The McKinnon (28 page)

The woman unflinchingly approached. “And just exactly where have you been? From the looks of it, hold up in some dungeon.” The pretty Irish woman spoke. Her soft brogue was thick and flowing.

Nic grunted in response. He was in too much pain to do much of anything else.

“They say you have been a very naughty boy and you must have been to be in this bad of shape."

"Define naughty," Nic asked.

Reagan chose to ignore that question. "O’Brian, as a rule, does not treat his captives this badly. He and his bunch usually ransom them quickly and return them no worse for the wear.”

Reagan knew O’Brian was more interested in the gold than having to feed a prisoner. This man's condition looked personal.

Nic finally answered. “Well, obviously, he did not ransom me. So, I’m not sure what to say,” he commented, wishing she would not talk so loudly. His head was splitting.

“Mercy, you’re ripe," she said then put a mask over her nose and mouth. "Just lie still. I’m here to clean you up and tend your wounds," she explained. Her words were muffled through the cloth. "My ol’ Gamma has a salve that will singe the hair right off you, but it works wonders. The scars will remain, I’m afraid," she said continuing to examine him. "And it seems a shame. I think I see a decent looking man under the grime.”

After some time Nic ventured a question. “Where am I?”

He was hoping they might become allies. She seemed genuine enough. Her tender care of his wounds did not speak of a woman who was cold or indifferent.

“Well, you are in Ireland and from the sound of your accent you are far from home.” She had picked up large knife. Nic flinched.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I am not going to hurt you." She laid a tender hand on his bare shoulder to reassure him. "Seems a shame to cut all this hair, but I'm afraid it may be beyond redemption. Shall I cut it or try to save it?”

Nic sighed with relief. She was not planning to slit his throat after all. “I have wanted it gone for many months.”

“Gone it is then. I answered a question for you. Now, you answer one for me. How did you come to be in Ireland and find yourself in turn Arlen's hands?” she asked then began to cut his hair.

Nic did not see any harm in answering. “King’s command. I am the King’s man, so I go where he says to go. He said go to Ireland, so I came, no mystery there. What I am not able to answer is how and why I am here with you. You know O’Brien well?”

“As well as I care to. He treats me civilly when he comes around. However, I usually prefer to give him a wide berth. His kind is popping up everywhere. The country is eating itself up from the inside and your King is trying to crush us from the outside. I see no good coming from either. Nor do I care much about the politics. Most men don’t have time to care when they’re just trying to feed families.”

“I guess I can respect that.” Nic was able to see her point. That was often the way of things. The hierarchy was the ones jockeying for position. The common folk usually found themselves caught in the middle, not caring who won the fight as long as they had food to eat.

“Speaking of feeding, I'll go down now that you’re in better shape and get you something to eat. Let me get you dressed first. Although, I think, you are a safer flight risk in your current state,” she said good-naturedly as she finished cleaning the surface grime from him.

She never batted an eye at his nakedness. Nic could tell beneath all her lighthearted banter there was a woman comfortable seeing a man undressed. At first, Nic thought perhaps she was a whore enlisted to help. It was a reasonable guess given the initial facts. They were in a tavern. However, Nic altered his opinion quickly. She was a healer and without a doubt, she would see both men and women wounded and naked.

“Let’s get your pants on. They should be dry by now. Your shirt will have to wait,” she said then helped Nic into his trousers.

“I'll be back shortly with some food,” she said as she covered him with a clean, soft blanket from his waist down. "Pull this bell right here if you need help. I'll come right back up."

“Thank you for the bath. I almost feel human again.” Nic was genuinely grateful.

She paused at the door and smiled back at him. “You're welcome, Sir Knight.”

Nic saw her leave and heard the click of the latch. For the first time in months, he felt no real fear. Had Morgan lived this life all those years? No wonder she trusted so few and so little. Nic was beginning to see how precious the gift of her trust had been.

“God in heaven, please give me the chance to see her.” He closed his eyes to see her face. He needed to see her as he had in the bed where he last touched her. “Please, give me the chance to hold her again. That is all I ask.”

