Couldn’t she be Annie Burns forever?
She stood for a moment on the cabin’s doorstep, looking about at her new world. Though she’d been at the fort for more than a week now, she’d spent most of it in Iain’s cabin or Dr. Blake’s hospital and had been too worried about Iain to take any notice of her surroundings.
Around her the camp bustled. Near the kitchens, several men chopped and stacked firewood. Others sat before their cabins and repaired snowshoes or stitched leather into belts and leggings and moccasins. Still others cleaned their weapons. In the distance, she saw several on the river fishing, while two more crossed the bateau bridge, carrying a slain deer on a pole between them.
Then she saw them—Indian lodges. Rounded and covered with mats of tree bark or reeds, they stood on the north end of the island not far beyond the rows of Ranger cabins. There must have been thirty of them—shelter for Joseph’s warriors, Annie realized. Never had she heard of white men and Indians living so close together, and a frisson of fear chased itself down her spine. But she remembered the kindness in Joseph’s eyes, the deep concern he’d shown for Iain, the way he’d called him “brother.”
I was adopted into the Muchquauh, the Bear Clan, of the Muhheconneok people when I reached manhood. The grannies got so tired of my bein’ forever at their fires eatin’ their food that they decided to make me part of the family so they could quit treatin’ me like a guest and send me out to fish.
Joseph’s people were not just allies of the British, but kin to Iain and his brothers. They would not harm her.
She shut the door to Iain’s cabin behind her and set out for the river. She needed to fetch water for washing and more wood for the fire. She hoped to wash her gown and shift and perhaps get a hot bath and some breakfast. Then she would visit Brendan and Conall as she had promised them.
She’d taken but a few steps when she saw several Rangers, some of whom she recognized and some of whom she did not, striding toward her. Startled, she froze.
“Bugger off, the lot of you!” Killy appeared from behind one of the cabins and dismissed the others with an impatient wave of his hand. “No pretty woman should have to suffer the company of Scots when there’s an Irishman at hand.”
In the sunlight and up close, Annie got her first real look at him. He was not much taller than she, thin and sinewy, his head topped by the same blue Scotch bonnet he always wore. His skin was red and leathery, and he seemed to be made of scars. One circled his neck, as if he’d been garroted. Another ran down his right cheek, tugging at the corner of his mouth. A dark circle on his left hand could only have come from a lead ball. But the smile on his face was bright and cheerful.
“Good morn’, Killy.”
“A good mornin’ to you. Is there somethin’ you’re after, miss?”
“I had hoped to fetch water and the washtub for laundry and perhaps a bath.”
“Another one?” He winked and took the pail from her. Then he turned to the handful of Rangers who still stood there, watching. “Did you not hear her, you pack of half-wits? Robert, bring wood, and stack it high. Dougie, carry water from the river until she tells you to stop. McHugh, get to the kitchens and fetch a breakfast fit for this fair creature. I shall carry the washtub. Well, boys, don’t be keepin’ her waitin’.”
The men nearly bumped into one another in their haste to do as they’d been told.
Charmed and amused, Annie couldn’t help but smile. “They’re a helpful lot.”
“They’re lazy as hounds, but they’re grateful to you, miss. Morgan and Connor told us all you’ve done for Mack—aye, and for Brendan and Conall, too. If there’s aught you need, just ask a Ranger.”
When Iain saw her, she was sitting on a chair just outside his cabin, sipping something from a cup. She might as well have been seated on a throne. A dozen or so of his men sat on their haunches around her, staring up at her with adoring eyes, so enthralled they did not see him and made no effort to get back to their duties.
Iain could scarce blame them. Holy Mary, she was bonnie, her golden hair tied back in a ribbon, her skin like cream in the morning light. He’d spent a restless night thinking of her, tossing about on his makeshift pallet of pine boughs until Morgan had all but ordered him out of the cabin.
Och, for the love of God, Iain! If you want her so badly, then bed her or wed her! But dinnae keep me awake wi’ your randy tossin’ about!
