The McKinnon (34 page)

Nic was relentless to his men and his new mount, Hermes. It saddened Nic to think of the faithful mount he'd lost in Ireland--another price of war. Nevertheless, losing Trojan was nothing in comparison to his loss of Morgan and his baby. His men did not complain of the pace their leader set for them. They knew better, but more than that, the men knew time was of the essence. They all silently acknowledged the dangers to her and the baby were tremendous. Each day passing was one more day Morgan was in the clutches of a lunatic.

They were gaining ground and knew it because Morgan left signs here and there. On the morning of the fifth day, Nic’s scout came charging back into camp.

“Sir, I think I have found something, but they are not together,” he said breathlessly, still on his horse. “Come quickly.”

The scout had found the remains of the man he thought they were tracking. “The forest animals have gotten to him, but he is somewhat recognizable.”

Nic’s stomach turned. If her captor were dead then what had happened to his wife? Nic did not think he could take the pain and grief if she were dead, too.

As they approached the gruesome sight, Nic recognized the body as that of the messenger from Featherstone.

“Stewart,” Nic hissed the name through his clenched jaw. “This man betrayed us in Ireland. Someone has run him through with his own sword.”

“Fitting, I’d say,” said the scout.

“This is not the work of robbers."  Nic looked more closely at the scene, less emotional now that he knew Morgan was not dead, as well. "If robbers attacked him they would not have left his sword behind.”

“Sir, over here,” the tracker called waving him over. “Look, there. Two sets of tracks: one with a rider, one without. Only one person left this site, Sir. By the pattern of the tracks, it was not a grown male, either. It was a woman or young boy. There is no other blood.” The tracker looked up at Nic and smiled. “Sir, I believe Lady Morgan lives. However, the tracks do not head north. They go east.”

Nic felt it instantly. “She rides to Featherstone! Mount up. Quickly men, we ride,” he commanded, swinging effortlessly into the saddle.

Thundering hooves beat hard earth as the band headed Eastward.

“Just hold on, Love. I’m coming.”

Morgan was exhausted, cold, and sick from the lack of sleep. However, she knew those were the least of her problems. The bleeding had started, and she was afraid she was losing her precious child. She had been lucky to find an abandoned barn to rest through the night. Now Morgan broke camp at first light, loathing to leave what little warmth the old hay provided.

Her back hurt and the baby was protesting violently. She was not pushing herself, but she knew she needed to find decent shelter for the evening or the cold night may be too much for her failing strength.

By the middle of the day, she came across a clear stream that provided the perfect place to water the mounts. While the horses were drinking, she began to feel the ground vibrating from a heavily armed group rapidly gaining ground.

Quickly, Morgan hid in the shadows of the thicker forest until she felt the threat pass her. Peeking out of her hiding place, she caught a glimpse of a striking red-haired woman escorted by a man who looked a lot like Cullen. Could it be him? She mounted Salt and tried to catch them.

“Wait! Please, wait.” She was gaining on the party. She was sure it was Cullen and several of the men from Heather Park. “Please, Cullen, stop!”

Cullen could have sworn he heard his name. Turning in the saddle, he saw Morgan gaining on the party. He wheeled around instantly, breaking the file and doubling back to her. Jumping from his horse, he went to her.

“Oh, God, Morgan, you are safe!” He pulling her off the horse and held her to him. He placed her head to his chest and encircled his arm tightly around her shoulders. At that moment, he did not care who saw. He was beside himself with relief as she sobbed into his chest.

“Thank you, God,” Cullen said. Pulling her away from him, he looked into her drawn features. “Nic and I were sick when we realized you were gone.”

“Nic?” Morgan asked breathlessly. “Nic is here, safe?”

“Yes, Morgan. He is back. He got back the morning that we realized you had been taken.”

“Where is he? I want see him.”

“Reagan brought him back from Ireland, and he has asked me to escort her to safety. He is on his way to Seabridge to rescue you.”

“Reagan? The woman? So, it’s true. He asked you to keep her safe? Nic is safe? Nic is safe.” Morgan’s world turned black.

