MacKinnon’s Rangers 03.5 - Upon A Winter's Night Read Online Free PDF Page B

pocket of his bearskin coat and walked out onto Albany’s snowy streets. The cold snatched his breath away, the sun still sitting low in the sky, its weak rays peeking through a break in the clouds. Wood smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread. It was still early enough that the streets weren’t yet busy, a wagon trundling by with a load of timber, a blacksmith’s hammer ringing against its anvil somewhere in the distance.

    Morgan made his way through the streets looking for he knew not what. He came upon the bookbinder and was tempted to enter, but he’d already bought Amalie a new book for Christmas. He wanted to give her something more, something that would prove to her what he seemed to be unable to prove — that he loved her.

    He crossed the street when he spied a seamstress’ shop, only to find it was not yet open, the door locked, the windows dark. He huddled deeper in his bearskin coat and went on his way until he came upon a mercantile, its window displaying goods from garments to wooden toy soldiers to cook pots. He nudged the door open, the jingling of a bell announcing his arrival.

    Warmth rushed against his skin, a fire burning in one of those Franklin stoves against the far wall. The front room was a riot of colors, objects, and scents — wood smoke, rose soap, leather, spices, linen.

    He wiped his feet on the mat, glancing about. Bolts of cloth. Ribbons. Tatted lace. Dyed yarn. Coffeepots and teapots. Teacups and saucers. Pots and pans. Dolls and toy swords. Parchment and ink. Shoes and woolen socks. Clothing and blankets. Caps and hats of all kinds. Coffee and candy. Soaps and salves.

    The sound of voices came from the back — a woman speaking Dutch, a man answering. Then an older woman stepped out from the back. Tall and well dressed with a ruffled bonnet covering her gray hair, she greeted him warmly, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly when she saw him. "May I help you find something, Mr. MacKinnon?"

    He was accustomed to being recognized and gave it little thought.

    "Aye, madam, and thank you." But Morgan wasn’t sure what he wanted. "I’m searchin ’ for a gift for my wife, somethin ’ special."

    He found himself telling the woman about Amalie — her sweetness, her quick mind, her love of reading, her beautiful long hair. "She has endured much for my sake, leavin ’ the world she knew for mine, forsakin ’ her own people to be at my side, endurin ’ a fearsome travail to bear me twins."

    The matron’s lips curved in a smile. "Twins?"

    "Aye." Morgan couldn’t help but smile back. "Sons."

    And then he realized that he’d been rambling on about Amalie to a stranger. " Forgi ’ me, madam. ’Tis unseemly to be speakin ’ of my wife thus."

    The matron gave a nod of her head, her gaze warm, a faint smile still on her lips, and Morgan knew she did not hold his lapse against him. "What do you think she might like? We have chocolates, small bars of scented soap, ribbons."

    But Morgan wanted to get Amalie something much finer than candy, soap, or ribbons. Unshaven, wearing moccasins and his bearskin coat, he must surely seem like a man without a farthing to his name. "I’m not a poor man. I’ve some coin."

    The matron turned and picked up a tray that sat on a shelf behind the counter. "We have a few silver rings, this lovely silver locket in the shape of a heart, and this brooch with garnets."

    Morgan studied each item, trying not to show his surprise when he saw that the brooch cost five pounds. He could buy a fine sword with that sum. And as he gazed at the polished silver and glittering garnets, he knew that none of these fine things would matter to Amalie. "My wife cares not at all for such finery — nor can I be spendin ’ quite such a sum. I’ve at most a shilling fifteen in my purse."

    His stomach sank. There was naught for Amalie here.

    Then his gaze fell on a pair of combs. They seemed to be made of polished bone, tiny flowers