The McKinnon

by James, Ranay

  He felt sure there must be a good reason for the Duchess to run and take on a disguise. He would get those details soon because his having those details were paramount in keeping her alive.

  He had no doubt her instincts to survive were strong, and those same instincts obviously served her well to this point. He did not take the lack of trust personally. She was wary of him, and well she should be, he acknowledged inwardly. He was a stranger to her and would not discourage Morgan's behavior until he could prove he was not going to harm her in any way. It would take some time for her to see him in his true light.

  He was not perfect, but he was a good man with nothing except honorable designs on her. Never knowingly would he harm her, and she would see that at some point. She was his woman and would eventually be the mother of his children. He would protect her and his future children with his life. No harm would come to her, at lease not from his quarter. Just because he did not want to marry her, did not translate into him taking his frustrations out on her. The king’s displeasure was enough to prevent it, even if his own honor was not adequate. It certainly was where she was concerned.

  “Bloody hell,” Morgan mumbled, breaking through his thoughts. She was having a devil of a time in her attempts to keep Demon out of the brambles and her on his back.

  Damn, he thought.

  He needed to get her another horse before this one stopped allowing her to control him, and that was exactly what was going on between those two. The horse was docile enough to allow her to keep her seat.

  Not for the first time, he wondered exactly where she picked up this beast. Had there had been a choice in taking the horse verses another? Nic was beginning to think not. He had also changed his opinion of the horse. At first, he thought the magnificent animal untrained and unruly. Now, he knew Morgan was an inexperienced rider. So much so, it surprised Nic that she even knew which end of the horse she was supposed to face.

  He needed to get her a different mount for several reasons.

  First, the horse was too much animal for her, especially without a saddle and they could ill afford another tumble.

  Second, a horse like this drew way too much attention.

  “Come, Morgan. Let’s get off this road.” He grabbed the reins of her horse and led her farther into the woods off the main road.

  Nic dismounted and walked up beside her. “Come down off that brute.” He waved her down then held up his hand to help her dismount.

  She refused his offer of help sliding off Demon’s wide back and falling flat on her rump on the leaf-covered forest floor. Nic turned away from her before she could see him smile.

  Stubborn wench, he thought. But, he admired her spirit of independence.

  “Morgan, now that we are close to Bristol, I need to trade your mount and get one more suitable for you. I need you to stay behind while I do it."

  Nic saw her expression. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked at him speculatively.

  "It will be less notable if a knight rides in on a horse like yours. And, I think we both can agree that being noticed is something neither one of us wants or needs with the search party still within in the area. You know it is best.”

  Morgan still looked suspicious.

  Nic sighed heavily. He really did not have time to debate his position on this. “You trusted me last night to guard your very existence. Now, you do not trust me with the exchange of your horse?” he questioned. “Are you afraid I'll take him and not come back?” He thought perhaps that was exactly what she was thinking.

  He paused as if he expected her to answer the question. She only stared.

  What was she afraid of? His stealing her horse was not it, she decided that rather quickly. If that were his intent there had been plenty of time this morning while she was still asleep to steal her horse. It was something else that nagged her.

  “If it makes you feel better and gives you a feeling of security, I'll leave you Trojan. I can assure you his worth far exceeds this animal’s value. He is a trained warhorse, and I do not have to tell you a man in my profession values his horse as much as his own life. Do not think for one moment I would leave him behind. I might leave you behind, but never him,” he teased.

  She found no humor in what he said and stayed silent. His leaving her was what she feared. He saw that clearly.

  So did she.

  He belied her fears. “I’m not abandoning you, Morgan. Stay here out of sight and stay as quite as possible. I will be gone much of the day. I promise I will try to be back by mid-afternoon.”

  Morgan did not know what to feel. She would be totally defenseless and alone. He was correct, however, so she would remain behind.

  "I'll bring back enough supplies to get us to London.”

  Morgan nodded, yet was uncertain.

  Nic cupped her shoulder and lightly squeezed reassurance because he sensed her apprehension.

  “I will come back, Morgan. You have my word as a King's man. In the mean time, you are not to leave the area. Stay put, you hear me?" He shook his finger for emphasis. "That is an order not a request. And use this if you have to,” he said shoving a mean looking knife into her hands.

  He was no longer jesting and his command was serious. Her safety depended on her following his order and staying put. He had to trust her as much as she did him.

  Nic gracefully swung up onto Demon’s back, the beast protesting to the added weight of the unfamiliar rider. As Demon settled, bowing to the superior rider, Nic paused to give Morgan an opportunity to protest. Instead, she awarded him with a single nod of consent and a small uncertain wave of good bye. Wheeling Demon around without a backward glimpse, he headed back to the main road and into the late morning sun.

  Chapter 13

  “Blast it all! What is taking that man so long?” Morgan wondered aloud.

  She could have bartered a dozen horses, secured all the necessary supplies to support a yearlong siege, and baked bread in the time it was taking him.

  Morgan was growing restless.

  Not always a good thing, she thought. Her apprehension was a big part of that restlessness.

