Midnight Honor (16 page)

“Don't be absurd,” Angus said. “Of course I will take you home.”

In desperation, Anne turned to appeal to her mother-in-law. “Please—?”

Lady Drummuir frowned, but bustled forward at once to take charge of the situation. “All this blather over a few wee cuts. There's surely no need for anyone to work themselves into a turn: It's not as if the lass is in peril of bleedin' to death. I was of a mind to find ma bed anyroad, so Annie will simply come home with me. Angus, ye can come fetch her from Church Street in the mornin' if ye're of a mind. Or ye can come away now if ye dinna trust me to see her safe, but I'll warn ye I've been in a fair mood all night to clout someone over the head, so ye'd be takin' yer chances if ye do.”

Aside from a small tic that shivered in Angus's cheek, he had no recourse but to offer his mother a small bow of compliance. Anne had no choice either; she had to take his arm when he insisted on escorting them to the front door, but there was not one step taken when she did not fear the next would bring shouts and a demand for her arrest. By the time the servants had fetched their cloaks and brought Lady Drummuir's coach to the door, she could feel the dampness between her shoulder blades, and her head was so light she was not even aware of Angus kissing her on the cheek or murmuring his promise to see her first thing in the morning.

And then she was in the coach. The door was closing, being latched. They were pulling away from Culloden House and she could see Angus silhouetted against the torchlights, his arm raised in farewell. The purloined dispatches were a lump against her thigh—almost as obtrusive as the one in her throat.

Obviously whoever had been in the library with her had decided to play a cat-and-mouse game of his own.

Chapter Eight

I
canna believe ye took such a risk,” Lady Drummuir said, shocked almost beyond speech. Once they were through the gates she had demanded explanations, and because Anne desperately needed to confide in someone, she spilled out everything that had happened since her meeting with John MacGillivray in the library. “I canna believe ye had the ballocks to break open the Lord President's desk. With a hairpin, ye say?”

“It was a rather simple lock.”

“Still an' all, Miss, 'tis not exactly the kind of talent one expects in a laird's wife.”

“I was the granddaughter of a reiver first,” Anne reminded her.

“Aye, an' that alone would have justified clappin' ye in irons on the spot. The real surprise if, as ye say, ye think someone saw ye, is that no one has released the hellhounds on ye yet.”

The “yet” hung between them a moment, twisting this way and that in the silence to impart all manner of unpleasant consequences in the minds of both women.

“Why do ye suppose that is? Why do ye suppose ye're not riding in the company of a dozen redcoats right the now?”

Anne bit her lip in genuine confusion. “I don't know. When I saw Forbes in the parlor with Angus just then …”
She had lost a year of her life in that single moment, and still could not believe she had been allowed to walk away from Culloden House without an escort of lobsterbacks.

“Ye have no idea who might have been watchin' ye in the library?”

“No. I was certain everyone had gone. At one point, I thought I might have heard …”

“Yes? Ye thought ye might have heard what?”

Anne shook her head. “I thought I heard a footstep, or a creak on the floorboard, but I was so distracted and angry and confused … then I saw the mouse, and—”

“And ye cried out an' near stomped it to death, giving whoever it was plenty of time to slip into the other alcove.”

Anne nodded, her face pale. “That must be what happened. But if it was Forbes or one of the other officers, why was I not stopped? Whoever it was had to have seen me take the dispatches and hide them, so why was I not confronted in the ballroom or the parlor and shown to be a thief?”

The dowager frowned, obviously asking herself the same questions.

“The one hope,” she said finally, “the
only
hope is that it wisna one of the men who was there earlier, for I canna see any of them not nip-tongued with glee at the thought of strip-pin' ye down an' arrestin' ye with the proof of treason hangin' off yer skirts. Still an' again,” she added, playing her own devil's advocate, “had they shamed ye an' arrested ye in such a public manner, might they not have worried what the other lairds would have done? Better to wait until ye were away from Culloden, where it could be done without danger of swords bein' drawn.”

