by Ranay James
Cocking a bushy eyebrow at Nic, he eyed him with caution. “So this be the man then? You finally have gone and done it now, Reagan. Your wee Mother would be spinning in her grave, Lass. Nevertheless, if you say he’s a bloody Duke and has offered to take you away from the Emerald Isle and dress ye in finery to live like a queen then who am I to say nay. All right, Lassie. I shall carry you to the other shore. Tide is turning, so we are in good shape. Come on lad, off the horse you come.”
Nic tumbled off the animal. He would have hit hard had Reagan not stabilize his fall.
“Well, looks to be more than a little in his cups, Reagan, Lass. You sure about this? I mean what if he was just drunk and gets ye over there and changes his mind? I’m not so sure about this Reagan, me girl.”
“I won’t not change my mind, Sir. Please, take us to England. I promise she will have all the fine things money can buy. She will never want for anything ever, again. On that you have my solemn word as the Duke of Seabridge.”
The Irishman studied the young man and extended his hand as an offering of friendship. Nic gladly took it.
“Fergus Finnegan at your service. You seem lucid enough. Ye must have just been unsteady from the hours spent on the back of a horse. Let's get on with it then." Fergus reached for Reagan's hand to help her across the gangway. "Watch your step on the plank, Lass.” Fergus was saying as the tide began to change, increasing the wave motion against the side of the pier, rocking the ship in the process. Once aboard deck, the old Irish captain looked at the small bundle in Reagan’s hands and the fact there was nothing in Nic’s. If he found it suspicious, he kept his counsel. Nic was glad he did.
“Another fifteen minutes and you would have missed me, Lass. I was just making the last of the preparations to set sail. Guess the luck of the Irish is with ye today.”
He showed them to their quarters. They were going to have to share. “It’s not much and I don’t like the fact you’re sharing, but I trust you to behave like the gentleman you claim to be. I have your word?”
“Yes, sir. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Finnegan. I appreciate your hospitality.” Nic felt the tide shifting below the decks.
“Well, don’t think to abuse that hospitality. I’ll have ye know, I’m a mite protective of my Reagan Girl. If I find differently, you'll be fish food. Am I clear, Son?”
“Crystal,” Nic said fully understanding there was a very thin layer between him and the seabed where her uncle was concerned.
“Good. Then hunker down. We could be in for a rough sail. Must be bloody out of me ol’ gourd to try to make this crossing this time of year. Oh well, guess I will never be too old for the challenge. And if it is my time to go, it wouldn’t matter anyhow.” With that, he went back up topside to make the launch just as the tide was turning.
Chapter 71
Nic was almost unable to grasp his good fortune. He had gotten out of that rat infested, diseased hellhole. Now, by some twist of fate, he had also escaped Brentwood. He had no doubts Morgan’s uncle had murderous intentions. It was becoming clear to Nic that Brentwood and O’Brien were together, and partners in their lawlessness.
Sitting on the bunk trying to keep his mind from wandering, he began to study this Irishwoman. She was pretty if one had a critical eye for unconventional good looks. She was not young, probably close to his own age. Her skin was clear and free of the telling Irish freckles, which seemed so prevalent in her countrymen.
Shoulder length hair, a pleasing shade of red with chestnut highlights framed a beautiful oval face. Her eyes, the color of cinnamon, were warm and full of intelligence and depth. She had a tilt to her chin that spoke of strength and pride.
He looked at her hands.
Her nails were clean and shaped, and her hands were gentle and soft as he recalled from her ministrations to his wounds. Nic was not drawn her, but he could see where men would find her attractive.
Reagan broke through his thoughts.
“You don’t look so good. Here, let me feel your face.” Leaning over she placed a cool hand to Nic’s forehead then placed her lips there. “You're getting a fever. Well, I was afraid of that," she said then sighed. "I didn't think we would be so lucky. It's not like Arlen was taking stellar care of you," Reagan said in that thick Irish brogue more to herself than Nic as she began to pull out her medicine bag. "The slimy Bastard. I have a mind to go back just to kill him myself.”
Dumping its contents out onto the bunk, she found what she was looking for and then stuffed the contents back inside. She wiped the cup out with a clean rag then poured a careful, measured portion of the liquid.
Nic really did not want to take anything else. “I have been through this fever before while I was in the hospitable care of our friend Mr. O’Brian. Just give me time. I will be fine.”
“No, you won't be fine unless we can keep your fever from climbing any higher. Here take this.” Reagan reached over and handed Nic the cup of foul liquid.
Reagan saw his expression and read his mind. Maybe, she had better warn him, she thought.
“Yes, it does taste as bad as it looks. And yes, it does look like watered down horse crap in a cup. And, yes it will make you want to gag, but try to keep it down and breath through your mouth. If you are successful then we may stand a chance to head your illness off before it gets out of hand.”
“Is there nothing in that bag of yours that is not worse than the disease?” Nic wondered aloud.
“Probably not,” Reagan commented truthfully.
Nic looked at the cup. He brought it to his nose. Wrinkling his nose, he was having doubts about drinking the muck and wondering if it could possibly taste any worse than it smelled.
