Her Irish Surrender (9 page)

“Oh, I see. Essence of lilac, I wear it on special …” the chair creaked again, “occasions.”

He smiled. “Am I a special occasion, then?”

Silence.

“Or is it for someone else?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I … I went to church services this morning.”

The doctor had taken the bandages off his hands, and he fought the urge to reach out and touch her. Her voice was sweet, her presence intoxicating. What a fool he was! What was he thinking sending her on her way when they first met? He licked his dry lips and brought his hands together to still them.

“Do you need some water?” she asked.

Lorcan fought against a moan. Last night he’d been weak, hurting, but today was different, and he felt much better. Enough to want to take her in his arms and … he swallowed hard. “Aye,” he rasped.

She got up, went to the dresser, and poured. His gut twisted as he listened to her return to the bed. “Can you sit up? I don’t know how I’ll give this to you otherwise.”

Would he be a cad if he said no?  But he had some strength today, and had better use it properly.  He scooted himself back, and fought to get to a sitting position. His ribs didn’t hurt as bad as the night before, and he managed it, Adaline stepping over to help at the last moment.  The feel of her hands on his shoulders almost did him in.

“Are you dizzy?” she asked.

He was, and had to hold onto her a moment to steady himself. “I’ll be alright. Just don’t move.”

She stood and let him hold onto her as the dizzy spell passe
d, then gently brushed his hand with her own, and let him feel for the glass.  He drank by himself today, but wouldn’t have minded if she’d put the glass to his lips herself. “Thank you, Adaline. You make a fine nurse,” he managed before another bout of dizziness took him. 

He lurched to the side and she caught him, her arms locked around his shoulders to keep him from falling off the bed. “Oh, Heavens! Should I call for your father?”

“No, I’ll be fine, help me to lie down, will you?”

She did, and he fought against the sting of regret he felt when she released him to his pillows. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fetch your folks?”

He shook his head. Lord, but he wished he could see her. The rustle of her dress made him think of her small waist, the allure of the curls that framed her face … if he had any sense at all he’d toss his pride out the window and ask her to marry him. After all, it’s why she was there in the first place. He was about to say something to that effect, and then wouldn’t you know it, everything went black.

* * *

“Lorcan?” Adaline noticed he’d gone suddenly still, his face (what she could see of it) paler now. “Lorcan?” she asked again and gave his shoulder a shake. “Mr. Brody!”

She’d taken but two steps to the door when
Lorcan’s father burst into the room.  He took one look at his son and rushed to the bed. “Lorcan, lad! Speak to me!”

“What’s this?” Mrs. Brody exclaimed as she came into the room and went to her husband’s side. “Adaline, what happened?”

“He was dizzy. I gave him some water, and after he lay back down, nothing. Did he faint?”

“Aye, h
e’s fainted, don’t worry your heart over him now.” Mr. Brody said as he patted his son’s hand. “Mrs. Brody, take Adaline to the parlor, give her some lunch.”

“Mr. Brody?” His wife’s voice was laced with concern when she spoke.

He looked at her. Off with ye know, and send in Mr. Van Cleet.”

The women hurried to comply and left the room. Adaline flew into Polly’s arms as her husband trotted down the hall. He went into
Lorcan’s room, and after a moment came out, grabbed his hat and coat, and hurried out the door.

Adaline’s lip trembled as her jaw shook.

“There, there,” Polly consoled. “He’ll be alright, you’ll see. Folks get a bump on the head, and an occasional faint is only natural, especially after the sort of bumps he’s got.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m so upset, afte
r all, I hardly know the man,” Adaline explained.

“Hush now. Let’s get so
me food in you while his folks take care of him.”

Ad
aline couldn’t think of food, her stomach was in knots at the thought of Lorcan being injured worse than he let on, or anyone possibly knew. “Where did Cyrus go?”

“To fetch the doctor. Head injuries can be tricky, and we’ll wa
nt to make sure Lorcan is well taken care of. Don’t worry, I’ve seen this sort of thing before.”

