The McKinnon (23 page)

“She is sleeping. I did not wake her. Make sure she locks her door, Cullen. She doesn't think about it. This is twice that I've been able to walk into her room unannounced."

Cullen nodded.

Nic looked back at the closed door. "I have to go. I can't delay any longer. The men are waiting.”

“Good luck and God speed you on your way. You take care of yourself. You have a wife to come back to now.”

"I have to go, Cullen.” Nic gave the door one last look. “Guard her well. She has become my world.”

“Just give her time, Nic. Just give her time.” Cullen smiled to his brother as they clasped wrists. Pulling Cullen to him, Nic gave Cullen a bear hug and left him standing outside Morgan’s door.

In the outer bailey, his men were standing ready for his order to move out. He was making his way to Trojan when he swore he heard someone calling his name in the distance. Did he dare hope Morgan had come to see him off?

Turning, he saw Lady Elizabeth, one of the King’s wards, rushing toward him. In total abandon, she threw herself into his arms and unashamedly kissed him full on the lips. Nic pulled away from her.

“Oh, Nic, I just couldn’t allow you to leave without saying good-bye. I love you, and I will wait for you to return, I promise,” she said with great feeling and a little tear. Nic did not see her look past him and smile in satisfaction.

He quickly pulled away by taking a single step back, but left his hands resting on her waist as a way to keep her from closing the gap. He looked down at this beautiful, young woman and thought how sweet she was. Not long ago he had fully taken what she was freely offering.

Nic had found through his twenty-nine years the only constant in life was change and things had changed for him. For better or worse, his life had changed. However, more importantly, he had changed. He knew where his life’s blood flowed and it was to Morgan. His desire was only for her.

“Lady Elizabeth, I have a wife, and it is only her to whom I wish to return. Please, do not do this on my account. You are a beautiful, young woman. And there will be a man privileged enough to have you, but I am not that man.”

With those words, he turned. Mounting Trojan in one graceful movement, he unsheathed his sword and held it high shouting to his troops with all the authority he controlled, “Men, for King, for country, let us be away! The sooner we leave the sooner we return to those who bring us home again!”

They were off like thunder, moving through the courtyard and out past the gates.

For King, for country, to war.

Morgan woke feeling a pit in her stomach deep and gnawing, as if she had made a terrible mistake by forcing Nic out and refusing his subsequent tries to speak with her. She has spent the greater part of the late evening and early morning hours crying and replaying the last weeks in her mind.

She had done the one thing with Nic that she had not done since she was a child, trusted. She had trusted him, and he had cut her deeply. However, she also recognized she probably was being unreasonable.

She saw the note he had left on her pillow and knew he meant every word. She was the fool. He loved her. He admitted it and on deeper contemplation, she had to admit Nic was what she wanted, too.

He was an honorable man and had done what he felt was proper. Nic was a man who would always do what he felt was right. She was beginning to admit her faults and those things that were hers to own in this misunderstanding. 

She calmed her thoughts and she went over the timeline of events.

Nic had not known the exact reason for her quest to see the King. She had not told him. She had told Nic of the King’s agreement with her father only after they had shared the first night together and she unknowingly consummated the marriage. He had not done it on purpose. He said that he was going to give her freedom anyway.

She quickly decided that freedom was not worth the cost of losing him. She would have her freedom, but a hollow empty existence. Praying, she hoped it was not too late to catch him before he left.

Quickly, she changed her clothes and headed out the door to find him. Cullen was there to greet her.

“Cullen, I have to catch him! I can't leave it like this between us!”

“Good decision, Lady Morgan. I think we may still be able to catch him in the outer bailey.”

On winged feet they flew. As she passed the final archway leading into the outer courtyard where a hundred horses and men were waiting, a scene greeted her, tearing to pieces what was left of her already tattered heart. Morgan halted. Nic was in the arms of another woman. A tiny blonde with curves was leaning into him. He had his hands on her small waist as their lips parted from a kiss good-bye. She saw Nic pull away from her rival, and they exchanged intimate words in front of Morgan’s gaze. The look on Nic’s face was one of sadness. The woman looked over Nic’s shoulder and met her eyes. She was smiling in triumph.