He drifted in and out of a light sleep until the woman returned and place a tray beside the bed.

“Can you sit up on your own or do you need help?” Reagan offered.

“I think I can manage on my own.” Nic was not sure, but he knew he needed to try just the same."

“This doesn’t do much for the taste buds, but at least it is hot,” she said, referring to the food brought up to the tiny room just above the common area.

“Well, compared with what I have had lately, I’m sure this will more than meet with my approval. By the way, I am Nic McKinnon. What is your name, if you care to give it to me? I would like to know who I need to send my thanks to later for giving me such good care.”

She looked at Nic speculatively not trusting his words as she began to try to feed him. Nic could tell she did not trust his motives.

“I'm sincere and thankful for your efforts. You have done so out of kindness not for the coin. It tells me a lot about your true nature. I can see why O’Brian would find you attractive. You are everything he is not,” Nic said as she offered the first bite of hot food he had had in months.

“I’m Reagan, Reagan Addison O’Riley. You may call me Reagan or Rea which ever you want. And just for the record, I am not involved with O’Brian. He brings his men here to drink and seek medical attention, but mainly to drink. O’Brian is an evil man, Nic, and I choose to not deal with him if possible.”

Nic liked her, and somehow it pleased him to hear this information. However, he was not naïve, understanding if she had been involved, it could be strictly out of fear or the need to survive. Nic had seen camp followers who were from good families and were good girls themselves, but circumstances had directed their lives down a path other than one would have hoped. Nonetheless, it relieved Nic to find she was not in bed with O’Brian in a literal sense.

“Thank you, Rea. Your kindness will not go unrewarded,” Nic promised and made a mental note to send her some reward once he returned to England.

“Well, hold onto your thanks until after you see how bad Gamma’s salve hurts. You may be singing a different tune. Let’s finish this broth and then roll over and let me see your back again.” She needed to get serious about stitching him up.

Nic finished off his second bowl of soup and rolled over as she asked him to do.

She continued to softly talk as she started looking at his back in earnest. “You would think that after a while they would figure out this is just not the thing to do to another human being. Now, hold still. This is going to hurt like a branding iron, but I promise it will be much better once the burning has stopped. Then I can start to stitch the more serious wounds.” She took a deep breath then asked softly, “Do you trust me in this?”

“Do what you need to do.”

“Here goes…”

“Oh, Sweet Jesus….” Nic hissed through clinched teeth, but never moved.

Nic lay still for several minutes. The ointment must have contained some numbing agent. He could no longer feel his back. That alone was worth suffering through the initial burning.

“It will pass soon and won't be long. Continue to breathe steady through the pain,” Reagan said as she began to wipe the excess salve off.

It soften up much of the old scabbing, giving her a better look at the extent of his wounds. O’Brian or one of his hoods had beaten him unmercifully. Whoever wielded that whip had enjoyed his job at Nic’s expense.

“How long will I be here? Do you know?” Nic asked breathing through the renewed pain of her gentle administrations. The dead flesh and festered scabs she removed were stacking up in the pan on the floor.

“No, sorry cannot answer that one,” Reagan said as she quickly stitched the newest and more gaping lacerations.

“Can’t or won’t” He tried to rise up to look at her, but she just pushed him back down.

“I really don't know, Nic,” she answered him honestly.

She really did not know. There was an Englishman who showed up a couple of days back. His orders were to keep Nic until he could come to get him. He said to clean the prisoner up and get him ready for travel. She felt it strange that he asked specifically for her to do the honors.

“I didn’t recall ever having met him personally, but I have seen him around,” Reagan said, shrugging her shoulders then she continued to clean up the room, removing the dirty clothes. “How’s the burning now, tolerable?”

“Yes, and I’m not complaining.”

For the first time in months, Nic was clean and free of most of his pain. The soft bed was inviting. He began to float and his body fully relaxed as the drugs pulled him under.

“Rea, what did you put in the broth?”

She had drugged him.

“You need sleep. It will do you good. Do not fight it, Nic. I will be here to watch over you. I will take good care of you. It is the only way I know.”