  She was alone, but that did not bother her. It was a natural state. Yet, somehow this time it felt different, and she was growing concerned for Nic's safety. It never occurred to her that she was in any danger.

  Nic's company was not so bad now that she was beginning to become accustom to him. As long as she kept her distance thinking of him as protection, she was in truth very comfortable. Only when she thought of him as a man did her uneasiness resurface, and that was not because she felt he would abuse her. She was his responsibility, and she knew he would take that responsibility seriously.

  They had ridden in silence talking little. Well, she was supposed to be mute after all and he was a man of few words, and even fewer words spoken about him. She knew that he was extremely confident in whom he was as a man and soldier. That being the case, he probably did not feel the need to secure her approval. She was his squire and even if he treated her with respect, she was still no one of importance in standing of his rank.

  Most everything Morgan knew of Nic was what he had shared the first day. He was from the far north, and she would have picked that up from his accent. His burr was unmistakably a bastardized mix of Scotland, Ireland, and the King's English. He told her he was heading north after he finished taking care of some business at Seabridge. That corresponded with his accent. She knew it was nasty business, but obviously, it was not urgent business or currently they would not be heading back to London.

  She knew he was King Henry’s knight and in high standing. No doubts there.

  "That's obvious," she said to Trojan.

  Morgan watched him practice the previous day prior to turning in for the evening. With his fighting skill, she could see him being high on the king’s list of favorites. With his dark, good looks, it would not surprise her if he were a top favorite of the ladies, too. He was one of the most devastatingly handsome men she had
ever seen, which was even more reason for her to keep her distance. Her survival instincts were telling her to stay close enough for the protection that he was offering, but preserve enough distance between them to never touch.

  Coming back to her surrounding and out of her thoughts, Morgan realized she could not see the clearing where Nic had left her with clear instructions to stay put. Thank heavens she had brought Nic’s prized horse with her.

  “Leave me behind, but not his horse.” She made a most undignified sound at her mental musings of Nic and what he could do with his horse. "Although he is beautiful," Morgan said as she patted the beast, lovingly running her hand over his neck. "You, not him."

  She cleared up that distinction in her mind. Trojan snorted.

  "Oh, alright. I confess. Nic is, too," she said to Trojan's nudging her arm and calling her bluff. "I always was a bad liar. There happy now?" Trojan bobbed his head.

  Morgan continued to wander seeing no rush. The day was mild.

  After an hour, Morgan had to admit she was lost.

  "Oh, boy, Trojan, Nic is going to be pretty mad if he returns and finds you gone," she said stroking his velvety nose. Trojan bobbed his head in agreement. "Can you back me up that this was really not intentional?"

  He shook his head sending his bridle to jingling.

  "No, huh? Are you sure that's your final answer?" Morgan asked as she hugged his neck in comfort.

  He pawed at the ground once as if to put his foot down.

  "Well, see if I pull the burs out of that tail of yours ever again."

  Trojan blew softly.

  "Right, I just confessed that I am a bad liar. Ok, fine. So, I'll pick the burs, but you have to confess that Nic's concern and affection for you is almost unnatural."

  The horse was the man’s main concern, she was certain, and she could not blame him. Trojan was a fine piece of horseflesh. Gentle when necessary, but he would tear your face off if the need presented itself. That training was reserved for only the finest, and she would love to breed him to some of her stable stock. The outcome would be fantastic.

  Taking a deep breath, she reasoned that she had time to find her way back.

  After another half hour, she was more than a little nervous. She was walking in circles, remembering that same fallen log from an hour past.

  "Yep, I should have listened."

  Why had she not listened to him? Taking a couple deep breaths to calm her heart rate, Morgan looked around to take her bearings. She had remembered the morning sun rising to her back as she set off in search of the roots and berries she had bundled in her shirttail.

  She needed to be back before Nic even knew she had wandered off.

  "There is time, right boy?"

  Trojan bobbed his head in agreement just as if he understood her.

  "Now, who's the bad liar?"

  Chapter 14

  Little did she know that Nic was already aware of her little disobedience and was oscillating back and forth between frantic and furious. Where could she have wandered off? Fearful to call out, Nic kept his control. If the search party had not cleared the area and he suspected they had not, he could place her into greater danger.

  Nic knew from the news in the town tavern the party sent by Lord Brentwood had just left the inn that morning. The best he could discover from the information he gathered was they were continuing to head east. The word was they were looking for the Duchess, and there was a sizable reward for her return.

  What worried Nic most was the lack of stipulation of her condition upon return; she only needed to be alive. That said a great deal to him about the uncle who was claiming to want her back. Not to place stipulations on her condition of return all but insured she might come back, but not in one-piece.

  The claim was unknown assailants had kidnapped her, plucking her from the tender arms of her distraught and loving uncle. He guessed it would never do for word to get out that Morgan was running of her own free will.

  Nic smiled despite himself. It had been a smart move on Morgan’s part to dress the part of a young boy.

