“Mary,” he whispered. “We won.”
“Are you sure? You look like a mess to me,” she said, noting the scent of ale in the air and the glossiness of his eyes. “How many celebrations did you have?”
“Just the one . . . but there were . . . a lot of toasts,” he added with a laugh. “Your father and brothers were there too.”
“Get up, so we can put things to rights and go up to bed.”
“Ah, Mary, it was a wonderful sight to see the British slink off with their fifes and drums.”
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