The McKinnon (13 page)

However Nic knew it really was not her choice. He had forced her to the fire just as he had tried to force her to the inside wall.

“Well, fine. You win,” he said as he padded over to her, knelt down, and gathered her as if she were a sleeping child. Gently, Nic laid her on the bed. She never stirred as he pulled her to him.

She was a heavy sleeper and that was just as well, he thought. The last thing he wanted in the wee hours before dawn was another fight with her.

“Stubborn, wench. Little do you realize that you do belong to me,” he whispered into the night then pulled her closer into his warmth.

“My lord, your mounts are ready to ride.” The young boy whispered to Nic as he stood in the darkened hallway.

Outside it was still dark, yet it was time to leave. Nic had gone to ready the horses for travel leaving Morgan sleeping in the narrow bed upstairs. They had to keep moving. To delay was inconceivable with the search party probably just hours behind them.

The young man true to his word had the mounts ready to go before first light. Nic went back into the inn to retrieve his bride. In the room, he took his chance to not wake her and lifted her into his arms carefully. Morgan barely stirred.

“Go back to sleep, Morgan,” he said gently, pushing her head into the curve of his shoulder.

Making his way through the common room with her in his arms, he edged past sleeping travelers never noticing the man in the shadows.

"Ah, yes," Stewart said under his breath.

The McKinnon was carrying the girl, who was wrapped in his cloak. Yet he could see her face because her head rested on his shoulder. Stewart was positive he had found his prey. She was with the knight the drunken thief told him about while complaining about his loses in the Bristol pub.

Stewart slipped unnoticed out the side door.

Morgan woke slowly to a gentle rocking movement. The faint light told her it was early dawn. Safe and warm, she did not want to come out of her sleep-filled paradise. There she was loved, cherished, and protected. She inhaled deeply then let out the air in her lungs slowly as she breathed a sigh relief. She knew where she was. She was on a horse and in Nic’s arms. To her surprise, it felt safe regardless of the misunderstanding they had the night before. She felt something she had not felt in years; protected and totally secure.

He knew the minute Morgan woke. Her body went from soft and malleable to alert. He felt her stiffen shortly after leaving the inn. Nic braced himself for the fight he felt sure was coming. Then to his surprise, she relaxed against him again, never expecting her to go back to sleep.

He enjoyed holding her. It made him feel good to know he could give her a few moments of peace and security. She had finally given him her trust in that respect, maybe not in him as a man, but she did have faith in him to protect her, and he would defend her to his death. Honor had nothing to do with it, he realized. She was worth dying for.

She was stirring, coming alive again. Looking into her face in the early gray light of dawn, her gaze was unfocused and looked as if she were far away, in a  distant place.

“You smell the way my father smelled, like rich earth, hot flames, and crashing seas. I miss him," she said, catching him off guard.

“Morgan,” he breathed her name and leaned in to kiss her. Abruptly stopping, he realized what he was doing.

Changing like quicksilver, she straightened, stiffening in his arms as she gained control.

“Nic, I really do understood the need to have me play the role of your inept squire while we were at the inn. However, I’m sure our little farce is no longer necessary. You can put me down now. I can ride on my own.”

Would he ever figure this woman out? Shaking his head, he stopped Trojan and allowed her to slide down his leg to the ground, all the while holding her arms to prevent her from tumbling. Walking back to her mount, Nic watched as her hips gently swayed in the boy’s pants that she had donned sometime in the night.

He made a mental note to find her some looser clothing. That sweet little bottom and long legs were proving to be a distraction he did not need and certainly did not want.

She eased along side him. Trojan danced sideways. “Set whatever pace you feel necessary to get us to London. I promise not be an encumbrance for you.”

She put spurs to Salt. He had to do the same to catch her.

Nic set a moderately brisk pace, though not as grueling as the previous day. And in the clear light of the day Morgan decided she was an idiot for being jealous. She clearly had no reason. Nor did she have a right. He was not 
her knight
. He was, however, her employer in a manner of speaking, and she owed him that respect.

