MacKinnon’s Rangers 03.5 - Upon A Winter's Night (14 page)

With the MacKinnon brothers, their wives, and Joseph as witnesses,
Killy
and
Hildie
stood together before Iain and Annie’s hearth, each plighting their troth to the other, their wrists bound together with a strip of MacKinnon plaid. The bride’s cheeks were pink, the groom’s streaked with tears.

They celebrated with a feast and with music from Sarah’s harpsichord, laughter and dancing leaving them all breathless. But the hour grew late, and soon it was time to bid the newlyweds good night.

Killy
and
Hildie
were escorted to the partly completed cabin, which the women had decorated with pine boughs, holly, and ribbons. And then the bride and groom began to argue — loudly.

"You can’t mean to carry me!"
Hildie
said.

"Aye, I do." He glared up at her. "I’d not be able to call myself an Irishman if I let you walk over that threshold."

"You devil! I’m quite capable of walking up those steps and through that door alone. You’ll hurt your back and be lame for days. What good will you be to me as a husband then?"

"Hurt my back? Not bloody likely!"
Killy
glared at
Hildie
, pushed his sleeves up his arms, and scooped her off her feet, carrying his shrieking bride through the open door of the cabin and leaving his cheering friends to seek their own beds — and pleasures.

And as they turned toward their own cabins, Iain, Morgan, Connor, and Joseph agreed that the New Year would be a good one.

CHAPTER 10

New Year’s Day, 1761

Lord William stood on the deck of the vessel that would carry him to New York Harbor, his gaze fixed on Albany. How different the town now seemed from the day when he’d first arrived. He’d thought it the very edge of civilization then. Yet, its streets were cleaner than those of any English city, its poorest inhabitants better fed and clothed than London’s wretched beggars, its leaders educated men.

For almost seven years, it had served as his home.

His gaze dropped to the quay, where men loaded and unloaded cargo, pulled handcarts or drove wagons drawn by draft horses. A trapper, his bundle of furs slung on his back, made his way toward the gates of the stockade to trade. A group of Indians in painted hides huddled together over a campfire, surely also here to trade. Near the gangway below, a sailor bade farewell to a tearful woman and a little boy, their words just beyond William’s hearing.

He looked away, his gaze now following the river northward. Up there, beyond stretches of untamed forest at the spot Indians called The Great Carrying Place, stood Fort Edward, watching over the falls of the Hudson and the route northward. Behind the fort’s high walls, William had worked to shape the Crown’s strategy, helping to ensure a British victory. How uncertain that victory had seemed in the early days of the war, when the British had lost battle after battle.

Now, the fort held only a thousand Regulars, and Ranger Island — where the MacKinnon brothers and their men had camped with their
Mahican
allies — was now abandoned, wooden crosses marking the graves of the dead.

"Your quarters are prepared, my lord," Captain Cooke said from behind him. "We should get you below decks and out of this bitter wind. Your fever has only just broken. I wouldn’t wish to see it return."

William had no desire to be cooped up in a cabin. "Will you miss Fort Edward, Captain? Will you miss this land?"

Cooke hesitated, perhaps confused by the question.

"Do speak freely."

"Yes, my lord, I shall miss it. When I reach home, I fear I shall struggle to put that which I have seen into words. A forest so thick and vast that it could swallow an army. Mountains that stretch on forever. Lakes as wide as seas. Rivers teeming with fish so that a man can earn his day’s catch with his bare hands. And the sky — I’ve never seen so many stars nor such sunrises and sunsets as I have seen here. Until one has seen such beauty, such violent extremes of nature, with one’s own eyes, one simply cannot conceive that such beauty exists."

Conjured by the captain’s words, images flashed through William’s mind. "You express yourself most eloquently, Captain."

Cooke went on. "And what of the war? Clouds of musket smoke that blot out the sun. A thousand bateaux stretching as far into the distance as the eye can see. War
cries
echoing through the trees to chill the marrow. Blood staining the forest floor red. Acts of barbarism and cruelty that defy the most depraved imagination."

Those words conjured up images, too.

"Aye, my lord, I shall miss it — and its people."

William didn’t have to ask to know the captain was thinking of the MacKinnon brothers and their Rangers.

"What of you, my lord? Will you miss this place?"

William fought to control his emotions, giving the answer he knew was expected of him. "I suppose I shall, and yet I am most eager to visit my new estates in England and take my place in Lords."

William had come here in hopes of winning a true title and his own lands. He had succeeded. Now it was time to enjoy these hard-earned rewards.

"Quite right you are, my lord."

"What led you to take the king’s shilling?" In almost seven years, William had never asked.

"I sought an officer’s commission to give some purpose to my youth and to be of service to the Crown. I had also hoped for a bit of adventure."

Those were noble aims. "Did you find what you were seeking?"

"I found far more than I could have imagined, my lord. I think I shall always look back on my days at Fort Edward as the best of my life."

Those words seemed to wrap themselves around an ache that had secreted itself behind William’s breastbone.

The best days of his life.

Out of habit, he reached into his coat pocket, his fingers seeking the comfort of the cracked black king. It took a moment to remember that he’d left it at the MacKinnon cabin, a farewell to Lady Anne and Sarah.

He swallowed, fighting a strange tightness in his throat. "Never forget what happened here, Captain."

"I would not be able to forget even should I wish it, my lord."

The young captain’s thoughts were most certainly on the battles fought and won, but William’s drifted to Sarah and those long, terrible months of captivity. Much to his own surprise, he had done something selfless, buying Sarah’s survival and her happiness with his own blood. And she
was
happy.

The letter she’d written to him left no doubt. He’d read it more than a dozen times already, committing it to memory. After expressing her worry for him, Sarah had described at length the happiness of her marriage, the joy she felt at being able to play her harpsichord whenever she felt the desire, the love she felt for her newborn son. She had even praised the life of a farm wife, saying that she felt her days now had a purpose.

"Compared to these happy times, my life in London seems dreary and distant, like an unquiet dream from which I am most grateful to have awoken. I was a bird in a gilded cage, and through your courage and sacrifice, you set me free. I pray that one day I shall be able to express my gratitude to you in person, but if this be my last chance to reach you, then know that I shall forever hold you in my heart."

As he thought about her words, the ache behind William’s breastbone began to lessen, for although he would never set foot on these shores again, he was leaving the noblest part of himself behind — with Sarah and her son.

Behind him, the captain made ready to sail, shouting commands to his crew.

"Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your cabin, my lord? The wind is frightfully cold. It would be most distressing if you should fall ill again."

"I feel quite well, I assure you."

The salve the MacKinnon brothers had given him had worked. Though the pain the ointment caused had been all but unendurable, his wounds no longer festered. After months of pain and fever, William was finally beginning to heal.

He felt the ship lurch beneath his feet, the river’s current catching the vessel and carrying it away from the quay and downriver. He heard the crack of the sails as they were lowered and caught the wind, the ship picking up speed.

The frigid breeze seemed to blow through him, chilling him to his skin as Albany faded in the distance, but still William kept his watch at the stern, his gaze fixed northward. Then the sun broke free of the forest to the east, its lighting spilling across a landscape of pristine white.

William sucked in a breath, the sight staggering. He looked his fill, drinking in the view, knowing he would never see such untrammeled beauty again.

"Farewell, Sarah."

The wind carried his words away.

END