The McKinnon (46 page)

“Behind you!”

Nic wheeled at Cullen’s warning.

Already having his sword drawn, he pushed Morgan behind and to the side. Cullen was there in a flash to help. Both men knew this would be a fight to the death. Three on two were not bad odds. He and Cullen had seen worse.

“Morgan, run! Go!” Nic commanded.

“No, I won’t leave you!” she yelled above the crashing waves.

She stood riveted to the spot unable to move. Reagan grabbed her by the hand trying to drag her further away for the struggle, with Morgan fighting every step of the way.

“Stop fighting me," Reagan commanded.

She needed to break through to Morgan and make her see that they were a liability to the men. "We have to get away from there. If one of them got a hold of you, Nic would have to lay down his weapon. Don’t you see? You are a liability to him! We cannot do any good for them if we are in the way.” Reagan had managed to drag her to a safer distance and pushed her behind an outcropping.

“Stay here, Morgan, and don’t you dare move. I’m going to go find Connor and bring reinforcements.”

Reagan ran down the path and was gone. Morgan prayed she would be quick enough to bring the reinforcements necessary to save the two men she loved most in the world.

Morgan watched in horror as the battle continued. Her uncle was still a man in good physical condition, and to Morgan’s trained eye the other two were excellent fighters as well. It was hard to tell which way the fight was going. Each man pressing any advantage they might have, how ever short-lived it might be.

Nic and Cullen found themselves pushed back against the edge by slow degrees. Soon there would be nowhere for them to go but over the deadly drop off.

She was not going to let that happen to them.

"God helps those who help themselves," 
her mother's voice was clear. Morgan sprang into action. If Nic was to survive, she had to act and act now.

She came running up behind the closest man to her. Jumping on his back, she bit him and clawed him, trying to poke her fingers into his eyes. He flung her off, giving Cullen enough chance to run the man through. Pulling his sword free in one fluid movement, he began to take the offensive with the second man leaving Nic free to deal exclusively with Brentwood.

Now, the odds had just turned in their favor.

“Give up Brentwood. The advantage is mine.” Nic demanded in utter certainty. He was going to come out the victor.

“Never! Seabridge is mine! Mine! You hear me!” Brentwood screamed to Nic, with the look of a lunatic.

“You shall never survive this unless you put down your arms. I'll show some mercy if you do it right now. If not, then we fight to the death, and I have no intention of that death being mine.” Nic coolly delivered his declaration.

Brentwood never broke stride.

Nic began to fight with a new sense of determination. He wanted this over with and soon. He could see Brentwood failing, and with every cold-blooded blow Nic delivered, Brentwood was forced back further and further. The crashing waves below were now drowning out all noise. Even the crashing of their weapons the wild wind carried away and back out to sea. Morgan stood by holding her breath watching, eyes transfixed. She did not see the man creeping up on her. Cullen did.

Quickly finishing off his attacker, he was just in time to see the man going for Morgan with his deadly blade poised to strike her from behind.

Cullen rushed toward her pushing her out of harms way. Tumbling to the ground with Cullen protecting her from the blow, he rolled as the man struck, again. Morgan knew Cullen’s sword was still in his hand. Placing her hands around his they thrust upward piercing the assassin’s heart. He fell to his knees and was dead before he hit the ground.

Nic was pushing Brentwood ever closer to the edge. Brentwood was faltering, being no match for Nic’s superior skill and driving need to end this threat to his wife and children.

Nic smelled Brentwood’s fear and sensing victory, he instinctively knew the end was near.

“You are mine, Brentwood, and I shall gladly kill you and kill you slowly for the seven years of hell you put my woman through. You shall never, ever, again threaten me and mine.”

“I will not give you the satisfaction.” Brentwood knowing Nic would make good his threat, jumped off the cliffs falling hundreds of feet below to his death. The mighty Poseidon received the offering, sucking down the gift into the watery depths of the gray foaming sea.

Nic sighed. It was over. The nightmare was finally over. Morgan was finally free.