Adaline’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’s in any danger?”

“Not if the good Lord has any say in it. Now sit down and I’ll get you something.”

Adaline agonized the next half hour as she stared at her soup, watched
the doctor come, go, and witnessed the Brodys’ walk into the parlor, their faces expressionless.

She stood without thinking. “Is he going to be al
l right?”

Mrs. Brody smiled. “Of course, dearie. He just needs time,” she looked to the floor in contemplation, “and a reason.” She looked at Adaline. “Why don’t you take him his lunch, and give it to him.”

“He’s awake?” she breathed.

“Aye, and hungry.”

Adaline looked to the hall. “You want me to … feed him?”

“Well, he could feed himself,” Mr. Brody added.  “But having a pretty lass like you helping him, would serve to brighten his day.”

Adaline took a deep breath. This was turning out to be quite the afternoon.

Eight

She opened the door to Lorcan’s room and stared at the man on the bed. They’d covered him with a quilt and he looked much the same as the day before, except now he was conscious. But if one didn’t know it, one would think he was still out cold, the bandages around his eyes making it impossible to tell. “Lorcan?” she whispered.

“Aye, lass.”

She swallowed and took a few tentative steps into the room. Mrs. Brody brought in a tray and set it on the dresser. “Here we are, a bit of soup and bread ought to do him good. Just bring the tray out when you’re done, dearie.”

Adaline’s eyes widened. “You’re not staying?”

“No, only takes one of us to get the job done, and you’re capable.”

Adaline quirked a brow at the remark, then nodded. Propriety didn’t seem
to be at the top of the list when it came to her and their son. But then, he was in no shape to act less than a gentleman.  She went to the tray and brought the soup bowl and spoon to the bed. Mrs. Brody helped Lorcan to sit up, whispered something to him in Gaelic, kissed him on the head, and left the room.

Adaline took the chair she
’d occupied earlier, and bowl in hand, sat.

“Smells good,” he said, his voice weaker than before. “I’m … I’m sorry you had to see me take a tumble.”

“At least you were already in bed when you did, she commented in a light tone. Whether it was for him or her, she wasn’t sure. “I never would have been able to get you back in bed if you’d landed on the floor.

“I suppose you enjoy
seeing me like this,” he said and smiled.

She didn’t. “Of course not. Why would I want to see you in such a state?”

He turned his head to her. “I wasn’t exactly what you expected when you first got off the stage.”

A picture of him flying through a storefront window to land in the street, flashed through her mind. “I should say not.”

“I apologize, Adaline. I didn’t mean to hurt you in anyway …”

“Hurt me? You didn’t know
I was coming.”

“There is no excuse for my behavior, I could have been nicer to you.”

She smiled, and wished he could see it. “You’re just saying these things because you can’t defend yourself. And because I have your lunch.”

His smile broadened. “Aye, you have me there.”

She laughed, as did he. She then proceeded to feed the mighty Lorcan Brody his soup.

* * *

Finn paced the third-story hall of the hotel as he waited. He’d been summoned to the room of one Lord Philip Brennan, by messenger, and quickly put together the fact this was the man who watched Lorcan get beaten into a bloodied pulp two nights ago. What he wanted, Finn had no idea. All he knew was he didn’t want to have this Brennan fellow send his “man” after him to make sure he got there.  With Finn’s luck, he’d deliver him in a box.

The door
opened, and a man poked his head out. “Lord Brennan will see you now.”

Finn twisted his hat in his hands and entered.  There were several hotels and boarding houses
in Oregon City, and this was the finest.  But nothing in the hotel could compare to the lavish clothes or effects this Brennan fellow had surrounding him.  Vases of flowers were everywhere, including a few exotic plants Finn had never seen the likes of. Gowns of silk were draped over chairs, alongside cloaks of rich velvet.  Bowls of strange fruit sat here and there, and he noticed the furniture itself didn’t look like the furnishings in the rest of the hotel.  But what got his attention and held it, was the woman who accompanied Brennan the night of the fights.  She was beautiful, her hair beyond blonde, almost silver, and her eyes were the most unusual shade of blue he had ever seen.

