MacKinnon’s Rangers 03.5 - Upon A Winter's Night (9 page)

He addressed the Regulars. "Stand down, I said! You are dismissed."

The Regulars hesitated for a moment, looking to
Haviland
, who spluttered, "Y-you are not in command here."

William turned to Cooke. "Has
Haviland’s
promotion been confirmed, Captain?"

"Aye, my lord, but even so, you are still the senior officer."

William turned back to
Haviland
. "I outrank you — in every way."

Satisfied, the Regulars hurried out of the room, most of them averting their gazes as they passed William, clearly trying not to look at him. He couldn’t blame them.

Even with a wig, his appearance was monstrous.

"Son of a whore." William strode toward
Haviland
, repeating what Iain MacKinnon had just called him. "Was your mother a whore,
Haviland
? I know nothing about her."

"My mother was a chaste and respectable woman."
Haviland
glared at him.

William glanced about the office that had once been his. His gaze fell upon the bookshelves to his left. "My mother is a royal princess, the daughter of our recently departed sovereign and aunt to His Majesty King George III."

Haviland
hated being reminded of William’s royal bloodline, but William wasn’t bringing this up merely to irritate the man.

"I am aware of your lineage, my lord."

"Indeed." William turned and fixed
Haviland
with a hard gaze. "Why, then, do you dishonor me by breaking the promises I made to the MacKinnon brothers and their men on the Crown’s behalf? Word is all over Albany that MacKinnon’s Rangers have been denied their wages by the Crown."

Haviland
opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Fighting a wave of dizziness, William pointed to five familiar tomes on the bookshelf. "Aren’t those my ledgers? Cooke, would you please examine them?"

"Certainly, my lord." Cooke retrieved the volumes, flipped through them, then held them out for William to see. "These are, indeed, your ledgers from Fort Edward."

Wentworth glanced down at his clerk’s familiar writing on the page. "You know full well that the Crown was obligated to pay the Rangers,
Haviland
, and yet you lied to MacKinnon. You dishonor the king and country you claim to serve — a reckless action for a man with your
lofty
ambitions."

Haviland
gave a perfunctory bow, but there was loathing in his eyes. "I regret my actions, my lord. I simply do not understand what you see in these rough men."

"Your lack of vision where the Rangers are concerned is of little import to me. Your lack of character is. You will apologize to these men. Now."

William might have found the horror on
Haviland’s
face amusing had he not been so very ill and in so much pain.

Haviland
spoke the words, but refused to look at the brothers. "My apologies."

"Captain Cooke, please take the Brigadier General into the next room and help him and his clerk determine the exact amount that is owed to each Ranger. See to it that the wages are counted out within the hour, and make some provision to see their pay delivered before Christmas Eve."

"Yes, my lord."

"Now leave us. Close the door behind you, and see that we are not disturbed."

"I am your most humble servant, my lord." Cooke gave a smart bow, then turned toward the door, motioning for
Haviland
to follow. "This way, sir."

Hatred blazing in his eyes,
Haviland
gave William a stiff bow and turned to go.

"One last thing,
Haviland
." William glared at him, at last letting his rage show. "If I hear that you have dishonored the memory of my dear belated niece again, if you even mention her name or repeat what you said today,
I will not rest
until I have had satisfaction. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, my lord. My apologies."

"Get out of my sight!" William waited until Cooke had closed the door behind him, then made his way with careful steps to the chair on the other side of his writing table and sat, his legs barely able to hold his weight.

Iain MacKinnon spoke first. "You are unwell."

"Does it please the three of you to see me thus? Do you revel to see that bastard Wentworth at last brought down?" He had not wanted them to see him in this condition — weak, scarred, in pain.

The three brothers frowned, shaking their heads in protest.

"I
wouldna
wish such
sufferin
’ on my worst enemy," Connor answered.

"Nor would I," Morgan answered.

Iain glared at him. "You misjudge us."

Perhaps Iain was right. Perhaps William had misjudged them all along.

He fought to keep his teeth from chattering. "How is Lady Anne?"

"My wife fares well, as do our children. She sends her regards."

Ah, sweet Lady Anne! How William would love to see her one last time. He had tried every means he could devise to win her to his bed, even asking her to be his mistress, but she had chosen Iain MacKinnon, a man without wealth or titles.

William turned his gaze to Connor and asked the question that had troubled him most these long months. "How is Sarah?"

"She is well. She gave birth to our son two weeks past. She named him William."

William already knew this, of course, but to hear it directly from Connor put his mind at ease. He found himself smiling. "How awkward that must have been for you to have a son named after me."

