Connor placed a hand on Nic’s shoulder in a show of solidarity; he knew the situation was critical.
“Nic, we must leave soon. We cannot disobey a royal command, no matter the personal cost to us as men. We don’t have much time, but we’ll do what we can in the time we do have. Come, let us rally the men. She probably slipped out when Henry’s men came in and the gate was open.”
“So she has several hours on us at this point,” Nic reasoned. “Which might be good given Brentwood is bellowing at the front gates.”
“She’s probably headed for London, and we are, too.” Connor said, hoping that was the case. “Worst case, we ride ahead of the others.”
Connor and Nic made their way into the bailey. Brentwood and nine men were waiting at the gates. He was being detained and not happy about it.
“McKinnon, I demand you return my niece immediately! I know she is here,” Brentwood yelled.
Nic was in no mood. “Go to hell, Lester.” Nic was impatient to begin the search. The longer they delayed, the farther she would be from them.
“I have legal right to her,” Lester proclaimed, having no idea the thin ice he was treading.
Nic saw the evil lurking below Lester’s surface and knew this man was the cause of his bride’s insane bid at her freedom.
“Nay, you don’t have any right to her, not any longer, ya sick bastard.”
“You will deliver her to me at once,” Lester demanded.
Nic was quick to counter that command.
“Not on your life would I deliver that girl back into the care of the likes of you.” Nic didn’t want him to know he was making a run to catch her. The less the bastard knew the better.
“You’ll regret this, McKinnon,” Brentwood spat as he pulled hard on the horse’s bit, making the poor creature’s mouth bleed.
“Not today and never tomorrow. Now, get out of my way.”
Lester made an aggressive move toward his weapon. Nic was faster and he pulled his sword. The point pressing to Brentwood’s chest was only a fraction away from piercing his black heart. “Dresden, escort this pile of horse manure and his men to the western edge of Holden land. Kill them all if Brentwood so much as acts like he’s going to resist,” Nic commanded the captain of the guard.
“Aye, sir. It will be our pleasure to escort him off the property.”
“You’re a dead man,” Brentwood said with a hiss as he turned his mount and headed out the gates, accompanied by three dozen of Connor’s best men.
Already mounted to ride, Nic, Connor, and a party of six turned their horses east into the morning sun to begin their search.
Chapter 21
It didn’t take long for them to find Morgan, for she was no more than a mile from the castle. Nic saw her first and thanked God. They easily could have flown past her, never expecting her to be so close. Morgan’s crumpled body had pinned Salt’s reins beneath her, and that one lucky move was the only thing keeping her and the animal close.
Nic spurred Trojan into a faster pace, leaving the party behind. Coming to an abrupt stop, he leapt off his horse, just feet from where she lay motionless, facedown on the grass.
Since the night had been very cold, Nic braced himself for the worst. She was alive, but burning to the touch. Nic knelt down on one knee and picked up her motionless body just as Connor arrived and dismounted.
“Is she alive?” Connor asked grimly. He feared the answer.
“Aye, but barely. She’s burning up and she’s lost more blood. Here, hand her up to me. And let us pray to God it’s not too late,” Nic said as he mounted Trojan again.
Connor handed her to his friend. Leaning down to receive the bundle his friend offered, Nic felt a rock in the pit his stomach. Again, he had failed to protect her. If she died, it was his fault.
Once they were back at the castle, Connor dismounted first and took Morgan very gently from Nic’s arms. Turning to make his way back inside, Nic stopped him. If she died, it would not be in any arms except his.
“Connor, give her over. She’s my mine to protect. For all the good I’ve done.”
Connor studied his friend and realization struck. By God, Nic wasn’t just falling in love, he already was in love with this woman.
They reached the room, and Nic placed her on the bed, then sat beside her in the chair that he had occupied the days before.
“Bring the priest and do so quickly, Connor. She needs him to pray for her soul. It can’t wait.” The words almost stuck in Nic’s throat.
