Sarah remembered Uncle William’s words and knew the moment she looked at his face that Connor spoke the truth. Something in her chest began to ache. “You…you would poison me to kill my child?”
For a moment, there was silence.
“I would not have let anything harm you.” Uncle William’s admission made the ache in Sarah’s chest grow sharper. “Your womb is meant to carry the sons of nobility, Sarah, not the bastards of lesser men.”
“My fathers were lairds in the Highlands when yours were still farmin’ kale back in Germany!”
Sarah scarce heard Connor’s words. She looked into her beloved uncle’s eyes and found a stranger.
Connor saw the hurt on Sarah’s sweet face and wished there’d been a way to shield her from this. She looked so vulnerable, her eyes glittering with tears, her long hair tousled and spilling to her waist, her feet bare beneath the hems of her velvet dressing gown. He could not tell by looking at her that she was with child, but the knowledge that she carried his babe inside her stirred a fierce protectiveness inside his chest.
He would not permit Wentworth to harm either her or the bairn.
She drew herself up to her full height, raised her chin. “Uncle, am I safe in your care? I will not permit you to harm my child.”
“Your child.” Wentworth spat the words in obvious distaste. “Do not become attached to it. You cannot keep it.”
“I know my duty.” The despair in Sarah’s eyes put an ache in Connor’s chest.
He sought to reassure her. “The bairn will be safe and loved on the MacKinnon farm. My brothers and their wives will welcome—”
“You will never see the brat, MacKinnon. You will—”
“Please, stop!” Sarah raised her hand. “You are the only two in this world who love me for myself. I cannot bear to see you at each other’s throats.”
“He does not love you. He used you, Sarah. He used you to shame me!”
“Did you no’ hear what the lass said? She needs us—”
Wentworth’s upper lip curled in disgust. “She doesn’t need you.”
“Och, but she does. She needed me to save her when you could not, and now—”
The door opened and Lieutenant Cooke appeared with Joseph beside him.
Wentworth called out orders. “Lieutenant Cooke, dismiss Captain Joseph and see that he is escorted beyond the battlements. Summon the guard. Then escort my niece to her chamber and lock her door from the outside.”
Lieutenant Cooke looked from Wentworth to Connor and back to Wentworth, a look of surprise on his face. “Yes, my lord. Captain Joseph, if you would—”
Connor spoke quickly to Joseph in Mahican. “Joseph, brother, hear me. Sarah carries my child. Wentworth sought in secret to kill it with poison, but Sarah now knows. I will be punished for what I have done, perhaps even killed. Sarah and the child must be protected and the baby brought to my brothers to be raised. Promise me you will watch over Sarah and the baby no matter what happens to me, and get word to Iain and Morgan.”
“I promise. Be strong, brother. We will not abandon you.” And Joseph was gone.
Lieutenant Cooke followed after him, calling from the front door for the guard.
Sarah turned pleading eyes on her uncle. “What are you going to do to Connor? Please do not harm him! He saved my life! I beg you, Uncle!”
From outside came the sound of running boots.
Wentworth ignored Sarah, shifting his gaze to Connor, his eyes as cold and hard as gunmetal. “You are hereby stripped of rank and privilege. I shall immediately recall your brother Iain to His Majesty’s service.”
“You bastard!” It was the very thing Connor had fought so hard to prevent.
And then Lieutenant Cooke was there. “Come, my lady.”
Everything inside Connor wanted to shove Lieutenant Cooke aside, take Sarah by the hand, and fight his way free of this hell. She was his. The child inside her was his. But more than three thousand redcoats were now encamped at the fort. He would not make it beyond the parade grounds, and any such attempt would give Wentworth cause to see him hanged. So he gritted his teeth, watching helplessly as Sarah was led away.
Her gaze shot to his, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I love you, Connor MacKinnon! I shall never forget you! Every song in my heart shall be for you and our child, and I shall love and cherish it, even if I am never allowed to see or hold it!”
