THE BETTER PART OF VALOR. Morgan Mackinnon

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      Chapter 1

      New York City, April 1875

      Although the snowy winter season was over in New York City, April had been what the locals referred to as the kind of month where shop proprietors could ensure the rain would keep their sidewalks filthy with mud for weeks on end. Nearly every day was dismal and dreary, rendering travel unpleasant for man and beast alike. Or should it be said, man, woman, and beast? A strikingly pretty woman of average height, dressed in a brown woolen traveling suit, stood under the marquee at the Metropolitan Hotel waiting anxiously as the doorman tried in vain to flag down an available carriage. Her smart traveling outfit was accented by an elegantly styled brown felt hat with cloth flowers, beige gloves on her delicate hands, and handsome buttoned-up boots. At that particular moment, a tall man dressed in a navy-blue army greatcoat and black slouch hat emerged from the hotel with the apparent intention of also hailing himself a cab.

      Despite the efforts of the doorman, the horse-drawn vehicles continued down Broadway without even a glance of recognition from the preoccupied drivers. Consulting a small watch pinned to her jacket, the young woman sighed.

      “I’m going to be late. I am going to miss my ship because I’m going to be late.”

      The tall soldier could not help but overhear, so he tipped his hat in her direction and asked if he could be of service.

      “If you would summon a cab with room for my trunks, I would be greatly indebted, sir.”

      The man now noticed a stack of three large steamer trunks behind the young lady. That, in and of itself, was not unusual because fashionable ladies required several trunks of clothing and accessories if they were to travel in style. What was unusual, though, were the woman’s eyes. Vivid violet. The shade of an amethyst crystal. He did not think he’d ever seen such a shade of eyes as these.

      Spotting a large carriage approaching, he stepped out into the road and caught the left horse’s bridle. The driver hauled on the reins, cursed, and immediately jumped down.

      “Here now! Whaddya feckin’ mean by stoppin’ me, coach? I’ll skin ye fer this!”

      The soldier put down a small valise and shrugged СКАЧАТЬ