The McKinnon (15 page)

Nic was next to her. Morgan sensed him. The room was dark except for a single candle burning low. She could barely see through the tiny slits of her swollen eyelids.

Where was she? The last memory she had was of the fight.

“Nic, are you hurt?” Morgan spoke softly, reaching out to touch him. Her mouth and throat were so dry, and it was painful to speak. “I hurt all over.”

“It’s all right. Don’t panic and don’t try to talk.” Brushing the hair back from her forehead, he checked her for fever. It was slight and not unexpected. “I’m here and unharmed. We are in the house of friends who welcomed us. You are safe, and so is your secret.”

He waited a moment to let his news register with her.

“Morgan, I know you are the Duchess of Seabridge.”

"If you send me back, he will kill me." Morgan held back her tears to stay strong. "Are you going to send me back?"

“No, Morgan. I will not send you back,” Nic said.

She broke down, and he wrapped a sheet around her and brought her into his lap to soothe her.

“Please, don’t cry. I promise I will not send you back.”

She continued to sob."Thank you, thank you." She felt safe for the first time in seven years. The relief was overwhelming. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this mess. He will kill you for this."

"No, he won't. Please, Morgan, Love, listen to me. Please, stop. You're safe. I'm safe.” Nic could feel her sobbing still and wanted to sooth her. “Morgan, it will be fine. I promise. Have I let you down before?”

He felt her shake her head against his chest sniffing loudly. She still believed in him even though he had let her down. He almost had gotten her killed.

Morgan quieted and tiny hiccups escaped her as he continued to hold her and ran his hand rhythmically up and down her arm without saying anything. He felt her relaxing against him.

“Morgan, Love, are you better?”

She nodded her head. "It has just all been too much," she confessed. Seven years of too much, she wanted to say but held back
.
"I guess I just needed to let it out."

Nic guessed letting it out was something a woman needed to do. He would just have a fight with Connor or Cullen.

“I need to go downstairs and talk to Connor. I have not left your side. Now that you know we are safe and you are not in any danger, do you think you will be all right by yourself for little while? I will stay if you want me to.”

She shook her head. “No, go to your friend.” She forced the words out of her raw throat.

“I promise to come back and check on you later. Try to sleep more. You need to rest to regain your strength. Do you want me to blow out the candle or leave it burning?”

“Burning, please. I’m afraid of the dark.” Morgan’s graveled voice was barely discernible.

Nic rested his chin on her head and stared at the far wall.  Anger grew within him for he could only guess what Brentwood had done to her.

"I'll make Brentwood pay," Nic vowed hotly.

When she stiffened, he drew his anger deep within himself.

“My anger is at your uncle, never at you, Morgan, never you,” he reassured her, continuing to rub her back in slow circular motions.

He waited for her to relax again.

“Get some sleep, Baby. I’ll return shortly,” he said then placed her gently on the bed. Next he tucked the blankets around her and left the chamber, which had been his home for two day.

Nic found Connor in the great room by the fire. He motioned for Nic to take the chair beside him.

“What in the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into this time?” Connor demanded, handing Nic a mug of spiced wine.

“That battered and bloody young squire of mine is actually Morgan Pembridge."

"Your Duchess?” Connor asked with more than mild interest.

"Yes."

Connor whistled through his teeth.

“All right, so she is your bride. Can you tell me what's going on? How did this all come about? If she is the Duchess then why is she dressed as a boy? More importantly, why is she in the shape she is in?”

Nic told Connor the entire story, leaving nothing out.

“It was the craziest thing I have ever seen coming from a woman. It was as if she had no thought of her own safety. She comes flying out of nowhere, stabs the one to my right in the neck with a dagger that she got from God only knows where. Then without breaking stride, scoops up the fallen man’s sword and then levels a man three times her size.”

