The Colonel's Lady by Laura Frantz

and clean clothes and a secure future. But all she could do was listen patiently, waiting for the finale that finally came with a pitiful request.
    “Now, we know you have the colonel’s sympathy,” Dovie said. “Might you say somethin’ to him about his rough treatment? Buy us a little time? Just so we can make other arrangements?”
    “Of course I’ll speak to him,” she said reassuringly, holding Abby closer and glancing toward the clock. Half past seven. Time enough to plead Dovie’s case. Dread knotted her stomach, and she swallowed down a sigh. “You’d both best go to the kitchen and get some breakfast. And pray. I don’t know if I have the colonel’s sympathy, but I’ll do what I can.”

    Two orderlies were already at work when Roxanna knocked on the blockhouse door. Colonel McLinn looked up from his work as she appeared, lap desk in arms. Standing, he cut a fine figure in the candlelight that danced in the manifold drafts airing out the stale room. She’d always thought the Continental uniforms dashing with their buff and blue, far more so than the British scarlet and white. On this particular Irishman, she admitted grudgingly, they rose to new heights.
    With an inward wince, she looked away. Bella was right. She’d been a fool to take this on. And Papa had been no wiser tying them together on his deathbed. She was hardly an impressionable schoolgirl. And McLinn was no fledgling officer. The fine lines about his eyes cast him over the age of thirty, and the confidence he wore like a cloak aged him older still. Pleading for the soiled doves in the far row of cabins was not going to set well with a seasoned officer, she feared. But since he had been fond of her father, perhaps he’d honor this one request.
    “Miss Rowan,” he said in greeting.
    “Good morning, Colonel McLinn.” Compared to his sonorous lilt, her voice seemed whisper thin in the suddenly still room.
    He glanced at the corner clock then gestured to the Windsor chair. “You’re early. I like that in my staff.”
    She took the chair and settled the lap desk like a hedge between them. “Actually, I’ve come ahead of time to discuss something with you.”
    He sat back down and seemed to sear her with his astonishing eyes. Too blue, she decided, meeting them reluctantly. Like the Virginia sky in July. The firelight just behind him was making his hair a halo of reddish-gold, emphasizing his broad shoulders and the dimple she’d just noticed in his left cheek.
    Lord, have mercy  . . .
    “What say ye, Miss Rowan?”
    She swallowed, schooling her thoughts—or trying to. “I’ve just learned that you’ve bid the women from Redstone farewell.”
    “Aye, so I did.”
    The room stilled. She was aware of the orderlies pausing in their work, and she lowered her voice to a near whisper. “That is not setting well with at least one of them. I’ve come to ask you to reconsider.”
    To her surprise, he almost smiled. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms across his chest, and she saw the flash of a signet ring on his right hand. “On what grounds?”
    Her gaze wavered, and she looked down at her lap desk. “It is winter. And they have nowhere to go.”
    “This isn’t a civilian station, Miss Rowan,” he said amiably. “They should have thought of that before they left Redstone.”
    “Foresight is not everyone’s gift, Colonel. Perhaps if you gave them some time to make other arrangements—”
    “Other than the fortnight I’ve already given them, you mean.”
    She held back a sigh. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
    “Now you are. Need I remind you that I’m commanding a garrison here, Miss Rowan? Not a tavern?”
    She looked up at him, stung by his condescension. “I need no reminding, sir. But since you’re commander of the entire western frontier, it would seem you could find a more suitable solution than sending destitute women into the cold with an Indian war on.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the