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

stepped forward and clasped Hildie’s hand, a gracious smile on her pretty face. "I’m Annie, Iain’s wife. Welcome to our home. I’ll get you a pair of warm, dry socks and make you that cup of tea."

    "Many thanks."

    So this was Annie MacKinnon. Hildie had heard of her. All the news worth knowing made its way to the alehouse in time. It was said that Annie MacKinnon had been born a noble lady but had married Iain MacKinnon for love. Hildie was tempted to ask if this was true, but knew that to do so on so short an acquaintance would be unforgivably rude.

    "The walk was long," she said instead.

    Of course the walk was long, Hildie ! What a foolish thing to say!

    "Aye, ’tis a long journey when the sun is shinin ’." Annie set the teakettle on the hob. "I dinnae think I’d have made it."

    "I am Amalie — Morgan’s wife." A dark-haired woman stepped forward, her arms filled with two wriggling babies so alike in age and appearance that they could only be twins. She spoke with a French accent, but her features told Hildie that she was of mixed heritage — perhaps Indian and French. "You must be chilled to the very bone."

    Hildie’s toes ached, her fingers, too. " Ja . It was very cold."

    Then Hildie remembered that Morgan MacKinnon had been thrown out of the Rangers for marrying the daughter of a French officer. Her gaze was drawn back to the babies. She’d never spent much time in the company of other women or with children, for that matter, her entire life spent meeting the needs of hungry men.

    "These are our twins, Lachlan and Connor Joseph." Amalie set the babies on the floor, where they crawled about and babbled to one another. She took a pair of knitted socks from Annie, knelt down, and replaced Hildie’s sodden socks with the dry ones, hanging the wet ones to dry.

    Hildie wiggled her tows . "Thank you."

    "Would you like some of Annie’s shortbread?" The third woman wrapped a warm shawl around Hildie’s shoulders, then presented her with a tray of small cakes. "I am Sarah MacKinnon, Connor’s wife."

    Hildie was surprised at Sarah’s refined tone and the crispness of her English. It was not the English spoken by frontiersmen and their families, nor even that of the British officers who’d stayed at the tavern. It was refined, like that of…

    Hildie felt her pulse quicken as she remembered what she’d heard this past summer, whispers in corners about Brigadier General Wentworth’s niece, whose name was Sarah. Some said Connor MacKinnon had seduced her and gotten her with child not long before she’d been killed by Indians. But one redcoat had insisted that Lady Sarah hadn’t been killed at all, swearing he’d seen her at Fort Ticonderoga with Connor MacKinnon after the battle, safe and very much alive. The other soldiers had laughed at him, but now Hildie knew he’d spoken the truth.

    She found herself smiling at this happy realization — and at the thought that a high-born British lady was offering her something to eat rather than the reverse. "You are all very kind to welcome me into your home on Christmas Eve."

    Annie smiled, setting a place for Hildie at the table. "You’re to be Killy’s bride, and he is as kin to us. That makes you kin, too."

    Hildie bit into the little cake, but was so taken aback by Annie’s kind words that it took her a moment to notice the taste. It was both buttery and sweet. She might not know anything about babies, but Hildie knew a great deal about food. "This is good! What do you call it?"

    "Shortbread," Sarah answered. "Annie makes it. Have another."

    Hildie did. "You must teach me the recipe — that is, if you are willing."

    "I’d be most happy to share it." Annie gave her a warm smile. "But tell me Hildie , did you truly walk this entire distance through deep snows on Christmas Eve just to see whether Killy wanted to marry you?"

    " Ja ." Hildie wiggled her toes again, her feet finally starting to warm. "No man has ever said he wanted to marry