Oh, yes, she should have listened to Nic.
They’re 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 flailing 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 ‘orseflesh 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 wasn’t looking at her, the dead man to his left, or her assailant.
The man holding her squeezed her tighter, pulling the back of the blade lightly across her skin. “Open your mouth and make one sound, and I’ll 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 intention was to rape her, even though they thought she was a boy. She wasn’t about to let that happen and certainly not without a fight. She hadn’t managed to escape her uncle just to die in some forest at the hands of this moat 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 the 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 wasn’t 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 wasn’t 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 harmed?” 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 man 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. Just breathe.”
Once Morgan realized it was Nic, she collapsed against him in an adrenaline crash. “Oh, God, he was going to rape me.” Her words were muffled into his chest as her knees gave way.
Nic wasn’t 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 berries in her shirt, Nic realized she was unhurt and just covered in juice.
His concern turned to frustration for her disobeying a direct order.
“What were you thinking?” Nic 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 wasn’t very pretty, but it was 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 murmured, in stark contrast to the rest of his monologue. He turned around to face her. “Morgan, those men not only would have raped you but would have killed you after.” His heart softened, and he got down on one knee. “Morgan, look at me, lass.”
She didn’t hear him and her eyes were vacant, her mind having fled to a safer place. It was a safety mechanism perfected over the years and one Nic had seen often in the untrained soldiers who were in the grip of shock and denial.
Again he demanded, “Look at me!” he said forcefully, pulling her back to him.
She finally blinked and raised her eyes to meet his, beginning to hear his words through the haze of the aftermath.
“You’re mine to protect. Don’t think for one minute to ever defy me again, or I’ll be forced to punish you, lad.”
He said it knowing he didn’t mean it. She took the flats of her hands and pushed him away, scrambling back to her feet.
“Go to hell, you sorry bastard!” Morgan said, coming back to reality quickly. She wasn’t taking that from him or anyone else ever again. Morgan didn’t realize she had spoken as she stomped off to find her new horse.
He sighed heavily, following close behind. “Morgan, I’m verray sorry. I did not mean that. I wouldn’t hurt you. I promise, Morgan, on my honor. But why could you not do as I asked? Not even for a few hours? All I asked of you was to stay put.” She looked at him, not knowing what to feel. “They nearly killed you and almost stole my horse.”
Nic looked at Morgan, knowing had they succeeded on either count, it would have been, indeed, a tragedy.
He turned to go recover the other object of his affection.
Chapter 11
Morgan barely noticed the scenery as they continued to fly over the countryside. She had not put up a fight as Nic placed her behind him on Trojan.
He had picked up two horses in exchange for Demon. In her mind, that wasn’t a fair trade. She decided not to argue. She had agreed, and an agreement was her word. Her newly acquired mount, which she would soon ride, was pure white and aptly named Salt. The docile and easygoing bay’s name was Vernon.
Both horses trotted behind them, their reins tied to Trojan. Nic had securely tied all their supplies to the horses’ backs.
All right, she thought, so he got two horses and food. Maybe it was a decent trade, especially if she could talk him into letting her have Trojan for stud a time or two. She would have to ask when the time was right.
Nic hadn’t spoken two words since they had mounted up and headed east after her near rape in the woods. That was just fine with her.
Her shock had given way to anger, and anger eventually to pensiveness.
She wondered what drove a man like Nic McKinnon, realizing again that she knew nothing about him. The fact that she wanted to know more was a surprise. Where was home for him? Did he have family? Where had his travels taken him? What was his business at Seabridge? Her mind continued to reel, understanding it was just morbid curiosity driving her. She was no longer upset with him, having already forgiven him for his threat of beating her within an inch of her life. Things said in the heat of battle, and their encounter could certainly fall in that category, should not be held against someone.
She let it go.
However, what she couldn’t let go was the call of nature.
She loathed asking him to stop. Nevertheless, her discomfort was just about at critical levels as she tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the woods.
He stopped. What else could he do?
She wasn’t sure if it was for her benefit or the horses, but she slid from the horse and headed for the trees.
~*****~
“I had hoped to give you the luxury of a bath this evening, but because of our encounter earlier today and the time it cost us, we’ll not make The King’s Court by nightfall unless we ride our horses until they drop,” he said as
she reappeared.
“Well, as lovely as a bath would be, my lord, it’s surely not worth placing unwarranted stress on the horses,” she said without thinking.
