Read Online Come Midnight by Veronica Sattler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Veronica Sattler
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his chambers. He'd been so caught up in his frenzy to find Appleby, he'd left while his son was distressed and in pain. What in hell was the matter with him?
A grim smile twisted his lips. What in hell, indeed.
He entered his bedchamber, closing the door softly behind him. Light from a few candles guttering in a branch near the bed allowed him to see it clearly. He paused. The scene that met his gaze was reassuring ... and oddly touching.
The little Irish maid sat in a bedside chair beside his son, who'd edged to the side of the bed closest to her. The girl's head rested on her forearm, which lay on the mattress near Andrew's head. She was sleeping as soundly as his son. Her free hand was on the mattress, too, where Andrew clutched it, even in sleep. There was a soft smile on the child's face.
Adam must have made some sound as he approached the bed. The girl came awake with a start. Her head swung toward him, and she gasped.
"Sorry if I gave you a fright," he said, keeping his voice low. He glanced at Andrew; the child hadn't awakened.
"Oh, no, sorr—Ach! Yer lordship, I mean." Caitlin glanced down and carefully extricated her hand from the boy's. " 'Tis I should be apologizin', milord. I ... I didn't mean t' fall asleep here, d'ye see, but I was singin' the lad this lullaby, and—"
"Miss ... Caitlin, isn't it?" As she nodded, Adam ran his gaze over her. He recalled thinking her pretty. Now he realized that had been well short of the mark.
She was exquisite.
Coppery hair, burnished with fiery highlights, fell over her arms and shoulders in a wealth of shining curls. Her eyes, huge in her face, were the most incredible shade of green, not the gray he'd thought them earlier. Soft and deep, they reminded him of mossy banks along a hidden stream in summer.
Her features were soft, too, and delicate. Blinking up at him, still muzzy from sleep, she looked like a sleepy-eyed angel....
He hid a smile. "Caitlin ... the Irish Angel?" He thought he saw her blush, but the lighting made it impossible to be sure.
"Well, Caitlin," he said, allowing the smile to form at last, "there's no need to apologize. It's clear you've been a great help to my son. I'm grateful for it."
Caitlin nodded, too mesmerized to speak. His smile! It thoroughly transformed the man. Utterly, she thought, noting the answer to the thing she'd wondered about earlier. The adult version of Andrew's dimples were deep grooves bracketing his father's mouth when he smiled. The marquis was so handsome, she could scarcely look at him. Beautiful, in a dark sort of way, despite the scar on his ... .
Thoughts of the scar plunged her into the old fear. She tore her eyes from him and quickly stood, searching for something to say. Anything, as long as it banished the thing hovering at the edges of her mind.
"I made some willow bark tea for the lad," she said, gesturing at a cup on the bed stand. "If he should awaken in discomfort, ye might offer him some more. " 'Twill ease the pain, d'ye see," she added when he didn't respond. "And the leg—well, I won't lie t' ye, milord—'tis in a bad way. But I've been applyin' poultices to it"—and prayin' somethin' fierce—"which is what I did for that wound t' his head ..."
"What is it?" Adam asked, seeing her frown. Caitlin met his eyes and nearly looked away. They were beautiful eyes, now he was no longer scowling. A deep, vibrant blue and fringed with thick black lashes, just like Andrew's.
She cleared her throat, swallowed. "Odd thing, that head wound, milord. 'Twas healed remarkably at the time ye left, earlier this evenin', but ..."
"Go on," he said. Her voice had a low, husky quality to it that was at odds with her diminutive size. And then there was that lilting brogue. He thought he could listen to her speak all night and never tire of it.
"Well," said Caitlin, " 'tis healed even further now, milord. Beyond what I found earlier, I mean. Greatly beyond. There's naught but a slight reddenin' o' the skin! Lord
A grim smile twisted his lips. What in hell, indeed.
He entered his bedchamber, closing the door softly behind him. Light from a few candles guttering in a branch near the bed allowed him to see it clearly. He paused. The scene that met his gaze was reassuring ... and oddly touching.
The little Irish maid sat in a bedside chair beside his son, who'd edged to the side of the bed closest to her. The girl's head rested on her forearm, which lay on the mattress near Andrew's head. She was sleeping as soundly as his son. Her free hand was on the mattress, too, where Andrew clutched it, even in sleep. There was a soft smile on the child's face.
Adam must have made some sound as he approached the bed. The girl came awake with a start. Her head swung toward him, and she gasped.
"Sorry if I gave you a fright," he said, keeping his voice low. He glanced at Andrew; the child hadn't awakened.
"Oh, no, sorr—Ach! Yer lordship, I mean." Caitlin glanced down and carefully extricated her hand from the boy's. " 'Tis I should be apologizin', milord. I ... I didn't mean t' fall asleep here, d'ye see, but I was singin' the lad this lullaby, and—"
"Miss ... Caitlin, isn't it?" As she nodded, Adam ran his gaze over her. He recalled thinking her pretty. Now he realized that had been well short of the mark.
She was exquisite.
Coppery hair, burnished with fiery highlights, fell over her arms and shoulders in a wealth of shining curls. Her eyes, huge in her face, were the most incredible shade of green, not the gray he'd thought them earlier. Soft and deep, they reminded him of mossy banks along a hidden stream in summer.
Her features were soft, too, and delicate. Blinking up at him, still muzzy from sleep, she looked like a sleepy-eyed angel....
He hid a smile. "Caitlin ... the Irish Angel?" He thought he saw her blush, but the lighting made it impossible to be sure.
"Well, Caitlin," he said, allowing the smile to form at last, "there's no need to apologize. It's clear you've been a great help to my son. I'm grateful for it."
Caitlin nodded, too mesmerized to speak. His smile! It thoroughly transformed the man. Utterly, she thought, noting the answer to the thing she'd wondered about earlier. The adult version of Andrew's dimples were deep grooves bracketing his father's mouth when he smiled. The marquis was so handsome, she could scarcely look at him. Beautiful, in a dark sort of way, despite the scar on his ... .
Thoughts of the scar plunged her into the old fear. She tore her eyes from him and quickly stood, searching for something to say. Anything, as long as it banished the thing hovering at the edges of her mind.
"I made some willow bark tea for the lad," she said, gesturing at a cup on the bed stand. "If he should awaken in discomfort, ye might offer him some more. " 'Twill ease the pain, d'ye see," she added when he didn't respond. "And the leg—well, I won't lie t' ye, milord—'tis in a bad way. But I've been applyin' poultices to it"—and prayin' somethin' fierce—"which is what I did for that wound t' his head ..."
"What is it?" Adam asked, seeing her frown. Caitlin met his eyes and nearly looked away. They were beautiful eyes, now he was no longer scowling. A deep, vibrant blue and fringed with thick black lashes, just like Andrew's.
She cleared her throat, swallowed. "Odd thing, that head wound, milord. 'Twas healed remarkably at the time ye left, earlier this evenin', but ..."
"Go on," he said. Her voice had a low, husky quality to it that was at odds with her diminutive size. And then there was that lilting brogue. He thought he could listen to her speak all night and never tire of it.
"Well," said Caitlin, " 'tis healed even further now, milord. Beyond what I found earlier, I mean. Greatly beyond. There's naught but a slight reddenin' o' the skin! Lord
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