The woman stood alone on the battlements, staring out to sea with the wind ruffling her long brown hair. MacKim looked up, seeing her silhouetted against the rising sun as he marched his beat, musket in hand. What the devil is she doing here? A blasted woman can only mean trouble.
What the devil is she doing here? A blasted woman can only mean trouble.“Halloa.” MacKim stopped at her side, grounding his musket. “You’re up early.” He forced himself to sound pleasant.
When the woman turned around, MacKim saw she was about twenty-five, with a comfortably round face. “I didn’t know that there would be a soldier here.” She was North American by her accent, possibly from one of the New England colonies.
“I’m on piquet duty,” MacKim said. “In case the French come back.” He touched the lock of h
