The McKinnon (27 page)

Morgan would have gladly given him the opportunity to patch things up between them. She was in love with him. There could be no other for her. If he indeed chose to cast her aside then she understood, and she must live with that decision.

“At least I have our.…” Morgan stopped just short of confessing to the child she was carrying. Cullen would never allow her to go to Ireland if he knew, and it was more important then ever she help find Nic.

“You have your what, Morgan?” Cullen was looking suspiciously at her.

“Memories, Cullen. I have my memories.”

“Well, let’s not ask for trouble. We'll leave tomorrow and hope we find the answers we both are looking for soon. However, for now you need to try to get some sleep. Can you at least try?” He lifted her chin with his index finger. God help him, he thought. He was so deeply in love with this woman that he would have to die before his heart would find its way clear of her goodness.

“Yes, I will try.” Morgan stepped closer to her friend and brother-in-law, throwing her arms around his neck. She kissed him on the cheek. “Cullen, you have been the best friend I have ever had.”

Cullen closed his eyes and felt his heart breaking. She backed away from him and looked at his young, handsome face. “You will make a wonderful husband and loving father for a very lucky lady. Please, for her sake and yours, do not let things get as messed up with her as they have for Nic and me. Promise me that, please. Life is too short and love to precious.”

“Well, my heart is not on the market. So, I guess that won't be an issue,” Cullen answered her honestly. If he lived to be a hundred, his heart would never be free of this woman.

Morgan gently cupped his face seeing sadness there. “No, Cullen, please don't say such a thing. You will find her," she said with conviction. "Your true mate is out there, and no amount of time nor space will keep you apart. Do not pass it by because you have hardened your heart to love.”

Cullen just looked into the face of the one woman who he knew he would love forever.

Cullen stepped away feeling his resolve slipping. “If you will be all right, Morgan, I will take my leave.”

“I’ll be fine, Cullen. Go to bed. There is no need for both of us to lose sleep.”

“Good night, Morgan and take heart, things will look better in the light of day for both of us,” he said kissing her hand.

“Good night, my friend.” They broke apart and she closed the door.

Cullen was heartbroken. She would never love him as anything other than a friend, and that tender love would never be enough for him.

He had to find Nic for her sake. He had to find Nic for his own sake, too. If Nic was dead, he knew he could still never have her. She would forever be in love with a dead man. Nic had to be alive. He wished it for himself since Nic was his brother, but he wished it more for Morgan because Cullen loved her just that much.

Filthy, beaten up, but never beaten down, Nic was sick at heart. Their betrayal had come from within. His men had success after success when the tide suddenly turned against them.

Someone set them up, ambushing them, and slaughtering all excluding three of his men. The rest were dead or dying, and rotting on foreign soil. Nic was not sure how it happened, but his instincts were telling him the one who betrayed them was a messenger named Stewart. The man joined them at Featherstone.

That messenger was not present on the day of the slaughter. Nic found that to be convenient and had not seen the man since. However, Nic and another of his men was sure they recognized a voice talking to his captors as belonging to Stewart.

Early in their captivity, Nic attempted to negotiate with Arlen O'Brian who was the leader of this rebel band requesting to send word to Henry.  To ransom the three men was customary. Not once did Nic ask for mercy for himself.  O’Brian continued to deny him, quickly learning Nic’s men were the quickest way to keeping him compliant. Their capture nearly four months ago could not have gone unnoticed. The issue was no one knew where to look for them. All Nic could do was wait in this dark, rat-infested hell hole. Had Morgan felt this fear? Had she felt as betrayed and dehumanized as he did?

Nic looked at his surroundings. The tiny, cramped cell forced him to stoop. He could not remember the last time he was able to stand up straight. The hay covering the floor was rotten and reeked of decaying food, urine, feces, and mildew from the constant leaks in the walls. There was no light in the cell except the one small corridor torch. He was one of the lucky ones. The torch was not far from his cell door, and unfortunately he had light to see the filth and rats who visited each day.