“Fine, let’s get this over with.” Then without further hesitation he slammed the offensive liquid down in one swallow.
She felt bad. The look of torture on his face made her almost feel sorry for him. “Oh, Nic, I’m so sorry. I know it is terrible, but it will be worth it. I promise.” She handed him a cup of water. “Here, drink this. It will help to chase down the taste.”
Nic was gasping for air. Slowly the effects of the initial taste and assault to his system subsided leaving him silent.
“You’ll improve within the hour. If we are lucky, we'll not have to repeat this before morning,” she said then took his wrist to check his pulse.
“I do believe I would much rather take my chances with the fever than have to try to force another round of that diluted horse shit down my throat.”
Nic shuttered involuntarily at the thought of round two. Or maybe it was a chill? It could have gone either way at that point.
Reagan laughed softly at his comment. He would survive it.
“Oh, you men are such babies at times. I can just well imagine how you will be once Morgan gives birth. I will probably have to use smelling salts to revive you before I can place your babies into your arms.”
Quick as lightning, Nic reached out and grabbed Reagan’s wrist twisting her arm back, placing it into a vice-like hold, acting as if he didn't care if he hurt her. He had grown dark and suspicious.
“How would you know such things?” he demanded through teeth clenched in anger.
“Know what, Nic? That Morgan will give birth. Oh, please,” Reagan said as she rolled her eyes unaffected by his quick anger and demand for an explanation. “It doesn’t take a seer or a spy to know once you two get back together and work this out, that babies will be a natural byproduct.”
“Oh,” he said as he released her.
“‘Oh’. Is that all you have to say? How about: ‘Oh, I’m sorry I almost took your arm out of the socket.’ Look Nic, I’m sorry if I said something to upset you. It just seems right you two will share a life together. And children will be part of that life.”
Nic was contrite. “I apologize for almost taking your arm out of the socket.”
He found it embarrassing that he had jumped to conclusions. It had been on his mind over the months that Morgan might be pregnant. Rea
gan asked if they used protection and of course, they had not. There was no reason to. He and Morgan were legally married and children were a given. Perhaps she was pregnant before he left England. Cullen had alluded to it in his first letter, but never brought the subject up after that. However, the seed of hope planted itself, and it had fed him all these months. If she was pregnant, a child would bind her to him. A child would give them an anchor to build a life together.
No mother could possible leave a child behind, and he did not intend to let her leave with his baby. Nic closed his eyes as a horrid thought crossed his mind. Panic rose in him. He hoped to God that she was not carrying his child. She would not be able to hide it much longer if she were.
How would Brentwood deal with her if he knew the heir was on the way? Nic felt certain Brentwood would kill both her and the unborn baby and never bat an eye.
Reagan noticed the look on Nic’s face. “Nic, is there something wrong?”
“I have felt deep down she was pregnant before I left. If that is the case then she will not be able to keep it secret much longer.” She would be closing in on six months.
Nic stood and paced the tiny room, finally placing both of his hands along the cabin wall and hanging his head between his outstretched arms. He was helpless to do anything and it was eating him up inside.
Reagan understood his frustration and his concern. She had experienced it with the death of her husband. Knowing the ones you love are in danger and there is not a thing you can do for them is a feeling one usually never, ever forgets.
“And if she is carrying your child that places her in more danger, doesn’t it? If she has the child then no matter what Brentwood does to you or to her the heir will be there.”
The silence was heavy between them as Nic began to absorb her words.
“Nic, I don't want to place more problems on your shoulders than you already have, but he cannot and will not allow any child of yours to live. You know this don’t you?”
“Yes.” That was all Nic could manage to choke out. He pushed himself off the wall and stood his full height filling the room as murderous intent etched his face. Brentwood’s days were numbered. Nobody would ever live who was a threat to his family.
Reagan continued her predictions coolly, calculating Brentwood’s next moves. “Let’s assume for argument's sake, he will try to make everyone think you died on Irish soil. If your child were to survive the birth, but were to die soon after, your brother would be in line for a much stronger claim to Seabridge than Brentwood will ever have. Correct?”
“Yes,” Nic agreed.
“So, to keep his claim strong, he must eliminate Cullen first and your child before he or she draws breath. What he will do next is kill you so Morgan inherits. After that, Morgan is no longer any use to him. As her only living relative, Seabridge and all the other titles and land will come directly to him, and he is sneaky enough to keep all the blood from touching him. This is not good.”
Her assessment of Brentwood’s tactics was deadly accurate. Nic had already come to the same conclusions, with one exception. Connor was also in danger. If Brentwood were greedy enough, killing Connor first would be an extra boon as Featherstone would come to him as Connor's heir. However, if it came down to saving Morgan or saving Connor, Connor was on his own.
“No, it is not good and all the more reason to get to her, Rea.”
“I agree. Once we hit land, I will be out of my element. I have not been to England since I was a child. My life is over if either O’Brian or Brentwood manages to get their hands on me. And I have the feeling, their reach is even greater than either one of us suspected. Both men will know you are heading straight to your wife.”
