panes. When no one called from within he opened the door and slid silently through, glad for a moment alone with her.

Instantly his gaze fell to the oversize bed, Lydia lay at the center, still as death. Dim light filtered through the window, accentuating the curve of her cheekbones. A tinge of pink lit her face, more pink than he’d seen after her injury two days ago. His heart leapt with hope. Cruelly he quashed it. Impossible. Lydia did not look better… she was dying.

At this point hope was the enemy.

He crossed the distance to the bed, silently—perhaps foolishly—willing her eyes to open. Nothing. A mere shell of the woman he loved lay broken before him.
It won’t be long now,
the hardened soldier within him barked.

Miserably he raked a hand through his hair. “Please, no.”  He crumbled beside the bed, heart shattering mid-beat as the last sliver of faith gave into despair. “Oh, Lydia,” he croaked, raking a hand through the length of hair draped across the pristine white pillows. “Where do I go from here?  There is nothin’ in this life I want without ye. Fer years there was you, only you… I could never keep ye from me mind. I miss the feel of yer arms, lass. I miss the fire in yer eyes.”

Brian stretched beside her, drawing her into his arms. For as long as this miserable limbo lasted he would feel her warmth in his arms. He buried his face in her silken hair, inhaling the sweet smell of roses and rain, striving to commit every inch of her to memory. “I cannot go on without ye, love.”

The mist continued to dance and weave eerily outside the window, lending a timeless quality to the air around them. Brian knew the keenest sense of living in a single magical moment… as though nothing—not even death—could touch them.

“
Grá mo chroí,” he murmured, softly kissing her forehead.

A small sigh escaped Lydia’s lips. “Will you ever tell me the meaning of those words?”

Brian froze, certain he’d gone mad. Lydia wriggled in his arms before turning huge amber eyes to him.

“Y-ye’re awake!”  A mixture of disbelief and joy washed through him.

“Yes.”  She yawned, snuggling into him. “I’ve had the strangest dreams.”  Her tongue swept across her lips. “And I’m so thirsty.”

Brian could hardly comprehend her words. “Thirsty?  Oh, yes, of course.”  He scrambled off the bed, grabbing the glass and pitcher on the nightstand. “Here ye are, love.”  He sat beside her, lifting her head, helping her drink. His mind whirled, dumbfounded with shock. Just seconds ago Lydia was sure to die and now…

She moved as though to sit and grimaced.

“Easy, lass.”  He settled her back against the pillows, smoothing her hair with a palm. “It’ll take some time to regain yer strength. I should fetch the doctor and yer father.”  Or perhaps just pull the bell cord and leave so Sir William would never be the wiser to his visiting Lydia. “Everyone’s been very worried.”

A glimmer of understanding sparked in her eye. “I remember being shot.”  Her eyes widened in sudden alarm. “Lord Northbridge?”

“Dead, love. He’ll never bother ye again. Yer father is safe, Olivia is safe. No one else was harmed by his hand.”  Brian lifted her fingers to his lips. “One of Northbridge’s hired lackeys told us everything when he was arrested, but don’t worry yer pretty head about that now. I’ll explain all in time. Right now ye need to rest.”

She nodded, eyes fluttering closed. “There is no need to explain, Brian. Lord Northbridge spoke of his plans when he tried to take me from
Wheaton Abbey
. He also mentioned a very important question you intend to ask me.”

“Aye, love, there is somethin’ very important I need to talk with ye about.”  Brian hesitated, taking in her peaceful expression. Running would not be an option until she recovered, and Lydia was entirely too impatient to keep her mouth shut while she gained strength enough to elope. “But, later, when the time is right.”  For a long moment Brian just gazed upon her. “I love you, Lydia. Always and forever.”

“I love you too,” she murmured sleepily.

Brian smiled, yanking the bell cord and darting to the door. “Tell no one I was here, lass.”  The window caught his eye. A single ray of sunshine filtered through the fog, illuminating Lydia’s sleeping form. He looked heavenward tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

*
             
*
             
*

Lydia snuck a quick peak over her shoulder and slipped clandestinely into the garden. Alone at last. For the last two weeks someone—be it her parents, a maid or the doctor—had hovered constantly. Even Brandon was glued to her side. She could appreciate their fear and the fact she’d nearly died, but Lydia was near to the brink of madness. She turned a slow circle, assuring that she was in fact alone, before settling on the stone bench nestled amongst the rosebushes. Deeply she inhaled the fresh summer perfume and plucked a bloom from the shrub, careful to avoid the thorns.

A pigeon landed a few feet away, undoubtedly in search of left over bread crumbs. “I’m sorry little friend, but I didn’t bring any snacks today.”  The bird twittered in response, flitting from one stone to the next.

Lydia smiled, enjoying the serenity of the morning. The last few days she’d steadily regained strength, and today she actually felt like herself again.

“
Lydia?  Are ye here, love?”

She whirled, a grin stretched across her lips. “You got my note!”

“Aye, lass, I did.”  Brian stepped around a square hedge plant, advancing on her slowly. Devilishly he grinned, glancing left and then right. “Are we really alone?”

“Yes.”  She laughed softly, holding out both hands. For the last weeks Brian had been an enigma. Her father had made it abundantly clear he did not approve of them together and had all but banned Brian from the premises. She’d seen him only in passing if she happened to be outside with an escort. He clasped her fingers in warm palms and drew her to a stand.

“Then it seems there is an order of business long overdue.”  Gentle fingers tipped her chin up as his lips gently claimed hers. His had splayed across the small of her back drawing her more snugly against him.

Lydia sighed, leaning into his heat, linking her arms around his neck. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as tingles ran the length of her spine. How she’d missed his kisses.

His lips traveled down the column of her neck. “
Grá mo chroí,”
he hummed against her throat.

“Oh, Brian,” she drew back with a wistful sigh. “I still don’t know what those words mean.” 
And you still haven’t proposed!
  Truthfully she’d begun to fear he would honor her father’s wishes and merely maintain his promise to stay near her or pressure her once more for a prolonged affair.

Brian’s eyes glittered with a forbidden secret ancient as time. “Reach into yer heart, lass, and tell me ye don’t already know.”

The breath caught in her throat.

“Love of my heart,” he said softly. “The words I spoke to ye mean
Love of my heart
.”

“Oh, Brian.”  A hand fluttered to her breast.

“
You
, Lydia Covington, are the love of my heart.” He dropped to a knee before her, spanning his broad hands around her waist. The ever present wall crumbled from his eyes revealing the key to his secrets, the power of his devotion to
her
. “Every word ye said about my bein’ afraid to love again is the truth, lass. I’d thought to distance myself from you, love ye from afar and never have to lose you. The fact is I was a fool to believe it possible. I learned what the world would be without ye in it, and it is a place I want nothin’ to do with.”

Tears welled in her eyes, Lydia was unable to prevent them
from
trickling down her face.