The McKinnon (16 page)

“What is wrong?” Connor saw the tightness around Nic’s mouth, which never boded well.

“Morgan is not upstairs and her horse is gone.”

Connor stared at him in disbelief then shook his head. "And Brentwood and his men are at my gates."

They needed to find her and fast. She was outside the castle walls and in no shape to survive if she began to bleed, if her fever rose, or she came under attack. Any and all were a possibility.

Connor placed a hand on Nic’s shoulder in a show of solidarity; he knew the situation was crucial.

“Nic, we must leave soon. We can’t disobey a royal command no matter the personal cost to us as men. We do not have much time, but we will do what we can in the time we do have. Come, let's rally the men. She probably slipped out when the King’s men came in and the gate was open.”

“So she has several hours on us at this point,” Nic said with reason. "Which might be good given Brentwood is bellowing at the front gates."

“She is probably headed for London, and we are, too."  Connor said, hoping that was the case. "Worst case, we ride ahead of the others.”

Connor and Nic made their way into the bailey. Brentwood and nine men were waiting at the gates. He was being detained and not happy about it. 

“McKinnon, I demand you return my niece immediately! I know she is here,” Brentwood yelled.

Nic was in no mood. “Go to hell, Lester.” Nic was impatient to begin the search. The longer they delayed the farther she would be from them. 

“I have legal right to her,” Lester proclaimed, having no idea the thin ice he was treading.

Nic saw the evil lurking below Lester's surface, and knew this man was the cause of his bride’s mad and insane bid at her freedom.

“No, you don’t have any right to her, not any longer you sadistic bastard.”

“You will deliver her to me at once,” Brentwood demanded, having no idea who he was dealing with.

Nic was quick to counter that command.

“Not on your life would I deliver that girl back into your care.” Nic did not want him to know he was making a run to catch her. The less the bastard knew the better.

“You will regret this, McKinnon,” Brentwood spat as he pulled hard on the bit of his horse, making the poor creature’s mouth bleed.

“Not today and never tomorrow. Now, get out of my way.”

Lester made an aggressive move. Nic pulled his sword. The point pressed to Brentwood’s chest was a fraction away from piercing his black heart. “Dresden, escort this piece of horse shit and his men to the western edge of Holden land. Kill them all if Brentwood so much as acts like he is going to resist,” Nic commanded the Master at Arms.

"Yes, sir. It will be our pleasure to escort him off the property."

“You’re a dead man,” Brentwood said with a hiss as he turned his mount and headed out the gates accompanied by three dozen of Connor’s best men.

Already mounted to ride, Nic and Connor and a party of six turned their horses east into the morning sun to begin their search.

It did not take long for them to find Morgan. She was no more than a mile from the castle. Nic saw her first and thanked God. They could have flown past her, never expecting her to be so close. Morgan’s crumpled body had pinned Salt's reins beneath her, and that one lucky move was the only thing keeping her and the animal close.

Nic spurred Trojan into a faster pace leaving the party behind. Coming to an abrupt stop, he baled off his horse, just feet from where she lay motionless, face down on the grass.

He braced himself for the worst. The night had been very cold. She was alive, but burning to the touch. Nic knelt down on one knee and picked up her motionless body just as Connor arrived and dismounted.

“Is she alive?” Connor asked grimly. He feared the answer.

“Yes, but barely. She is burning up and she has lost more blood. Here, hand her up to me. And let’s pray to God it is not too late.”

Connor handed her to his friend. Leaning down to receive the bundle his friend offered up, Nic felt a rock in the pit his stomach. Again, he had failed to protect her. If she died, it was his fault.

Once they were back at the castle, Connor dismounting first, took Morgan very gently from Nic’s arms. Turning to make his way back inside, Nic stopped him. If she died, it would be in his arms and in some ways by his hands.

“Connor, give her over. She is my mine to protect. For all the good I’ve done.”

Conner studied his friend and realization struck. By God, Nic was not just falling in love, he already was in love with this woman.