“I know. I would like to stop at my estate to get supplies, reinforcement and to see my father, but we cannot stay. Neither one of us is safe there. I must get you safely to Connor and tucked behind Featherstone's walls. Holden will be able to protect you until Morgan and I can settle. Once that happens, I want you with us, Reagan. I was being truthful when I told your uncle you will never lack for anything money can buy. I owe you my life.”
She waved his words away. Nic owed her nothing in her mind.
“I did it because I felt it was the right thing to do, not for gain.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Besides, I have felt for sometime that my life was just on hold. I was looking for change."
"But maybe not this big?" Nic asked knowing what any prudent person would say.
"My mother used to say that big life changes are scary. She was right. But, Nic, regret is even more frightening."
"Do you feel regret?"
"No, actually I feel release. Granted, I don’t think I would have made this big of a change all on my own, but here we are, nevertheless. I have relatives in England. The only one I’m looking forward to seeing is my Uncle Evan. He was always good to me. All my other relatives, at least those on my father’s side, probably haven’t given me a thought in years.”
“Reagan, are you saying your father was an Englishman?”
“Yes, my father was English. He was in line for one of those worthless titles you English seem so fond of, an Earl, I think. No offense meant to present company.”
“None taken,” Nic said then smiled.
More and more he liked this straight-talking firebrand. Giving him a run for his money, Connor was going to have his hands full protecting her. Nic would love to be a fly on the wall the first time those two went head-to-head.
“My father gave up a lot for my mother and never looked back as far as I know. They were together for nearly twenty years before my father died, and they seemed truly happy for the most part. We never had much in the way of material things, but that did not matter in the end. They raised me in a home full of love and respect. I could not ask for more.”
Her words made Nic think. If her family were influential then Brentwood would have to fight this battle on three fronts. “Who is your family on your father’s side, Rea? Maybe, I should take you there. It may be the safest place for you until we can eliminate any threat to you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said as she planted her hands on her hips. “You are not about to pawn me off on my unsuspecting relatives. I am not hiding out, either. And, trust me, having to deal with them would be worse than taking a dose of my own medicine.”
Nic watched her carefully and weighed his chances of winning this argument. He felt those chances were slim or none.
“Very well, but you can bet Connor will agree with me on this one.”
“Well, now, as far as I can see, he doesn’t have much say in this now does he?”
“Maybe not, but don’t forget this one small fact, Reagan. You will be in our ‘backyard’ as you put it. And once you are, you will do yourself a favor to follow our guidance without question.”
“No wonder she wanted to throw daggers at you. And if Connor is anything like you then you both had better watch your backs.”
Nic’s answer was a chuckle.
Yes, indeed, Connor was in for a ride.
Chapter 72
“Morgan, we have to return to England. We're out of options.” Cullen was beside himself. “Why did you not tell me you're pregnant?” He looked at her swollen belly that she had reveled to him a moment ago by opening her cloak. At six months along, she knew soon she would no longer able to disguise her condition.
“Nic will kill me for this,” Cullen said, shaking his head.
“Cullen, it is not your fault.”
She purposely withheld the truth from him, and she hated the deception, but Morgan needed answers about Nic. She had no delusions about what would have taken place had she told him before this point. Neither one of them would be here. Besides, Morgan felt she was safer with Cullen in Ireland than in England where her uncle could get to her. Cullen had confided that there had been three attempts to snatch her, the last occurring just hours before they left the court.
She sighed inwardly, wishing the trip had been prod
uctive. Once she had the baby and winter passed, Morgan would return for another round.
“We will return in the spring?” she asked, gently pushing.
Morgan would be coming back with him or without.
Cullen would not commit. “We will worry about spring when it comes. Right now, I am just worried about getting you home and to safety before you deliver prematurely. We can continue to ask as we travel back to the coast.”
For weeks, Cullen and Morgan had traveled through Ireland looking for the trail of Nic and his troops. They had discovered the evidence for themselves of the ambush and massacre, but there was nothing to say Nic had or had not died. It had been months and nothing other than bone fragments remained. Finally, they were able to discover information of a man fitting Nic’s description, being brought to the inn by an Englishman fitting Brentwood’s description. That bit of news made Morgan cringe.
Rumor had it, that the man fitting Nic’s description must have convinced the healer, a woman named Reagan O’Riley, to run off in the night with him, and they both had disappeared.
Morgan and Cullen could only assume it was Nic. It had to be Nic. Given there were few men of his size, it was looking positive that he was still alive. Morgan grabbed onto that shred of circumstantial evidence with both hands, and held onto that small glimmer of hope it gave her.
Nic running off with another woman did not seem plausible as far as Cullen was concerned. It did not fit Nic's personality. However, Morgan did not need to hear this insinuation.
No one had anything further to share, and it had become far too dangerous for Morgan to stay. So encouraged that Nic was alive, but defeated in the goal to find him, they left Ireland returning to England before Morgan was too far along in her pregnancy to travel. To Cullen's way of thinking, bringing Morgan back to his and Nic’s ancestral home seemed a logical move. Heather Park was far to the north, less than a mile from the southern border of Scotland. He felt it was the best place to spend the winter and for Morgan to have her baby. And from Ireland to England, it was the shortest point to cross the sea which cut off days of the trip.