Her words tore a hole in Connor’s chest. As she disappeared out the door, he realized with a jolt that he hadn’t yet told her he loved her—and that he might never get another chance. But no sooner had he opened his mouth to call after her than pain exploded against his skull.
And the world went black.
Connor awoke sometime later—how much later he could not say—to find himself suspended by his wrists in a cell in the guardhouse, cold iron biting into his skin. He realized he was naked, his body chilled, his bare feet dragging in the straw. He heard a man groan and realized it was he, the pain in his head shattering this thoughts, making him feel sick.
He remembered Sarah being taken from the room, remembered what she’d said to him, remembered wanting to tell her he loved her. And then pain.
Wentworth had struck him from behind.
“’E’s coming round, my lord.”
“Leave us.”
Footsteps. The squeak of iron hinges as a door opened and closed. Silence.
“Can you hear me, MacKinnon?”
Wentworth.
Connor tried to speak, but could only moan.
“Listen carefully. You have done irreparable harm to my niece. You deceived her, violated her, turned her against me. You got her with child. You’ve even convinced the silly, innocent girl that she’s in love with you.”
Wentworth seemed to be walking in circles around him, but Connor could not open his eyes. He could not even raise his head.
“I cannot geld you—not legally at any rate. I cannot have you hanged, for to do so would require a court-martial, and word of my niece’s condition would quickly become public. You see my dilemma, don’t you? Therefore, there is only one sentence I can pass that is severe enough to fit your crimes.
“Connor MacKinnon, I order you to be flogged to the count of one thousand lashes, one hundred a day for ten days. If you lose consciousness, we shall wait till you awaken. If you begin to weaken, you shall be tended in the infirmary until you are strong enough to bear the lash once more. You will feel the bite of every stroke, I assure you.
“When you are well enough to travel, I shall have you placed aboard a prison barge to await the end of the war. You will not see my niece, nor hear her voice, nor speak with her again. When the bastard you planted inside her is born, you shall never know what became of it.
“And if she dies in childbed, I shall kill you with my own hands.”
Chapter 29
May 14
Sarah sat in her shift at her open bedroom window as she had these past three mornings, not wanting to listen, but unable not to hear.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
There came no groans, no cries, no pleas, just the steady stroke of the whip, each sharp snap making her tense, her stomach knotted, her heart sick to think that the sound was sharp leather ripping into Connor’s skin, causing him terrible pain.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
One thousand lashes. Each would rend flesh, biting into soft sculpted skin she’d run her hands over when she’d lain beneath him. In the end, his back would be bloodied and torn, and he would be lucky to survive.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Tears blurred Sarah’s vision, anger, fear, and regret twisting together inside her. If she could, she would run to the parade grounds this instant and throw herself between Connor and the whip, shielding his battered body with hers. But two redcoats stood outside the front door. Though they dared not touch her, they would call for Lieutenant Cooke, who would stop her ere she’d taken ten steps and carry her, kicking and screaming, back inside and
up to her chamber.
She knew this, for she had already tried.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Today was the third terrible day of Connor’s sentence. He’d already endured two hundred lashes. Did he blame her? Did he wish now that he’d left her to Katakwa? Did he regret the passion they’d shared at the cabin?
Crack!
Silence.
She stood, strained to hear, her pulse racing. Surely they had not yet reached a hundred. Had her uncle relented? Had Connor lost consciousness? Was he…
She couldn’t bear to think it.
God, please ease his pain! Let his suffering be over for this day!
She heard footsteps on the stairs.
Uncle William and Agnes.
She remained as she was, refusing to put on her dressing gown, acknowledge their knock, or Uncle William’s call. She had not spoken with him since that terrible night, and she had nothing to say to him now.
The door opened, and she knew they stood behind her.
“Set the tray on the dressing table and leave us, Agnes.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The door closed.
“Good morning, Sarah.”
Sarah remained silent.
