The McKinnon (21 page)

Seeing her behavior in retrospect, she realized she'd acted horribly, but her actions and words had come from fear and pain. But that did not make it acceptable. She would ask him to forgive her if she had opportunity to see him. She had already written him a letter and asked Cullen to deliver it to him. He assured her the task was completed.

As the days moved forward, Cullen kept her informed, and she knew Nic was here, but still in closed-door sessions in the War Room with the King and his advisers. No one came in and no one left without the King's permission according to Cullen.

Morgan thought about what she had learned about Cullen, a  young knight as honorable as Nic.

Len, as he was known by a few close friends, was wonderful company and the perfect escort for her trip to London. She was finding she liked him very much. His sense of humor was wonderful, his company companionable. He would make a wonderful husband someday when the right woman came along. He was definitely handsome and would become more so as he matured. He was attentive, and even-natured, with a mind just as intelligent as Nic’s.

On the journey to London, they talked at great length. Moran discovered there were three boys. Brandon was the oldest, Nic the middle, and Cullen the youngest.

Cullen stated that as the youngest of the three, he did not have to deal with the rigors of life because he grew up with two older, more formidable brothers. Therefore, he had not had to shoulder the weight of much responsibility.

Morgan doubted he was irresponsible and said so. She told him that false modesty was unbecoming in McKinnon men, and that there was no use in trying to hide their competencies. She said Nic must have figured it out because she had never seen even a hint of modesty, false or otherwise, in him. 

Cullen had laughed. There was no sense in denying or admitting the truth about Nic or himself. The truth was that Nic had no time for modesty, and Cullen was capable of handling great amounts of responsibility.

Currently Cullen was handling the greatest responsibility ever handed to him. Nic trusted him to lead the team responsible for the safety of the Duchess.

He did not have to deny or admit it to her because Morgan saw that the men followed him without question and that did not happen simply because he was Nic’s brother. Cullen was competent, intelligent, and possessed a code of honor and principles by which he lived. The men respected him, and it was not fear driving these men to follow as it was with her Uncle Lester’s men.

But what was driving these men? Earned respect for starters drove these men. He was a Knight of the High Order earning his spurs three years earlier after foiling an assassination attempt on Queen Elizabeth’s life. Since then, Morgan was sure his deeds of valor were great if unsung.

Cullen shared how Nic joined the service at an early age to have hope of becoming successful. He had climbed the ranks quickly. Morgan had no doubt about that truth. But she was surprised to find out that he was Knighted at seventeen for his bravery on battlefield where Henry won his crown. Nic’s prowess was legendary according to Cullen. Morgan did not doubt that, either.

Cullen on the other hand had inherited land from his mother, Heather Williams, who was the second wife of his and Nic’s father, Patrick McKinnon. Cullen was wealthy and landed in his own right, making his service to the King voluntary.

Brandon, the oldest brother was fifteen years Nic's senior. There were two other brothers and a sister, in between, who had never made it much past early childhood. While Brandon was still alive, he managed the land for him. He was just five when his mother passed away, and far too young to manage the estate on his own. The land he had inherited butted up to the McKinnon ancestral home, so it was convenient for Brandon to merge with Heather Park and run as one large estate.

Cullen had just never seen any reason to change things, so he joined with Nic several years ago. He was Nic’s man. Nic was the King’s and Cullen liked the arrangement.

Thinking of Nic, she walked over to the dresser and pulled out the lovely nightgown she found on her arrival. She rubbed it to her cheek, its softness a thing of wonder to her. It had been in a box on the bed with an envelope with her name in handwriting she recognized as his. Few knights were literate, and the fact Nic could read and write was not surprising. He understood the importance of the written word.

She ached to see him, however, if his betrothed was here he would be playing court to her. Morgan felt seeing him would probably never happen. At least that meeting would not happen in private.

