by James, Ranay
He moved up a notch in Reagan’s book.
“Please, take me to Connor,” Cullen said as he walked into the house. Reagan would see to Morgan's comfort.
“Yes, sir.”
The page ushered the party into the Great Room.
Morgan stood empty-eyed, looking at the massive fireplace. The empty chairs sitting in front of it reminded her of the fateful night she had overheard the conversation sending her into the night and her world spiraling out of control.
The great fire blazed, beckoning the cold visitors to draw near. Exhausted and cold to the bone, Morgan sat down in front of the fire and began studying the pretty redhead who had been with Nic in Ireland.
So it was true, she thought. Nic fled Ireland with this woman.
Morgan could see where Nic would find her attractive. She had a presence and a self-confidence that was undeniable. The men understood Morgan’s station and never breached the line. There was no such line for Reagan. Morgan was almost envious of the easy friendships that developed for her with the others. All the men liked her easy way, and Reagan seemed genuine in her concern for those around her.
“Morgan?” Reagan was asking as she came alongside her. “May I sit with you?”
“Of course.” Morgan was trying not to like the woman Nic was with, but was finding it impossible. There was nothing to dislike. She had asked Nic to move on and brought this on herself. Nic had simply done what she asked him to do. It was not Reagan’s fault. For all she knew, Reagan had no idea Nic even had a wife before he brought her here.
Reagan looked closely at Morgan through a doctor’s eyes. Morgan was not well. “I’m worried about you. We all are. How are you feeling? I know you are exhausted and chilled to the bone, and I have asked Mary to draw you a bath to warm you. Once, we get settled, I would like to examine you if you will allow it. I would like having the assurance you are all right and that Nic’s little one is fine.”
“You know this child is Nic’s?”
Reagan pulled back slightly, surprised. “Of course. There was never any doubt about who fathered this child.”
“Yet, you still want to help me?”
The statement took Reagan aback, and she found the question strange, but Morgan asked another question before she was able to comment.
“You are a healer, aren't you?"
"I am," Reagan responded softly. It was not something she bragged about. It was just who she was.
"You don’t believe in bleeding your victims, do you?”
“Oh, my heavens, no. Bleeding a patient is one of the worst actions in my opinion. Blood is essential to life and health. Loss of it can never be good.”
Morgan told her about Nic throwing out a healer had bled her the night she almost died.
“From what I heard, Nic nearly threw the man out the window.” Morgan laughed softly at the mental image. She almost felt sorry for the physician.
Reagan smiled. “Nic told me. Although, I swear to you, he found nothing funny about that night. He and I have become close, Morgan. He has shared a lot with me. I hope you know that he is a wonderful man with good intentions.”
Before Morgan could comment, Connor emerged from his study and walked straight to where the two women were sitting. Bending over Morgan’s hand, Connor kissed it. Reagan thought she had never seen a more devastatingly handsome man in her life, with his dark brown hair and ice blue eyes. She could not help but admire him. His body was awesome and powerfully built and for the first time in her life, she felt butterflies. Her mouth went dry as he began to speak.
“Morgan, it is wonderful to see you. Cullen tells me Nic is alive and safe for the moment. It must be good news to your ears.” Connor was not going to point out the fact that soon Nic would be facing her uncle's minions.
“Yes, it is,” Morgan said then smiled. “I ache to see him.”
“There is blood on your clothes. Are you all right?” Connor asked concerned.
“Yes, for once it is not mine. It belongs to my uncle.”
Morgan explained how he had taunted her for days. She had enough of his taunting and threats to kill her. However, it was his confession of killing her family that drove her over the edge. She saw an opportunity to run him through and took it.
“I'll deal with the sin at a later date. It’s funny, though, I do not even remember grabbing the sword,” Morgan confessed, looking down and away.
“Oh, Lady Morgan, I’m sorry you had to resort to such an action. It is never easy to deal with death by your own hands.” Reagan felt deep compassion for her.
“So, if Brentwood is dead why are you afraid for Nic?” Connor asked confused.
