Midnight Honor (13 page)

“Whether the lairds agree or not?”

“Neither you nor I will live long enough to see the day all the lairds of Clan Chattan agree on a single point. Ye must have noticed: He's called only on those who have no qualms wearin' the black cockade.”

It was true enough, Anne thought. Angus had been careful selecting the men to fill Loudoun's requirements; he had known better than to order men like The MacGillivray or The MacBean to take up arms for the Elector's army. They likely would have shot him out of hand and tossed his body down a well, never to be seen again.

“Angus has promised me … he gave me his word our men will not be involved in any fighting,” Anne said with quiet intensity. “He insists they are to be engaged as guards and sentries only.”

“That would be bonnie,” Lady Drummuir agreed. “Though I dinna see how he can keep to such a promise. Not when Forbes and Horse-Nose Loudoun will make a point of placing the Highland regiments in prominent positions.”

“He will keep it,” Anne insisted. “He has never lied to me or broken his word, despite all that has happened, and I do not believe he will do so now.”

“Aye, well then, we'll both keep the faith, shall we? He's a good lad when he's no' being so bloody pigheaded. Naturally, if ye tell him I said as much, I'll deny it, for it does no harm to keep yer sons a wee bit afraid of ye.” The dowager's gaze strayed to where Lady Regina Forbes and her chair were being carried into an adjacent room. “Poor soul. Not only is she frail as a leaf, but have ye ever seen skin that color on aught but a corpse? I suppose I must go an' pay ma respects, though if that slack-witted daughter-in-law of hers says the smallest word to me, I'll be windin' up ma fist again.”

Anne kept company with one of the spinsters for a few moments, then excused herself to casually follow some of the other guests as they drifted downstairs. She would have done so even if The MacGillivray had not requested a moment
alone. The interminable hours spent at the dinner table had been a strain on her nerves and the thought of the upcoming dancing was more than enough to make her want to seek out a quiet, shadowy corner somewhere to wait for Angus to say they could leave. He had caught her eye several times during the various courses, his expression anxious each time, as if he were wondering who he could approach to act as his second should either his wife or his mother offer an insult that could not be retracted. He had not followed her out of the dining room, and the last glimpse she'd had, he was standing in a corner conversing with Duncan Forbes.

When she was fairly certain no one was paying her any notice, Anne made her way down the stairs and along the huge vaulted hallway to a rear corridor leading off to the left.

When she rounded the corner, she stopped and looked back again, feeling more like a thief than a guest, for while it was one thing to caper about the countryside in the dead of night, it was quite another to be caught skulking around in the Lord President's library.

The tall double doors were standing slightly ajar when she approached. The hallway was well lit and there were no guards cordoning off any areas of the house, yet she still felt like an interloper and walked with her skirts raised to lessen the sound of her petticoats brushing over the floor. She peered between the opened doors but could see very little of the interior. The room was barely lit, and she suspected that if MacGillivray was already inside, he had perhaps extinguished some of the candles and lamps to make it less hospitable to any guests who might be ambling by.

She drew a deep breath and casually pushed the doors wider. Staying within the bounds of the light that came from the hallway, she walked almost to the center of the room before halting again.

“Hello?” she called softly. “Is anyone here?”

It was a large, scholarly room, darkened by wood paneling, muted further by rows of crowded bookshelves that rose twenty feet to the ceiling. Two shell-shaped alcoves were framed in crimson draperies that hung above the arch and fell in deep swags on either side, tied back with thick ropes to
match the braided gold fringing. One of the alcoves contained an upholstered chair for reading in the natural light; the other housed French doors that opened out to the terrace. A huge cherrywood desk occupied the space between the two windowed bays, set beneath a large tapestry depicting a medieval battlefield with archers and knights in heavy armor.

The air was musky, redolent of leather and paper, as silent as an ancient scriptorium, and Anne made one full, slow revolution, awed by the sheer number of books, curious as to who might actually have read them all. She found her answer in the gilt-framed portraits that were hung between the sections of shelves; they were men with the stern faces and long chins of academics, nary a soldier or warrior in the lot.

“As grim an' dull as they come,” MacGillivray agreed, stepping out of one of the alcoves. “Nae wonder Forbes is such a heroic fellow. That one”—he hooked his thumb derisively in the direction of one pinch-lipped ancestor— “looks as though he just took a mouthful o' sheep dung but disnae have the guts to spit it out.”