Cullen caught her before she could hit the ground. Waiting for two others to join him, he reached for her unconscious body after mounting his horse. They were off to Featherstone just a short distance away.

“Open the gate!” The guards shouted to the gatekeeper. Once inside the courtyard, Reagan surveyed her surroundings. It would seem the high-and-mighty Connor treated his tenants well. Everything was in good order and clean. He was a man with means, and he used his wealth to support his people in comfort and health.

He moved up a notch in Reagan’s book.

“Please, take me to Connor,” Cullen said as he walked into the house. Reagan would see to Morgan's comfort.

“Yes, sir.”

The page ushered the party into the Great Room.

Morgan stood empty-eyed, looking at the massive fireplace. The empty chairs sitting in front of it reminded her of the fateful night she had overheard the conversation sending her into the night and her world spiraling out of control.

The great fire blazed, beckoning the cold visitors to draw near. Exhausted and cold to the bone, Morgan sat down in front of the fire and began studying the pretty redhead who had been with Nic in Ireland.

So it was true, she thought. Nic fled Ireland with this woman.

Morgan could see where Nic would find her attractive. She had a presence and a self-confidence that was undeniable. The men understood Morgan’s station and never breached the line. There was no such line for Reagan. Morgan was almost envious of the easy friendships that developed for her with the others. All the men liked her easy way, and Reagan seemed genuine in her concern for those around her.

“Morgan?” Reagan was asking as she came alongside her. “May I sit with you?” 

“Of course.” Morgan was trying not to like the woman Nic was with, but was finding it impossible. There was nothing to dislike. She had asked Nic to move on and brought this on herself. Nic had simply done what she asked him to do. It was not Reagan’s fault. For all she knew, Reagan had no idea Nic even had a wife before he brought her here.

Reagan looked closely at Morgan through a doctor’s eyes. Morgan was not well. “I’m worried about you. We all are. How are you feeling? I know you are exhausted and chilled to the bone, and I have asked Mary to draw you a bath to warm you. Once, we get settled, I would like to examine you if you will allow it. I would like having the assurance you are all right and that Nic’s little one is fine.”

“You know this child is Nic’s?”

Reagan pulled back slightly, surprised. “Of course. There was never any doubt about who fathered this child.”

“Yet, you still want to help me?”

The statement took Reagan aback, and she found the question strange, but Morgan asked another question before she was able to comment.

“You are a healer, aren't you?"

"I am," Reagan responded softly. It was not something she bragged about. It was just who she was.

"You don’t believe in bleeding your victims, do you?”

“Oh, my heavens, no. Bleeding a patient is one of the worst actions in my opinion. Blood is essential to life and health. Loss of it can never be good.”

Morgan told her about Nic throwing out a healer had bled her the night she almost died.

“From what I heard, Nic nearly threw the man out the window.” Morgan laughed softly at the mental image. She almost felt sorry for the physician.

Reagan smiled. “Nic told me. Although, I swear to you, he found nothing funny about that night. He and I have become close, Morgan. He has shared a lot with me. I hope you know that he is a wonderful man with good intentions.”

Before Morgan could comment, Connor emerged from his study and walked straight to where the two women were sitting. Bending over Morgan’s hand, Connor kissed it. Reagan thought she had never seen a more devastatingly handsome man in her life, with his dark brown hair and ice blue eyes. She could not help but admire him. His body was awesome and powerfully built and for the first time in her life, she felt butterflies. Her mouth went dry as he began to speak.

“Morgan, it is wonderful to see you. Cullen tells me Nic is alive and safe for the moment. It must be good news to your ears.” Connor was not going to point out the fact that soon Nic would be facing her uncle's minions.

“Yes, it is,” Morgan said then smiled. “I ache to see him.”

“There is blood on your clothes. Are you all right?” Connor asked concerned.

“Yes, for once it is not mine. It belongs to my uncle.”

Morgan explained how he had taunted her for days. She had enough of his taunting and threats to kill her. However, it was his confession of killing her family that drove her over the edge. She saw an opportunity to run him through and took it.