Nic let go and sank into the abyss.

Nic ran through a dark tunnel, and Morgan was ahead of him. He could sense her, but not see her, and that only served to heighten his anxiety. Behind him was a dragon gaining on them. Morgan screamed, piercing the darkness. He had to reach and save her--she needed him.

“Morgan!” Nic cried out for her as his heart hammered in his chest.

He woke. Sweat covered his upper body. No candles burned and the room was black as pitch. He heard Reagan beside the bed, and instinctively grabbed her wrist as she leaned in to comfort him.

“Nic, it is all right. It is just me, Reagan. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

“Light a candle, please,” Nic asked, letting his breathing return to normal. “It is a dream I have had before. My wife is in danger. I can feel it.”

Nic let go of Reagan. He heard the strike of flint as she quickly lit the candle by the bed.

Realizing his hands were no longer tied, he ran his fingers through his clean short hair. Thank God he did not smell like death and rat piss.

“Thank you for untying me. I’ll not run while in your care and have you punished on my account. Although, I am still angry with you about giving me the drugs.”

Reagan was not afraid of him. At an elemental level, she knew he was a good man.

“The drug was a 
medical necessity
. You needed the sleep. Admit it, soldier, you feel better. Not that you would be truthful at the moment,” Reagan said, lightly laughing. “That would be more shocking than a man stopping to ask for directions when he clearly knows he is lost.”

Nic snickered, too. She had his number, all right.

Changing the subject seemed the safest thing to do. She instinctively knew he would not hold a grudge. “Tell me about Morgan. I would like to hear about the woman who is lucky enough to have you.”

Nic snorted, thinking Reagan could not be farther from the truth.

“You mean the wife who has asked me to let her go and to live free of me? Are we are talking of the same lady who I was foolish enough to make a promise as she lay dying to give her freedom should she live?”

“We have all made rash decisions in the heat of the moment, Nic. I’m sure she understands that.”

Nic shrugged. Perhaps she did, but then, how could he be sure. “I never dreamed, Reagan, she would hold me to it. Yet, hold me to it she is and all because I was arrogant and short-sighted enough to break her trust in me.”

Reagan knitted her copper brows. "Have you tried to tell her how you feel? It is obvious to me that you care for her.” She did not add that affection in a man for his woman was a rare thing in this present time frame of history. Marriage out of affection was not expected nor even encouraged. “Surely, it is all just a misunderstanding."

Reagan would never understand why people did not talk about things straight out. However, she also understood how she had different experiences from most of the people she knew. There were times she certainly did feel like she belonged to another time and place. More and more that feeling of no longer belonging to the present was growing stronger.

“Care for her? Oh, if you only knew what she has come to mean to me. She is my life’s blood, Rea. She has been the reason I have lived these last months. The thought of her, and sharing a life and family with her has kept me going and kept my sanity intact.”

“Tell me about her. Is she tiny and golden like the sun?”

Nic laughed softly, shaking his head .“No. She is very tall and has hair black as midnight, but soft as the strands of fine silky thread. Her eyes are large with wonder and are as green as emeralds reflecting the sunlight. However, as beautiful as she is on the outside, she is more beautiful inside her heart. She is kind and strong and has courage to stand up to her fears. Hell, she even had courage to go toe-to-toe with me when I was angry.” He smiled at the memory.

“She sounds like the exact kind of woman you need. Doesn’t take your crap, does she?” That drew a small laugh from Nic.

Nic nodded, agreeing. “She is perfect for me. She is bright, thoughtful, and proud. I can still see her the last time we talked. I had hurt her deeply. Yet, she stood there, regal as the Duchess she is, and promptly tossed me out, but not before throwing my wedding gift back at me.” Nic’s hand shot to his chest. The cross was gone.

“Reagan, was I wearing a cross when I was brought in?”

“Not that I saw, no. Why?” Reagan shook her head. He did not sound like he was accusing her of anything.

“I swore I would keep it close to my heart. You are sure?” Nic asked again. It could be anywhere by now.