“It was not Lester who kidnapped me, Connor. The man who has worked for Brentwood all these years was my father’s blood brother. Stewart was the bastard son who my grandfather never saw fit to acknowledge.” Morgan was visibly shaking. Cullen and Reagan stood close by to give her comfort.
Morgan's state completely escaped Connor.
“You must tell me all you know about the stronghold, and how we can break the stranglehold Brentwood has on it. I need to have every detail of the fortifications he has and how many men he keeps. Tell me, Morgan as quickly as possible.” Connor had gone into military mode.
“No.” Reagan was quick to counter Connor’s demand for answers. “Morgan needs to rest. Now is not the time for this.”
“There is no better time,” Connor countered.
“You’re upsetting her. Back off.” Reagan was becoming angry at the questioning and all her butterflies were gone. The man was an idiot if he could not see Morgan was in no shape to deal with his rapid-fire questions and demands for answers. Reagan had never had any use for idiots or men who had no care for others.
It was only then Connor gave Reagan his full attention. For her it was not a comfortable experience. The eyes turned on her were cold and piercing.
“And who are you, woman, to say this is not the time? The longer we wait the less likely we will arrive in time to help him. You want to see him dead?”
“Don’t be stupid. Of course, I don’t want to see Nic harmed. Will you open your eyes and look at her?” Reagan was standing toe-to-toe with Connor, pointing at Morgan. “She cannot take much more.”
Connor looked at the woman who was addressing him with anything but respect.
“Besides, Nic wanted us to go directly to the King. He has his men with him and he knows what he is doing.” She quickly explained how Brentwood committed murder and high treason, and she needed to get the information she possessed on the matter to the King. “Leave Morgan out of this, at least for tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough.”
Cullen concurred, lending support to her argument. “She is right, Connor. Nic was very specific in his instructions. However, we do need to get word to him the ladies are safe and in your care.”
“I agree,” Reagan said, nodding.
Connor looked at this forward Irishwoman and wondered what she was doing here and knew he would find out soon.
Reagan felt his eyes drill through her searching her soul. It was an uncomfortable feeling as if she were the enemy.
Connor nodded his head once. “Consider it done. I will send a messenger immediately. It will allow Nic to forestall going after Brentwood with knowledge that Morgan and the baby are not within the walls of Seabridge.”
“Connor, may I speak with you privately?” Cullen asked.
Connor nodded. “But first I will have a word with you,” he said to Reagan.
Connor took Reagan’s arm, dragging her to the side. What he had to say was for her ears only. It was obvious the woman had already bewitched Cullen and the others. She was not sucking him in so easily.
Reagan could feel his iron grip through the fabric of her sleeve. Pulling her none to gently over to the side of the great hall, Connor looked down into the face of his guest. Intelligent cinnamon eyes faced him down. Connor’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, invading his space. He recognized what she w
as doing, and it was a brilliant tactical move on her part. He knew most men would back up a step in silent retreat giving her the psychological advantage. Her mistake was thinking he was most men.
He did not budge.
He could feel her warmth contrasting the cooler air surrounding them, a hint of jasmine coming with it. Her warmth was more unsettling than her physical invasion of his space.
Lowering his voice, he narrowed his eyes knowing his effect on his opponents. He would win by sheer size and intimidation, he always did.
“I do not know who you are, woman, or what you are about, but I will not stand for you to parade around my home as if you are the lady of the manor. Nor will I tolerate you sniffing around Nic like a bitch in heat. I have a good notion what motivated you into helping him escape. He is a titled landowner and favored by the King and a prize for a woman like you.”
“A woman like me?” She cocked her eyebrow at him. "And exactly what kind of woman am I?" Not that he would ever guess, she thought. No one would. Sometimes even she had trouble believing what she was capable of doing.
Connor was not going to get into a battle of words with her. This was his home and no threat to any residing within was going to pass his gates.
"I warn you,”Connor said in all earnestness. He did not make idle threats.