“This is very dangerous,” Anne said. “If someone should walk by and see us here we would have the devil of a time explaining ourselves.”

“Two old friends, taking a breath o' fresh air. Where's the harm?”

Aside from the obvious trespass, she thought, the harm was in the lack of light, the heavy shadows, and the crooked, challenging smile on his face. It was in the not-so-casual gleam in the unfathomable black eyes, and in the memories of a hot afternoon behind a booth at the fairground.

“Come,” he said, indicating the French doors. “We can talk out on the terrace.”

It was cooler outside, but because the bulk of the house gave them shelter against the wind it was a fresh change from the candle smoke and cloying perfumes.

She walked to the far end of the promenade and stood a moment looking out over the crystalline stillness of the gardens before she turned and met the dark eyes.

“I hope you've not brought me out here to talk about
Fearchar's proposal from last night. Since you were relieved to hear me turn him down, I cannot imagine what else there is to be said.”

“I was relieved, aye. But no' for the reasons ye may have thought.”

“You would have signed a petition supporting me as clan chief?”

“Are ye sayin' ye dinna think ye would make an able leader?”

“I would make as good a leader as any man, and a better one than most,” she said evenly. “I simply did not think you, of all people, would approve a woman in that position.”

“Well, if ye're pressin' for a confession, I can think of better positions for a lass, aye,” MacGillivray murmured through an enigmatic smile. “But I've seen ye prick the rumps o' yer cousins with a sword, an' I've watched ye bring down a stag with a single shot. I've seen ye lead the three o' them into a mêlée against twice yer number, an' I've heard the crowds cheerin' for ‘wild rhuad Annie’ when ye came away bruised, but not too bloodied to keep ye from throwin' yerself back into the fray. Mind, that was before ye traded yer powder horn an' firelock for fancy silk skirts an' fine lace ruffles. An' before ye started talkin' like a lady and sippin' yer soup from a spoon, instead o' the side o' the bowl.”

“I could say the same for you,” she countered, launching an eyebrow upward as she inspected him boldly up and down. His enormous shoulders were clad in the full formal dress of a gentleman, with doublet, waistcoat, and ruffled sleeves complementing the red-and-blue plaid of his kilt. “Clean shaven, your hair curled and tucked into a ribbon while you sup at the Lord President's table. Your buckles are polished and”—she leaned forward, sniffing the air delicately—“is that French water I smell? With your fiancée not even here to enjoy it?”

His eyes narrowed. “Who told ye I had a fiancée?”

“Lady Drummuir, if it matters … which it should not.”

“No,” he mused. “It should not. No more so than the cause o' the burn on yer cheeks that was not there yesterday.” He reached up through the darkness and ran the tip of his finger along her chin and throat. “Ye should tell yer husband to use a
sharper blade when he shaves. 'Tis a shame to chafe such fine, smooth skin.”

Anne backed away, her heart giving one loud slam against her rib cage. “I hardly think Angus's shaving habits are a matter we should be discussing.”

“Nor are ma intentions toward Elizabeth of Clunas.”

She started to say, “I fail to see—” but snapped her mouth shut again and hugged her upper arms against a sudden chill. “You said you had to speak to me about something. We will be missed in a few minutes.”

“You, mayhap. I've already made ma excuses.”

“You're leaving already? But—?”

“Savin' a dance for me, were ye? Sorry to disappoint, but I've paid ma respects an' not a drop o' blood shed but ma own.” He reached inside the front of his coat and, for a split second, his face was turned to the light, revealing a new twist to his smile—that of pain.

When he withdrew his hand again, the fingers were wet and shiny, slick with blood.

“My God! What happened to you?”

“It's naught but a wee hole,” he said, waving away her concern. “The shot went in an' out clean enough.”

“Shot?
You were
shot
!”

“A wee bit louder, lass.” He scowled and looked up at the second-story windows. “I dinna think they all heard.”

“Shot,” she hissed. “What do you mean you were shot? When? Where? And what the devil are you doing here playing the gentleman fool?”

“Aye, playin' is the word for it. For if I'd not come tonight, actin' as if nothin' was amiss, I'd likely be swingin' from a gibbet by morn's mornin'.”