She was arranging some flowers in one of the vases when Lord Brennan entered from an adjoining room. “Mr.
Mullany, how good of you to come.”

Finn swallowed an
d nodded. “What can I do for ye, ah …”

“Lor
d Brennan. I don’t use my title when I’m involved in things such as … arranged fights. Of which, I am an adoring fan.”

“Are ye now? And are ye a fan of seeing a bloke’s head bashed in by forcing him to
participate in one of those fights?”

Brennan smiled. “Mr.
Mullany,
you
were the one to tell my associates he would fight.”

“Aye, but if Lorcan Brody says he isn’t going to, then I’
m not one to argue with him. Ye forced him, and that sort of fighting sir, I don’t want any part of.”

  Brennan smiled again, and looked to the woman. “Lissa,
my love, come here.”

The woman stopped fiddling with the flowers and went to him. She looked at him, but said nothing. He looked into her eyes, smiled, and said something in a language Fi
nn didn’t understand. She glanced at Finn and left the room.

“As y
ou can see by your surroundings, my wife enjoys beautiful things,” Brennan told him. “But I do not wish her to hear the talk of men.” He closed the distance between them. “I want your Mr. Brody to fight for me on St. Patrick’s Day.”

Fin
n’s mouth dropped open. “Are ye slow in the head? Have ye
seen
him? He can’t get out of bed let alone fight!”

“I assure you, he’ll be right as rain by the time I need him.”

Finn shook his head. “I can’t speak for Lorcan. If ye want him to fight, ye’ll have to ask him yerself.”
Enough of this!
Finn thought and turned to leave.

A man came out of nowhere and blocked his path. Two more men got behind him. He was now trapped between the three. He turned as best he could, wedged as he was. “What’s all this about?”

Brennan sat in a
plush chair, slung one leg over the arm, and casually examined his fingernails. “Do you have any hobbies, Mr. Mullany?”

Finn could only stare at him.

“Well I do. I enjoy fighting, and so I collect fighters, the best of the best. I also enjoy watching them try to out maneuver each other, strategize, discover what’s the best way to… kill the other.”

“That’s sick.” Finn stated.

“No, Mr. Mullany.” He raised his head and looked at him. “That’s entertainment.”

Finn swallowed. He was trapped, and didn’t know what to do except stand there and listen to this madman.

“I lost my best fighter some years ago, not far from here in fact. You have no idea how upset I was when that happened. Now I find that I’d like to replace him.  Your Mr. Brody intrigues me. I’ve decided I’d very much like to add him to my,” he smiled, “collection.”

“Y
e
are
slow in the head,” Finn said.

“Your friend will heal up in time. See that he is ready to
fight for me by St. Patrick’s Day. I’ll send word of the location and time.”

Finn’s mouth dropped open again. “He’ll ne
ver agree to it. Not even if ye paid him ten thousand dollars.”

Brennan narrowed his
eyes at him, and Finn’s body went numb. There was a wickedness in those eyes, one Finn had never seen the likes of. “He will fight for me, I assure you. Your job is to have him ready to do so. Understand?”

“He’ll never do it,” Finn said, his voice almost a whisper.

Brennan was out of the chair and in his face so fast, Finn hadn’t even time to take a breath. “See that he
is
ready,” he hissed. “Or the last grave you dig, Mr. Mullany, will be your own.”

* * *

Lorcan stood, his body unsteady, and took his first steps since being knocked flat several nights ago. He couldn’t say it wasn’t a fair fight, other t
han his opponent was twice his size, twice his strength, and just plain good, unnaturally so. And that’s what had him puzzled.  Where was he trained?  How did he learn to fight like that?  Where did he come from?  The brute didn’t say one word the entire night, as Lorcan recalled, and the entourage accompanying him, only spoke when spoken to by the well-dressed man on the platform.

