MacKinnon’s Rangers 03.5 - Upon A Winter's Night (12 page)

"And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. This
taxin
’ was first made when
Cyrenius
was governor of Syria. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be taxed
wi
’ Mary his espoused wife,
bein
’ great
wi
’ child.

"While they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn Son and wrapped Him in
swaddlin
’ clothes and laid Him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn."

As Iain read about the angels and shepherds, Amalie thought of a young virgin, unmarried and most unexpectedly with child, her betrothed shocked to find her thus, but compelled by a dream and his own compassion to remain true to her. She thought of blameless Mary, great with child, traveling to Bethlehem on a donkey, the pangs of childbirth coming upon her. She thought of a young mother giving birth to her first child in the chill of a stable with only straw for birthing linens.

If Joseph could be a husband to Mary through such hardship and uncertainty, why could Morgan not be a true husband to Amalie?

She felt something wet on her face — tears — and hastily wiped them away.

* * *

Connor walked up the stairs to the room he shared with Sarah. He would be glad when their cabin was finished this spring. Not that living under Iain’s roof was a hardship, but a man with a wife had a certain need for privacy. Love play was so much more robust and free when one didn’t have to worry about being overheard.

He found Sarah combing her long, honey-brown hair, the baby fast asleep in his cradle, soft furs tucked snugly around him. The washtub sat before the fire, filled with warm water, his shaving soap and razor beside it — another act of kindness from his wife. "We’ve got
Cathach
settled for the night. He’ll no’ be
breakin
’ down his stall."

"Is that what you’ve named him?" Sarah turned to look at Connor, the brush still sliding through her hair. "What does it mean?"

"It means ‘fighter.’"

She laughed at that. "That is fitting. I hope the damage he wrought is not too difficult to repair."

Connor began to undress. "We’ll need a new trough and a few beams to repair the stall, but
dinnae
fash
yourself. All will soon be set to rights."

He sank into the warm water with a sigh, the heat soothing away the lingering chill. He washed himself, trying to find a way to tell her about Wentworth. All they’d told the others was that
Haviland
had overlooked the Rangers and that the matter had been resolved. Connor and his brothers had agreed that Sarah should be the first to hear the news of Wentworth — and that she should get the news in private, for it was certain to distress her. Although he was tempted to wait till after the New Year to tell her so as not to mar these happy days with sadness, he knew she would see a truth left untold as a lie, and he would do nothing to make her think her trust in him was misplaced.

Sarah set her brush aside and walked over to him, taking the washcloth from his hand to wash his back. "Amalie was crying tonight."

"Aye, I saw." He hoped Morgan had noticed, too. "She and Morgan must find their way through this. There is
naugh
’ we can do for them."

He thought of the mistletoe he’d hung over Morgan and Amalie’s bed. It had worked for
Killy
and Miss Janssen. He prayed its magic would help his stubborn fool of a brother make peace with Amalie.

They spoke of little things while Sarah washed his hair and shaved his jaw, her touch soothing, the joys of being bathed by a wife high on Connor’s list of reasons he loved being a married man. He waited until he’d dried off and Sarah had drawn back the bed covers to tell her.

"We saw Wentworth."

She sat on the bed, facing Connor, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "How was my uncle?"

Connor told her the story, leaving out only the details of Wentworth’s appearance. "
Och
, you should have seen
Haviland’s
face when Cooke led him out of the room!"

Sarah smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I am glad he was able to come to your aid — and I’m glad Captain Cooke is with him. Did you give him my letter?"

"Aye, I gave him the letter. He
didna
read it while we were there, but tucked it inside his waistcoat."

"Did…did he tell you why he refused to see me that night?"

Connor sat beside her and took her hands, knowing the moment had come. "Sarah, he
didna
come inside because he
didna
wish you to see him."

"What are you telling me?"

He could find no way to blunt the edge of his next words. "They cut off his right ear and then burned the wound, likely to staunch the
bleedin
’. His face is unscathed, but his neck and the side of his head…"

Sarah’s eyes closed, tears streaming from beneath her lashes, her voice an anguished whisper. "
Uncle William!
"

Connor drew her into his arms and held her, offering her what comfort he could. He’d known this would be hard for her. "The wounds had festered, and he was quite sick
wi
’ fever. Morgan gave him a pot of our salve, but he
wouldna
suffer us to tend him, nor would he make the journey here where Annie could care for him. He said he’d already made his farewells and that he wanted you to remember him as he was. And, Sarah, he asked me to tell you he loves you."

She drew back, looked up at him, surprise on her face, tears staining her cheeks. "Uncle William said that?"

