![]() ![]() The ties on the shoes were of lace, the shoes themselves of finest leather, the stockings silk. Nearer to the frozen stream, Joseph held up a pair of battered shoes and torn stockings.Ĭonnor reached out, touched them. There was nothing he could do for her or the lad now. Connor gave her cold, lifeless hand a squeeze, then turned away. ![]() The poor lass lying here on the cold ground was far plainer with bright red hair. A small locket painting, it had revealed a beautiful young girl with hair the color of honey and bright blue eyes, her cheeks pink, a playful smile on her rosy lips. Wentworth had showed him a likeness of her. And now two of the three who’d been taken were lost.Ĭonnor crossed himself and whispered a prayer for them, then looked more closely at the lass’s face, her features hard to see in the gloaming. But Haviland, who didn’t know his head from his arse, hadn’t listened. War parties often killed captives if pressed. ![]() ![]() He’d warned that arrogant bastard Haviland that sending redcoats had been a mistake. Major Connor MacKinnon gently turned the bodies over-one of the lasses and the lad, both tomahawked, both scalped. Attached to the scalp was a long, red braid. But she would not lie with him.Īt the edge of the firelight, an Indian sat stitching a fresh scalp to a small wooden hoop. Her captor draped an animal fur around her shoulders and motioned toward a blanket he’d placed on the ground near the fire, indicating that she should lie down on the ground beside him. ![]()
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