The McKinnon (10 page)

She did not see the horses, or him, or the supplies. She saw only a handkerchief holding a lump of cheese and the wine skin left by the cold ashes of last night’s fire.

The bastard had left her here alone with no idea where she was and no way to protect herself. He took her mount, took her supplies, and had left her here alone. Anger swept over her. She knew it was partly to cover her fears. Anger was an emotion she could better handle then the cold, strangling grip of fear.

She stomped around the camp jerking up her meager possessions. There was not much to collect. “And he has the nerve to accuse me of thievery?” she asked the field rabbit who was grazing close by. “I will hunt him down and I will make him pay for this,” she vowed.

“Perhaps, you'll let me join you in this manhunt? I've not run anyone through in a few hours.”

Nic was quick to remove the amusement from his face once he saw that she was actually in distress which was thinly veneered with anger. It shocked him a little that his abandonment would affect her so.

Morgan whirled at the smooth velvety voice behind her. She had not heard a sound until he spoke. Relief filled her, and she let that emotion show on her face.

What was also evident to Nic was that relief Morgan felt was short-lived. Anger quickly followed.

All she wanted to do was strike him, and probably would have had he been closer and not armed with a sword. "Have the decency next time to tell me you are leaving!"

"Why? To give you opportunity to shoot an arrow into my back?" He raised one dark brow in amusement.

"I don't know how to shoot yet," Morgan said then a catty little smile graced her lips, and it left Nic wondering if he was actually safe or not.

Nic saw the play of emotions across Morgan’s face. He knew she had gone from relieved to angry in seconds, and then to relieved again. So she had a temper when she felt threatened. Fight or flight? For her it would be a fight. He logged that as one more fact to remember about her.

She also had a sense of humor; he just had to keep trying to find it.

“Mount up. It is time for us to ride." Trojan danced sideways, eager to be on the road. Nic pulled him up beside Salt. "Let me give you two pieces of information, Morgan. First, do not question my honor when it comes to those I have promised to take into my care. If I leave you it will be because you have asked me to go."

"Second?" she asked softly, realizing she had hit a nerve with him.

"Heed my advice, it would be in your best interest if you learn to curb that temper of yours. You may find it gets you into serious trouble one day. As my squire, I would find myself honor-bound to come to your defense. And even if I am a soldier by profession, I am not one for taking a life for trivial reasons. That being said, if I find I must take a life on your behalf, I do strongly recommend you make it count. There may not be another in the offering.”

With those words of advice, Nic wheeled Trojan around and headed east into the morning sun.

“Bloody bad luck,” Nic mumbled.

The run of good luck was not holding with the weather. They had enjoyed two great days of travel, but now it was miserable. Rain had started falling softly on them shortly after they broke camp.

The rain had turned from inconvenient to uncomfortable, and then to cold and  dangerous. The misty drizzle quickly gave way to wind blowing the heavy gray sheets of rain sideways and the roadway was muck and mire. The travel was treacherous at times, risking broken limbs of both horse and rider.

 Water ran down Morgan's legs and into her boots, filling them to the rim. Dumping the rain out was pointless. She had stopped that hours ago, realizing it was more trouble than it was worth.

The rain soaking through her clothes, making them cling to her like a soggy second skin, was the least of her worries. Her hands were numb.

The numbness she felt in her hands, feet, and backside were caused from equal parts unrelenting rain, cold weather, and the pace Nic had demanded they keep.

Never complaining, Morgan understood the need to place as much distance between them and the search party that was scouring the countryside for the Duchess of Seabridge. She hoped the search party, being sane men, probably stopped to find shelter from this God-awful weather. And Nic took the opportunity to gain some ground.

She had not escaped her uncle just to die of consumption brought on from having to sleep outside in rainy conditions. She hoped they would make the King’s Court tonight, and if that meant they pushed hard, so be it.

With that mental decision made, she detached as she had done so naturally over the years when she was threatened or physically uncomfortable. Withdrawing from what would do her harm had become a self-defense mechanism and she was good at it.

Morgan impressed Nic, and that was not something easily done. He had driven them as if the Devil and his minions were behind them. Frowning, Nic was not so sure that her uncle might be the Devil if half his reputation was true. At any rate, the pace was grueling, even for him. Morgan had not spoken a word of complaint. She was quiet, and that was probably for the best. So, he left her to her own coping mechanism.

Nic had seen this behavior before in battle when men had endured all they could take. Nic though it best if she could continue the pace. As the miles rolled past, he kept a close eye and felt he was between a rock and a very hard spot. He knew they needed to make the King’s Court because of the weather. As tough as Morgan might actually be, she was still a woman and deserved better than a muddy bed on the side of the road.

Darkness came and without a light source, Nic could not see her face clearly. Still he knew Morgan was about to drop from her saddle judging from the sluggish and slumping outline of her body. He would have taken her up on his horse and settled her in front of him if they were not already so close to their destination.

He was exhausted. Hating to admit that condition did not change the fact. The past two nights' sleep had been fitful because of Morgan. Furthermore, he had not gotten any sleep in the saddle with the need to skirt the search party during the day. Now the infernal weather was slowing them up and the lack of sleep was beginning to wear on him. Contrary to popular belief, he was not indestructible in spite of what his reputation might be. And if he was this miserable, he could only venture a guess what Morgan was experiencing. Soon he would try to make it up to her.

Nic was looking forward to a decent shelter for them for the night. What sane man wouldn't, he questioned.