“Do you, now?” Reagan was holding her temper.
“Yes. You are to stay away from Nic. Furthermore, should I find you have anything except good intentions toward Morgan and her baby, I will save Nic the trouble and kill you myself. Do we have an understanding?”
That was the last straw. Reagan struck Connor across his face. A resounding crack resonated throughout the Hall. Heads turned in unison.
“Now, Englishman, we have an understanding.”
To the casual outside observer, Connor’s composure never wavered, but Reagan was close enough to him to know she had enraged him. Regardless of the intensity of his irritation, she was not going to cower, not now, and not ever.
Calmly and collectedly, Connor delivered his warning, but Reagan knew the hot lava of anger seethed below the surface, threatening to erupt at any moment.
He had never struck a woman, yet there was always room for a first.
“Madam, do not ever think to strike me again. To do so will bring you like kind.”
“Then I suggest you do not ever threaten me again, and we both should be safe. And on one more point, you are correct, English. You don't know me. So, never, ever assume you know what motivates my actions either.”
By that point Reagan was poking him in the chest with her finger as an exclamation point to each word she was saying and completely unaware of her actions. Connor grabbed her wrist and began to squeeze in an effort to stop her from poking him.
Finished with her own declaration, Reagan jerked her hand free, wheeled away from her host and made her way back to an opened-mouthed Morgan and Cullen.
“Cullen, I believe you wanted to have private words with our most gracious host. He is all yours and you’re welcome to him.” Turning back to Morgan, she softened her tone. “Come, Morgan, let me help you upstairs. Let’s get you into that warm bath.”
It took effort for Morgan to stand. Connor was silent and obviously suspicious. Reagan gave him a look as they passed. It would have withered any other mortal man. But he was not any other mortal man.
Connor took his index finger and middle finger and pointed them to his eyes and then turned them back at her as if to say, I'm watching you.
Reagan just rolled her eyes. "Idiot," she mumbled not caring if he heard her or not.
Connor raised a brow at that unbridled insult. He was called many things by the women in his life. Idiot was never one of them.
He watched the women make their way up the stairs and out of his sight before he and Cullen disappeared behind the study door.
Chapter 80
Not as richly appointed as one might expect, Connor’s study was functional and hinted of a man who was tidy and organized. The most lavish furnishing in the room, not withstanding the fine collection of leather bound books with gold leafing, was the desk Connor strategically placed to gain the best light and view from the glass windows.
“Please, sit my friend,” Connor said as he pointed to a set of chairs placed in front of the fire. “They do not look like much, but for some reason, I cannot bring myself to replace them. They are comfortable and feel like old acquaintances. What can I do for you, Cullen? You’re chomping at the bit.”
“Connor, Nic asked me to bring Reagan here safely to you and I have. He asked me to go to the King because he felt I needed to be safe in case he and Morgan did not survive this ordeal. However, Morgan is here and her baby is safe. I need to be the one to go and give him the word our Lady is safely behind your walls.”
“Cullen, you don't have to do this. It serves no purpose to throw yourself into needless danger.”
“I am not an unseasoned youth without battle scares,” he snapped back, tired of being treated like a squire.
“I know you are not unseasoned, but Nic will feel the need to try to protect you. You know how he is, Cullen. He feels the need to keep those he loves as far from harm's way as humanly possible. It would be no different if I were there.”
That was true enough, Cullen acknowledged. Yet it did not alter the situation in the least. “I will not hide here at Featherstone and sleep behind fortified walls while my brother goes into the dragon’s lair. Connor, Nic has no idea the depths this man has sunk in his insanity. The stories Morgan shared have at times put me on the verge of physical illness. We both know that Nic is too honorable a man to be able to take on Brentwood in his own stronghold.”
“And you aren’t?” Connor asked as he poured the young man a drink and handed it to him.
“No, I have not lost my honor if that is what you are asking. You know what I mean. Nic expect the rules to be always in play. His sense of duty and honor, though commendable, will not serve him in this instance, trust me. Moreover, he has so much to lose. I need be there to keep him safe and watch his back for Morgan’s sake.”
