The McKinnon (7 page)

Brandon, his older brother, had taken responsibility for running the family lands after their father had become too frail to continue to be Overlord. It was Brandon’s birthright. Yet, his father's steward had dispatched an urgent summons requesting he return to his ancestral home of Heather Park. 

He had not been back in ages.

How many years had it been? Nic wondered. Eight or was it nine years now? How many sieges past? How many battles won or lost? And how many nights just like this, sleeping under the heavens? Far more than Nic could remember. He had stopped counting years ago.

Now, his father still breathed when his brother was long cold and dead in his grave. Brandon died the previous winter of a wasting disease, and it had taken nearly half of a year for the message to catch up with him, moving as often as he did. Brandon had left no children or wife. Therefore, King Henry demanded the marriage to the Duchess of Seabridge.

Nic remembered vividly his conversation with the King.

“
Nic, my good man, you now have need of a suitable wife. I have left you to your own devises all these years, and in truth, it suited my purposes. However, the time has come to leave your selfish wishes behind.”

“I’m still good with selfish, Sire,”
he had said in all honesty.

“Well, my queen is right. It is time that you get married and settle down. It is up to you to pass the linage on for future generations of loyal subject to the crown.”

“So, you want me to marry, settle, and have children? A tall order don’t you think?”  
Nic teased. Until that moment, he had never given children a thought. There was still his youngest brother to carry on the family name.

“I have just the lass for you in mind. A true prize if she looks anything like her mother,”
the King had said good-naturedly with a wink and hearty slap on the back.

A prize?

Hum, maybe? 

Then, again, maybe not, Nic thought as he could barely make out Morgan profile in the darkness. Either way it did not matter. Henry had spoken so, "
that-is-that
” as Henry was known to say. Nic shrugged. He would just adjust and alter his strategy as any good soldier does when faced with the failure of Plan A. 

Turning his mind to other things, Nic needed to be moving north not east. London was not exactly where he thought he would end the month of April. Then, again not much else was going to plan. He wondered just how angry Henry was going to be? He certainly was not going to be  pleased, but there was no way around it.

At least he was bringing his bride back with him to London. That was something, at least. They could have a hasty exchange of vows with the King and Queen Elizabeth as witnesses. What girl would not want that?

Then he would leave her there in Henry’s care as a hand matron to the queen. By doing that, Nic could meet his duty to his King and his father. Morgan would be safe in London with the queen. Henry would see to it. Then he could make his way back home.

"Well, shit," he mumbled. "So, much for Plan B," he said, realizing it solved some of his dilemma, but not all.

There was still the huge piece of rock left to conquer, and he was not speaking in terms of Morgan's wedding ring. The claim of Seabridge would be left unaccomplished even if the Duchess were in the king’s care. It would be paramount that he be there in person to do the claiming. He did not see Lester going quietly. 

Morgan interrupted his thoughts as she began to shiver and turned into his body for the warmth he could give her. He knew she was unaware of her movements. As Nic gathered her close, he mused he would have to see to a bath for her if he was to continue being in close quarters with her. Yet, under the layers of mire, he got a subtle whiff of something gentle belonging just to her.

As the stars journeyed across the night sky, Morgan thrashed violently jolting Nic from sleep. He felt her silent screams.

“It is all right. Easy, Morgan, easy. It is only a nightmare. Easy, Love.”

Morgan instinctively stilled at the sound of his soothing voice. In her small and sleep-filled voice, Nic heard her as she drifted back into sleep.

“Father, I’ve missed you.”

Nic found this startling. So, she could speak. More disturbing was her pathetic declaration. It touched him deeply and unexpectedly.

He knew the whole story of the death of her entire family in one fatal blow. He would hold her if it gave her peace, even if it was only in her sleep.

As night was giving way to the rose-colored fingers of first light, Nic eased Morgan out of his arms. She unconsciously protested the loss of his warmth. However, they had overstayed, and this placed them into a vulnerable position. Nic sensed that Morgan waking up in his arms would not be to his best advantage regardless of how good the warmth might feel to him. He had no delusions after last evening of what her feelings were for him, but today was a new day and he was just beginning to make forward progress with her.

He was beginning to have a better understanding of his runaway bride. She was smart.

That much he was beginning to see.

“Wake up, Morgan.” Nic nudged her with the toe of his boot. “It is time to break camp. Hurry, now. We must make good time today if we are to arrive at the King’s Court by nightfall.”

She rolled over, moaning from her aches and pains. Nic was correct. She was sore due to her fall, the cold night, and sleeping on unforgiving ground. Even her old dirty cot in the tower had some cushion against the stone floor.

Not sure if she could get up without help, she tentatively sat up and began to stretch her protesting limbs. Nic noticed her lips were blue from the early morning cold, and she had a very nasty bruise on the left temple. She was lucky the fall had not killed her.

“I won’t say, again, up now, and hurry. I have already eaten breakfast and watered the horses. We are just waiting on you to bundle your belongings and then we can head out. You can eat as we go."

She nodded, getting up quickly.

"Your cloak, Morgan, pack it. It looks too much like a woman's garment.” He really could not afford to have someone recognize her. “Here, take this.” He tossed her an extra woolen shirt from his pack. “Put it on if you need the added warmth." 

He stifled  a laugh when she pulled the shirt on over her head. The sleeves went to her knees and the tail hit her mid thigh. She flopped the arms around several times until her hands finally appeared. She was giggling at how absurd she must look.

"Let me know if you need more layers,” Nic offered as he mounted Trojan.

She nodded thankful for his guidance and his thoughtfulness.

She followed his lead. Obviously knowing where he was heading, Morgan remembered the day before, him saying something about going to the King’s Court. That was excellent news to her, considering the alternative. Feeling her spirits rise, Morgan was certain this would work out after all. 