It was then Morgan realized she had spoken, and her hand involuntarily flew to cover her mouth. No shoving those words back in where they came from, she rightfully reasoned. And now he knew she wasn’t mute.
She looked into Nic’s eyes, and their gazes locked. She heard him laugh softly.
He had known, but how could he? Then she remembered her telling him to go to hell.
“So I see the cat’s no longer got your tongue.” Nic went on before she could comment. “We’ll bed down here for the night,” he said as he began to unload the horses of the necessary supplies that they would need for the night. “It seems a good spot, and I believe there’s a pool of water close. Take the horses there, Morgan.”
Again, it was a beautiful place. Trees on three sides ringed the open area and large, ancient boulders dotted the new spring grass carpeting the clearing. The sunset presented a beautiful display of orange tinged with pink and deeper shades of red. Morgan felt this time of day had a peace all its own, a finality of a sorts. As if to promise that sleep would come and bring peace.
Morgan waited for the horses to drink their fill. The pond wasn’t large, but it did have clean and clear spring-fed waters. That cleansing water called to her with an invitation too promising and strong to resist. The late afternoon was still warm, and she felt filthy. She smelled of him, of blood, of death, and she smelled of something more primal: her own fear.
The need to wash and be clean overwhelmed her as she stood there.
After securing the horses, Morgan tore her clothes off, not caring that the action was destroying them. That was done with full intent. She would never wear them again. Quickly stripping down and moving to the horses, she reached into the saddlebag to pull out the bar of precious hand-milled soap that she found one night while exploring her mother’s old rooms. She clutched it to her and closed her eyes as she remembered the night she first discovered the treasure and how she had hidden it away from her uncle for fear he would take it from her. Sometimes, she would pull the bar out just to smell it, and then her mother’s face would swim before her mind’s eye. The soap’s sweet aroma was fading with time along with her memories of her mother’s young and beautiful face.
All this is Lester’s fault, she thought. He was really the bastard in this circumstance and not Nic. Her losing her memories and her faltering faith was squarely on her uncle’s shoulders. He could take her physical wealth, but he was never going to take her spirit.
“Keep the faith, heart of my heart.” The soft voice whispered in her mind just before Morgan opened her eyes. “It’s hard, Mamma, but I’ll try,” she promised softly.
Knowing time was short, Morgan walked into the cool waters beckoning her. Dipping beneath the shimmering surface, she allowed the water to caress her just as it had when she was a child. She reemerged on the opposite bank, then dipped back under to return to the bank closest to the horses.
Morgan emerged out of the cleansing waters, feeling reborn as a stronger woman for what had happened. She survived. She would continue to survive. She was Morgan Pembridge, Seventh Duchess of Seabridge, a descendent of the mighty and fearless Viking people. More importantly, she was her mother’s daughter.
After dressing in what was now the only set of clothing she owned, she took the filthy clothes and tucked them into a hollowed log. She didn’t want to leave any evidence of their presence just in case the search party was behind them, but she never wanted to look at those clothes again. They would only serve to remind her of what almost happened.
It was her fault. She had disobeyed an order.
She vowed the event would never be repeated. She would depend on Nic’s authority. He would see to her survival as long as she trusted him with her life. Could she really do that?
Somehow, it just felt right.
She would keep the faith, and tomorrow was a new day.
But today there was still something she needed to do.
~*****~
Hurrying back to camp, Morgan tried to formulate in her mind an apology for her disobedience. “I’m sorry, Nic,” just didn’t seem adequate.
She saw him waiting. Having taken up a watchful position at the edge of the camp, he was casually leaning against a tree, his booted foot drawn up to rest on the trunk. His shirt’s unbound laces left it open at the neck, revealing more skin on a man than she had ever seen. She forced herself not to stare. That would be rude. But she couldn’t look away to save her life. His allure was so strong, and there was an air of danger and sensuality clinging to him. Struck once more at how beautiful he was, Morgan quickly brought her gaze back to his face to see him smugly smiling, one eyebrow raised.
Nic pushed off the tree, before dropping the blade of grass he had been running through his fingers. “Well, I see you found the pool and made good use of it. Lucky for us, we didn’t need The King’s Court after all for that bath.” Nic pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to her. “Be a good lad and see what you can do with this and when you’re done lay out our supper while I go bathe.”
“I think I can save it,” she said to cover her misstep of openly appraising him.
“Aye, well just do your best. ‘Tis all I ask of any task you do for me.”
