Chapter Seven #2
“Why in the bloody hell would he come?” Flaherty demanded.
“Because if my supposition—and Doonan’s—are correct, Eileen plans to ask him to as a favor to the duke, her father—”
“And who else, the king?”
Tremayne sighed. “Nay, you hardheaded bugger—O’Malley and you. She has let it be known that you offered your protection weeks ago, but she refused, not realizing you meant the protection of your name as well as your strength.”
Flaherty shook his head. “Does she think the villagers will change their mind about her now?”
Tremayne shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt, and she wanted to do something—anything—to honor you. She’s devastated.”
Flaherty’s head spun. He put a hand to it to stop the motion, but it didn’t do any good. The flask beneath his nose distracted him. He inhaled and the strong scent of whiskey did the trick. The room stopped spinning and his world once more made sense. “Is she now?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? After all, she accepted your offer of marriage, did she not?”
“Aye, but she’s a hardheaded, stubborn woman, and she could have another reason for telling everyone about me first offer.”
“Had you really meant to offer your strength and your name?” Tremayne asked.
Flaherty’s gaze met the lieutenant’s. “The two are one and the same.”
Tremayne nodded. “Now to the part you won’t like.”
Flaherty braced himself. “Best get it done, then.”
“I’m to wrap a thick bandage around your head, covering your eyes, tight enough to hold in the brains that O’Malley found next to your body.”
“Me brains?” O’Malley must have decided to enhance the story of Flaherty’s demise a bit.
“Aye, he scooped them up off the ground—the bits of dirt and grass were unavoidable—and put them back in through the huge crack in your skull.”
Flaherty had always sensed his cousin had more than a bit of the seanchaí—Irish storyteller—in his heart. He repeated, “In me skull…”
“Aye. You were shot in the head, fell off your horse, and cracked open your skull when you landed on a rock. It wasn’t pretty, to hear O’Malley tell of it. The bandages are holding your head together so that all of you will be buried and not left on the side of the road.”
“A man needs to have all of his parts and pieces when he’s waiting to enter Heaven—hopefully not Hell. So at least a man can plead his case that he hasn’t left any part of him on earth, except for his heart.”
“That is more or less how O’Malley explained things to me. The last part is that the final bandages I’ll be wrapping around your head will be crusted with your dried blood.”
“Mollie told him right here not an hour ago that she wasn’t having it—it could lead to infection where the lead ball grazed the side of me head.”
“Mollie was not around when O’Malley said that last part to me.”
Flaherty grunted. “As I’m certain Mollie has already soaked those bandages to get them clean—and keep Finn from absconding with them—I’m thinking ye’re too late.”
“No matter. I’ll still wrap the clean linens around your head. Oh, apparently Finn believes having your wake will draw out the man who thought he’d killed you. Knowing Judson, Selkirk, and the rest of his men, they’ll want to see for themselves before they start bragging.”
“When do ye plan to start covering me face and head?”
“After we feed you,” Tremayne replied. “Mollie and Mrs. Castleton have been busy baking meat pies, brown bread, butter cake, scones, and cream tarts.”
Flaherty chuckled. “I could eat and maybe save some food for those that come to see me off. No one will go away hungry. Will there be the two jugs of whiskey I asked O’Malley to stand on either end of me coffin?”
“There will be.”
“Won’t matter if they’re empty, will it? I’ll be enjoying more than my fair share beforehand.”
“No corpse should reek of spirits, so have your whiskey now—and not so much that it starts coming out of your pores,” Tremayne warned.
Flaherty was silent for a few moments. “Then I’m wanting two helpings of scones and butter cake.”
“Done,” O’Malley said as he stepped into the room. “I’ll take it from here, Tremayne.” He held out his hand to the former dragoon. “And I’ll be thanking ye now for fetching me soon-to-be cousin-in-law for Flaherty. Whatever ye need, whenever ye need it, ye’ve but to ask.”
Tremayne grasped O’Malley’s hand, then placed a hand to Flaherty’s uninjured shoulder. “I’ll bring her back, safe and sound. Remember, Ruan may be a Frenchman and a smuggler, but he has never gone back on his word.”
“Thank ye, Tremayne.”
Flaherty watched the dragoon walk through the door and close it behind him. “Best feed me quick, boy-o, else I’ll start thinking of all the ways to kill Selkirk. Ye wouldn’t want me going back on me word to the Lord, now would ye?”
“I had a similar talk with Himself,” Finn admitted, “when I felt the rope tighten around me neck, and the trapdoor opened beneath me feet. And I’m still here.
Faith, ye will be too—and wed to the brave lass who fished ye out of the sea in the middle of that thunderstorm.
She’s stubborn, but worth the wooing, Fenton. ”
“Aye, that she is.”