After staring at each other for a moment, both women reached up simultaneously and unlatched the windows beside them, lowering the sashes enough to poke their heads through and study the darkness of the road behind them. Apart from the muted pinpricks of light marking the cottages they were passing, the road was a clear, dark ribbon cutting through the tree-lined parks on either side. They were nearing the outskirts of Inverness, following the banks of the Moray Firth, and if anyone had pursued them from Culloden, this would present the perfect stretch to overtake them.

Anne remained hanging over the window sash until her cheeks were chilled and the wind had torn several curls loose. When she retreated inside again, the dowager had already affected repairs to her own coif and chose not to comment on their brief lapse of dignity.

“There is a third possibility,” she said. “An' that would be that ye were not the only one curious to see what the Lord President had locked away in his desk.”

“You mean someone else at the party set out to rob him?”

“We were not the only ones who would have preferred to stay at home an' tattoo our arses with sharp sticks. The MacGregor was there with his son, the brace of them standin' stiffer than iron pikes. MacPherson an' Strathbogie, MacFall an' MacKillican, were in the corners, the lot of them lookin' in as black a mood as The MacGillivray, an' likely gone just as quickly once homage was paid, though surely not with the same urgency as Big John. One of them could as easily have been in the library as another.”

The women exchanged a glance, then looked away, neither one convinced, and again the silence stretched between them, broken only by the rolling of the carriage wheels over the rutted road.

“Are ye dead certain, lass, that ye heard what ye say ye heard?”

It had only been a few short hours ago that the dowager had defended her son by saying he was only doing what he thought was best for the clan, and Anne knew the strain in her voice was not caused entirely by fear for her personal well-being.

“I heard Forbes tell him to ply me with kindness in order that I might confide in him anything Fearchar told me about the prince's army. I also heard Angus say that he … that he was weary of my various energies and my penchant for supporting lost causes.”

Lady Drummuir expelled a sigh that bespoke the full weight of her seven decades. “So now ye feel it is up to you to dash off in a mad fit o' vengeance?”

Anne had not said as much, had not even made the decision in her own mind, but she did so now without hesitation. “Granda' was right. There is no one else of equal rank the
lairds will follow. Nor is there any son or brother to send by way of preserving the honor of the clan.”

“I ken what ye're sayin', child, but the danger—! Will ye strap a
clai' mór
to yer back and pistols on yer hips, an' will ye ride onto a battlefield with blood in yer eye? Aye, yer heart is in the right place, I grant ye, an' aye, ye'll likely stir enough shame in the clan to get the proxies ye need, but the lairds will want a man to lead them.”

“I will give them a man,” Anne said quietly. “I will give them John MacGillivray.”

“MacGillivray!”

“He is obviously willing to fight, and so are his men.”

“Och, he's not a man to toy with, Anne,” the dowager cautioned. “He's like a great blooded stallion who may appear to be broken to the saddle, but once he has the bit in his teeth, ye might not be able to rein him in again.”

“I am none too certain I would
want
to rein him in,” Anne declared with more confidence than she felt. “And it is Angus who should be worried, not me.”

The dowager lapsed into silence again and turned to stare out the window as the coach passed St. John's Chapel and slowed to make its turn into the tree-lined avenue leading to Drummuir House. It was a large and stately William and Mary mansion built of mellow red brick and sandstone quoining, and because it sat so near the river, there was always a sheer layer of mist blanketing the encompassing parkland.

“Times like this,” Lady Drummuir sighed, “I can almost feel sorry for Duncan Forbes. He was ever an annoyin' man, but everythin' he has done, he has done because he honestly believed it would make for a stronger Scotland. Not two years ago he wanted to send Highland regiments to Flanders to fight alongside the English. He said if men like Lochiel an' Lord George Murray were away in Europe fightin' the Dutch, who would be at home to stir a rebellion? An' it's true, I suppose, for they would not have been here to meet the prince at Glenfinnan, he would not have been able to raise an army, an' all this strife could have been prevented—an' mayhap that would not have been such a terrible thing.”

