The Duke's Sharpshooter (The Duke’s Guard Book 14) by C.H. Admirand

Author:C.H. Admirand [Admirand, C.H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2025-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Flaherty and Garahan reined in at Wyndmere Hall to shouts and chaos. “What in the bloody hell is going on?” Flaherty demanded.

One of the tenant farmers stopped mid-stride. “’Tis the little lass—she’s gone missing.”

Flaherty frowned. “Abigail?”

“Deidre?” Garahan asked at the same time.

Patrick O’Malley paused in the middle of organizing the search parties. “’Tis Miss Maddy.”

For the first time in his life, Flaherty understood the saying about one’s blood running cold. His mind whirled with questions he needed to ask, but he could not make his mouth work. The cold was debilitating.

“What in the feck is wrong with ye, Flaherty?” O’Malley asked. “Move yer arse and take charge of the tenant farmers. They’ll be searching to the south.”

Eyes blazing, a tearing pain in his heart, Flaherty sprinted to the back door. Calling her name as he yanked it open, he nearly plowed into Temperance. “What happened? How long has she been gone?”

“We were having tea upstairs when I noticed she was quiet. I carried her to the room we have been using and tucked her in and lay beside her.” Tears streamed from her eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice. “It’s all my fault. I should never have closed my eyes.”

Flaherty grabbed hold of her upper arms. “How long ago?”

“But don’t you see—”

“Aye, lass. I do. Ye’re worried sick, but ye need to snap out of it and tell me, was it one hour? Two? Three?”

Her voice was just above a whisper. “Two.” She curled her hands into the lapels of his frockcoat. “Please help me find my little girl! You don’t understand—”

Flaherty needed her cooperation, not conversation! He slid a hand to her waist, the other behind her head, and molded his mouth to hers to shut her up. It was a kiss of frustration. Fear. Promise. “I’ll find her. Ye need to stay here in case she returns from having a lark, looking for the fae.”

“Flaherty?”

He did not have time for this, but he spun around. Walking backward to the door, he growled. “What?”

“If she’s lost, she’ll be waiting for you to find her. She trusts you.”

His resolve clicked into place. “Ye should too.” He stalked outside and shook his head at O’Malley. “No time. The wee cailín’s counting on me to find her.”

“Ye’re heading the wrong way!” Patrick shouted.

“The meadow filled with flowers is to the north. Send someone else to the south with the tenant farmers.” Flaherty turned to the men waiting, pleased it was the Jones brothers on horseback and their eldest sons on foot. They could handle rifles and pistols and had fought bravely when Wyndmere Hall was under attack. Farmers were used to finding stray sheep and a cow or two. “Ye know the meadow I’m meaning?”

Samuel Jones nodded. “Aye.”

“Our daughters pick wildflowers for the duchess in that field,” his younger brother Silas added.

Flaherty gave a nod. “I’m thinking two on horseback leading the way, two on foot behind them, while I bring up the rear. There’s a chance the wee lass has tripped and bumped her head, or climbed a tree and got stuck.

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