All that kept him going was thoughts of Morgan and home. He spent his hours dreaming of the days they would spend together, the children they would have, and the family they would raise as husband and wife.

He concentrated on the times they had made love. Her scent, the way she felt to his touch was what he focused on when things were at their worst. Nic remembered how her body called to him and how loving she was in spite of all that had befallen her. Constantly wishing he could hold her and tell her how repentant he was for the hurt his actions caused her, he dreamed of having her soft and willing in his arms. 

Even though she had asked him to move on with his life, he vowed that would never happen. He would fight for her and never leave her if he ever got the chance to make things right between them. He prayed Morgan was not taking his silence as a sign he was moving on, or his desire for a life and family were not with her. He prayed she had not found another. His best hope was Cullen would plead his case until he could return to do it for himself.

He came crashing back to reality as the lash came down, again, and again. He refused to cry out as healing wounds ripped open. Nerves severed and he fell into the abyss that was beyond pain.

“You had enough?"

"Screw you," Nic said, refusing to give into the pain.

"No? You are a stubborn one. Just give me what I want.”

What he wanted was Nic to beg for mercy, but Nic would die before giving the man that satisfaction.

Nic raised his head to face his tormentor. His answer was to spit into his face. Nic’s reward was a blow to his head that gratefully sent him back into unconscious oblivion.

“My, my, my. How the mighty have fallen. Take the cross, Stewart. I have plans for it.” Lord Brentwood smiled as he looked at Morgan's husband chained and slumped over in unconsciousness. He had plans all right. He had plans on making his niece a widow.

Unfortunately, once she married and reached her majority, all hopes of his control were gone. Even as a widow, she had control of her properties. He just had to go at it from a different angle.

Brentwood was undecided. Did he kill Nic or just leave him to rot in this Irish prison? Henry was probably going to see to it the petition to have her marriage dissolved was tossed out, and she would have her property regardless of the outcome. The only way he was going to get the property under these circumstances was to kill them both. Not that he was hesitant to do it, he just had to do it in the correct sequence. Lester had word from a reliable source that Cullen was Nic’s heir followed by Connor Holden. He would kill them all, and none would be the wiser. He had covered his tracks before with multiple murders. Once the deed was done it would leave him as the only living relative, and Seabridge would be his by default.

“What do we do with him?” Stewart broke into Brentwood’s thoughts.

Impulsively Brentwood answered. “We'll take him back to Seabridge. I have a tower with his name on the door. No one would think to look for him there because everyone will think him dead on Irish soil. We'll see to that piece of misinformation.”

Stewart did not like the plan but kept his counsel. The McKinnon needed to have his throat slit and dumped in the Irish sea, not taken back to England where he had reinforcements.

“We need Morgan and she is with The McKinnon’s brother and also, under constant guard."

The attempts to reach her up to this point had proven disastrous. Stewart was having his doubts about the successful execution of this plan, too. "How do you propose we get the girl back? They know we are coming at her and have doubled the watch as a consequence.”

“That is your job, Stewart. They cannot watch her every waking moment. Once you bring her to me, I will see to The McKinnon’s transport.”

“I'll have her there before the end of the month. I think you're making a mistake by not killing him before we return to England.”

“All things in time, Stewart. I have no intention of allowing either to live long. You take care of your end and I will take care of mine. Now go. You have my niece to acquire. Take the cross and present it. It will be the only way to lure her to me. Make sure she comes without McKinnon’s younger brother or his friend Connor Holden.”

“Would it not be best to have both McKinnons dead to better ensure you Seabridge?”

“One at a time, Stewart, one at a time. My guess is Cullen will follow Morgan to Seabridge, and then we shall have them all there. Holden will be a bit more difficult, but I have an assassin on him now. We must see to his death first so none of the property passes to him. I also have it on good authority Nic McKinnon is Holden’s heir. If Holden goes first then Nic will inherit all Holden's properties. Once that happens then we kill the brother. That will leave only Morgan and McKinnon. She must inherit it all. I will get it all from her. It is brilliant! I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams.” Brentwood left Stewart without a backward glance never hearing Stewart’s reply.