Bed her or wed her.
Would that he could.
Killy was amusing her with the story of how he’d come to be in America. It was Killy’s favorite story to tell. “Thinkin’ me dead, they cut me from the gallows and threw me in a wooden box. Imagine their fright when on the way to the churchyard I started hollerin’ and a-screamin’ to get out!”
Hoots of laughter from the men, a gasp from Annie.
She held slender fingers to her lips, her green eyes wide in amazement. “Oh, Killy! They truly hanged you?”
Killy bared his scarred neck. “Aye, they did. But I’m one Irishman they could not kill.”
“Did they not take you back to the gallows and try again?”
“Nay, miss. The vicar decided it was an act of God that spared my life, so they put me on a leaky ship and sent me here.”
Cam grinned. “’Twas more likely an act of the devil. He judged your soul too black for hell and spat you out!”
More laughter.
But Iain had seen enough. “It’s a good thing the war is over, isn’t it, boys? Otherwise, you might have chores to do.”
Instantly his men were on their feet, and a few of them had the good sense to scatter.
“Mack.” Killy faced him, not a trace of shame on his scarred face. “Good to see you up and about. The boys and I were seein’ to it she had water and firewood to last the day.”
Iain glanced at the woodpile, saw it was high enough to last until the Second Coming. He fought to keep his temper in check. “When ’tis your duty to dote on Miss Burns, I’ll tell you.”
“There’s no need to get cankersome. A good day to you, Miss.” Killy gave Annie a tug of his forelock and sauntered off, whistling.
Iain glared after him. “Bloody Irish!”
“Why are you so cross wi’ them? They were only tryin’ to be helpful.”
Iain looked down into Annie’s furious and lovely face. But anger already had the best of him. “We’re in the midst of a war, Annie. I cannae have my men distracted from their duty by a pretty set of petticoats.”
She gave an outraged gasp. “A pretty set of . . . ! Is that what I am?”
He might have taken those words back had he not looked down at that moment and seen the bodice of her gown—or what there was of it. Christ!
Whatever vigor the Almighty had lent his tongue seemed to drain southward to his cock. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, while his cock stood at spirited attention.
“I’ve done naught to deserve your wrath, Major MacKinnon, and I willna stand here and bear your insults!” In a flounce of pink-striped skirts, she vanished inside, slammed the door to his own cabin in his face, and drew the string in.
“You cannae keep me out, Annie.”
Her quavering voice answered him, and he knew she was in tears. “Then b-break the d-door down like the b-barbarian I always thought you were!”
Barbarian? She thought him a barbarian?
And because he knew he was frightfully close to proving he was exactly that, he turned his back on his own cabin and strode away.
Annie spent her afternoon reading to Conall and the other patients and helping Dr. Blake, who had to leave several times to tend to a “camp follower.” She was not certain what sort of military rank that was, but she’d felt both touched and pleased when Dr. Blake told her he was leaving his other patients in her hands.
“Have you heard, Miss Burns?” Conall asked as she wrestled with the pages of a newspaper. “They’re sendin’ me to Albany.”
She looked over at him, surprised. “Albany? Why???
?
“The doctor says I’m strong enough to travel and that I’ll heal better there.”
She smiled, happy for his good news. “Shall I write to you?”
“There will be no need, miss. Why, have you no’ heard? You’re comin’ wi’ me.” His face lit up with a grin.
She felt her stomach sink.
Albany.
She could not go to Albany. Master Hawes had registered her indenture there. If the sheriff saw her, he would surely recognize her.
She willed herself to stay calm. “Where did you hear this, Conall?”
“Why, from Dr. Blake, of course. He says Wentworth has to send you on to Albany sooner or later, so he might as well send you wi’ me.”
Now she knew why Lord William wanted to see her. “I’d hoped to go to New York.”
“Well then, it’s settled!” Conall’s smile grew brighter. “The road to New York starts in Albany.”
William couldn’t remember ever having been more amused.
