The McKinnon by Ranay James Read Free Book Online Page B

strength to subdue his opponent, not like her uncle. He would use cunning, stealth, and strategy, which would brilliantly compliment his strength. She wondered if that strength would come across in a drawing? It would prove challenging.
    His leather boots and over clothes were well-made and good quality, even if quite dirty from his effort to pull her from the bog. He was obviously a man of means. If his clothes did not hint at that wealth then his sword and mount certainly said as much. The saddle and tack for that magnificent animal was worth twenty times what the average farm tenant earned in his lifetime.
    Her protector's hair was clean, but long overdue for a trim. Certainly his hair style, and she used that term
style
very loosely, was much longer than what currently was in fashion. Judging by her uncle's hair, just below the ear was in vogue.
    Yet the longer locks suited Nic, reminding Morgan of a fable her mother told her as a child. The character named Samson was of Herculean strength. The secret to his strength was in his long hair. She knew this was not the case with Nic. Yet it was still an amusing thought that took her back to a happier time when her mother would read to her and her twin sister in the hour before bedtime. 
    His strength came courtesy of years of fighting, and he was more likely a man who tossed fashion to the wind, not giving a care of what high society thought of him.
    Morgan knew beneath that surface of ease lay a powerful man and it had nothing to do with his hair.
    It surprised her that she had the urge to go to him and smooth back the lock falling over his forehead. She found it almost entertaining and definitely liberating that she should find her revelation to be reassuring. She guessed if she had to have a benefactor, it was best to have one who could back his claims of protection. Morgan instinctively knew not to doubt in this man’s ability to support such a claim.
    Little escaping Nic’s attention, he comprehended her taking stock of him. He knew, even if there was a more relaxed smile on her face, there was no blind trust in her. If she came to trust him, it was because he had earned her trust.
    It would come in time.
    Nic pulled himself up from his resting place after finishing his evening meal.
    “If you thought to bring a blanket then I suggest you go get it from your pack.”
    It is going to be a cold night, Nic thought as he looked up at the cloudless evening sky.
    Morgan could not dispute that observation having slept years in just such cold and dampness. He suggested they sleep close to share body warmth.
    That was something new, she thought. 
    “We’ll have no fire to keep warm or to keep the forest animals at bay,” Nic said softly, coming to stand by her.
    Morgan had never slept under the stars. However, she had dreamed of how it could be. Many times, she dreamed of this very freedom as she stared beyond her tower window far into the night, its inky blackness broken only by distant, twinkling stars.
    She jumped up and quickly brought back her cloak from her bag as well as the baby fine woolen blanket she judiciously packed.
    He had made their bed roll on a soft bed of leaves, gathered when she tended the horses. Morgan debated as he reclined there on his side propped up on his elbow, his hand extended upward in invitation. “Come Morgan. I don't usually bite," he teased. He saw her hesitation. "Soldiers often join their sleeping rolls together." That was not usually the case, but it was the best he could come up with. "It is not a sign of weakness, but done out of need.”
    She still did not move.
    “Be reasonable. We need to get as much rest as possible. First light will be here before we know it, and tomorrow we need to put as much distance between them and us as possible. Trust me. I am not the enemy. Let me keep you warm.”
    He watched her inch forward like a wild thing trying to make up its mind to bolt or to take the gift extended. She cautiously lowered