They reached the room, and Nic placed her on the bed then sat beside her in the chair that he had occupied the days before.

“Bring the priest, Connor. She needs the Last Rites and quickly. It cannot wait.” The words almost stuck in Nic’s throat.

Connor turned to go, but stopped in the doorway turning to his friend. “Nic, she needs to hear your voice and feel your strength. Do not give her up for dead.”

Seeing that he was not getting through to Nic, Connor tried another approach.

“Nic, tell when have you ever given up what belonged to you without a fight? If you love her, Brother, then fight for her.”

Nic just looked at Connor as he turned to do his bidding.

It did get him to thinking. Did he love her? In his mind, Nic admitted that he had grown to care for her. How that happened, he did not exactly know.

Was it because the King had given her to him, and she belonged to him as Conner had implied? She was his possession, and therefore that is why he cared? No, he doubted that was all there was to it.

Morgan was not a woman any man would ever fully control. Nor should a man want to control her. He knew controlling her would destroy the essence of the real woman.

He loved her spirit, her grit.

“No!”
his heart was screaming.
“You love her, period.”

It hit him full force. He did love her. Body and soul, he loved her. For so many years, he built walls, keeping those at bay who pursued him. It had never occurred to him he could fall for the one woman who wanted nothing more than to get away from him.

He studied her; she was dying. There was no refuting it. It was in God’s hands, and he prayed for the first time in more years than he could remember. Looking down at her gray, ashen face with the bruises still very vivid, the helplessness he felt was overwhelming. He loved her and he was losing her.

He would not let that happen. If she lived, he vowed he would set her free. That freedom was something she was willing to die to possess. He would marry her and leave her to let her live her life unencumbered. She would be safe from Brentwood and any other predator who might think to posses her for the land and wealth she would bring to them. She was worth so much more than just the title, and she deserved a life on her terms.

The priest quietly entered with Connor just a step behind.

“Father Francis, thank you for coming,” Nic said, standing to greet the spiritual leader of the people of Featherstone.

Father Francis came to the bed and began the last rites. Suddenly, Nic stopped him.

“Stop, Father, not yet. You will marry us first.”

Father Francis stopped and looked at Nic. The idea was outrageous to the priest. “I will not do this act of abomination. It is not proper for a man to marry a boy. The church will never approve and even if I am quite liberal in my thinking, neither do I.”

Nic was livid. “I can assure you the church will approve. Now, do it before it is too late!”

Connor came quickly to the side of the priest.

“Father, it is all right. Morgan is the Duchess of Seabridge. She is disguising herself as a boy.”

“Ah, I see,” he said as understanding dawned. “Son, I understand what you are doing here. In light of Brentwood’s untimely visit, I see where you should marry her in all haste. It would be valid in the eyes of the Church. However, it would not be legal without the proper documentation. That could take days. If Brentwood carries legal rights then it would do no good.”

“Are you referring to this documentation, Father?” Nic pulled the papers from his pack and handed them to him. The papers had none other than the King’s own seal affixed.

“Are you to marry them or not?” Connor asked flatly.

“I will marry them,” the Father agreed.

This couple was ordained to marry by no less than a royal decree. However, he should not have been surprised. Nic and Connor were Henry’s favorites, as were they his. Connor and Nic called him Father. He felt it an honor.

“Get on with it,” Nic commanded taking Morgan’s right hand in his.

As Father Francis began the ceremony, Nic stood beside the bed of his bruised and battered bride. If she did not live, he would be able to give Seabridge to his King. Henry could then appoint someone who was worthy because Brentwood would be dead within the week. Nic was going to see to that task personally.

The priest began.

“Sometimes the Lord calms the storm and sometimes the Lord lets the storm rage and calms the child. Bidden or unbidden God is always present. A-men.” They all made the sigh of the cross.