Lorcan shook hi
s head. None of it mattered now, his fighting days were over. Yesterday convinced him of that.  Adaline had spoon-fed him his lunch, and though on the one hand, the experience sent an exciting thrill through him, it had been humiliating on the other. He would have no more of it, and was determined to heal as quickly as possible.

His folks and the doctor were right; he had to stop fighting. This one took its toll on him, and he’d be wise to give serious thought to his f
uture. One that included a wife.

Adaline was sweet, pretty, kind, intelligent, and caring.  He’d be a complete idiot to let her go, and even tho
ugh he didn’t know everything about her, she’d suit him well.  He would tell his parents he’d made up his mind to marry the girl. He just hoped and prayed she’d be receptive to the idea, especially after what he’d done to her when she first arrived. If he had to court her to win her, he’d do it.

Lorcan stretched his arms and yawned. He’d slept all afternoon and into the night, and had no idea what time it was.  He’d removed the bandages from his head and eyes before attempting to stand, and now fought to open them.  It was difficult, and he could barely see, but he had to get out of bed or go mad. He glanced about the dark room, his vision blurred, and took another few steps toward the door. He thought perhaps if he went and sat in the parlor awhile, his head would clear.  He went into the hall, feeling his way, as it was easier to keep his eyes closed, and using the wall as a guide, went to the parlor.  As the room was familiar, it didn’t take him long to find a chair and sit.

The house was quiet, and again he wondered what time it was. Flashes of light came and went, and he wondered if a lamp was burning.  But no, a lamp wouldn’t do that, and he again forced his eyes to stay open so he
could see where the light might be coming from.

But there was nothing. Only fragments of dark color and the trace outlines of the furniture around him. An odd panic began to set in, as
he closed his eyes, opened them, and tried to focus once more. Darkness, flashes of light, the barest of outlines. He stilled himself and this time, listened.  A dog barked in the distance, he heard the sound of a wagon passing in the street below, faint voices and a child’s laughter drifting up to him.

  Lorcan froze
. Those were day sounds. “Oh, Lord.” He shut his eyes tight, the only sound to reach him now that of his beating heart. He slowly opened them again, forced himself to see, but everything was the same. “Oh, God, no …”

  Blind.

He stilled his breathing to calm himself. “
Maither
?” There was no answer. Were his parents asleep? Or down in the shop? How was he to know when he couldn’t see the light of day?  For all he knew it was mid-afternoon not early morning.  He felt off balance and gripped the arms of the chair to keep from falling. “
Da
?”

Still, no answer.

He wouldn’t p
anic, it had to be temporary, blindness after a fight often was. He’d known others who’d been injured during a bout and suffered the same thing. But what if … No! He wouldn’t think it, he couldn’t! He forced himself to stand, got his bearings as best he could. If he was going to get better he had to take care of himself, and that meant food and water. Since no one was here, he’d have to make do. Besides, he didn’t want to be waited on hand and foot by his mother as he convalesced. For one, she hadn’t the time.

Time. It had to be late morning. The smells of her baking were faint. She started her day at dawn, the baking finished before the shop opened. The house always smelled like cookies, but the early mornings were the most pungent. He felt his way to the kitchen, found the small table, reached for the plate he knew would be there.  He sat again, unable to eat the cookie he’d taken, its taste sour.  He had to
get word to Doc Henderson, speak with him, find out his thoughts.

Lorcan leaned his head against the wall as he sat, his mind a war.
What if …

* * *

Adaline couldn’t help but glance to the ceiling from time to time.  Soon it would be lunchtime, and Mrs. Brody would go up to check on Lorcan. She’d prepare him some lunch, and suggested Adaline take a lunch break herself when she came back down to mind the shop, and wouldn’t she like to read to Lorcan for a bit?

Adaline smiled as she recalled Mrs. Brody’s mischievous smile when she’d said it. Of
course she would! Yesterday had been wonderful, despite the circumstances. But in aiding him, and keeping him company, Adaline got a sweet taste of what it would be like to be with someone.  To help them, live with them, care for them, love them … and after one taste, she wanted more.