Connor wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "Aye, he did. He also bade me take good care of you, and I swore that I would."

There was more, but Connor waited, letting her take this in.

"He does not blame me?"

Connor feared she still saw it this way, for the war party that had attacked them and captured Wentworth had come for her. Only Wentworth’s sacrifice, made at the last moment, had spared Sarah.
’Twas
one of the bravest things Connor had seen any man do, let alone a wee English
lairdling
.

Connor squeezed Sarah’s hands, looked into her eyes. "None of that was your doin’, Sarah. He
doesna
blame you, nor will I suffer you to blame yourself. Your uncle made a warrior’s choice. He paid the price for your safety willingly, and he bears the scars well. Be
proud
of him, lass."

Connor watched Sarah struggle with her emotions, saw grief give way to something bittersweet.

"I
am
proud of him." She gave Connor a quavering smile. "But I shall miss him."

"As he shall miss you, I’m certain." But there was more. "We made peace
wi
’ him, Sarah. He
didna
offer his apology, nor did we
forgi
’ him. But we shook hands and agreed to set the past behind us."

Astonishment lit her face — and with it joy. "Oh, Connor! Is this true?"

He chuckled. "Aye, lass."

Then Connor told her all that had been spoken at the end. "Iain turned as we left and said, ‘Merry Christmas, Your Immensity.’ To tell the truth, I think he liked us
callin
’ him by those names."

There were tears on Sarah’s face again, but there was also happiness. "To know there is no longer hatred between you — ’tis the greatest Christmas gift I could imagine."

Connor hoped that wasn’t true.

He crossed the room, opened the chest that held his belongings, and drew out the little wooden box that held her wedding band. She needed a bit of solace now, and he much preferred to give this to her in private. "Perhaps this gift will find favor in your heart, too."

Smiling, she took the little box and opened it, her eyes going wide when she saw the gold ring inside. "Oh, Connor!"

"I’m sorry I
couldna
gi
’ you a ring when we were wed." There’d been no time. "I hope you’ll find this
pleasin
’."

She lifted it out of the box, held it in her upturned palm. "It is beautiful."

He knew that she’d grown up wearing jewels that would have put this simple ring to shame, but it touched him that she seemed to like it. "There are words engraved inside."

She lifted the ring, tilted it toward the firelight. "I cannot read them. Is that Gaelic? What do they say?"

"
Le mo
ghràdh
mi
agus
leum
mo
ghràdh
. It means ‘I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.’" He took the ring from her and slid it onto her finger. "I
dinnae
ken why God saw fit to bring the two of us together. I ken only that I love you and will love you until time itself is at an end. Merry Christmas, princess."

She looked down at the ring, then up at him, cupping his jaw with her palm and smiling through fresh tears. "Merry Christmas."

CHAPTER 9

Annie settled Miss Janssen on a pallet before the hearth in the sitting room, while Joseph and
Killy
carried their gear next door to Morgan and Amalie’s house, where they would bide the night. Then, exhausted but satisfied, she walked to the bedroom, where she found Iain building up the fire, still naked and damp from his bath.

He looked up when Annie entered. "How is Miss Janssen?"

"She’s probably already
sleepin
’. The poor woman was exhausted."

"I’d never have believed she walked this entire way through deep snows had I not seen it myself. The woman was determined to have a husband, so she was."

"I am happy for her — and
Killy
, too." Annie began to untie her apron, but Iain’s hands took over the task, helping her to undress down to her shift.

"We saw Wentworth," he said.

Annie sat beside him on the bed and listened as he recounted the full story of their days in Albany. When he finished, she swallowed the lump in her throat. "You made peace
wi
’ him?"

Nothing would have surprised her more.

"Aye, we did."

"I hate to think of him feverish and
sufferin
’ alone."

"
’Twas
of his
choosin
’. But if I am any judge of Cooke, he’ll make certain Wentworth uses the salve."

"I hope so. I
wouldna
wish for Lord William to perish. For all the wrongs he has done us, there is good inside him."

"Aye," Iain agreed. "But I
dinnae
wish to be talkin’ about Wentworth now."

Iain leaned down, took Annie’s mouth in a slow, simmering kiss, one big hand sliding up her thigh, pushing the cloth of her shift out of the way.

Annie’s blood began to heat, knowledge of the pleasure Iain could bring her filling her with anticipation. "What do you wish to talk about?"

Iain glanced upward toward the ceiling, his lips curving in a grin.

Annie followed his gaze and saw mistletoe hanging above their bed. What a sweet thing for him to have done! She met his gaze, saw naked desire in his eyes.

He drew her down on the bed beside him. "I
dinnae
wish to be talkin’ at all."

* * *