“Given that you refuse to join me, I’ve brought you breakfast and a fresh pot of tea.” Uncle William’s tone of detached, as if he were discussing the weather. “I had my cook prepare eggs and toast as Dr. Blake suggested. He felt it might ease your queasiness.”
Sarah kept her back to Uncle William. “Should I demand that Agnes taste it before I eat, or have you given up your quest to poison me? And how is poor, brave Dr. Blake?”
“Dr. Blake is recovering. My gratitude to him is boundless. In my desperation to secure your future, I might inadvertently have cost you your life. I apologize, and I promise you I will not attempt any such thing again. I should also like to apologize for my behavior that night. I let my emotions get the best of me.”
Did he think an apology would suffice?
Sarah didn’t want to hate him. For as long as she could remember, he’d been the only member of her family who’d seemed to care for her. But not only had he contrived to make her miscarry, he had repaid Connor’s service with agony. “Is there something else you wish to say?”
“I’ve dispatched letters to certain connections I have amongst the magistrates and thief-takers on Bow Street, asking them to investigate the matter of Denton and the theft of Margaret’s journal. If it can be proved that he was behind the scandal, I assure you he will be punished. Your father will have cause to cancel the marriage contract.”
Three days ago, Sarah would have welcomed this news, but now it barely mattered, for it did not help Connor.
“I’ve also written to inform your father that the frontier has erupted into violence since your abduction, making it impossible for me to return you in time for the wedding.”
Sarah had wondered what excuse he would make for her.
“I know that you are angry with me, Sarah, but to persist in your childish refusal to speak with me or to dine with me—”
Sarah stood and whirled to face him. “Childish? I assure you there is nothing childish about my concern for Major MacKinnon. If you wish to regain my affection, you must end his torment now. He saved my life against all hope, and you behave as if his suffering does not matter to you!”
“On the contrary, my dear. His suffering matters very much to me.” Uncle William’s expression grew hard. “He took advantage of your plight to force himself on you and get his revenge. Even now you care for him, blind to the way he manipulated you, deceived you, ravished you.”
Sarah shook her head, her voice quavering as she spoke. “No, my lord, you are the one who is blind. In your pride, you torment an innocent man.”
“Innocent?” Uncle William’s gaze shifted to her abdomen. “Proof of his guilt grows in your belly.”
Sarah turned her back to Uncle William and resumed her seat by the window, still listening for the sound of the lash, but hearing nothing. “Leave me.”
“I have spoken to Dr. Blake about the birth. He shall attend you during your confinement. When you are delivered, the child will be immediately taken from the room. You will not see it or suckle it, for you are likely then to form maternal attachments. I shall find a fit family, a British family, to raise it as their own. It shall want for nothing, I assure you.”
Sarah slid her hands over her womb, her heart aching for the baby she would never hold, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Uncle, I want you to know that the few days I spent with Connor after our escape were the happiest of my life. With him, I was free to be Sarah—not Lady Sarah, not a Lutheran, not the daughter of a marquess, but Sarah. Lady Margaret once warned me never to reveal my true self to those who do not truly love me. For a short time, I thought there were two men in this world with whom I could share my heart. You have shown me there is only one.”
Connor burned, his back in flames, the pain threatening to consume him. He sought the river, thinking to throw himself in and quench the flames, but he could not find it, its banks ever obscured by the forest.
Mary, Mother of God, help me!
Then through the trees he thought he saw the glint of moonlight on water. He stumbled toward the river only to find himself held fast by one of the trees, his wrists bound by cruel branches, the agony of the burning unbearable. Was this hell?
“Connor!”
He opened his eyes, looked into a face very much like his own. “I-Iain?”
And he remembered.
Wentworth had sentenced him to a hundred lashes a day, and today was the third day. He’d lost count at forty-seven. He must have lost consciousness and been dreaming. Perhaps he was still dreaming, his mind conjuring up an image of his brother’s whiskered face.
Iain spoke to someone. “Och, he’s senseless.”