Connor looked at Cullen. He had known the young man all his life. He wondered how Cullen managed to grow up and he not notice. Connor had to let this young man go.
“Do you want to say good-bye to Morgan?" Connor asked, feeling certain that there was more to this than Cullen's concern for Nic. "If so, you really should get a move on and hurry. She is upstairs taking a bath and will soon tuck in for the evening.”
Cullen shook his head. “No. I won't disturb her. She has enough to worry over without adding me to the list. Tell her, tell her….” Cullen stammered to find the words. He knew he would never be back if he faced Brentwood and his men. His dreams had told him he would die defending the lives of those he loved most up on those ragged cliffs of Seabridge. He was not a suspicious man. Yet Cullen felt as certainly as he was standing there with Connor, that he would lose his life.
Connor stood alongside Cullen just inside the study door with his hand on his shoulder. “I know, my friend. Go and Godspeed.”
Chapter 81
Upstairs Reagan left Morgan in the capable hands of Mary. She needed to find the kitchen to see if there were any herbs to fix Morgan tea to help settle her stomach and help her sleep. The baby was sitting uncomfortably, and the last few days had placed a great deal of stress on the little one. The slight bleeding Morgan was experiencing was evidence of the stress to Morgan’s body. Reagan told Morgan that she should not worry. It was her attempt to get Morgan to relax and to reassure her the bleeding should stop on its own once she and the child were warm and more relaxed.
In reality, Reagan was very concerned. However, it did no good to the mother or the baby to let Morgan see her fears. Morgan would not be able to change the fates if this baby was not going to term.
Deep in thought, Reagan did not notice Connor following her movements as she went about her search.
“What are you looking fo
r?” Connor had followed Reagan into the kitchen.
“Oh, you scared me out of my skin.” Clutching the front of her gown, Reagan’s heart was beating fast in her chest in equal parts from being startled and from Connor’s nearness.
His eyes were drawn to the pulse beating wildly at her exposed throat.
“Guilty perhaps? I will ask you again. What you are looking for?”
Reagan was annoyed, but only mildly so. The man was exasperating, but at least he was a gorgeous annoyance.
“Well, let me think…a pinch of newt, a dash of toad droppings, essence of rat’s ear, and one large horse’s ass. Seems I have found at least one item on my list,” she teased.
Connor snorted, but smiled. He had to admit she had brass.
“Now, if you will excuse me I have things to do.”
“Such as?” Connor moved to block her retreat.
Reagan let out an audible sigh, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Men, and this one in particular, could be trying to the most patient of women. And she was patient, for the most part. However, she never claimed to be a saint as one of her better virtues.
“If you must know, I am looking for herbs to soothe Morgan’s stomach and aid her to sleep. Satisfied?”
Connor drew his brows together. “Don’t you carry that sort of stuff in that bag of yours? You're never far from it from what I’ve seen.”
“No, English, I prefer to carry poisons in my bag. I never know when I will be called on to exterminate a rodent.” She finished off with a quirky little half smile.
Connor knew she was referring to him again. Not that he cared much for her either, but he was still annoyed she would voice such a thing. No one ever dared to defy him and the women usually did everything in their power to ingratiate themselves to him. This one was different.
Reagan rolled her eyes. The man had no sense of humor.
“Pffftt," she huffed. "Oh, surely you know I’m just joking, so you can wipe that look off your face. Of course, I carry those sorts of things, but many of the herbs I have are not to be ingested by women in Morgan’s current condition. They can cause side effects and can even induce early labor, which is precisely what I am trying to prevent. So it looks like I am forced to forage to see if I can find something to ease her without making it worse.” Reagan was rambling and she knew it, but Connor made her nervous in spite of her resolve to remain impervious to him. “Perhaps ginger root would work. My preference is powdered or crushed. I don’t suppose you have some in your pocket,” she asked, patting his front, breast pocket and leaning in unconsciously.