Turning, he saw Morgan kneeling on the ground beside Cullen clutching his hand to her face. Reagan had joined them. Connor and two other men at arms stood back but still at the ready.

Reagan was frantically working on Cullen. It took a moment for the scene to begin to register. Cullen was down.

“Reagan, you must save him. Please,” Morgan frantically pleaded with her.

“I am doing the best I can,” Reagan said, never looking up from her effort to stem the flow of blood pressing long strips of her underskirt she had ripped to use as packing for his wounds. The young knight was bleeding out from the internal damage he had sustained, and it was only a matter of time before he became a casualty of this senseless battle driven by Lord Brentwood’s insanity and greed to possess Seabridge and all the wealth going along with it.

“How bad it is, Rea?” Nic was on bended knee beside his brother having taken his other hand in his. Nic knew it was grave. Far to long a soldier, he did not need her to tell him what he recognized to be a fatal wound. He had lost many a good man. Now, it looked as if fate was going to take Cullen as well.

“I have to be honest with you. It is not good, Nic. He’s losing blood fast.” Reagan knew Cullen was dying and for all her skill, she could never hope to save him here.

“Oh, God, Nic. This is my fault. If I had listened to you, he would be all right. He would not have had to take the blade for me.” Morgan was crying, looking over Cullen’s body at her husband.

“Don’t Morgan...beg you...not your fault....” With great effort, Cullen delivered his own pleas as blood streamed from the corner of his mouth.

Morgan took the hem of her dress and gently wiped the blood away and placed tender fingers across his lips.

“Shhhh, now, don’t try to talk. Save your strength. Reagan will save you. I know she can.” Morgan was looking into Reagan’s eyes. “You can, can’t you? I feel it. You have a way. I pray you, from whatever direction the help may come just do it before it is too late.”

Reagan looked to Nic, then to Connor, and back to Morgan. “Yes. There may be a way.”

“Then do it. Whatever it takes,” Nic said with resolve.

Reagan turned to Morgan.

“Morgan, is there a hallowed place anywhere close. This close to the Welsh border there is bound to be. Think and do so quickly. Men bleed to death at the same rate no matter the century.”

Morgan did not have to think except a split second. “Yes. My mother was Welsh and worshiped the old gods. My father had a shrine built for her, but I do not know if it still exists.”

“Then take me to it. It is not so much the altar as it is the place itself. Conner, you and Nic carry Cullen. We must hurry. We are running out of time.”

Morgan led the way. Her mother's place of worship was just over a small rise not far from their present location, and Reagan recognized the place instantly as it sent her to her knees. She felt the ancient power flowing through it, a raging river bent on consuming anything in its path. This was a potent intersection where space and time forcefully collided, thinning the veil separating the dimensions of the past, present, and future.

“What is this place?” Connor shivered helping Reagan to her feet and feeling the hair stand on the back of his arms and the pulsating sensation racing along Reagan’s skin.

“It is an ancient place of power. Those who have the ability to call and harness its power can use it.”

“Use it for what?” Connor asked coolly, raising one dark brow in question.

“It depends on the gifts,” Reagan answered, never looking at him, but keeping her attention on Cullen. She still kept placing pressure on his wounds as he lay on the alter. Connor grabbed her wrist, stopping her movements and pulling her attention fully to him.

“And your gifts would be?”

“Healing.…” Reagan looked away.

Connor knew she was withholding from him. There was more she was not telling him. “And what else, Reagan. Do not withhold from me. I want the truth.” He held her chin forcing her to look him in the eyes. “What else, Rea? I will have the whole of it from you.”

“All right. Time travel.” She felt the barely discernible movement as his fingers slightly tightened in her chin. “There, are you happy now? My gifts are healing and time travel. Put them together and I have training in modern medicine, Connor, really, really modern medicine, as in twentieth century modern medicine.”

“You’re from the future?” Connor asked, never once showing his surprise.

“No. I was born in 1466, but have been to the future on countless occasions to increase my learning. I am what you would call in the twentieth century, a Doctor of Internal Medicine.”

Connor was finally getting the answers he had been seeking for months, and he did not like the answers. The thought of her powers made him uncomfortable, and he took a step back and away from her.

