Midnight Honor

by Marsha Canham

  “Tying a cryptic note to the ankle of a carrier pigeon and releasing it from a rooftop?”

  Cameron smiled at the dry sarcasm. “Nothing quite so dramatic. We have other people in the Elector's camp who act as couriers.”

  “Like Adrienne de Boule?”

  Cameron's midnight eyes flickered again. “Yes. Like Adrienne. Unfortunately, her access is somewhat limited and she cannot move freely around the camp every day.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Then it ends here, no harm done. You can leave or stay— which you would, of course, be most welcome to do. The terms of your parole would give you an honorable release from any obligations you might have had to serve the king, although I expect your wife's participation at Falkirk would render the terms of the immunity Forbes offered moot either way.”

  Angus turned slowly to glare at MacGillivray again, and this time the Highlander only glared back. “I was not goin' to die the only one knowin'. An' if ye've no' learned by the now that ye can trust these two men above all, then I'll send ye back to Edinburgh maself on the toe o' ma boot. Not”—he added gruffly, qualifying the endorsement by glowering at Cameron and MacKail across the table—“that I'm sayin' it's a good idea to send him back at all. We already know Hawley has nae fondness for Scots officers at the best o' times, an' if it's true he has already hung sixty-three of his own men for desertion an' cowardice, what makes ye think The MacKintosh willna be swingin' from a gibbet the instant he walks through the gates o' the city?”

  “Because I don't imagine any of those officers or men were returning of their own accord, or that they were bringing back valuable information from the rebel camp.”

  Angus's mouth curled up at the corner. “I would be bringing back valuable information?”

  Alex hesitated long enough to draw on his cigar. “I'm sure we can find something of merit. The prince has written enough memoranda in the past month alone to fill a warehouse. A few of them should prove interesting reading for Cumberland, if nothing else.”

  Angus's wry smile faded quicker than it had appeared, and he stroked his thumb down the side of the tankard, tracing patterns in the tiny beads of condensation. “In truth, I have not had too much of a problem dealing with Hawley. It's the other two, Worsham and Garner, who watch me as if they would like to take my gizzard for their next meal.”

  “Major Hamilton Garner?” Cameron asked with quiet curiosity.

  Angus nodded, not looking up. “And Major Roger Worsham. Major headaches, the pair of them; both eager for promotion and favor within Cumberland's inner circle.”

  “I don't think you'll have a problem winning Garner's confidence,” Cameron said, exchanging a glance with MacKail. “In fact, I would be willing to stake a considerable fortune on his becoming your closest friend and ally if you but tell him you and I spent time in the same room together.”

  Angus started to frown, then remembered. “Ah, yes. He and your wife, Catherine, were … acquainted, were they not?”

  “They were engaged, actually, until I won her off him in a duel.” He grinned through the smoking stub of his cigar. “Long story. In any case, let's just say that he and I have some unfinished business, and any information you bring him concerning my whereabouts will elevate you to the rank of champion.”

  “I haven't agreed to anything yet,” Angus said.

  “And you certainly do not have to, either”.'

  The men looked up as Anne approached. She had come into the tavern so bundled in plaid, no one had paid her notice until she came near their darkened corner and pushed the tartan back to reveal the bright red hair beneath.

  The men started to scrape to their feet, but she waved them down with an angry gesture that told Angus the flush in her cheeks was not all due to the cold.

  “Did I hear you correctly? You want my husband to spy for you?”

  “We have been attempting a little shameless extortion, aye,” Cameron admitted.

  Angus felt a sudden, unpleasant hollow sensation in his belly. Like the others, he hadn't noticed her come into the tavern, so he wasn't sure exactly how much she had overheard.

  “And?” She put her hands to her hips. “Has he bowed to it?”

  Angus indicated a place on the bench beside him, which she ignored. “They have asked. I have not yet given an answer.”

  “He might agree, Colonel,” Cameron said. “If you can convince him it would be for the best.”

  “Me?” She unwound her scarf and shook off the glittering ice crystals—some of which hit Angus's cheek like tiny pellets. “Why on earth would I want to convince him to return to the Hanover camp?”

  Cameron leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Because we need him there. He has Hawley's ear, he sees reports, he has access to information we can get no other way. We need to know Cumberland's intentions, the strength of his troops, where he plans to strike at us and when. Both MacKail and I have told your husband the information could be critical to the prince's safety and success, possibly even the deciding factor in whether we win or lose the Highlands, but”—the midnight eyes narrowed, their glitter rivaling anything Anne could lash back with in response—“we have also told him it is dangerous, and there is undeniably a great deal of risk involved. We can understand if he is reluctant to agree. Unfortunately, we often have to ask terrible things of people in times of war, but that is all we are doing. We are just asking. If the captain is uncomfortable or uneasy, or if he believes his return to Edinburgh would be seen as another betrayal…?”

  “My husband has never betrayed his clan,” Anne said evenly. “If anything, he has done everything in his power to uphold their honor.”