For years after her parent's death, she had prayed for a knight to rescue her. Seemingly and on the surface, Fate answered her prayer. However, no way could she let her girlhood fantasies get in the way. She was a grown woman and understood how the culmination of fantasy and reality were seldom congruent and knew that better than most.

She was no longer a child and had to look at the bigger picture. And that bigger picture was getting to London and talking to the King. When they arrived in London, Morgan was not beyond using Nic's connections to get through the outer gates of the palace. Then at first opportunity, she would free herself from him. She would not need him once she spoke to the King and made her identity known. At least, Morgan hoped, she would not need him. Still she contemplated that she would not burn that bridge until she was fully certain. He was a man she did not mind having in her corner.

Besides, it was obvious his affections lay elsewhere. His body the night before in the bath was evidence of that fact. His very open and honest confession only confirmed it. And she was not totally ignorant of how sex worked. He'd been aroused. So was she and that was a place she did not need to go. 

Images of him kissing the blonde, faceless woman came uninvited into her mind. She imagined Nic with those large and beautifully tanned hands framing the face of his woman. She could see Nic slowly lower his mouth to his lover’s lips, his hair cascading to cloak both his and his lover’s faces. She shook herself out of the vision, feeling the jealousy arise anew, and much more fierce than before.

What is wrong with me, she wondered? This is not acceptable! She hardened her heart.

Once they arrived in London, she would come clean as to her true identity. He would be bound by rules of court to escort her to the King. Simply put, she outranked him.

Morgan felt she must get free of Nic as soon as he had helped her secure that introduction. He was as dangerous to her person as Uncle Lester ever thought to be, even at his worst, she thought. It was a different kind of danger, but danger, nonetheless. He was a danger to her heart.

Why couldn't Nic be toothless and old?  At least then she could feel more detached.

Lost in his own thoughts, Nic hardly noticed the landscape changing as they made their way eastward on a well-traversed road. His thoughts were just as dark as Morgan’s. Lord Brentwood must be to blame for her apprehensive behavior; there could be no other explanation for her leaving Seabridge in the first place and her fear of going back.

Nic also recognized that she didn't fear him any longer. It was more that she distrusted of him. Morgan obviously led him away from Seabrook because she had sufficient reason to run. Not striking him as a woman to run simply as a way to gain attention, he was sure Morgan made her escape for a very good reason. Her behavior only sealed his conclusions.

However after the last night’s events, how was he going to persuade her to confide in him? He knew he had severely damaged his chances with her. It was obvious the lady did not trust easily, and he needed her to trust him. He needed to be able to size up his enemy and the only way to do that was to get the information from her.

He slowed the pace. Leaning over, he grabbed Salt’s bridle, stopping them on the road.

“Forgive me for last night. I was wrong.” He offered up the olive branch. “I overreacted just as I overreacted in the woods. I can be a grouch when sleep deprived and I never claimed sainthood.”

He saw the look she gave him. She was wary and rightfully so after his behavior the night before.

He does not want me to run, Morgan thought as she looked down at his hands holding the reins.

Turning to face him, she could see the set of his jaw as he looked a spot between Trojan’s ears. He was collecting his thoughts. She could almost hear the wheels turning.

He faced her squarely. “Morgan, again, I’m am sorry about last night and would ask your forgiveness for my behavior. It was uncalled for. I know that you do not trust easily and I have my suspicions as to why. So, I know that what I am about to ask is not going to be easy for you."

"What is it you want, Nic?"

"I ask you to take a leap of faith and place that trust in me even if I have not earned it yet.”

Nic waited. She said nothing, committed to nothing.

He had more to say. “You must tell me why you are so afraid of Lord Brentwood, and why are you running from Seabridge? If you want me to protect you then I have to know what I’m up against.”

He had been wise in grabbing the reins of her horse. Nic saw the sudden emotions flash across her face. What he saw was not necessarily fear, but it certainly was suspicion. As transparent as she was to him, he knew her first reaction was to run. He knew it right away.