Nonetheless, there was still a catch. Originally, necessity dictated the deception Morgan had started. That necessity was still a driving factor and he had to be sure to keep the facade going. So, like it or not, Morgan would continue to act as his squire, as long as the search party remained in the vicinity. They were too close for Nic’s comfort, even though he was able to skirt them the first day and had been just in front of them or running parallel the last two days. The search party would be at the inn tomorrow, if his instincts were correct. He also felt sure they would stop and inquire because he'd stop if he were in their position.

His guess was the search party was still looking for a woman and a black stallion. No one would take note of a lone knight and his skinny young squire. Such happenings were commonplace throughout the countryside these days. However, the locals would quickly take notice of a lone knight and a young woman. The reward for the information was substantial and too inviting to expect them to keep her whereabouts a secret. He really could not blame the common folk for giving them up. With the astronomical reward Brentwood posted a man could feed a large family for years. Times were hard for these country people, and food precious and sometimes scarce.

The ruse must and would continue for Morgan’s safety. That brought him to another dilemma. Squires usually slept in the outbuildings with the horses or in the common room on the floor. As a rule, they did not have sleeping quarters of their own. That being the case, Nic was certain he would have to see what he could do about getting Morgan into a secure and warm shelter, while at the same time not raising suspicions. Having her sleep in the common room was not even a consideration, and he would continue through the night before allowing her to sleep in the stables.

Morgan was having problems of her own. She was beyond miserable and exhausted nearly to the point of falling out of her saddle as they slowly made their way up the muddy road approaching The King’s Court. It had been dark for sometime, and Morgan had no idea where they were. Nic had not offered to tell her, and she had not asked. At this point, she was past caring. She just wanted to get there and with as little delay as possible.

Morgan was anxious. They were approaching civilization and this increased the risk of discovery. She shoved her anxiety aside, trusting Nic's decision.

Besides, she could smell the smoke from a fire as it drifted along the breeze of the wet evening air. The smells of food were coming from where they would stop, and she could see the glow of the lights beckoning warmly, a beacon in the night’s inky blackness. It was the sweet promise of warmth, food, and an end to the interminable jostling in the saddle that kept her going.

“The King’s Court, my ass,” Morgan snorted as it came into view. She saw it was not King Henry’s Court at all, not by a long stretch. The King’s Court was a small roadside inn.

“Did you say something?” Nic tossed over his shoulder through the darkness, knowing what had elicited her comment. He wanted to draw her out but could not see the look she gave him. It was just as well.

For Morgan the prospect of warm food, a warm bath, warm dry clothes, and a bed was too much of a promised reward for her to remain too vexed with her traveling companion or with the delay in gaining her audience with the King.

She would have her audience...eventually.

Yet, with chagrin, she admitted it would not be today. Besides, a bath sounded, so much better.

Nic pulled Trojan up just enough to allow Morgan’s horse to come along side. He explained it was not routine for the squires to sleep in their own quarters in the inn, but rather in the outbuildings with the horses. As she was his squire this is where she would normally be required to sleep.

Morgan moaned with disappointment and hung her head. Her distress was so obvious.

Nic reached across and lifted her chin with his finger. “However, for not complaining about our pace, which by the way was necessary in case you were wondering, I promise I will do my best to get you inside. If not, we will keep moving. If I can get you inside, I will also try to get you a warm bath and dry clothes. Here is what we will need to do….”

“Up you come.” Nic pulled her into his lap on the saddle. He immediately noticed how slight she was in spite of her height. “Keep this cloak wrapped around you and keep your face turned into my neck.”

Morgan did as she was told to do, savoring the warmth coming from his body. Feeling her body heat, Nic wondered why he had waited this long to hold her in his arms.

“Perfect. Now, do not talk under any circumstances. You are mute remember? Well, most of the time,” he added under his breath.

She gave him an elbow in the ribs.

His breath rushed out in the unexpected blow. It was far from damaging to his warrior physique, yet it was annoying all the same.

“Behave!” Nic ordered.

“You deserved that,” she said, annoyed more with the weather and less with him. "Too bad, I can't punch the weather gods."

"Were that possible, you'd have to stand in line," Nic said then laughed. He could see her point. “We are almost there.”

Nic spotted the young groom just yards ahead. “Ho there, Lad. I need your help. My squire has taken a nasty spill from his horse. I will pay you to tend the horses for me, and there will be an extra coin or two if you watch them through the night.”

“Yes Sir, it will be my pleasure,” the boy said as he reached for the coin Nic extended.

“Good, then run inside and secure me a room. Ask the matron to begin water for a bath for me and dressings for my man. When you finish taking care of that, come back to the stables. I will get the rest of your coin at that point.” He headed to the stables. It was never good to pay for all services in advance.

The boy ran into the warmth of the inn. Reemerging a few moments later, he gave them assurances the room was ready and the bath was coming up shortly.

Paying little heed to the other patrons seeking decent shelter from the elements, Nic carried Morgan into the inn through the common room and straight up the stairs. Given the number of people taking shelter, Nic was surprised they even had a room available. He suspected some poor soul was disappointed. Money talked and few could come up with the coin he just pressed into the innkeeper's hand.

The matron was aware of the supposed fall of Nic's squire and was inquiring how she could be of assistance.

Nic declined, thanking her. He was accustomed to tending the minor wounds of his men, he told her. Nic promised he would call if he saw he needed further aid.

“I believe the bath and dressings will be good. I would appreciate you securing a dry change of clothes for him. I will pay for the garments.”

“No, my Lord that will not be necessary. I’m sure you will return them as soon as your squire’s clothes dry by the fire.” Taken by Nic’s tall good looks, the matron of the inn blushed like a schoolgirl when he smiled at her. “Anything else?” she offered hoping for an extra coin for herself.