“Is that what you would have wanted? To have slowly
bowed to all the English demands and commands until there was no longer any Scotland?”

“There will always be a Scotland, Anne Moy! But must we always drench the glens in blood to prove it?”

“English blood,” Anne replied softly. “Aye, if we must.”

“Faugh! Ye're as stubborn as yer granda'.”

“Is that such a terrible thing as well?”

The dowager did not turn to address the remark, but her gloved hand crept across the bench and, finding Anne's, gave it a small squeeze.

“No, lass,” she whispered. “'Tis just the envy of an old woman ye're hearin', for if I could, I'd be up on that magnificent stallion alongside ye.”

When Angus came to Drummuir House the following morning, he was not alone. Major Roger Worsham was by his side, his scarlet tunic fastidiously clean, the brass buttons gleaming, the edges of his wide buff lapels looking as if they had been cut by a razor.

His face was equally officious, his jaw set in stone, his eyes gazing unblinking at their surroundings as they were shown into the yellow drawing room—a regal chamber with walls lined with yellow silk damask. The same fabric covered the sumptuous sofas and delicate chairs that were in turn complemented by gilt-edged paintings and pale butter-colored wood moldings. It was a room normally reserved for formal occasions—which did not escape Angus's notice— dominated by a huge white marble fireplace that was as cold as the expression on the dowager's face when she appeared nearly half an hour after their arrival to greet them.

“Angus.”

He inclined his head slightly. “Mother.”

“Major.”

Worsham cocked an eyebrow. “Madam.”

“Now that we ken who we all are, ye might want to tell me why ye've come poundin' on ma doors before the hour was decent enough to do so. Lady Anne is still abed, an' I havna had time to even strop ma corset on tight enough. I trust ye havna come here lookin' for yer balls again, Major,
for we MacKintoshes seem to be in short supply ourselves at the moment.”

That set the tone fairly bluntly and Worsham offered a smirk. “I pray you forgive the early hour, but when Captain MacKintosh mentioned he was coming here, I thought I would accompany him and save us both a later inconvenience.”

“Well, ye're too late for breakfast an' too early for dinner.”

“The thought did not occur to put you to any trouble.”

“Good, for 'twould never have occurred to me, either. If ye've come to fetch Anne home, ye've wasted a trip as well,” she said to Angus. “She fancies she might stay with me a few days.”

“A few days? Is she ill?”

“She's healthy as a dray horse. Since when can she not visit with her mother-in-law, if she so chooses?”

“Of course she can, but—”

“Then I'll tell her ye have no objections. She keeps a small wardrobe here, so there's nae need to send for claythes or necessities. Will ye be wantin' me to take her a message?”

“Actually, since my business is with the Lady Anne, we should prefer to speak to her in person, if we may,” said Worsham.

“An' what business might that be, Major?”

“A trifling matter. It should not take too much of her time.”

Lady Drummuir's bosom swelled with the same threat of violence that flared her nostrils, but her intended riposte was thwarted by a quiet voice from the doorway. “It is quite all right. I am here.”

Both men turned as Anne walked into the room. It was immediately apparent that she had not taken time to trouble with her corset or her hair, for the latter was loose and fell in soft red waves over her shoulders. Her modesty was preserved by a loose-fitting
contouche
of white muslin with delicate lace ruffles bordering the neckline and spilling from the cuffs. Peeping from beneath the hem as she walked were more ruffles that rustled slightly as they brushed the surface of the carpet.

She stopped in front of one of the tall, square-paned windows, and with the bright beams of sunshine behind her, the combination of glowing white muslin and fiery red hair gave both men pause. As a calculated distraction, it was effective, for the muscles in Angus's jaw flexed and, despite his best efforts to prevent it, a flush of warmth crept up his throat and darkened his complexion.