The McKinnon (4 page)

“Her condition upon return?” Steward asked, lacking any real emotion that might betray his true feelings on the subject.

“I only need her alive. Other than that," Brentwood gestured with a dismissive waved a hand,“I do not care what condition I find her on her return." Lester watched as Stewart continued to stare at him. "Were my orders not clear?"

"No, they're clear."

"Then why are you still standing here?"  Brentwood got the feeling when he looked at Stewart that something was not quite right with the man. Perhaps this needed to be his last job, Lester thought. When Stewart returned, it might be wise to allow him to inspect the castle bowels and become a permanent resident there through some unfortunate accident. "Was there something else,” Lester added as Stewart continued to return his gaze.

“I need you to send out a large complement of men to search for her. Make sure they are visible,” Stewart commanded a little more forcefully than intended.

“Why?” Brentwood asked. He was suspicious of Stewart’s motives.

Stewart seethed inwardly at the arrogance of
Lord
Brentwood in questioning his tactics. However, Stewart knew this was not the time to let his emotions show. His plan would come to fruition soon enough.

“I want the larger party as a diversion to cover my own activities. I will track her myself. I find one man can go where many men cannot.”

Lester nodded. “Consider it done. I will dispatch them immediately,” Brentwood said, satisfied with the reasoning to expend resources.

“Then with that, I take my leave.”

Stewart turned to leave by the double door and walked soundlessly across the lush carpets, spoils from the crusades and some long forgotten ancestor.

“Stewart?” Brentwood questioned then paused, lending greater weight to his final word. Stewart turned around. He needed to reassert his dominance. “Do not return without her.”

Stewart nodded in understanding before softly closing the door.

Shortly after Stewart's leaving, Lester scanned the room from behind the elegantly carved desk. He had come to think of all this as his own. He had been guardian and overseer of Seabridge for seven years. He had been lord and master since the fire that had so tragically killed his older brother. Now, he was going to have it all. It was going to be his if it was the last thing he did. It was just a matter of time.

“What was I thinking!” Morgan screamed as the magnificent black stallion barreled uncontrollably down on the rubble of the old Roman wall. She was certainly seeing that the decision to take Demon was extremely reckless regardless of how necessary.

The stallion gracefully leaped the wall with little wasted effort, unseating his slight burden in the process. Throwing her clear of the stone barrier and straight into the bog flanking the path, Morgan felt the blow to her head.

Feeling the shadows of oblivion dragging her into the abyss, Morgan ceased to care.

The sun was shining and she was free.

It was a good day to die.

“Umm,” Morgan groaned softly in pain.

Strange how the arms of death are so comforting, she thought. It was almost as if she could feel them, tangible and inviting.

“Hold still, Boy. Moving around will only increase the discomfort." 

The disembodied voice floated over her.

"Let me have a feel. Now, hold still just a minute more.” 

Did the Grim Reaper talk, too? she wondered. If so, with a voice like his no wonder some craved death, welcoming it with open arms. Again she wished for the dark nothingness.

It was not to be.

Slowly the effects of the fall were receding, giving way to realization; she was not dying and this was not the Grim Reaper. She was in the arms of a strange man. She knew his strong, capable hands running down her arms satisfied him there were no broken bones.

Wisely, Morgan held still.

Resisting the urge to bat his hands away was not a battle easily won for her, and she was not sure that battle was over. No one ever touched her except to cause her pain. Yet, she could see his touch was utilitarian with no malice intended. Still panic was rising with the impulse to flee overpowering. However, upon closer inspection, Morgan conceded that the fear of this giant man and what he might or might not do to her was a far distant second to her fear of discovery, or him forcing her back to Seabridge.

If she spoke at this point, he would realize two things: she was not hurt and she was also not a boy. The ruse might work at a distance, but much inspection might find her disguise lacking credence.  If he discovered she was, in reality, the Duchess of Seabridge, he would send her back. He would have no choice. The law was clear, and he would never believe that doing so would be to deliver her truly into the arms of death.