He was warming to the idea of his spirited, if unconventional, bride. On his way to the spring-fed pool, Nic pondered the transformation the bath had brought in her. Free of grime, her face was nothing short of beautiful, but not in a classical way. Although her coloring was wrong to be considered fashionable, and she was much too tall, her hair much too short, and her body much too thin for the current standard of beauty, she was beautiful in a way that held his interest all the same. Nic was never one to hold to fashion in his clothes or in his women. And she was his woman for better or worse by the king’s decree.
He had to hand it to her because she had not fallen apart today. Most women he knew would have been in hysterics. She did have spirit and fortitude, and that was something even many seasoned men lacked. He smiled, thinking about the way she had cursed the corpse of her attacker. Quite colorful and imaginative, he admitted with a smile.
Nic swam several laps across the shallow pool. It felt good to have some exercise, even if it wasn’t nearly enough. He was accustomed to more physically intense activity than he was getting, and it was beginning to make him edgy. That edginess wasn’t in the favor of his current traveling companion.
After completing his bath, he returned to the camp to find Morgan performing the duties as his squire. She had gathered firewood, made the sleeping pallets, and laid out a fresh shirt, alongside the meats and bread for dinner.
Sitting next to each other and leaning up against a fallen log, they shared sips of the mulled wine from the skin and ate in silence. Nic knew that she feared that any moment the questions would start. He also knew there would be no appeasing him once they did. So, he did not ask. Instead, Nic had waited for her to talk. He hadn’t pressured her. Morgan was still shaken and he understood the day was traumatic enough and wouldn’t add to it. So, they sat in companionable silence, looking into the fire.
“It’s been a long day,” Nic declared as he placed the wineskin back into the pack, doused the fire, and gestured for her to follow suit as he covered himself with his blanket. She had retrieved her cloak and blanket from her saddlebag earlier, so she rolled up in them and bedded down for the night. Turning her back to Nic, she stared into the low glowing ashes and sighed, fidgeting to find a comfortable position. Nic smiled. He could see the point. Morgan had not done as good a job of the underbedding as he had done the night before. It was lumpy, but it would have to do. Considering it was her first attempt he would hold his tongue and give her opportunity to better her skills as the days progressed. Finally finding a passable spot, Nic could tell that Morgan was beginning to relax but he could tell that she was st
ill awake. He didn’t turn away from her as he had the night before but instead lay on his back, cushioning his head on his forearms and looked up at the stars.
Sometime later, a small, barely discernible voice broke his thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” she offered.
Nic couldn’t help but smile. She simply cannot be silent; after all, she is a woman, he thought with some mirth.
“I’ve already let it go, Morgan. You should, too.”
“I shall try,” she said after a few minutes. “Good night, Sir Nic.”
“Good night, Morgan,” he said softly, matching her tone.
Then, as the night’s silence stretched on, the small voice intruded into his thoughts again.
“Sir Nic?” Morgan quietly asked just in case he was sleeping.
“Aye, Morgan?”
“I know I’m not your horse, but thank you for being there for me today.”
In that instant, whether realizing it or not, he had just lost the first battle of his life, feeling the fissures begin to break the ice around his heart.
Chapter 12
Nic waited for the steady rhythm of her breathing to signal she had fallen into a deeper sleep.
Gathering her to him, he wondered how holding her could feel so right. She fit so perfectly in the curve of his arms. With each breath he took, he inhaled the feminine smell of the soap she used to bathe. It haunted him as they had sat in silence that evening by the fire.
Lavender and vanilla…
Not many women wore the scent. It was very expensive and even fewer could wear it with success. On her it was subtle, mixing with her unique scent, working well with her natural body chemistry.
He placed his chin on top of her head, rubbing his cheek to her hair. He had noticed how her hair looked soft and silky with just a touch of wave to it. As Nic brushed his lips against the baby-fine hair, thoughts came unbidden of how her hair must have looked before she cut it. Long, dark, and wrapped around him as they slept intertwined.
He remembered how she looked that afternoon as she bathed. He had followed her to be sure she wasn’t going to run. Unlike tonight, he was still uncertain of her intent, and she had all the horses packed with enough supplies to last her days should she decide to make a break. Standing there watching her, he had known the moment she had decided to take a bath. He had seen her expression of longing as she stood by the pool’s edge. He knew he should have gone back to camp to give her privacy, yet he needed to be sure she was going to be all right and that no one else was a threat to her.