And Cullen had told her Nic would be on his way to Ireland soon, gone for months. Could he already be gone? Surely, he would not leave without saying good-bye. Had her words driven a wedge so deeply he would not say good-bye even for the sake of their friendship?

Still holding the gown in her hands, she wanted to see how the fabric would feel next to her skin. She undressed without help and slipped the nightdress over her head. The garment skimmed her body in a slow caress of silk, reminding her of Nic’s fingertips.

“Do you approve, Duchess?”

Nic had never seen anything more beautiful than Morgan at that moment. He thought he had died and gone to heaven as he had walked into the room just in time to see the silk shimmer past her shoulders, slender back, and bottom as it molded her as a second skin. His timing had been perfect for he knew she could not have known he was coming.

Morgan whirled to face the man of her dreams. “You came to me,” she whispered, her words filled with soft longing.

She was glowing as he crossed the room as quickly as his weary legs would take him.

She met him halfway and he crushed her to him. “God, Morgan, I have missed you.”

She placed her forehead on his chest and began to pour out her heart. “Oh, Nic, I’ve missed you, too. I’m so sorry and ashamed of the way I behaved and for what I said. I was scared and I should have trusted you. Can you ever--"

Nic shut off her apology with a kiss so deep, so full of longing, she was lost in it and never wanted to be found. How was she ever to live without him?

“I was afraid you were already gone,” she confessed.

“I swear, Baby, I would have come to you before now, but I have just been given leave by the King.”

“I greet you with arms that have been empty and a heart that has felt lost.” Morgan felt the words deeply, Nic sensed the truth in them, and they touched him to his core. She cared for him. Could she love him?

“Oh, Nic, I have missed your touch and kisses, but I have longed more to see you, to talk with you, to fellowship with you as my friend.”

“I am here now.”

“How long,” she asked. However long it would not be enough.

“We have tonight. Let’s make the most of it.” Nic held her close, breathing her in. “I have to leave before dawn, even thought it is not my wish to do so.”

“What of your betrothed,” she asked innocently as he leaned in for a kiss.

Nic hesitated, his mouth hovering just above hers. The moment had come. Nic knew he could not avoid the issue any further. He hesitated, torn between telling her now or telling her after he had made love to her.

He chose to kiss her. “We'll talk of it later.”

Nic then pointed to the bed, never taking his eyes off the vision in front of him. “Call me shallow, but right now, I only have a single thought on my mind. And that is to make love to you in that bed until I have to be carried off tomorrow on a litter.”

Morgan giggled as she took his large hand in both of hers and in a mute invitation walked backwards leading him to the bed that cried out for two.

As they lay twined together, the serenity wrapped them in a blanket of comfort. They had come together the first time quick and dirty, both just feeling the need to satisfy the desire brought on by the absence of the last weeks and the emotions pent up from wanting each other.

The second time Nic savored her like a fine dessert. He had made love to her tenderly and thoroughly with his body and with his words. They undeniably felt the bond between then strengthening. Lying there in the room made for lovers, they were in their own world where none could touch them and she would not think of tomorrow. Tonight was not enough, but it was more than she had ever hoped to have with him.

Nic held his wife, absently stroking her back and hair, and thought about how much he loved her. She had become his friend, his strength, his reason for living. He had fallen hard for her, and he was hopelessly at a loss to know what to do to make this right.

He knew he was about to hurt her, and the truth tore at his insides. He had felt that he was doing what was right at the time by marrying her, and he still felt he had made the right decision, but he had not asked what she wanted. She came to London asking to exercise her right to run her lands and property on her own. Yet from the beginning, Nic knew Henry would deny her that right. Sharing his concerns, Nic conferred with the King, presenting the contract held by the Sixth Duke. Against his better judgment and certainly against his heart, Nic petitioned Henry to annul the marriage and her sovereign right to her lands be granted. It was not what he really wanted, but he felt it was what she wanted. Nevertheless, the King, being a man as well as King, sympathized, but was not about to annul a legally binding marriage consummated freely by both parties.