“Unbelievable!” Connor shook his head in disbelief. The women he knew would freeze in terror, screaming at the top of their lungs for divine intervention. This action from a woman was foreign to him, but not unattractive. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He began to understand the admiration that he heard in Nic’s voice.

Nic continued. “All jesting aside, I owe this woman my life. She saved me from a lot of pain and physical harm and almost lost her own life in the bargain. She is tough, Connor.”

“So I’m beginning to believe,” Connor said as he closely watched his friend.

“She has a strength I admire. If I had to go into battle, I might want her there with me.”

Connor snorted, protesting such an absurd idea. “Have you lost your mind, Man? Women do not go to battle. It’s bad luck.” 

Nic continued to qualify his statement. “No, not usually, but I’m half serious. Look, she planned and carried out her own escape, thinking enough in advance to dress and act as a boy. Personally, I think it was ingenious. She was cunning enough to play a mute when I found her so she did not have to answer any questions until we were well past Seabridge's reach."

Connor raised an eyebrow and Nic continued. 

"She is exceptionally smart and gutsy when she manages to get past her distrust, which happens more and more the longer we are together."

Connor nodded, letting Nic talk. His words were quite telling. He understood and knew Nic as well as he understood and knew himself. 

Nic was falling in love.

"She is pretty in an unconventional kind of way. Not that you can tell right now from all the swelling. I am not displeased with Henry’s choice for me. If I must marry, I really do think she is a good match for me.”

She was his from the moment she had awakened in his arms on the side of the road and covered in mud.

“She took a great chance, Nic. Dressed as a boy or not, she must have been desperate to take such a risk. Where was she going?” Connor ventured.

“My thought is she may have been trying to reach London and the King. She was quick to point out the night at the inn that she wanted something from me just as I wanted something from her. Perhaps she saw a way to have me take her to London in safety, and she would be my squire on the way. I got what I wanted, and so did she.”

“But you said you were heading north and she agreed to go. It was only after the brush with the search party that you decided to go to London. Are you sure this is not just some young woman’s ploy for the attentions of a guardian who is careless?”

“No. She never blinked when I told her I knew she was the Duchess of Seabridge. And, she was quite serious in saying he would kill her if I sent her back. I believe her.” Nic took a long draw from his wine. He was worried. The loss of blood was deadly and had left her more fragile. The fever was under control, but that could go either direction very quickly, too.

“She will always carry the scars both physically and emotionally,” Conner was saying mirroring Nic’s thoughts exactly.

“I know. I fear so, as well. Just add them to Brentwood’s pile. Those were his men.” Nic finished his wine. The fact only gave credence to her saying that Lester would kill him, too. That was the intention of that group.

“How can you be certain? They nearly killed her.” Connor rubbed his jaw in thought. “However, I can see where he would gain if highwaymen killed the both of you.” Conner poured them another goblet of wine and went to stoke the fire to life again. “You're sure those were his men?” He threw back over his shoulder stoking the fire.

“I’m certain they were his men. I overheard one say to ‘find Morgan’. I do not believe they were deliberately trying to kill her. I think they do not know she is going around the countryside disguised as a boy. She was wearing one of my hooded shirts, so they had no way of knowing. I feel certain the man would not have fought with Morgan had he known.”

“They were expecting a young woman not a squire. She is tall enough to pull it off.” Connor could see where the confusion had almost cost the Duchess her life.

The two men sat in silence for a few moments as the fire crackled and flames popped. Connor was the first to speak again.

“Does she know about Henry’s decree?” Connor watched Nic’s reaction.

Nic shook his head.

“When are you going to tell her?” Connor asked.

“Tell her what? That once the wedding has taken place I will have to take her back to Seabridge? I know I must tell her soon. I had wanted to take her to London and deposit her in Henry’s care before I leave to make the necessary journey home. But she cannot stay in Henry’s care indefinitely and I must see her settled before I leave for my lands in the north. Seabridge is the most logical place.”

“Will she be agreeable to this you think?” Connor asked.