Connor wanted to tell his brother that he’d always had more sense than either him or Morgan, but he couldn’t find the strength. His body trembled uncontrollably, blood trickling down his back, the pain shaking him apart.
“Morgan and I are here, lad.”
He heard someone draw a sword, heard the clash of steel against iron, and felt himself falling, his legs too weak to support him. But Iain caught him, lifting him over his shoulder like sack of potatoes.
“Put him down! He’s got a score more lashes comin’ before we’re through with him today!”
“Stand aside, or I’ll run you through.” That was Morgan.
His brothers had come.
The next thing Connor knew, he was lying on his belly in the infirmary.
“Drink, Connor,” a woman’s soft voice bade him. “This will dull your pain.”
He was desperately thirsty and did as she asked, the bitter taste of laudanum filling his mouth. He opened his eyes. “Annie?”
“Aye, I’m here. We’re all here.” She gave him water to drink, quenching his thirst, then pressed a cool cloth against his brow. “Now rest.”
But Connor couldn’t rest, not yet. “She’s alone, Annie. Sarah’s alone…wi’ him. He…he tried to poison her…wanted her…to miscarry. Help her.”
“Shhh.” Annie stroked his brow. “Joseph told us everything.”
“I’m sorry. I didna mean…for Iain to be pressed…back into service.”
“I dinnae blame you for that. You’ve done all you can to spare him.” She smiled, but Connor could see the worry in her green eyes.
He felt the laudanum begin to take effect, but knew his relief would be short-lived. He still faced more than seven hundred lashes. Dread coiled in his belly at the thought, the pain so much worse than he could have imagined. But he had to be strong. He would not let Wentworth break him. “Whatever doctorin’ you hope to do…you’d best be about it. They’ll be comin’ for me again soon.”
Annie smiled. “I pity them if they try.”
As his pain ebbed, Connor drifted into blessed oblivion.
William shared th
e contents of Amherst’s most recent missive with Lieutenant Cooke. “He wants us to advance to Crown Point with all haste to prevent Bougainville from joining Lévis. I had anticipated this, so we are well provisioned. Still, we must begin immediately if we are to reach Crown Point within the month.”
Lieutenant Cooke said nothing, his countenance fixed in an expression of resigned disapprobation, as it had been these past three days.
William went on as if he had not noticed. “Amherst will not send us additional troops. He plans to march with ten thousand while we have fewer than four thousand, including the Rangers and the Indians.”
“The Mahican will not fight with us.” Lieutenant Cooke’s voice held a note of condemnation as if Captain Joseph’s perfidy were William’s fault. “Captain Joseph made it quite clear that if you persisted in flogging Major MacKinnon, the Mahican would desert the war effort and not fight beside us again.”
William gave an impatient wave of his hand. He’d long resented the fact that the Mahicans seemed to serve the MacKinnon brothers more than the Crown. “I am trusting that the eldest MacKinnon will put all to rights with our allies.”
“If he does not join them in revolt.” Lieutenant Cooke spoke the words softly, as if he did not especially wish for William to hear him.
For William, it was the last straw. “Is there aught you would say to me, Lieutenant? If so, I would hear it and have an end to your ill humor.”
Cooke stood at attention. “Permission to speak freely, my lord.”
William frowned. “Permission granted.”
Cooke stood at ease, his gaze boldly meeting William’s. “Your behavior the other night was not that of a gentleman. I heard almost every word, as did the guards at the door. No doubt Lady Sarah is now the subject of much speculation amongst the Regulars. As for Major MacKinnon, I have known him too long to believe he would lie about such a thing. His account matches Lady Sarah’s in every detail. How could they concoct such a tale?
“In short, I believe he told the truth that night, whilst I know you told falsehoods. Your niece is now so distressed over Major MacKinnon’s torment that I fear for her health and that of the child. As her warden, I had the most unpleasant task of restraining her and carrying her to her room two mornings past. And what you planned to do to her—forcing her to miscarry? I was shocked to my soul to hear—”