“No, Morgan trying to run again, is too dangerous. I'm not your enemy and what’s more, when you search your heart, you know I'm not.”

He waited for her acknowledgement coming in the form of the simple nod of her head. “You are under my protection and you can trust me. You’re as safe with me as if in your father’s arms. Even if I do not own you, as you have so eloquently reminded me last night, I have sworn to protect you, something I will do to my death if need be.”

“Where is this going?” Morgan asked.

“I must know who and what I face or I will face that enemy blind.”

Morgan studied her companion’s face. All she saw when she looked into his eyes was the truth. Should she tell him? She wanted to.

How had they gone from strangers to her wanting to confide in him in so short a time? She still knew nothing about him. Yet she really did know all she needed to know. He was decent and honorable. She wanted to share her concerns with Nic, but the minute she did she would lose. She would no longer be able to masquerade as a squire and even if he might not know she was the Duchess, he would sure as hell know she was not a boy. It would be a game changer.

On the other hand, if she withheld the information, then he would be walking into a confrontation with her uncle blind.

Nic saw the inner struggle. He knew what she felt was her dilemma. If she told him, her cover was blown. He did not dare tip his hand and let her know he already knew she was a woman. He did not want the confrontation arising from her realizing he had known. She would think that he had played her for a fool which was far from the truth.

He was learning not to corner her, but pressure her he would.

“You must tell me, Morgan. If I am to protect you, I must have the truth from you.”

Morgan was not ready to give in so she looked away.

It was just as he thought.

Morgan told him nothing and everything with her look, but it was not enough. He needed to know and he would have the truth before it was all done and over with.

Fate stepped back in.

“Bloody hell!” Morgan saw Nic tense and in a flash, he put his spurs to Trojan. “Hang on!”

Like she really had any other choice.

Still gripping Morgan's horse's reins, Nic pulled her along leaving her to hold on for dear life. Then she figured out why he was in such a hurry just as an arrow whizzed passed her head. The second one passed through flesh with the searing pain that followed.

"Ahh!" she screamed.

Nic, unaware one of the arrows had connected with tender flesh, was making a line for the woods to find what cover he could.

Nic pulled her unceremoniously from Salt's back. “Quickly! Hide in that underbrush. Do not, and I repeat, do not come out no matter what you think you see or hear. Stay hidden and if they capture you fight with everything you've got! Do not go quietly! Now, go!”

Dumbfounded, Morgan found herself pushed under the brush as Nic wheeled around, and with a great war cry began to engage the assailants. She could not see anything passed the underbrush. Nevertheless, she certainly was beginning to grasp what was going on around her as she heard one man fall and then another.

She did not know how many were attacking them, but Nic had just killed another man, making three dead for sure. The man fell close enough for her to see the dirt under his nails of the hand Nic had severed before dealing the final deathblow. That hand was still clutching a dagger. Without thinking, she reached out, and pried the dagger from the dead man’s fingers. In doing so, she edged out far enough to see the extent of the battle ragging around her.

Oh, God, he needed help!

Morgan felt his skill was more than average, and he was exceptionally good with a sword, but nobody could stand against three more men alone, she thought.

Without thinking, Morgan scrambled out from under the brush rushing the closest man. With one fluid movement, she plunged the dagger into one of the killing points that Nic had shown her just the night before. The man fell, clutching his throat, gasping for the breath that would never come.

Without breaking stride, she scooped up the dying man’s sword and rushed the next man. Catching him off guard, she briefly had the advantage. Coming in low and fast, Morgan pushed her shoulder into the tackle, putting the man on his back. Unfortunately, she fell on top of him. In one swift counter movement, he rolled her onto her back.

Straddling her, he pressed her fully into the soft forest floor bearing his full weight on her abdomen. She could not breath from the crushing weight, and his fingers firmly wrapped tightly around her throat. She knew that she could never win this fight. The man had the advantage of strength and size. This adversary would kill her if she did not stay alive long enough to give Nic time to kill the man, but he was engaged in his own deathly fight.