Not that it wasn’t also awkward for William. Connor MacKinnon, youngest son of an exiled
Jacobite
laird, was now William’s nephew by marriage, his barbarian Highland blood mingled with Sarah’s. No one in England would ever know this, of course, as everyone believed that Sarah had been killed last summer.

Then Connor drew something out of his coat, stepped forward, and held it out for William. "She
bade
me give you this."

A letter.

William took it, stared down at his name spelled out in Sarah’s delicate handwriting, and was overtaken by an unexpected rush of emotion. Unwilling to open it in front of anyone, he tucked it inside his waistcoat.

"She was sore
fashed
that you rode away and
didna
stop to see her."

"Does she speak well of me?" William had to know.

"Aye, my lord. She misses you and worries about you."

Had Connor MacKinnon just called him "my lord"?

By God, he had!

This so astonished William that he almost laughed.

Then Iain spoke. "You are welcome in our home. Let us procure a wagon and get you back to the farm where Annie can
tend
your hurts. She has a deft hand
wi
’
healin
’. You’ll be strong again in no time."

William shook his head, their pity and this shift in their behavior toward him making him feel vulnerable in a way he’d never felt before. "I do not wish for Lady Anne or Sarah to see me like this."

Oh, how he hated to admit that!

Morgan frowned. "
Dinnae
be foolish! You fought like a soldier, a true warrior. There is no shame in that. Whatever scars you bear are marks of honor."

"And what of Sarah?" Connor asked. "She loves you.
Helpin
’ to care for you would bring her great joy. Also, she wants very much for you to see our son. If you were to come
wi
’ us and spend Christmas
wi
’ her, she — "

"No!" William spoke the word more sharply than he’d intended, perhaps because Connor’s words tempted him sorely or perhaps because, without laudanum, his pain was becoming most difficult to bear. "I said farewell to my niece on the battlefield. I would have her remember me as I was."

Morgan looked from Iain to Connor, then slipped out of his tumpline pack, reached inside, and drew out a small pot. "Spread this salve on your wounds
mornin
’, noon, and night. It burns like hellfire, but it will stop them from
festerin
’."

"
’Twas
this potion Annie used upon my back after you had me flogged and on Connor’s shoulder when he was shot," Iain said.

The brothers went on at length about the number of men whose lives and limbs the concoction had purportedly saved until William was quite convinced to try it no matter how horribly it stung.

He picked up the little pot. "My thanks."

"And
dinnae
be
lettin
’ the physicians bleed you," Morgan added. "They
dinnae
ken what they’re about. Willow bark tea is better for a fever than
bleedin
’ a man."

William forced himself to his feet, one hand on the writing table for balance. "Now it is time you went on your way. Cooke will see to it that the accounts are settled and the men paid, though it may take some time to reach all of them now that winter has set in. I regret that
Haviland
did not discharge his duty as he should have."

"
’Twas
no’
your
doin’," Iain said. "Our thanks for comin’ to our aid today."

William looked from Iain to Morgan to Connor. During the long months of his captivity, he’d thought more than once about what he’d say to the MacKinnon brothers should he live to see them again. The horrors he’d seen, the pain he’d suffered, had given him a new appreciation for them and for their survival skills — and their endurance.

Still, he would not apologize. Aye, he had used foul means to press them into service, but their skill had helped ensure victory for Britain, winning accolades for William and turning the MacKinnon brothers and their men into legends.

Long after William’s name was forgotten on this frontier, men would still tell stories of MacKinnon’s Rangers.

He offered Iain his hand, struggling to find the right words. "It was an honor to be your commanding officer. I thank you for your service, however reluctant it might have been. You fought with uncommon valor."

"I
cannae
forgi
’ nor forget what you did to me and my brothers, nor the wrongs you’ve done to Annie, Amalie, and Sarah," Iain said, taking his hand in a firm grasp, "but you are not
wi’out
honor. Let the enmity between us end here and now."

At those words, the weight on William’s shoulders grew lighter.

Morgan held out his hand. "You balanced the scales
atween
us when you helped me escape the hangman’s noose and secured my pardon. For my part, I
forgi’e
you."

"Of the three of you, I trusted you the most." William shook Morgan’s hand, then turned to Connor. "Tell Sarah that I…love her. Take care of her."

"I promise you she will be safe and want for
naugh
’ so long as there is life in my body." Connor clasped his hand, and they shook. "There have been days when I’ve cursed you. I once vowed to kill you. But
many’s
the time you came unexpectedly to our aid — such as today. It is those times I will remember."

Shivering with fever, William released Connor’s hand. "Farewell."

He sank back into his chair, unable to stand any longer.