She glanced at him. Death by her uncle’s hands would never look like this man regardless of her thoughts just moments earlier.

She was not going to delude herself. The beating she would receive for this escape would be severe. The punishments had been getting more violent and frequent over the last year. With this escape attempt, she had just given her uncle the excuse he needed to kill her should he ever get his hands on her again.

She could never go back. Not while Lester was alive.

Years as a soldier had finely honed Nic’s senses. He noticed the pulse racing in the hollow of the boy's throat. He smelled the boy’s fear, and knew the young man would try to run at the first opportunity. Nic's conscience, slight as it might be in many instances, would not allow him to leave the filthy, skinny creature until he was sure the lad was fit to travel alone . He would be easy pickings if someone was set on evil.

“Easy, easy, I’ll not harm you,” Nic spoke softly. “You’re lucky nothing is broken, but rest assured, my young friend, you will be very sore. Lucky for you the bog broke your fall and I happened along to pull you out of the mire before you went completely under.”

Nic waited for acknowledgement. There was none forthcoming, making him suspect the boy was more injured than any outward appearance might suggest.

“Can you speak?” Nic asked.

She was fully awake and mesmerized by the soothing voice of her rescuer. His face was only inches from hers and she thought it was the most handsome she had ever seen. In his late twenties, his jaw was square and his lips wide and sensual. Below that tempting mouth was a deep cleft in his chin, keeping his lips from seeming overly soft. She had the inexplicable urge to pull his face closer to test the softness for herself.

However his eyes struck her the most. Those pools of brown reflected the real depths to the man thinly veiled by cynicism and worldly knowledge. He may be young, she thought, but he had seen much. A seasoned warrior undoubtedly hardened by endless battles and loss, and this only added to his appeal.

Oh, get over it, her mind mocked.

She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. It was a mistake. That action sent the world spinning.

Nic saw the color drain from her face. He had seen it before. Head injury and vomiting went hand-in-hand.

“You’re going to be sick,” Nic  said as a matter of fact. His reaction time was quick, his movements done with little care given. Turning her to her side, he kept the boy's breakfast off his boots.

“Don’t swallow it. Rinse and spit,” he said handing her some water. “Better?”

Morgan shook her head in the negative, as she spit the water out and vomited, again. This time Nic was not quick enough to have it miss his boots.

"Well, it isn't a first time," he said with a sigh as he shook it off.

Nic also realized the boy did not apologize or speak. There could be several logical reasons for his silence beside simply being an ingrate. Not that he was ruling it out at this point. Could be the boy had a deep lack of trust or was in  shock. More likely the boy just was incapable of speech. 

“Are you mute?”

Morgan jumped at the opening that the knight unknowingly provided her. It was a brilliant cover and one she would not have considered. If he thought she could not speak, it would keep her from having to answer any questions. She had no idea how long the ruse might hold up, but even a day would buy her time.

Impulsively, she nodded. The slight movement cost her dearly as the world began to spin again.

“Ahhh,” she let the sound of agony slip past her lips. She balled her fist into the front of his shirt to make the world slow down.

“You need to move slowly. Give yourself a chance to recover,” Nic said as he stood up and extended his hand.

Sitting on the soft moist earth, Morgan looked at one of the largest men she had ever seen. 

She studied his extended hand that was offered in assistance. She hesitated to take it, knowing all deeds come with a price and wondered what the price would be for accepting this knight’s offer of help.

“
Opportunity knocks, Morgan. Answer it.
” The voice of her mother advised her. So placing her trust in fate, she placed her hand in his.

Morgan walked through the door opportunity just opened and her life would never be the same.

Dusting off his hands, Nic was ever alert to any danger lurking. It was not unheard of for highwaymen to set traps using just such tactics and attack while the unsuspecting Good Samaritan had his back turned, distracted by the decoy.