His dinner guests had arrived barely speaking to each other. Miss Burns, whose bruises were healed and who looked lovelier than he remembered, was pretending to be a wee crofter lass while ignoring the man for whom she’d so recently fallen to her knees. Major MacKinnon, meanwhile, sat in brooding silence, glowering at everyone, but most especially at the woman for whom he’d risked his life and taken one hundred lashes.
Clearly, their lust for each other was stronger than William had imagined—and yet unsatisfied. Why that should please him, he did not know, unless some part of him wished Miss Burns for himself. And if he did? He certainly wasn’t the only man to feel that way.
William’s officers, who completed the evening’s delightful dramatis personae, were so besotted with Miss Burns that they were blind to the jealous rage they fueled in the man who sat beside her. Lieutenant Cooke, in particular, seemed to want to court danger, leaning close to Miss Burns, laying his hand over hers, inviting her to tour the battlements with him—an outlandish offer William would have to rescind.
From where William sat, it was not a question of whether the evening would devolve into tempers and perhaps even violence, but rather a question of when.
“My favorite of Master Shakespeare’s plays is Romeo and Juliet, in which Juliet takes poison and grief-stricken Romeo slays himself with his dagger in her tomb,” offered Lieutenant Cooke, apparently unaware that a crofter’s daughter could hardly be expected to have a refined appreciation for the plays of William Shakespeare.
Miss Burns smiled. “’Tis Romeo who takes poison and Juliet who slays herself with his dagger when she finds no poison left for her.”
William did not miss the fleeting look of surprise on Major MacKinnon’s face or the way the major’s gaze seemed to measure the woman beside him. So MacKinnon was aware of the inconsistencies in her manner as well.
Lieutenant Cooke frowned. “Oh, yes, I believe you’re right, Miss Burns. How could I have confused the two?”
“’Tis likely you’re thinkin’ of the drug she takes to feign death.”
Cooke smiled. “Ah, yes. Of course.”
“Your acquaintance with literature is most impressive, Miss Burns.” William saw wariness cloud her eyes and knew she’d just realized she’d made another mistake. “The doctor tells us you read with every bit as much skill as he.”
“Oh, Dr. Blake speaks most highly of you.” Lieutenant Cooke beamed. “Just this morning he told me how grateful he was for your assistance of late.”
“He is too kind.” She worried her lower lip, her pretty face seeming suddenly troubled. Then she met William’s gaze. “My lord, might I speak on the subject of my future, for it touches on my work at Dr. Blake’s hospital?”
William saw Major MacKinnon’s body stiffen. “Certainly, Miss Burns.”
“I wish to remain at Fort Edward. I find—”
“Are you daft? This place is no’ fittin’ for a lass. You’ll go to Albany, and soon.” Major MacKinnon hadn’t spoken two words all night. His outburst now startled everyone—and pleased William immensely.
“I don’t believe she was addressing you, Major.” William cast the major a reproving glance before settling his gaze on Miss Burns. “However, I’m afraid in this instance I must agree with the major, Miss Burns. We are at war, and Fort Edward is but miles away from an enemy that would freeze your marrow. Besides, what could you do here to compensate His Majesty for his care of you?”
She seemed nervous and was clearly trying not to look at the major. “I had hoped Dr. Blake might permit me to work for him, Colonel. He did tell Lieutenant Cooke he was grateful for—”
The major gave a snort. “And what will you do, Annie, the first time you have to hold a screamin’ man down so the doctor can cut off his leg—or the first time a soldier returns from battle wi’ his skull blown open and his entrails draggin’ on the earth?”
She paled slightly, but did not back down. “I didna say it would be easy, my lord, but I should like to try. Or perhaps I could teach those men amongst the Rangers who cannae yet do so to read. There are many ways I could help.”
This time it was Lieutenant Cooke who interrupted, his voice dripping with contempt aimed at the major. “What need have Rangers of letters? We pay them to shoot.”
Miss Burns lifted her chin. “Lieutenant Cooke, surely you, as a good Christian, agree every man would gain from bein’ able to read God’s word.”