Henry did not deny the agreement that was made with the Sixth Duke of Seabridge. He just was not inclined to grant an unwed woman sovereign rights to her lands, and thereby setting a dangerous precedent. The King sent Nic away with a pat on the back, congratulating him on having a beautiful, rich, and intelligent wife.

Morgan knew Nic was awake. He was running his fingers through his hair, and more than once, too. He was thinking, that much she knew. About what, she could not tell.

Morgan broke the silence first by trying to ease the tension she felt beginning to rise from him. “Want to talk about it?”

He sighed and she felt the romance flee.

“Morgan, Love, we do need to talk.”

She raised herself from his shoulder where she was lightly running her fingers through the dark hair on his chest. “Nic, what’s wrong? This is serious isn’t it?” she asked.

Looking into Nic’s face, she saw just how serious he was at the moment.

“Yes, it is. I'm afraid there is no way around the fact it will change both our lives for better or worse. Come, let's get dressed and move to the fireplace. I do not want to discuss this in bed.”

“All right if that is what you want,” she said beginning to rise.

“Wait.”

Before she rose, Nic took her in his arms and kissed her with all the love he felt for her. If this was going be the last time he was with her, he wanted all he could get.

The talk would have to wait.

Watching Nic dress Morgan felt a terrible dread settle in the pit of her stomach.

For better or worse
, he had said.

She was betting on worse.

Pouring them both glasses of wine, she sat down in one to the chairs in front of the low burning fire. He walked to her chair and crouched down in front of her. Taking the wine from her hands, he set it aside. He took both of her hands into his and gazed at her. Silently they looked into the depths of each other’s eyes as Nic tried to collect his thought and figure out the best way to ease into the conversation.

“You are killing me, Nic. Please, just get it over with.”

She thought she knew what was coming. He was going to tell her about his marriage, and she had steeled herself for the emotional blow. Still, knowing it was coming did not make it any easier.

Nic hung his head. He could not look at her. He hung his head, not from shame, but because her face was so open and full of trust, even when she knew it was not going to be good news. And he was about to shatter that trust.

Finally he looked back at her. She deserved his honesty.

“Morgan, first of all, I want to tell you that I have grown to love you deeply, and I would not change a single act I have done when it comes to you. Everything, all of it, I did because I felt it was right. I still feel it is right. I love you and I would not change one second of the time we have shared in the privacy of this bedroom or the one we shared at Featherstone. I want you desperately, and I know that will never change. However, I'm afraid your feelings will be different when I am done. I want you to try to remember my words, Morgan. I would not go back and do anything differently, nothing.”

“Nic, what are you trying to say? This has to do with your marriage, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“Nic, I understand the fact you are getting married. The King has demanded you wed, and you are a man of honor. You have no choice. I know that. Therefore, we have no choice. I may not like it, but it is a fact I have had to face no matter how painful. I know we only have what time remains before you speak your vows, and I will take what time we have left together. And, I will cherish it for the precious thing it is.”

The moment was on him. There was no more time.

“Morgan, I am already married.”

The silence hung between them as Nic saw her eyes growing bright with unshed tears. Suddenly one slipped over the rim. Nic watched it fall in slow motion. If she had only known it was his undoing.

“No, please God, tell me this is not true,” she said breathlessly. “I had hoped for more time. I had hoped...so this is good-bye. I'll miss you.”

She began crying softly as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Morgan, look at me, Love,” Nic said, uncurling her arms from around his neck. Taking her hands to his lips, he kissed her fingers.

“This is good-bye only if you want it, but if I have my way, we will have all the time in the world to be together once I get back from Ireland.”

Shaking her head, she could not think in those terms. “No, Nic we don’t. I will not be your mistress. It would not be fair to your wife or to me.”

The decisive moment was on him, and he knew the next words out of his mouth would change their worlds forever.