" Then Dougie elbowed his way to the fireside. “You risked your own fool neck to save mine, Morgan. If no’ for you, I’d be dead or rottin’ on a prison barge. I owe you my life, and I’ll ne’er forget it. When I heard you might be alive, I . . .”
The big man’s voice quavered, and his words died away.
Morgan felt an answering tightness in his chest. “’Tis glad I am to see you wi’ two strong legs, Dougie.”
“Sing it for him, Dougie!”
“Aye, sing it!”
“Sing him ‘The Ballad of Morgan MacKinnon’!”
Morgan looked at Connor, then up at Dougie again. “’The Ballad of Morgan MacKinnon’? You wrote a song about me?”
Dougie looked chagrined. “Aye.”
“A passin’ fair tune it is.” Connor grinned. “He sang it and played his fiddle at your wake.”
Then Dougie started to sing, his words telling of the night strike on the pier at Ticonderoga and how Morgan had braved a hail of lead balls to carry a wounded friend to safety before dying a hero’s death.
“ ‘Tis far tae Ticonderoga, ‘tis far through forest and fen, but ‘tis there you’ll find Morgan MacKinnon, bidin’ untae the end.’ ”
His voice cracking with emotion, Dougie sang the last notes, then cleared his throat. “It sounds better wi’ my fiddle.”
Morgan found it hard to speak. “I am honored more than I can say. Thank you, Dougie. But I recall it a bit differently. I told you that you stank, and you called me daft and told me I ran like a lass.”
Dougie kicked at the dirt, regret on his face. “I didna mean it.”
Morgan grinned. “I did. "
― Pamela Clare , Untamed (MacKinnon's Rangers, #2)