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

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