However, if the boy is a decoy, he is a damn good one, Nic thought.

“Will family be looking for you?” Nic asked after helping her to her feet.

She shook her head, never meeting his eyes.

He inclined his head to the stallion grazing just up the ridge. “Did you steal him?”

He doubted the boy would be honest, but it would give him opportunity to judge his reaction to the question. Body language always told Nic more than words alone.

Now, she looked him square in the eye.

Whoa, he thought, this boy's angry. He found it slightly amusing considering the company the young man was in at the moment.

Morgan could feel the anger jump into her face. How dare he? He was accusing her of stealing what was her birthright?

Nic held up his hands in a gesture of concession, amused at the fight he saw in his new charge. “Now, my young friend, just cool your heals. It is a fair question. It’s not often I come across someone where ownership does not hinges on possession being nine tenths of the law,” he said then smiled.

Nic turned away from her looking toward Demon with his hands planted on his hips, long muscular legs spread wide. He was thinking Demon was one fine piece of horseflesh. Turning back, Nic looked at his new traveling companion and knew instinctively this urchin was in need, no matter how rich the horse.

He was also in need. Maybe fate was feeling generous today.

“I am finding my choice of traveling light and without a squire is proving to be not one of my better decisions. If you want, you can act as my squire until we get to my home in the north.”

He assured her after they arrived, if she wanted to stay, he could find something for her to do. There was always plenty of work for an honest set of hands. He agreed to pay her a modest allowance and offered protection. In return, his expectation was to take care of his horse, attend his needs, and obey his directions always and without question.

“Do we have an agreement?” Nic asked all banter aside. A deal was a deal, and he would hold up his end as long as the young man held to his.

She nodded. He said they were heading north. It was the opposite direction from London. Nevertheless, Morgan had faith. She would get to London eventually, and Brentwood would never think to look for her in the northern country. It would give her time to regroup.

“Excellent, we agree then." Nic gathered his horse and brought Demon back with surprising ease. "However, first, I have a stop to make. I have to tie up some business, and then we are on to my lands just south of the border of Scotland. Unfortunately, this business cannot wait,” Nic said then pursed his lips. “Nasty business, too,” he said under his breath having no idea Morgan heard him.

King Henry wanted him to marry. That was the nasty business, but necessary when a King decrees it, Nic supposed. He had no real desire to take a wife and never had wanted a wife as far back as he could remember. However, one does not disobey a King and live comfortably to tell of it. Consequently, he would marry.

Living with his bride had not been one of Henry’s stipulations.

He knew it was a technicality and one that Henry would eventually see through. However, until that time came, he was still a free man.

“I need to stop at Seabridge,” Nic said as he turned to mount his horse.

Oh, no, she thought. Not now! Not after escaping was she going back there, ever! She would kill herself before letting her uncle get his hands on her again. She didn't believe this was happening. Fate could not so cruelly place her back into the hands of her uncle.

She was feeling panic. Nic saw the color drain and the emotions play across her face.

Seabridge's stables were legendary. The horse was magnificent. It came together for him in a single thought: That horse belongs to Lord Brentwood.

Yet, there would be a logical explanation besides theft, he reasoned. However, if the boy's a thief, there would be hell to pay. Stealing from Brentwood would be a death sentence for a boy like this one. Moreover, Nic bet such a death would be slow and agonizing. The pleasure would only be one sided.

“You’re afraid aren’t you?” Nic knew it was an understatement. Terror poured off this boy in waves.

Morgan nodded her head. Dropping her eyes to the forest floor, she squeezed them tightly against the very fear this knight so accurately and acutely saw in her.

“Why? Surely, monsters do not live there, but only mere flesh and bone which can be conquered. I have met Lord Brentwood and even though his dealings are a bit severe for my taste, he has a reputation of being fair when dealing with his tenants.” Nic was not so sure that reputation was still accurate.