Connor turned to go but stopped in the doorway, turning to his friend. “Nic, she needs to hear your voice and feel your strength. Don’t give her up for dead.” Seeing that he wasn’t getting through to Nic, Connor tried another approach. “Nic, when have you ever given up what belonged to you without a fight? If you love her, brother, then fight for her.”
Nic just looked at Connor as he turned to do his bidding.
~*****~
Connor’s statement got him to thinking. Did he love her? In his mind, Nic admitted that he had grown to care for her. How that happened, he didn’t exactly know.
Was it because the king had given her to him, and she belonged to him as Connor had implied? She was his possession, and therefore, that is why he cared? No, he doubted that was all there was to it. Morgan wasn’t a woman any man would ever fully possess or control. Nor should a man want to control her. He knew controlling her would destroy the essence of the real woman.
He loved her spirit, her grit.
Nay! his heart was screaming. You love her, period.
It hit him full force. He did love her. Body and soul, he loved her. For so many years, he built walls, keeping those who pursued him at bay. It had never occurred to him he could fall for the one woman who wanted nothing more than to get away from him.
He studied her; she was dying. There was no refuting it. It was in God’s hands, and he prayed for the first time in more years than he could remember. His prayers were awkward and rusty but sincere. It shamed him that he had so deeply neglected this aspect of his life. Perhaps his God was forgiving.
Looking down at her gray, ashen face with the bruises still very vivid, the helplessness he felt was overwhelming. He loved her and he was losing her.
He wouldn’t let that happen. If she lived, he vowed he would set her free. That freedom was something she was willing to die to possess. He would marry her and leave her to live her life unencumbered. She would be safe from Brentwood and any other predator who might think to possess her for the land and wealth she would bring to them. She was worth so much more than just the title, and she deserved a life on her terms.
The priest quietly entered with Connor just a step behind.
“Father Francis, thank ye for coming,” Nic said, standing to greet the spiritual leader of the people of Featherstone.
Father Francis came to the bed and began to pray for her mortal soul. Suddenly, Nic stopped him.
“Stop, Father, nay not yet. You’ll marry us first.”
Father Francis stopped and looked at Nic. The idea was outrageous to the priest. “I’ll not do this act of abomination. It’s not proper for a man to marry a boy. The church will never approve and even if I’m quite liberal in my thinking, neither do I.”
Nic was livid. “I can assure you, Father, the church will approve. Now, do it before it’s too late!”
Connor came quickly to the side of the priest.
“Father, it’s all right. Morgan is the Duchess of Seabridge. She is disguising herself as a boy.”
“Ah, I see,” he said as understanding dawned. “Son, I understand what you’re doing here. In light of Lord Brentwood’s untimely visit, I see where you should marry her in all haste. It would be valid in the eyes of the church. However, it wouldn’t be legal without the proper documentation. That could take days. If Lord Brentwood carries legal rights, then it would do no good.”
“Are you referring to this documentation, Father?” Nic pulled the papers from his pac
k and handed them to him. The papers had none other than the king’s own seal affixed.
“Are you going to marry them or not?” Connor asked flatly.
“Aye, I’ll marry them,” the priest agreed.
This couple was ordained to marry by no less than a royal decree. However, he should not have been surprised. Nic and Connor were Henry’s favorites. These two young men were his favorites too. Connor and Nic called him father. He felt it an honor.
“Get on with it,” Nic commanded, taking Morgan’s right hand in his.
As Father Francis began the ceremony, Nic stood beside the bed of his bruised and battered bride. If she didn’t live, he would be able to hold Seabridge legally. Henry could then appoint someone who was worthy because Brentwood would be dead within the week. Nic was going to see to that task personally.
The priest began.
“Sometimes the Lord calms the storm and sometimes the Lord lets the storm rage and calms the child. Bidden or unbidden God is always present. Amen.” They all made the sign of the cross. There was no time for a full mass.