Brentwood went to the rebel leader. O’Brian was on his way out as Brentwood entered his shabby quarters.

“O’Brian, I am taking McKinnon off your hands.”

“No, he is my leverage.” Arlen wanted to kill this English dandy, but he knew he couldn't. Brentwood was a huge supporter and a supplier of hard to acquire items. It would not be good to kill the goose that was forking over the golden eggs.

Brentwood reassured the Irishman that his support was still forthcoming.

“Don’t worry. The weapons and food promised to your men are on the way.”

“Fine, then take him. One less mouth to feed.”

“In return, Arlen, I want you to continue to wreak havoc around the lands I want to take over. It will make the offer of my protection more inviting to the tenants if the owners cannot provide security.”

“Easy enough,” O’Brian said just before turning his head to spit on the ground.

“I will expect my name to stay out of all this. Do you understand the possibilities for you are significant if you play your cards right?” Brentwood understood men like Arlen. He was shrewd, but driven by the wrong things.

“Yes, I understand my role in your plans. However, be warned. If you try to double cross me, your life won't mean shit.”

Brentwood took O’Brian’s warning to heart knowing Arlen was a desperate man with nothing to lose.

Nic had always been a patient man, and his incarceration had finely honed his natural ability of listening and waiting. He was ever aware of his surroundings and always looking for the opportunity to escape. The opportunity for all his men to escape never came. Alone, he could have gotten away several times, but he did not want to leave without his men. He felt the chains slack and knew something was up because O’Brian was speaking to him, which was a rare occurrence.

“Well, English Dog, seems this is your lucky day. It is time for you to leave our fine, gilded establishment. You're going home to your Bloody England.” O'Brian spit on the ground.

Nic instinctively readied himself for a fight.

“Don’t even think about it, McKinnon. You make one small move out of line, and I will kill your men. Be a good boy and your men may live to see you someday. Give us trouble, they will die, and I'll hang their bloody corpses on the rock wall outside our gates.”

Nic tried to move closer. The chains kept him back. “I'll be back one day for you, and when I do, you'll wish you had never come out of the womb,” Nic vowed before the blow sent him back into unconsciousness.

“Get him out of my sight before I change my mind.” Arlen spat again. “And make sure he is never without those bindings until he boards a ship east to England. Do not release him. Not even for a moment,” O’Brian hissed the words, giving Nic another blow just for good measure before turning to leave the filthy cell.

“And if he gives us trouble before we get him to Brentwood?” the jailer asked as Arlen was leaving the cell.

“Kill him,” Arlen said never turning back.

Nic woke to the rocking motion. His back was on fire as the cart made its way south. To stay sane, he focused on going home. Had Cullen somehow discovered where he was and ransomed him? It was unlikely ransom was the reason. O’Brian had seemed uninterested in ransoming him or his men in the past. It had to be some other reason. He was certain he would get his answers soon.

Nic tried the restraints securing his wrists. They held him securely to the side of the cart. He guessed they were not taking any chances as long as he was on Irish soil. In reality, even if he did manage to get free, he was in no shape to be much of a threat. The jailer saw to that with the last whipping he received before O'Brian released him. 

Give me just a little time, he vowed.

Nic hated leaving his men behind. Nevertheless, there was nothing he could do to help them given his current condition. Therefore, he had to live to fight another day.

After several hours of unrelenting movement the cart stopped. Pulling Nic out of the back, his captors ushered him inside a small inn where they dragged him up the back way to a private apartment above the common room. It was dark, and he doubted anyone even saw them, yet he was curious why they were keeping his presence a secret. They forcefully shoved him down onto a clean cot and ushered in a serving wench to strip and bath him. Strangely enough, they left him alone with her, while they went downstairs for a drink.