“I'll deal with the sin at a later date. It’s funny, though, I do not even remember grabbing the sword,” Morgan confessed, looking down and away.

“Oh, Lady Morgan, I’m sorry you had to resort to such an action. It is never easy to deal with death by your own hands.” Reagan felt deep compassion for her.

“So, if Brentwood is dead why are you afraid for Nic?” Connor asked confused.

“It was not Lester who kidnapped me, Connor. The man who has worked for Brentwood all these years was my father’s blood brother. Stewart was the bastard son who my grandfather never saw fit to acknowledge.” Morgan was visibly shaking. Cullen and Reagan stood close by to give her comfort.

Morgan's state completely escaped Connor. 

“You must tell me all you know about the stronghold, and how we can break the stranglehold Brentwood has on it. I need to have every detail of the fortifications he has and how many men he keeps. Tell me, Morgan as quickly as possible.” Connor had gone into military mode.

“No.” Reagan was quick to counter Connor’s demand for answers. “Morgan needs to rest. Now is not the time for this.”

“There is no better time,” Connor countered.

“You’re upsetting her. Back off.” Reagan was becoming angry at the questioning and all her butterflies were gone. The man was an idiot if he could not see Morgan was in no shape to deal with his rapid-fire questions and demands for answers. Reagan had never had any use for idiots or men who had no care for others.

It was only then Connor gave Reagan his full attention. For her it was not a comfortable experience. The eyes turned on her were cold and piercing.

“And who are you, woman, to say this is not the time? The longer we wait the less likely we will arrive in time to help him. You want to see him dead?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course, I don’t want to see Nic harmed. Will you open your eyes and look at her?” Reagan was standing toe-to-toe with Connor, pointing at Morgan. “She cannot take much more.”

Connor looked at the woman who was addressing him with anything but respect.

“Besides, Nic wanted us to go directly to the King. He has his men with him and he knows what he is doing.” She quickly explained how Brentwood committed murder and high treason, and she needed to get the information she possessed on the matter to the King. “Leave Morgan out of this, at least for tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

Cullen concurred, lending support to her argument. “She is right, Connor. Nic was very specific in his instructions. However, we do need to get word to him the ladies are safe and in your care.”

“I agree,” Reagan said, nodding.

Connor looked at this forward Irishwoman and wondered what she was doing here and knew he would find out soon.

Reagan felt his eyes drill through her searching her soul. It was an uncomfortable feeling as if she were the enemy.

Connor nodded his head once. “Consider it done. I will send a messenger immediately. It will allow Nic to forestall going after Brentwood with knowledge that Morgan and the baby are not within the walls of Seabridge.”

“Connor, may I speak with you privately?” Cullen asked.

Connor nodded. “But first I will have a word with you,” he said to Reagan.

Connor took Reagan’s arm, dragging her to the side. What he had to say was for her ears only. It was obvious the woman had already bewitched Cullen and the others. She was not sucking him in so easily.

Reagan could feel his iron grip through the fabric of her sleeve. Pulling her none to gently over to the side of the great hall, Connor looked down into the face of his guest. Intelligent cinnamon eyes faced him down. Connor’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, invading his space. He recognized what she was doing, and it was a brilliant tactical move on her part. He knew most men would back up a step in silent retreat giving her the psychological advantage. Her mistake was thinking he was most men.

He did not budge.

He could feel her warmth contrasting the cooler air surrounding them, a hint of jasmine coming with it. Her warmth was more unsettling than her physical invasion of his space.

Lowering his voice, he narrowed his eyes knowing his effect on his opponents. He would win by sheer size and intimidation, he always did.

“I do not know who you are, woman, or what you are about, but I will not stand for you to parade around my home as if you are the lady of the manor. Nor will I tolerate you sniffing around Nic like a bitch in heat. I have a good notion what motivated you into helping him escape. He is a titled landowner and favored by the King and a prize for a woman like you.”

“
A woman like me?
” She cocked her eyebrow at him. "And exactly what kind of woman am I?" Not that he would ever guess, she thought. No one would. Sometimes even she had trouble believing what she was capable of doing.