  What surprised him was her age. She was twenty, not looking a day over fifteen.

  "Where the hell is she," he cursed, continuing to track her, and wondering how in heaven and hell one slip of a girl could be so much trouble.

  “And by God, where is my horse!” he cursed her further for not following his instructions.

  Thankful for the distinctive pattern of the shoe Trojan was wearing, he finally picked up the tracks, all the while, telling himself that she was fine and it would just be a matter of minutes before he found her. Nic was fighting a rising concern, a feeling foreign to him. Surely, it was just fear and concern of losing his horse, he reasoned.

  Morgan was more confident. She knew where she was and continued her trek back toward the clearing. As she walked she picked early ripened nuts and berries along the way. Relieved of the fear of being lost, allowed her to become absorbed in the day and the beauty of this forest.

  She did not hear the noise behind her.

  Once she did there was no time to react.

  The men were on her before she could scream, and one placed a filthy hand over her mouth and nose. Holding his blade tightly to her throat, his rank mouth, full of rotting teeth, hovered only inches from her own. She gagged from his breath.

  Oh, yes, she should have listened to Nic.

  They are going to steal his horse and then Nic is going to kill me for sure, she thought.

  It never occurred to her these three men might save him the trouble.

  Morgan heard a sharp whistle. And then she heard one of the men scream in pain as Trojan reared and came down sharply, ripping his face off and stomping him repeatedly. Trojan reared again. His hooves flaying at the second man foolish enough to try and steal him. Neither of the two remaining men gave the dead man any attention. And by some miracle, the man got Trojan calm enough to grab his bridle.

  “’Ey, Gunter look what we ‘ave ‘ere. It must be our lucky day, ol boy. We just found us a fine piece of ‘orse flesh and a sweet young boy to boot. I found ‘im so, I get ‘im first.”

  His partner grunted a reply and began to go through Nic’s bags having somehow calmed Trojan to the point of being docile. He was not looking at her, the dead man to his left or her assailant.

  The man holding her squeezed her tighter, pulling the blade lightly across her skin. “Open you mouth and make one sound, and I will cut your bloody throat, I will. Be a good boy and it will be over quickly.”

  Realization dawned on her, and Morgan began to fight in earnest, realizing his intent was to rape her, even though they thought she was a boy. She was not about to let that happen and certainly not without a fight. She had not managed to escape her uncle just to die in some forest at the hands of this mote scum.

  Suddenly Morgan felt her attacker go limp as his body toppled and pinned her under the dead weight. She heard Nic’s voice through the haze and pounding of her blood coursing through the veins.

  “Continue to touch what belongs to me and you will die. Just ask either of your friends.”

  The statement delivered with no inflection left little doubt in the mind of the would-be thief. This boy was not worth the wrath of a full-blown knight; the horse was another story. In a split second the thug weighed it out and felt the horse was not worth the trouble, either. He dropped the reins of the warhorse and ran.

  “Smart man,” Nic said as he watched the thief run back toward town.

  “Morgan, are you alright?" Nic rolled the filthy dead man off Morgan and saw what she had yet to feel. "Oh, Sweet Mother of God!”

  The blade must have cut her as the thug fell. To him, Morgan looked to be losing blood.

  Feeling the weight lifted from her, Morgan began to kick and claw her way past the dead body. Once she was free on her feet, she kicked him repeatedly before Nic could pull her away.

  "Morgan, stop! He's dead! Easy, easy," Nic said as she began to fight him. "Easy. Jus
t breathe."

  Once Morgan realized it was Nic, she collapsed against him in an adrenalin crash. "Oh, God, he was going to rape me." Her words were muffled into his chest as her knees gave way.

  Nic was not about to tell her that after the man raped her he would have killed her.

  Cursing himself, he wondered what the devil he could possibly have been thinking to leave her alone. He should have protected her. There was blood everywhere. He picked her up as if she were a rag doll weighing less than his saddle blanket and took her a few feet away from the filthy corpse. Gently, he set her down on the ground knowing she was in shock. She would feel the pain soon enough as he began to search for the potentially fatal wounds. Discovering the mashed roots and berries in her shirt, Nic realized she was unhurt and just covered in juice.

  His concern turned to fury for her disobeying a direct order.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled. And that was just the beginning. He was fierce in his tirade, and Morgan closed down, having no way of knowing that this was his standard release valve after battle. The reaction was not very pretty, but effective in releasing any unused energy not spent on an enemy.

  He ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration, turning his back to her. He hung his head in an effort to collect himself and regain control. Then realization struck him full force.

  “Oh, God, she could have died,” he said softly in stark contract to the rest of his monologue.

  He wheeled around to her. “Morgan, those men not only would have raped you, but would have killed you." His heart softened and he got down on one knee. "Morgan, look at me.”

  Her eyes were vacant, her mind having fled to a safer place. She did not hear him. It was a safety mechanism perfected over the years, and one Nic had seen often in the untrained soldiers who wer in the grip of shock and denial.

  Again he demanded pulling her back to him, “Look at me!”