“I must marry post haste when we get to London. What other choice does she have other than to agree?”

Nic understood, as a woman, her choices were few. The King had decreed her to become his bride so she would become his bride. She could do worse for a husband than him, but aside from that, she needed a protector. His gut was telling him Brentwood would kill her if she didn't marry him. Maybe she knew that was a foregone conclusion if she stayed behind the walls of that castle.

“I have more choices than you could possibly know,” Morgan whispered to herself then backed further into shadows. She had heard all she needed to hear. Nic had lied to her, and she was surprised at how much it hurt. Yet she had to face the facts that he was going to take her back to Seabridge once he married his woman who was waiting for him in London.

She would not go. She had to run and it had to be now

Morgan held her breath as the gates lifted. A couple of the King’s men were coming across the bridge.

"Watchman, keep the gate open just a bit longer. We have two more coming. They are not far behind.” Morgan heard them shout as the party rode into the courtyard giving her the diversion she needed.

She slipped passed the men on Salt then headed east into the night. Spurring the animal on through the darkness, she slumped over in the saddle. Her body screamed in pain. The wound had ripped open while she was saddling her mount.

Suddenly she was floating, rising above the pain. She did not feel or see the blood steadily streaming down her arm as it soaked into the dark woolen cape. Even with a foggy mind, she knew there was something wrong as her disconnection grew. Giving in, she slipped into the blackness closing in around her, which was darker than the night.

The King’s men arrived at Featherstone with orders for Nic and Connor to report to the King at once. They had spent the balance of the night in discussions with Henry’s men. Nic was aware that Henry had some trouble brewing in Ireland, and the King needed the services of his two best men.

Torn between the duty to his King and the duty to his bride, Nic cursed his luck. Morgan was nowhere near ready to travel, and Nic knew he dared not leave her here to her own designs. He might be away for months, and he knew she would not be here when he returned. She was too much of a flight risk, not to mention still in grave danger.

For the first time Nic’s heart was refusing to answer the call of his King. Torn between his responsibility to Morgan and his duty to King Henry, Nic was searching for a balance. He was squarely in that place he never wanted to be.

Nic figured eight days round trip to London and back to Featherstone. Then another four or five to take Morgan back to London. The plan would mean twelve day of hard riding, but it was plausible.

“Connor, I have to leave tonight and go to the King."

"Are you going to ask Henry to delay you deployment?"

"Yes, long enough to get Morgan on her feet and safely deposited into his care. I don't dare leave her here.”

Connor started to protest. “She will be….”

Nic held up his hands in a gesture to stop him from commenting further.

“No, do not take offense, Connor. She is a handful and fully realizes the extent of her danger. Fear is a very motivating factor, and she could prove slippery."

"She's too weak to cause much trouble at the moment," Connor said.

"Yes, but given a week, I'm afraid she will have your household on its ear.”

Nic’s words could not have been more prophetic.

Finishing the business with the King’s messenger, the men began to complete arrangement to leave. All Nic lacked was his coin bag, and to tell Morgan good-bye.

He entered the room, scanned it, and at once, he knew she was gone.

“Bloody hell!” he cursed. He did not need this kind of problem.

He rushed out of the room and bolted down the stairs.

“You two search the castle for my squire!” he commanded, pointing to a set of soldiers sitting at a gaming table. Then he rushed out the door, going straight to the stables. Throwing the doors wide, he saw Vernon neatly in his stall. Right next to Trojan was Salt's empty stall.

“A week?” Nic asked his horse. “Damn her,” he said, running his hands through his hair.

He should have known better, however, it did not make any sense to Nic that she would run. Behind these fortified walls, it would take a small army for Brentwood to reach her.

He now had a serious problem on his hands. His King was expecting him in three days and he had a runaway bride to deal with.

Promptly making his way back to the house, Nic gathered three men along the way and found Connor giving orders to his steward.