Anne shook her head even as she reached down and struggled to tear a strip of linen from the bottom layer of petticoat. “I don't understand.”

“After ye left last night, one o' the lads said as how he thought he heard horses in the woods. We went out after them, an' sure enough, found where a troop o' bloody redcoats had been hiding in the trees near the edge o' the glen. They were easy enough to follow in the snow, but—”

She looked up sharply. “It was
you
. You were the ‘renegades’ the major mentioned earlier.”

MacGillivray only shrugged. “He's no' as stupid as most
Sassenachs
. He left men to watch their backs while they rode away. One o' them saw us an' gave off a warning shot. Before we knew it, the soldiers came in at the gallop an' we were in the middle of a fight.”

She straightened and folded the linen into a thick wad. Batting away his hand with his objection, she eased his jacket open, fitting the makeshift bandage snugly beneath his waistcoat. His shirt was already dark with blood; some of it had started to seep through the brocade vest.

“You have to leave and get this tended to before you bleed to death.”

“Aye, I will do. But I thought I should warn ye first.”

“Warn me? About what?”

“There were another set o' tracks leavin' the glen. Two men. They followed you an' yer cousin Eneas most o' the way to Moy Hall.”

“Most
of the way?” she parroted.

“Ma lads lost all the tracks after ye crossed Moy Burn. Did Eneas keep to the water for a bit?”

She nodded. “I thought he was being overly cautious, but—”

“There will be no such thing as over-cautious from here on out, lass, not unless the thought of a gibbet appeals to ye.”

“It does not.” Anne shivered and glanced back at the house. “He asked me if I had been out riding on the moor last night.”

“Who did, the fancy major with the ghostie eyes?”

She nodded. “Angus laughed it off. He said I was with him all night. Whether or not the major believed him—” She shrugged. “There are not too many places our tracks could have been going, other than Moy Hall.”

“Aye, but his men dinna know who they were followin', do they?” he asked quietly. “Ye were not exactly wearing yer silks an' laces.”

“Yes, but…”

“But nocht. If they truly suspected it were you, ye'd have
irons clapped around yer wrists by now. An' if ye say Angus covered for ye…” He paused, as if her husband's actions surprised him as much as they had her. “Was he no' in Inverness last night?”

“He came home early. He was waiting for me, in fact, when I returned. Needless to say, he was not happy to discover I had been out.”

“He didna raise a hand to ye, did he?”

Anne looked up, startled to hear a sudden change in John's voice. “No. No, of course not. Angus has never even raised his hand to swat a fly in anger, not in the four years I have known him.”

He said nothing, but after a long moment, she heard his teeth chatter through an involuntary shiver.

“You have to leave here at once,” she said. “Come, I'll see you safely to the door.”

“Now that truly would be a foolish idea. Stay here. Count to fifty or so before ye go back inside, an' have a care no one sees ye leave the library. Go back up the stairs an' find Angus. Stay fast by his side an' he'll see ye through the rest o' the night until ye're home safe.”

“What about you? Will you be all right?”

He looked down to where her hand rested on his forearm. “It would take more than a pea-sized ball o' English lead to bring me down, lass. Ye mind what I said, though, an' stay close by yer husband.”

“Be careful.”

He held her gaze a moment, then crossed the terrace and vaulted over the low stone balustrade. She heard the crunch of his shoes on the frozen ground for a minute more, then it was lost to the sounds of the party on the floor above.

MacGillivray had been shot, and she had been followed. There had been English troops in the woods at Dunmaglass, and if they had been watching The MacGillivray's home, they must have known Fearchar and her cousins were inside.

But had they followed Fearchar to Dunmaglass, or had they been watching Dunmaglass all along? If it was the former, it would mean her grandfather wasn't as wily an old fox
as he fancied himself to be, and he could be arrested at any time.

If it was MacGillivray who had fallen under government scrutiny, it might be because the English were anticipating the very thing that had brought Anne out in the middle of the night: plans to split the great Clan of the Cats into two factions. They would be justifiably alarmed; Inverness was in the heart of MacKintosh territory, and the prospect of a thousand sword-wielding clansmen taking to the hills, men renowned for their ability to stage bloody raids and vanish into the night, would surely cause the latrines within the garrison walls to overflow. Loudoun and Forbes would do anything within their power to prevent such a division, even if it meant arresting the clan chief without proof of any wrongdoing.