Putting her trust in Fate and her mother's words, Morgan settled in for whatever the day was to bring.

As they mounted up and headed east, Demon demanded her full and undivided attention. This gave Nic the opportunity to watch her without her being aware of his scrutiny. He was coming to some conclusions.

The first conclusion was he actually liked her. 

Her short hair was almost a riot of curls from the damp and the lack of a brush. Nevertheless, somehow it was not unattractive. She was tall. Not that it mattered. He was a massive man, and his height of six feet, seven inches always left him with women a great deal shorter and sometimes uncomfortably so. However, she was very slender and that was somewhat alarming to him.  Normally, he found his preference to be a woman with the roundness that left him in no doubt he was bedding a woman. Morgan, on the other hand, was passing nicely for a teenage boy. She was over six feet tall, and in his opinion did not have enough weight on her bones to sustain her. He wondered if she might be ill. She seemed healthy. He guessed time would tell on that point, too.

Morgan reminded him of a colt, all legs. At least she was not a mute, but he had no other way to discover if she was of normal intelligence. In time, he supposed.

He needed to have a wife who could stimulate his mind, as well as his body. He knew she could speak, though he was not ready to tip his hand. As a result, the judgement would just have to remain undecided until he could engage her in conversation. He was also looking for a woman who was not a liar. Most women were, in his experience.

Morgan, at this point, was no exception.

She had lied to him and was still lying to him. However, he understood her motivation, even if he did not know the whole story or all the sorted details. He might have done the same if he were a woman and found himself in similar circumstances.

He felt sure there must be a good reason for the Duchess to run and take on a disguise. He would get those details soon because his having those details were paramount in keeping her alive. 

He had no doubt her instincts to survive were strong, and those same instincts obviously served her well to this point. He did not take the lack of trust personally. She was wary of him, and well she should be, he acknowledged inwardly. He was a stranger to her and would not discourage Morgan's behavior until he could prove he was not going to harm her in any way. It would take some time for her to see him in his true light.

He was not perfect, but he was a good man with nothing except honorable designs on her. Never knowingly would he harm her, and she would see that at some point. She was his woman and would eventually be the mother of his children. He would protect her and his future children with his life. No harm would come to her, at lease not from his quarter. Just because he did not want to marry her, did not translate into him taking his frustrations out on her. The king’s displeasure was enough to prevent it, even if his own honor was not adequate. It certainly was where she was concerned.

“Bloody hell,” Morgan mumbled, breaking through his thoughts. She was having a devil of a time in her attempts to keep Demon out of the brambles and her on his back.

Damn, he thought.

He needed to get her another horse before this one stopped allowing her to control him, and that was exactly what was going on between those two. The horse was docile enough to allow her to keep her seat.

Not for the first time, he wondered exactly where she picked up this beast. Had there had been a choice in taking the horse verses another? Nic was beginning to think not. He had also changed his opinion of the horse. At first, he thought the magnificent animal untrained and unruly. Now, he knew Morgan was an inexperienced rider. So much so, it surprised Nic that she even knew which end of the horse she was supposed to face.

He needed to get her a different mount for several reasons.

First, the horse was too much animal for her, especially without a saddle and they could ill afford another tumble.

Second, a horse like this drew way too much attention.

“Come, Morgan. Let’s get off this road.” He grabbed the reins of her horse and led her farther into the woods off the main road.

Nic dismounted and walked up beside her. “Come down off that brute.” He waved her down then held up his hand to help her dismount.

She refused his offer of help sliding off Demon’s wide back and falling flat on her rump on the leaf-covered forest floor. Nic turned away from her before she could see him smile.

Stubborn wench, he thought. But, he admired her spirit of independence. 

“Morgan, now that we are close to Bristol, I need to trade your mount and get one more suitable for you. I need you to stay behind while I do it."

Nic saw her expression. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked at him speculatively.

"It will be less notable if a knight rides in on a horse like yours. And, I think we both can agree that being noticed is something neither one of us wants or needs with the search party still within in the area. You know it is best.”

Morgan still looked suspicious.

Nic sighed heavily. He really did not have time to debate his position on this. “You trusted me last night to guard your very existence. Now, you do not trust me with the exchange of your horse?” he questioned. “Are you afraid I'll take him and not come back?” He thought perhaps that was exactly what she was thinking.

He paused as if he expected her to answer the question. She only stared.

What was she afraid of? His stealing her horse was not it, she decided that rather quickly. If that were his intent there had been plenty of time this morning while she was still asleep to steal her horse. It was something else that nagged her.

“If it makes you feel better and gives you a feeling of security, I'll leave you Trojan. I can assure you his worth far exceeds this animal’s value. He is a trained warhorse, and I do not have to tell you a man in my profession values his horse as much as his own life. Do not think for one moment I would leave him behind. I might leave you behind, but never him,” he teased.

She found no humor in what he said and stayed silent. His leaving her was what she feared. He saw that clearly.

So did she.

He belied her fears. “I’m not abandoning you, Morgan. Stay here out of sight and stay as quite as possible. I will be gone much of the day. I promise I will try to be back by mid-afternoon.”

Morgan did not know what to feel. She would be totally defenseless and alone. He was correct, however, so she would remain behind.

"I'll bring back enough supplies to get us to London.”

Morgan nodded, yet was uncertain.

Nic cupped her shoulder and lightly squeezed reassurance because he sensed her apprehension.

“I will come back, Morgan. You have my word as a King's man. In the mean time, you are not to leave the area. Stay put, you hear me?" He shook his finger for emphasis. "That is an order not a request. And use this if you have to,” he said shoving a mean looking knife into her hands.

He was no longer jesting and his command was serious. Her safety depended on her following his order and staying put. He had to trust her as much as she did him.