The lieutenant looked dejected at her rebuke. “You are quite correct, Miss Burns. My apologies. That is a noble aim. No doubt many of them would be greatly reformed.”
William saw the cold fury in the major’s eyes, watched him take a swallow of wine, and felt the thrill of treading on dangerous ground. “I find your proposal most interesting, Miss Burns. However, there is another problem. My own rules prohibit women at Fort Edward, except for officers’ wives or camp followers.”
She looked perplexed. “Camp followers are women?”
The major gave another snort, this time spewing wine across the tablecloth. “Aye, they’re women.”
“Perhaps I can be a camp follower and learn to do what they do.”
William thought his officers would choke to death on their laughter, so valiantly did they try to hold it back.
But the major didn’t bother to spare Miss Burns’s feelings. He guffawed. “Och, I’ve no doubt you could learn, lass, and be quite skilled at it.”
Lieutenant Cooke thrust back his chair and stood. “Take back those words, Major! I will not sit by while you dishonor Miss Burns!”
“Sit down, lad, and shut your bloody gob!” A muscle clenched in the major’s jaw.
Apparently judging survival the better part of valor, the lieutenant slowly resumed his seat, his face as red as his uniform.
Miss Burns turned her gaze to William, her stunning green eyes filled with confusion—and apprehension. “P-please, my lord, what are camp followers?”
Delighted at the precarious way things were unfolding, William started to answer, but the major beat him to it.
“They’re whores, lass. They service the men.”
Miss Burns’s face turned a charming shade of scarlet. “Oh.”
“One of the vices of any army, I’m afraid.” If William could have barred prostitutes from the fort without facing a mutiny, he would have. They carried disease and bred depravity.
“So I can stay at the fort only if I marry an officer or sell myself to your men.” Her voice quavered slightly. “That doesna seem fair.”
William could tell she was angry, but at whom—him or Major MacKinnon?
Enchanted by her innocence, William couldn’t resist. “There’s rather more to the rules, I’m afraid. In order to protect my men, any unmarried woman hoping to remain at the fort must first be examined for the . . . and et cetera.”
When she didn’t comprehend this commonly accepted polite way of referring to the deadly disease, Lieutenant Cooke leaned forward and whispered. “The pox, miss.”
But the major, ever tactful, blared it out. “Syphilis, lass.”
Her face turned an even deeper shade of crimson.
“I must admit I’ve never been in this predicament before, Miss Burns. I shall have to think on it before I make a decision. Perhaps if you can offer proof of your virtue or find a husband . . .” William let his voice trail off, held up his hand to silence his officers’ outraged objections.
“H-how does one offer such proof?”
The major met William’s gaze, his eyes filled with undisguised hatred. “You lie on your back while the doctor tosses up your skirts and spreads your thighs to see if your maidenhead is intact.”
Miss Burns was on her feet, the expression of utter shock on her face surely proof enough for every man at the table that she was still a virgin. She was visibly shaken and trembling, and William was surprised to find himself almost regretting having pushed matters this far.
She met his gaze, lifted her chin. “I am no’ a whore, my lord, nor will I bare myself in so shameful a fashion to anyone!”
Chapter 18
Annie threw her napkin on the table, then turned and fled down the hall, out the door, and into the night, heedless of men’s stares and the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Chased by her own fears, feeling trapped, angry, panicked, she ran.
They were going to send her to Albany! She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t risk losing her newly found freedom. Nor could she spread her thighs for the doctor lest he see her brand. If he discovered her secret, she’d be left with no choice but to trust Lord William with the truth, and Lord William would surely contact her uncle. And then God save her!
“Annie!”
She heard Iain call for her, picked up her skirts, and ran faster.
How could she ever have thought him honorable? The man was an ill-mannered beast. When he hadn’t sought to wound her with his boorish silence, he’d done his best to disgrace and humiliate her.
“Annie, for God’s sake!”
Out the first gate she ran, across the wooden bridge, through the breach in the second wall, and past the rows of canvas tents, soldiers following her with their gazes.