Midnight Honor

regiment and his command.
    MacGillivray and her cousins had closed ranks, hoping to isolate her from the worst of the remarks, but that only made for raised hands and snickers of a different sort. More than once Anne had heard whispered speculation as to the exact nature of the relationship between herself and MacGillivray, and if she had had her full wits about her, she would have kept her distance. But with Angus gone, she desperately needed John's friendship, his strength, his courage. She knew, ever since that night outside the cottage in St. Ninians, that he tried his damnedest never to be alone with her, or if he was, never to allow the conversation to turn personal. But there were times it could not be avoided. There were also times, to her unparalleled shame, it even brought her comfort to know that if she ever cried out in the darkness, he would be there before the breath left her lips.
    “Oh, John,” she sighed. “I'm so sorry to be so much trouble. I'm sorry for everything—for getting you into this mess, for laying all my burdens on your shoulders. For everything. I just wish there were some way of going back and doing things differently. I wish—”
    He touched a finger briefly to her lips, silencing her. “Wheesht, lass. What would ye wish different? Would ye wish no' to love yer husband as much as ye do? Or for him no' to love you as much as he does?”
    “But if you and I—”
    His finger pressed harder and his eyes glittered like two black beads. “Never say it. Never put that thought into words, for it's the words we hear and remember, no' the thoughts behind them. A dozen years from now, when ye're plump an' happy with a muckle o' bairns clingin' to yer skirts, ye'll not even remember ye once had a thought o' what might have been had ye done this or that different. But if ye say it aloud, the words will come back to nag at ye. Ye know damned well Angus is the right man for ye. We both know it, an' for all that, it makes it easier.”
    He ended his scold with a gentle chuck on her chin before lowering his hand and fussing with his belts again. And she almost believed him.
    “What about the fighting?” she asked on a sigh.
    “I didna say it makes it easy,” he said with a grin. “Just easier. As for bashin' a few heads, well… I'd do the same if ye were ma sister. Speakin' o' which”—he paused and frowned his way through another soft oath— “ma sister Ruth thinks it's well past time I paid a visit to Clunas.”
    “To see Elizabeth?”
    “Aye. Gillies thinks I should do it while I have the chance. I think mayhap I should, too, else her father will be after shovin' a musket up ma kilt.”
    Anne smiled. “Then you'd best go. 'Twould be a terrible shame to think of you gelded.”
    MacGillivray grinned. “Aye. Aye, it would at that. Then it's settled. I'm away to Inverness to peek through the hedgerows an' count bog-bins for the prince, then I'll be off to Clunas a day or so. I'll leave Gillies in charge o' the men. Ye'll be well protected.”
    “Don't worry about me. Don't worry about anything. Think about yourself for a change. And take her some flowers. She'll like that and forgive you all your absences.”
    “Flowers? Where the devil will I find flowers in the snow?”
    Anne laughed and rose up on tiptoes to brush his cheek with a kiss. “That's why she will like it. Much more so than an anker of ale and a sheep's bladder full of blood sausage.”
    He did not look convinced, but returned her smile anyway as he crammed his bonnet on his head. “She'll like flowers more than sausage?” he grumbled. “What a strange lot o' creatures you women are.”
    Anne was still smiling when she climbed the stairs and made her weary way to bed. Candles had been left burning in the wall sconces for the benefit of the number of strangers sleeping under the gabled roof. Most of the bedrooms on the second and third floor were full, with a few spilled over onto pallets in the drawing room. As she walked quietly along the hallway, she could see by the light of her flickering candle the sleeping forms of servants hunched over in chairs outside their masters' doors.
    She went into her own room and stood a moment at the threshold, her gaze going—as it did almost every time she came into the chamber—to the armchair in the far corner. If she tried very hard she could see Angus's ghostly image sitting there, his feet stretched out in front of him, his shirt glowing white against the shadows, a