“Do you Sir Nicholas Galen McKinnon take this woman to honor, cherish, and protect with all that is within you. Do you vow to keep her from harm and raise her above all others for she will become one with your flesh, one with your heart, and one with you soul? Do you promise to look to her happiness? Do you vow to show devotion to her in sickness and in health? And do you vow to do so until your life leaves this world for the next?”

“Yes, I do vow. And should she pass before me in this life, I shall hold these vows sacred and binding until my soul rejoins with her in the next.”

Nic took his Christian cross from around his neck and took Morgan’s lifeless hand into his. He then placed the only piece of jewelry he owned in her palm, gently closing her hand around it. “All that I am and all that I have, I give to thee.”

Connor’s surprise was total. He could hardly believe what he had just witnessed. Nic had just bound himself to the Duchess in life and in death.

“It is done then. Congratulations, Nic. You're now the Seventh Duke of Seabridge.” 

Nic, now had a wife and it felt right that it was Morgan. He would have no regrets of this marriage, not today and never tomorrow.

“Shall I do her Rites now, my son?” Father Francis stared at the large warrior gently holding the dying woman’s hand and waited for an answer.

Nic looked at the priest then back into his wife’s face. “No. My wife will live.” It was a declaration. He would fight for her when she could not fight for herself.

Nic turned to Mary, the housekeeper. “Bring me blankets, clean, cool water, beef broth, candles, a bath and a clean night dress for my lady.”

Nic turned his full attention on Connor.

“Now, my friend, take this marriage contract to the King and tell him I have a wife to save if he wishes those future generations of loyal peers to the Tudor Crown.”

“Mary, please summons the healer,” Nic asked the housekeeper after she brought the items he requested.

Mary turned to do his bidding, leaving him alone in the room with the woman, who moments ago, became his wife.

“You will live. You are a fighter and you will pull through this, Morgan,” he said holding her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

Nic believed his words. He had to believe them. The alternative was now, unthinkable.

As the day waned on and the noon meal followed, the healer walked into the room.

Immediately Nic noted his filthy appearance. He reeked of human and animal excrement. His first thought was that they could all go to hell before this man touched his wife.

Nic wondered why people could not see the need to keep themselves clean. Even he knew that there was risk of infection in a clean environment much less a dirty one.

“Sir, you shall not touch my wife until you bathe and place clean clothes on your person,” Nic ordered the man and was not taking no for an answer.

“I will not!” The healer objected, horrified at the notion. “And, you sir, cannot make me. It is an abomination to wash. Any godly and pious person knows this. Besides, it is obvious to me that she will die. I say we need to call the digger so he can have her place ready.”

“Do not speak thus around her.” Nic came around the bed to stand his full height in front of the filthy medicine man. “I will not stand for it. She will live and you will not be here to say otherwise. You will get out this instant. OUT! Now! Or I will throw you from the window.” Nic took a step closer to him and the man ran screaming from the room.

Mary walked into room not a bit afraid of the young man sitting by Morgan’s bed. She came to him, and in an uncustomary gesture of familiarity, placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I know of another. Shall I have him summonsed?” she asked softly.

Nic was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his face resting in the palms of his hands. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He was at a loss. He was used to fixing things. He fixed the King’s problems with the unruly. He fixed disputes between his men, but he was unsure how to fix this. He was not in control, and it was unsettling. Moreover, he was feeling his own mortality for the first time in his life.

“I’m willing to try anything. I would even sell my soul to the Devil if necessary. Mary, I can't lose her. I think every breath she takes for herself she also takes for me.” Nic let out a long and anguished sigh. “Yes, go find your healer.”

Mary squeezed his shoulder in understanding. “In the meantime, do not sell anything to anybody, in particular the Devil,” Mary said then turned to go find the healer.

Hours passed and Morgan was worsening. Nic had not thought that possible. He was physically restraining her as her fever soared.

At last, before dawn, the second healer entered the room. He was clean. Nic had Mary to thank for that blessing. The doctor made his way to the bed. He touched her face. He looked at Nic, completely devoid of emotion.