He stepped away, without a backward glance, turned and mounted his horse. He gave the command for the men to ride and he was gone.

“Lady Morgan, why did you not call to him?”

Cullen was a few steps behind and did not see the exchange. She baffled him with this sudden change of heart. He could see visibly, she was shaken, and he wondered what his thickheaded brother could have possibly done this time.

“I suddenly find he is not worth the tears, Cullen.”

She turned, gathered her skirts, and swept past Cullen never looking back.

“Morgan, please, open up.”

Cullen was concerned. Morgan's self-imprisonment had gone on for two days, and she had yet to allow anyone into her quarters. He stood watch outside the massive door, and every so often, he could hear the heart wrenching sobs creeping out.

His heart hurt for her, and with each sob, he wished to get his hands around Nic’s neck. He had finally discovered what was causing Morgan’s deep distress.

The Kiss
as it was being called that Nic shared with Elizabeth.

Nic must be out of his mind. Did he think his wife would not find out even if she had not actually witnessed it? He had heard about it as one of the men at arms relayed the story in brawny detail.

“Threw herself at him, she did. The little hussy. They play at being Ladies, but we know, don’t we boys. High born or base born they are all born to be on their backs.”

That got a hearty round of laughter.

“Can’t believe he kissed that silky morsel and then had the wits still about him to turn her away. If that had been me, I would have made the men wait a little longer to leave, if you get my meaning. Guess he had gotten enough before from his new wife, but still needed a good-bye kiss to see him off.”

Laughter rang out, and the sound and meaning made Cullen angry.

If he was correct, Morgan's timing had been wrong. She had outpaced him. When he had reached her, she had stopped under the archway and then with the grace and bearing of a Duchess walked away. She had said only one single sentence on the way back to the room.

“Tiny, blonde, and curvy.”

He had no idea what the words meant, but he was sure it fit Elizabeth Fitzwater.

“Morgan, please let me in. I’m worried about you. Just let me in. I will listen if you want to talk about it. I’ll even let you pretend I’m Nic and throw things at me if you want,” he lightly teased, thinking it might help.

Silence greeted him. She was not eating. The servants could not enter the chamber, either. Meals came and went untouched by the Duchess.

All Cullen could do was wait.

Inside the her rooms, Morgan had grown more devastated. She had cried the first day until her eyes were dry, her nose red, and her pillow soaked. The second day, she sat in desolation in front of the fireplace staring into the ashes of the long dead fire. She loved him and he had betrayed her. On the other hand, had she driven him into the arms of his lover? Perhaps, he wanted them both. Maybe, she was to be the wife and the blonde woman his mistress. Maybe there was some other explanation.

On the third day she had slept, not wishing to leave the bed. With the scent of her husband still clinging to the sheets, Morgan buried herself in them and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Sometime later in the evening, Morgan woke to darkness. In her exhausted and disquieted state of mind, she had failed to light a candle. Disoriented and afraid, she came out of the bedchamber in near terror, falling into Cullen’s arms.

“Morgan, are you all right? Here, let me help you.” A stunned Cullen walked a frightened Morgan back into her quarters and lit candles which gave the room the glow of aged honey.

“I forgot to light the candle. And when I woke….I fear the dark,” she choked the words out, wondering if she would ever get past that fear.

Cullen could just imagine. Nic shared tales of what this trembling young woman may have endured. However, no one knew for sure. She did not talk about it to Nic or anyone.

“Oh, Morgan, I am sorry for your fear, but I am grateful it brought you out. You have not eaten in days. Come, let's get some food in you, and we will talk.”

Cullen began to gather a plate of food and wine for them to drink. He set it down on the table and escorted her to a chair. Seating her, he watched as she stared blankly at the plate.

“You must not grieve for him. He will return. He is like a cat. I swear to you, he has nine lives,” he said. That drawing no response, he took another approach.

“Morgan, you must also think about the possibility of a baby. If you do not eat, it will be harmful to the child.”

