Read Online MacKinnon’s Rangers 03.5 - Upon A Winter's Night by Pamela Clare - Free Book Online
Authors: Pamela Clare
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William wasn’t bringing this up merely to irritate the man.
"I am aware of your lineage, my lord."
"Indeed." William turned and fixed Haviland with a hard gaze. "Why, then, do you dishonor me by breaking the promises I made to the MacKinnon brothers and their men on the Crown’s behalf? Word is all over Albany that MacKinnon’s Rangers have been denied their wages by the Crown."
Haviland opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, William pointed to five familiar tomes on the bookshelf. "Aren’t those my ledgers? Cooke, would you please examine them?"
"Certainly, my lord." Cooke retrieved the volumes, flipped through them, then held them out for William to see. "These are, indeed, your ledgers from Fort Edward."
Wentworth glanced down at his clerk’s familiar writing on the page. "You know full well that the Crown was obligated to pay the Rangers, Haviland , and yet you lied to MacKinnon. You dishonor the king and country you claim to serve — a reckless action for a man with your lofty ambitions."
Haviland gave a perfunctory bow, but there was loathing in his eyes. "I regret my actions, my lord. I simply do not understand what you see in these rough men."
"Your lack of vision where the Rangers are concerned is of little import to me. Your lack of character is. You will apologize to these men. Now."
William might have found the horror on Haviland’s face amusing had he not been so very ill and in so much pain.
Haviland spoke the words, but refused to look at the brothers. "My apologies."
"Captain Cooke, please take the Brigadier General into the next room and help him and his clerk determine the exact amount that is owed to each Ranger. See to it that the wages are counted out within the hour, and make some provision to see their pay delivered before Christmas Eve."
"Yes, my lord."
"Now leave us. Close the door behind you, and see that we are not disturbed."
"I am your most humble servant, my lord." Cooke gave a smart bow, then turned toward the door, motioning for Haviland to follow. "This way, sir."
Hatred blazing in his eyes, Haviland gave William a stiff bow and turned to go.
"One last thing, Haviland ." William glared at him, at last letting his rage show. "If I hear that you have dishonored the memory of my dear belated niece again, if you even mention her name or repeat what you said today, I will not rest until I have had satisfaction. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, my lord. My apologies."
"Get out of my sight!" William waited until Cooke had closed the door behind him, then made his way with careful steps to the chair on the other side of his writing table and sat, his legs barely able to hold his weight.
Iain MacKinnon spoke first. "You are unwell."
"Does it please the three of you to see me thus? Do you revel to see that bastard Wentworth at last brought down?" He had not wanted them to see him in this condition — weak, scarred, in pain.
The three brothers frowned, shaking their heads in protest.
"I wouldna wish such sufferin ’ on my worst enemy," Connor answered.
"Nor would I," Morgan answered.
Iain glared at him. "You misjudge us."
Perhaps Iain was right. Perhaps William had misjudged them all along.
He fought to keep his teeth from chattering. "How is Lady Anne?"
"My wife fares well, as do our children. She sends her regards."
Ah, sweet Lady Anne! How William would love to see her one last time. He had tried every means he could devise to win her to his bed, even asking her to be his mistress, but she had chosen Iain MacKinnon, a man without wealth or titles.
William turned his gaze to Connor and asked the question that had troubled him most these long months. "How is Sarah?"
"She is well. She gave birth to our son two weeks past. She named him William."
William already knew this, of course, but to hear it directly from Connor put his mind at ease. He found himself smiling. "How awkward that must have been for you to
"I am aware of your lineage, my lord."
"Indeed." William turned and fixed Haviland with a hard gaze. "Why, then, do you dishonor me by breaking the promises I made to the MacKinnon brothers and their men on the Crown’s behalf? Word is all over Albany that MacKinnon’s Rangers have been denied their wages by the Crown."
Haviland opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, William pointed to five familiar tomes on the bookshelf. "Aren’t those my ledgers? Cooke, would you please examine them?"
"Certainly, my lord." Cooke retrieved the volumes, flipped through them, then held them out for William to see. "These are, indeed, your ledgers from Fort Edward."
Wentworth glanced down at his clerk’s familiar writing on the page. "You know full well that the Crown was obligated to pay the Rangers, Haviland , and yet you lied to MacKinnon. You dishonor the king and country you claim to serve — a reckless action for a man with your lofty ambitions."
Haviland gave a perfunctory bow, but there was loathing in his eyes. "I regret my actions, my lord. I simply do not understand what you see in these rough men."
"Your lack of vision where the Rangers are concerned is of little import to me. Your lack of character is. You will apologize to these men. Now."
William might have found the horror on Haviland’s face amusing had he not been so very ill and in so much pain.
Haviland spoke the words, but refused to look at the brothers. "My apologies."
"Captain Cooke, please take the Brigadier General into the next room and help him and his clerk determine the exact amount that is owed to each Ranger. See to it that the wages are counted out within the hour, and make some provision to see their pay delivered before Christmas Eve."
"Yes, my lord."
"Now leave us. Close the door behind you, and see that we are not disturbed."
"I am your most humble servant, my lord." Cooke gave a smart bow, then turned toward the door, motioning for Haviland to follow. "This way, sir."
Hatred blazing in his eyes, Haviland gave William a stiff bow and turned to go.
"One last thing, Haviland ." William glared at him, at last letting his rage show. "If I hear that you have dishonored the memory of my dear belated niece again, if you even mention her name or repeat what you said today, I will not rest until I have had satisfaction. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, my lord. My apologies."
"Get out of my sight!" William waited until Cooke had closed the door behind him, then made his way with careful steps to the chair on the other side of his writing table and sat, his legs barely able to hold his weight.
Iain MacKinnon spoke first. "You are unwell."
"Does it please the three of you to see me thus? Do you revel to see that bastard Wentworth at last brought down?" He had not wanted them to see him in this condition — weak, scarred, in pain.
The three brothers frowned, shaking their heads in protest.
"I wouldna wish such sufferin ’ on my worst enemy," Connor answered.
"Nor would I," Morgan answered.
Iain glared at him. "You misjudge us."
Perhaps Iain was right. Perhaps William had misjudged them all along.
He fought to keep his teeth from chattering. "How is Lady Anne?"
"My wife fares well, as do our children. She sends her regards."
Ah, sweet Lady Anne! How William would love to see her one last time. He had tried every means he could devise to win her to his bed, even asking her to be his mistress, but she had chosen Iain MacKinnon, a man without wealth or titles.
William turned his gaze to Connor and asked the question that had troubled him most these long months. "How is Sarah?"
"She is well. She gave birth to our son two weeks past. She named him William."
William already knew this, of course, but to hear it directly from Connor put his mind at ease. He found himself smiling. "How awkward that must have been for you to
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