“I am going to perform a ceremony that I witnessed years ago. Eventually it will be the norm,” the priest said, feeling confident in the statement. “Do you, Sir Nicholas Galen McKinnon, take this woman to honor, cherish, and protect with all that is within you? Do you vow to keep her from harm and raise her above all others for she will become one with your flesh, one with your heart, and one with your soul? Do you promise to look to her happiness? Do you vow to show devotion to her in sickness and in health? And do you vow to do so until your life leaves this world for the next?”
“Aye, I do vow. And should she pass before me in this life, I shall hold these vows sacred and binding until my soul rejoins with her in the next.”
Nic took his Christian cross from around his neck and took Morgan’s lifeless hand into his. He then placed the only piece of jewelry he owned in her palm, gently closing her hand around it. “All that I am and all that I have, I give it to thee.”
Connor’s surprise was total. He could hardly believe what he had just witnessed. Nic had just bound himself to the duchess in life and in death.
“It’s done then. Congratulations, Nic. You’re now the Seventh Duke of Seabridge.”
Nic now had a wife and it felt right that it was Morgan. He would have no regrets of this marriage, not today and never tomorrow.
“Shall I pray for her soul now, my son?” Father Francis stared at the large warrior gently holding the dying woman’s hand and waited for an answer.
Nic looked at the priest, then back into his wife’s face. “Nay. My wife will live.” It was a declaration. He would fight for her when she couldn’t fight for herself.
Nic turned to Mary, the housekeeper. “Bring me blankets, cool fresh water, beef broth, candles, a bath and a clean nightdress for my lady.”
Nic turned his full attention on Connor.
“Now, my friend, take this marriage contract to the king and tell him I have a wife to save if he wishes those future generations of loyal peers to the Tudor crown.”
~*****~
“Mary, please summon the healer,” Nic asked the housekeeper after she brought the items he requested.
Mary turned to do his bidding, leaving him alone in the room with the woman, who moments ago, became his wife.
“You must live, lass. You’re a fighter and will pull through this, Morgan,” he said holding her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
Nic believed his words. He had to believe them. The alternative was now unthinkable.
Chapter 22
As the day dragged on and the noon meal followed, Nic waited for hours for the healer to make his appearance. When he arrived, Nic immediately noted his filthy appearance, refusing to allow the man to be near or touch his wife. He reeked of human and animal excrement. Nic’s first thought was they can all go to hell before this man touches my woman.
Nic wondered why people couldn’t see the importance of keeping themselves clean. Even he, a mere soldier, knew that there was greater risk of infection in a dirty environment, regardless of what the custom might be. Going against the norm, he bathed regularly and had never been ill a day in his life. In his mind that debunked the theory that bathing was dangerous and sinful. He certainly smelled better than the other men and women who tended to use powders or bags of sweet-smelling herbs to mask their stench. It was rarely successful.
“Sir, you’ll not touch my wife until you bathe and place clean clothes on your person, you boggin dunderheed!” Nic ordered the man, not prepared to take no for an answer.
“I will not!” The healer objected, horrified at the notion. “And, ye sir, cannot make me. It’s an abomination to wash. Any godly and pious person knows this. Besides, it’s obvious to me that she’ll die. I say we need to call the digger so he can have her place ready.”
“You will not speak thus around my wife!” Nic came around the bed to stand his full height in front of the filthy medicine man. “I’ll not stand for it! She’ll live and you’ll not be here to say otherwise. You’ll get out this instant. Out! Out, you filthy bastard. Else I’ll throw you from the window slit like the contents of a chamber pot!”
Nic took a step closer to him and the man ran screaming from the room. He nearly ran Mary over in his haste to leave as she was coming down the hallway.
Mary walked into the room, not a bit afraid of Nic. She noted him sitting by Morgan’s bed. She came to him, and in an uncustomary gesture of familiarity, placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I know of another. Shall I have him summoned?” she asked softly.