“A child?” Morgan asked then blinked, stunned for she had not given the possibility any thought. Of course they had not thought to use protection either.

Could Cullen be right and there already be a baby growing? She would know for sure in the space of a few days. However, until she knew, she would begin to take better care of herself.

“Oh, Cullen, I grieve for me, for my being such a fool. He played me. And then he has the nerve to flaunt his woman before his troops.”

“Morgan, I do not believe that for a moment. There has to be another explanation. He told me to tell you that should you ever doubt his love, to tell you he loves you more than his horse. He said you would understand.” Cullen remembered the conversation he had with Nic before he had left for London and hoping it would make a difference.

Morgan felt a glimmer of hope. However, the image of Nic kissing the blonde flashed before her mind’s eye, dashing the tiny glimmer of hope thinking to take hold.

“I don’t think so. I know what I saw. That was a kiss good-bye. I am married to him and I really don't think that he wants to be married regardless of what he says. He married me, because Henry told him to, and he did not have an option. Did you know he asked the King for an annulment?”

Cullen was surprised. “No. I did not know." He wondered what prompted Nic to petition the King to dissolve the marriage. There had to be some very sound reasoning for Nic to go to that extreme. "Morgan, listen to me, and you know I speak the truth. He felt bad about withholding the truth from you. He didn't do it purposely to hurt you. He just made a bad play, thinking it was better to wait until you were stronger. There has to be some logical explanation for this, as well. It looks bad, but just give him a chance to explain.”

“Cullen, I gave him something I thought I was never going to be able to give, again. I handed him my trust. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? My uncle kept me in captivity for seven years. That fostered a mistrust of people and their motives, Cullen. Nic gave me hope I could learn to trust and love.”

"Do you still love him?"

"Yes, I do love him."

That gave Cullen hope. "Then let's just put it behind us for the time being and give this a chance to blow over. Give that love you feel the right to grow. Give him a chance, too."

"Sometimes love is not enough, Cullen." Morgan closed her eyes, remembering that night so long ago. "It was not enough to save my parents no matter how much I loved them, I could not will them back to life. I could not love them back to life." 

Cullen sat in quiet repose. He did not dare break Morgan’s concentration, fearing if he called attention to the fact she was opening up to him, she might slam shut.

She got up from the chair, began to pace the room, picking up objects and looking at them with no real interest.

“I remember the night of the fire,” she said flatly, pausing as if to pull the memory out of the recesses of her mind. She was faraway and detached. Her words contained no emotion, as if she were reciting a story having nothing at all to do with her.

“I was a tender girl of thirteen. My life was wonderful, full of love, and family. In the space of one evening, it was never to be the same. I was the only one who survived. I have always felt guilt for it.” Morgan hung her head, and she looked down at her clasped hands held tightly together in front of her. “Sometime I wonder if my family was murdered. I remember after coming out of unconsciousness hearing two voices talking and the bits and pieces I heard have led me to believe this to be true. I feel my uncle was somehow behind it. Obviously, I have no way of proving it. He became my guardian, my jailer, and torturer. Almost immediately, he began to lock me away. At first he confined me to the house, forbidding me to go outside unless escorted by guards. He said it was for my protection.” Morgan sighed heavily, remembering those early days. They were mild by comparison to the years that followed.

“That freedom in the house was short lived. He restricted my movements even more by forbidding me to go outside the confines of my wing. I began to receive beatings for failing to follow this rule. It did not matter to him that the servants forgot to bring me food, and that I was looking for food on my own.

I remember the first time he locked me in the tower. I was fifteen. He left me there with no food, no blanket, and barely enough water to survive. He left to go on a hunt and released me a week later. Uncle Lester said he had let me go much earlier out of the goodness of his heart. He said for me to thank him. When I didn't, he slapped me so hard I lost the hearing in my ear for weeks. He was in a generous mood from the hunt, I suppose. Normally a beating much more severe would have been in order. Before I escaped, I had been in the tower for over four years. After a while you lose count as one miserable day comes and goes.”