MacKinnon’s Rangers 03.5 - Upon A Winter's Night by Pamela Clare Page B
Authors: Pamela Clare
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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
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
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