Midnight Honor

sir,” Blakeney said. “We have a spy close to the prince, and he assures us the Pretender is right under your noses, gentlemen. Charles Edward Stuart lies drunk in a bed at Moy Hall.”
    Forbes took a hefty swallow of his whisky and shivered through the aftershock. “This man of yours also claims the bulk of the Pretender's army was there but now is not?”
    “Lochiel and Keppoch removed their men this morning to Lochaber. Lord John Drummond is at Balmoral Castle, Clanranald is at Daless. At last report”—he paused to consult some notes he had scribbled on a piece of paper—“Lord George Murray is still struggling to cross the moors to Nairne. I would be surprised if he arrives any sooner than tomorrow noon. That leaves only Lady Anne's personal guard standing at the gates of Moy Hall.”
    “If by ‘personal guard’ ye mean MacGillivray,” MacLeod said, “ye're talkin' about the Earl o' Hell himself, an' if hewere standin' at the gates o' Heaven, Christ wouldnae get past.”
    “MacGillivray is at Dunmaglass,” Loudoun said, briefly halting mid-circle. “He and his men raided some cattle from the quartermaster's stockyard earlier this afternoon, and were last seen driving them away into the hills.”
    “That's still too close f'ae comfort,” MacLeod scowled. “Besides, are ye no' expectin' reinforcements from Edinburgh anytime now? I say we wait on them an' cut our losses by half.”
    “The troop ship, like everything else these days, appears to have met with some calamity off the coast. A storm or some such thing. They could arrive tomorrow, or the next day, or next week for all we know … assuming they have not gone down already or been smashed to bits on the rocks.”
    “Tomorrow or the next day may be too late,” Blakeney insisted. “The time to strike is now, when the prince is vulnerable. The opportunity may not—most definitely
will not
—come again, and I say if there is a chance to capture the royal bastard, to take him with a minimum of bloodshed, then this entire tawdry affair could be over by midnight tonight. The will to stand and fight has gone out of his chiefs and council. They retreated from Derby, they retreated from Falkirk. Take away their only reason to remain steadfast to their oath and by this time tomorrow night, there will be no Jacobite cause, no army, no war—all to the greater glory of the men who had the foresight and audacity to bring it about!”
    Loudoun swelled his chest with a speculative breath. “A bloodless victory would certainly pare Hawley's arrogance down a notch or two. I also expect the king would be generous in his rewards, were someone to save his son from the possibility of suffering the same ignominious fate as Cope and Hawley.”
    “How do you propose to do it?” Forbes asked quietly.
    Blakeney smelled an ally and turned to the Lord President. “We have two thousand men in the garrison. Give me fifteen hundred.”
    “To capture one drunken, unprotected prince?”
    “Merely a show of force to discourage any outside interference.”
    “To cover yer arse ye mean,” MacLeod said dryly, “in case yer source is wrong.”
    “If he is wrong,” Blakeney retorted, “a certain Corporal Jeffrey Peters will find his head impaled on a spike and set outside the citadel walls for the Jacobites to use as target practice.”
    Forbes exchanged glances with Loudoun and MacLeod, then nodded. “Very well. How soon can you leave?”
    “The men can be mustered and on the road within the hour. Within two, three at most, we should be back here with the Pretender and his gracious hostess secured in chains.”
    “Lady Anne?”
    “She is harboring an enemy of the Crown, is she not? That alone would be more justification than any military court would require to uphold a charge of sedition and treason. Personally, I have never hanged a woman before, but I'm told they bleat and squeal like little piglets—the same as some men I have lifted off their toes.”
    The sound of broken glass caused the four men to whirl and stare at Douglas Forbes, who stood all but forgotten in the corner of the room.
    “I… I'm sorry, Uncle. The glass slipped. I'll… I'll fetch someone to clean it up right away. I'm sorry. Sorry, gentlemen. Do carry on.”
    He backed quickly out of the door, and when he was gone, the Lord President shook his head. “God knows my brother— may he rest in peace—was the same way. Turned pale if the conversation even hinted at violence.