Her Irish Surrender by Kit Morgan Page A

all.
    “Hello.” He listened as she approached the bed, pulled up a chair, and sat.  She smelled of lilacs and some other flower he couldn’t quite pin point. All he knew was she carried a scent like Heaven.
    “What happened to your head?” she asked with concern.
    “Doc came by, put something on my eyes to help with the swelling, that’s all.”
    “I see, well, it doesn’t do anything for you r appearance, just so you know …”
    He chuckled. “I seem to be at a disadvantage, you can see me, but I can’t see you.”
    She shifted in her chair, making it creak. “Nothing here to see, Mr. …”
    “Ah, ah, ahhh ,” he scolded. “Lorcan.”
    “Lorcan. It’s just plain old me.”
    “Really? So tell me, plain old you. What are you wearing?”
    The chair creaked again. “What am I wearing? What sort of a question is that?”
    He laughed, then coughed. He knew better, but couldn’t help it. The laugher had slipped out unbidden. “Your perfume, lass. I like it.”
    “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,