  Cameron pushed to his feet and drowned the stub of his cigar in the inch of ale at the bottom of his tankard. “We all have uncomfortable choices to make. Sometimes we make the right ones; sometimes we don't. In this case, we are merely asking your husband to do what he has been doing all along: wear the Hanover cockade and take his brandy and cigars with the likes of Henry Hawley and William Cumberland. We cannot force either one of you to help us, and frankly, I don't have the time to waste softening you with trite words like ‘life and death,’ but that is very well what it could amount to. For all of us. On that pontificating note, I'll say good-night to you now, Lady Anne, Captain MacKintosh, Captain MacGillivray.” He nodded at each as he pulled his tartan around his shoulders. “Aluinn … are you coming?”

  MacKail blinked and stammered a reply in the affirmative as he quickly gathered his gloves and bonnet off the bench. MacGillivray caught the subtle glint in Cameron's eye and muttered some excuse about needing to check the pickets.

  They exited in a group, leaving Anne and Angus alone, one standing, one sitting, neither moving so much as an eyelash for a full minute.

  “I expect there is never any need to wonder where you stand with a man like Cameron,” Angus said finally. “But he is right about one thing. While I have been enjoying some very excellent brandy and some very excellent cigars, they have fought and died and marched to Derby and back.”

  Anne reached forward and touched her fingertips to his shoulder. “That is not all you have done.”

  “No, it isn't.” He covered her hand with his. “But he almost makes it sound like an act of cowardice to want to protect what you love most in the world.”

  “I'm sure he did not mean it that way.”

  “Perhaps not. Or perhaps he was offering me a last-minute reprieve. A way to redeem myself in the eyes of my wife and my clan.”

  “There must be another way,” she cried. “You don't have to do this. You certainly don't have to let him—any of them— make you feel guilty about what you have done or not done.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Oh, Angus—” She slipped around in front of him and slid down so that she was on her knees, her hands cold and trembling where they cradled his face between them. “I never meant to make you feel guilty.”

  “Yes, you did.” He smiled t
enderly and brushed her lips with his. “And you did a damned fine job of it, too, I might add. I am surprised I held out as long as I did, what with all the weapons you had in your arsenal. More than any ten armies, I can promise you.”

  “I never meant for you to feel this guilty,” she protested with a shake of her head. “Not so much so that you would actually consider going back. Do you know what they will do to you if they catch you spying?”

  “Probably the same thing they have done to a dozen other men who have thought the risk worth taking. And in this case, the potential benefits far outweigh the dangers. Anne … it isn't as if my heart hasn't wanted to do more all along. It is my damned head that has been too hard, and it has just needed an extra knock or two to get me to see things clearly. Cameron is right. They need someone in Cumberland's camp and I am a logical choice. I am privy to the kind of information that could help them prevent a disaster. And besides,” he added, trying in vain to dispel some of the panic he could see shadowing her eyes, “while this is hardly comparable to riding onto a battlefield and slaying dragons, it is something I am infinitely qualified to do. Fine dinners at Holyrood House, comfortable billets in town houses where I can scratch out lists and copy orders in the dead of night. Even if the effort is coming at the eleventh hour, this is something I have to do, Anne. I'm not entirely convinced it isn't too late already, but if I can help—and not just for the prince's sake, but for the sake of preventing all of Scotland from going up in flames— then don't you see I have to try?”

  “You're not just doing this for me,” she said warily, searching his face for some weakness to attack, “or for any foolish notion of winning the approval of men like MacGillivray and Cameron? Because if so, you were only doing what you thought was right for the clan as a whole. You made your decision and you stood by it. There is no shame in that.”

  “I don't need their approval, but I would like to be counted among them, Anne, just for a little while. As for needing anything from you,” he added softly, “your love, your faith, your trust is more than anything I ever hoped to call my own.”

  She shook her head again. “Then I am not letting you go back alone. I am coming to Edinburgh with you.”

  “Now that is definitely out of the question,” he said gently.

  “Why? I can play the part of the berated wife, humiliated into obedience, dragged away and threatened with beatings if I do not behave.” She tightened her arms around his neck, pulling herself up so that her face was buried against his shoulder. “I'll be such a quiet, docile mouse you won't even know I am in the room, and … and I'll even pin a black cockade on my bodice and learn how to sing ‘Up and Waur 'em a' Willie,’ and if anyone asks I shall say I was kidnapped from Moy Hall and forced to ride with the clan as a hostage.”

  He stroked the gleaming red crown of her hair. “You know you cannot come with me, Anne. And not because I doubt for a moment you could charm the devil out of any ten dukes of Cumberland.”

  “Then why—?”

  “Because the clan needs you here. They need a strong, fearless leader; one who has never wavered a moment in her faith or convictions.”

  “They have MacGillivray. They don't need me.”

  “Don't need you?” He cupped her face in his hands and tilted it enough to find her eyes. “Have you not seen the way the men look at you? Have you not heard the way they cheer when you ride past, the way their chests swell and they grin ear to ear with pride? Have you had one single man desert?”

  She chewed miserably on her lip and whispered, “No.”