Reagan felt the sting of his withdrawal, but she was also feeling the power of the place call to her and knew time was growing critical. Turning away from Connor and back to Cullen, she placed a hand on his face. She had to know.

“Cullen, I must be sure you agree to this. If I take you forward, you will never be able to return. Once you cross over you will be gone to them, and they will instantly be dead for hundreds of years.”

“I am dead to them either way. Am I wrong?” Cullen’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Reagan looked at Cullen’s face. He was turning ever grayer and taking on the Mask of Death. He would be dead in less than four minutes in her trained judgment.

“I cannot save you here. I’m sorry.” Reagan answered him honestly. He deserved as much.

“Cullen, oh Cullen, I’m so sorry.” Morgan was softly crying over him. “You are my friend and I love you. You know that don’t you?”

Cullen nodded taking her hand. “I will always love you and not as a friend. It has been my greatest joy to serve you.”

It was the confession of a dying man. Cullen looked at his brother. He knew he would do it all again for Morgan’s sake and for Nic’s. Only their happiness mattered and he hoped fate would reward his selflessness. Morgan was Nic’s one true love, and Cullen loved his brother as much as he loved Morgan.

“Nic, take care of our Lady. I’ve always thought you were a lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

Morgan leaned down and kissed him softly on the forehead as Nic took Cullen’s hand and felt death closing in.

“Good-bye, Brother. Remember us. Reagan said to me one time none of us were truly dead until the last person with a memory of us is also gone.”

Reagan pulled Connor to the side while Cullen, Nic and Morgan were saying their final good byes.

“All right, English, here is the deal. Are you listening? I know this is a shock, but if we are to save him this is what I will need waiting for me.” Quickly, she wrote out what she needed explaining what each item represented.

“It is instantaneous for us. You have five hundred years to get it right; keeping in mind there is a lot of time for things to go wrong. If one generation forgets, he will be lost to us both now and then. I could be lost as well if this place is not preserved.”

Connor took her hands in his somehow needing the contact with her. “I'll see to it you have what you need, Reagan. When will you return,” he asked knowing their time was drawing short to save Cullen.

Reagan looked into Connor’s eyes and felt her chest tighten. He could make her angrier than anyone on the face of the earth, but she knew somehow even with the differences they had shared she would miss him. She slipped her hands from his turning away.

“I won’t be coming back, Connor.”

Connor turned her to face him and took her chin in his hand to make her look at him. “No, Reagan. I will not accept this. You must for Nic and Morgan’s sake. They will need the closure.”

“It doesn’t work that way, English. God, how I wished it did, but it just doesn’t, all right? I have only so many times I can cross. This is the last. I cannot come back. Such is the way of the gift.”

Reagan felt time slipping away. The proverbial train was leaving the station, and as it was, she knew she would have to run to catch it.

“Then I will go with you. I can bring word back to them.”

Connor was resolved to follow her. Nic and Morgan would need the news of the outcome of Cullen’s recovery.

“That cannot happen. A man can only cross over once and once they do, they can never return. Otherwise, I would send Cullen back once he heals and is out of danger.”

Reagan placed her palm on the side of his face, surprising Connor with the tender gesture. “I’m sorry, Connor, but this is a voyage where none can follow, and none will ever return.”

Connor did not understand the sudden anger overpowering him. She was leaving and it was not acceptable to him.

“You owe me for helping you get Nic to go to Morgan last night. He did stay and they have begun to mend the rift between them. You gave me your word that I could name my price. Well, this is my price, Reagan O'Riley. You will come back. And when you return you will spend one year and a day with me at Featherstone.”

“Oh, and is that all you want?”

With the final moments on them, she was frantic covering it with sarcasm. Her heart hurt, her chest was exploding, and there was no time to figure out exactly why.

Fate had not been kind, and she was seeing it. She had no time to prepare mentally for the pain she knew would follow this separation by time and space. Fate was not giving her the chance to say a proper good-bye to the people she had grown to love and think of as family. She would have no closure, either knowing she had no more chances to return.