Her Irish Surrender by Kit Morgan Page B

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