  “No. In fact, you have had more joining the ranks every day. I have recognized a hundred men who marched away from Inverness with me, but crossed the field when they saw you up on Robert the Bruce carrying the clan colors. You cannot abandon them now, Anne. They will need you more than ever when the army returns to the Highlands. They will need your leadership, your courage, your spirit.” He kissed her tenderly to emphasize each enviable quality, lingering over the last until he could tighten the leash on his own emotions.

  She studied his face another long moment before burying her face in his shoulder again. “It isn't fair. It just isn't fair! To finally have you here with me … and now you expect me just to watch you leave again!”

  “Courage, my love,” he murmured. “You have so much and I so little. Leave me what few shreds I have managed to muster about me, and do not make it any more difficult than it is already, I beg you. The prince is taking his army north to Inverness; if they cannot take the capital, then they cannot hope to survive the spring. We are going home, one way or the other, and we will be back together before the leaves are fully green on the trees, I swear it.”

  She was silent for so long, he started counting his heartbeats.

  “You won't take any foolish chances?”

  “I swear I shall be cautious beyond measure. I shall play the role of fawning milksop with such aplomb, they will think me part of the ornamentation on the walls. In return, I want a solemn promise from you.”

  “What kind of a promise?” She lifted her head again and sniffled through a frown.

  “I want an absolutely sacred promise that there will be no more recklessness in the future. No more swords, no guns, no riding out in the middle of the night, no charging out onto a damned battlefield. I cannot even conceive of doing this thing if I thought I had to worry about what you were doing in my absence, and on this point there will be no argument, no debate, no bargains struck, no negotiable compromise. And no vague circumventions. I want you to give me your word of honor as a colonel in the prince's army, as a Farquharson, a MacKintosh, a woman, a wife, a lover … have I missed any possibilities? Left any loopholes open to your devious mind?”

  Her frown was contentious, her sigh filled with resignation. “No. I expect you have covered everything.”

  “And?”

  She looked up sullenly. “I promise. No more battlefields.”

  He studied her face a moment, wary of a too-hasty capitulation. “I would have you swear to undertake no more undue risks, but I suppose that would be beyond the pale, since you have already extended an invitation to the prince to be our guest at Moy Hall while his army takes Inverness.”

  Her eyes widened a moment with surprise, but he only shook his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “Cameron mentioned your generous offer earlier. Were you planning to tell me at all, or was it just going to be a surprise?”

  “I was most certainly going to tell you. When—if—His Grace gave me an answer,” she admitted softly. “I thought it only hospitable to offer the use of the Hall since it is so close to Inverness, and there is not another glen within ten miles large enough to encamp the army.”

  “Nonetheless, you might have asked,” he murmured. “I am still the master of my own home, am I not?”

  “Of course you are,” she said. “When you are there.”

  He kissed her again, on the mouth this time, molding his lips to hers, coaxing them gently apart and exploring the sleek surfaces with the tip of his tongue. When he released her, he watched her lick the moisture off her lips and almost forgot what they had been talking about.

  “Do you remember the cave I showed you once? The one where my grandfather hid his entire family for two months, after the first uprising?”

  She was staring at his mouth too, her own still tingling with his taste. “I think so. Yes, I do.”

  “The English searched day and night but could not find it. I doubt there are five men alive who even know where it is, myself included. I am thinking … it might be best if I leave Hardy here with you. If you need to take refuge there for any reason, and you're not certain of the location, he can show you the way. In any event, he can make himself useful, stocking it with food and supplies, lamps, bedding … whatever you feel might be necessary if the prince is forced to take flight. Besides, if I take him back to Edinburgh, he will only complain the whole way and beat me senseless with his clothing brush. I doubt he would bear up unde
r questioning a second time, anyway.”

  Her gaze flicked up from his mouth. “What do you mean, a second time?”

  “While you were leading the clan to Aberdeen, Hardy was swearing to a privately convened court of inquisition— namely Garner and Worsham—that you were still in Inverness at Drummuir House, the bored houseguest of your esteemed mother-in-law. He swore it could not possibly be you mentioned in the reports because you could not be in Aberdeen and Inverness at the same time, and he had taken delivery of handwritten letters from both you and the dowager to prove it.”

  A tiny wrinkle appeared at the bridge of her nose. “I did not write any letters.”

  “No, you didn't. But Adrienne de Boule was kind enough to have her maid write them for you.”

  The wrinkle deepened and was joined by another. “Adrienne de Boule was in Edinburgh?”

  “She was there as a guest of Major Worsham.”

  “And she helped you write letters?”

  “Four of them. On pink paper, I believe, with little red ribbons binding them. And a most exotic fragrance sprayed across the pages.”

  The blue of her eyes turned dark enough to cause the fine hairs along his forearms to stand on end. “How exotic?”

  “Very exotic. The scent reminded me of a small white flower in India that opens only in the moonlight.”

  “That would be memorable indeed,” she murmured. “And did it inspire anything else to open in the moonlight?”

  “Oh, I am sure it did,” he agreed affably. “But not, unfortunately, for my benefit.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  Angus jerked slightly. He realized her arms were no longer around his neck but, as invigorating and liberating to his soul as these past fourteen days and nights had been, there was still something decidedly imprudent about a lady having her hands up a man's kilt in the middle of a public tavern.