Nic was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his face resting in the palms of his hands. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He was at a loss. He was used to fixing things. He fixed the king’s problems with the unruly. He fixed disputes between his men, but he was unsure how to fix this. He wasn’t in control and it was unsettling. Moreover, he was feeling his own mortality for the first time in his life.
“Aye, I’m willing to try anything. I would even sell my soul to the devil if necessary. Mary, I can’t lose her. I think every breath she takes for herself she also takes for me.” Nic let out a long and anguished sigh. “Aye, go find your healer.”
Mary squeezed his shoulder in understanding. “In the meantime, don’t sell anything to anybody, in particular the devil,” she said, then turned to leave to find the healer.
~*****~
As the hours passed, Morgan’s condition grew worse, something Nic hadn’t thought possible. Having to physically restrain her as her fever soared, he feared she wouldn’t make it before the second healer arrived.
At last, before dawn, the second healer arrived, making his way to the bed to inspect Morgan. He was clean. Nic had Mary to thank for that blessing. The man touched Morgan’s face and looked at Nic, completely devoid of emotion saying, “I can heal her, but I must have privacy for my administration.”
“Nay,” Nic said emphatically. “I’ll not leave her alone with you.”
Nic didn’t want to leave her alone with this man. He left Nic with a cold, unsettled feeling. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something dark and evil about this healer. Perhaps he’s Druid. After all they still exist in secret, Nic thought.
“We have no more to talk about.” The healer turned to go.
“Wait. All right, I’ll leave, but not for long.”
Nic didn’t feel good about leaving but would leave if that was what it would take for the man to help.
Fifteen minutes later, Nic silently entered Morgan’s room to find a scene that struck horror to the very depths of his soul. The man was chanting in some unknown tongue, and he had opened a wound in her wrist allowing her life’s blood to drip into a bowl.
“You’re bleeding her? Get out!” Not again, Nic thought.
The man jumped, spilling the precious contents of the bowl, splashing Morgan with her own blood. Nic grabbed the man by the coll
ar and threw him out with such force the man slammed into the far wall of the corridor. Nic closed the door, bolted it, and refused to let anyone in for hours.
~*****~
Over the next few days, Nic allowed no one else to touch her. He cleaned her, bathed her with cool water when her fever soared, prayed, and repeated the cycle. He held her when she was delirious with fever and screaming from nightmares. He wasn’t so sure they were not memories that she was reliving in vivid detail.
He gathered her near and rocked her. It seemed the only way to calm her when the terror visited her.
“Morgan, it’s all right, lass. I’m here. Stay with me.”
Morgan was calmer and her breathing steadied. He held her and rocked her more.
Sometime later as the evening moved into night, Nic fell into an exhausted sleep, cradling her in his arms. Near dawn he woke covered in sweat. Her fever had broken sometime in the night as he had held her close. Touching her forehead, her skin felt cool and dry. Her breathing was steady and her sleep was natural and deep. She had survived this round. Nic was overwhelmed with relief.
“Thank you, good Lord, for her life. I promise to do right by her,” he said, voicing his prayer and vow out loud.
Nic eased Morgan out of his arms, then covered her with the sheet and quietly left the room.
It had been eight days.
~*****~
Nic made his way downstairs to the kitchen after leaving Morgan’s room. The kitchen was warm, bright, and smelled of freshly baked bread, which was a relief from the smell of the sickroom.
The cook was surprised to see him.
“How is she?” he asked, fearing the worst. Everyone in the household knew that Nic hadn’t left his lady-wife for days. That act alone spoke volumes to all of them. Morgan was more than just wife to this young man whom they all adored as much as they loved Connor.
“She’ll live,” Nic announced, then grinned about the good news.
“Oh, that is wonderful news. I’ll go tell Mary. Should I have her help ye with Her Grace?”