Midnight Honor

no time on niceties. “I assume ye have a good reason for interruptin' my supper, young man. My soup is growing cold an' I've had to hold up the salmon tortierre, which will
not
please the cook, who cares more for her pots an' pans than she does her children.”
    “Forgive me, Lady Drummuir, but I did not know where else to go. I did not know who else might be able to help me.”
    Lady Drummuir's expression softened. “Good God, lad.Ye're shakin' like a palsied leaf. Sit down … no, not there … get yerself over by the fire. Aggie, fetch us wine, then leave.”
    The maid who had followed her inside the sitting room did as she was ordered. When she was gone, the dowager nodded at Douglas, who then relayed as succinctly as he could the conversation he had overheard in Lord Loudoun's office.
    “I am appalled my uncle would even consider arresting Lady Anne. He gave his word of honor—” He raked a hand through his hair in agitation. “Nay, he gave his oath as a guarantee against the safety of Lord MacKintosh's family and clan, only to turn about now, when he no longer needs the laird's cooperation, and conspire to hang the Lady Anne!”
    “Guarantees? He gave my son guarantees?”
    Douglas looked over. “Warrants of immunity, my lady, in writing. I saw them myself, stamped with the royal seal of office.”
    The dowager turned and stared at the darkness outside the window. “That would begin to explain much. The bloody-minded fool, why he did not tell us?”
    “Please, Lady Drummuir, tell
me
what I can do to help. I have left my uncle's house, and I am yours to command as you will.”
    The dowager's blue eyes searched his face for a long moment, debating the wisdom of trusting the Lord President's own nephew regardless how smitten he was with her daughter-in-law. In the end she reached for a small bell on the table beside her and rang it hard enough to bring her maid back into the room on the run. After calling for pen and paper, she wrote out two notes. One she would send by courier to Dunmaglass; the other she gave to Douglas.
    “This should pass ye through any sentries that are posted around Moy Hall, an' it should gain ye an immediate audience with Lady Anne. Tell her I have sent for MacGillivray, an' if he is not halfway to Clunas already, he should be but an hour or so behind ye. No, on second thought, dinna tell her that. Tell her only that I've sent him word. Cut across the way from Meall Moor, the ground should hold well enough, an' get ye to Moy ahead of that poxy Colonel Blakeney. Andmind ye have a care, dammit. Ye've as good a chance at being shot for a spy at Moy as ye did comin' here from Fort George.”
    Anne was in the drawing room when Douglas Forbes was escorted inside. He was red-faced from the cold, and hatless, and he had been practically carried along the hallway by two of the burliest clansmen he had ever seen in his life.
    Dressed in tartan trews, Anne was alone. An assortment of pistols and muskets were laid out on the table before her along with the supplies and implements necessary to load and prime them. The note the dowager had written was lying alongside a small keg of powder, and although she glanced up when Forbes was ushered in, she did not pause in her task but fed a lead shot down the barrel of a Brown Bess and packed it securely in place with an iron ramrod.
    “So you have come to warn us about an ambush, have you?”
    Douglas swallowed hard. The two stocky Highlanders remained beside him, their expressions as menacing as the muskets they held cradled across their chests.
    “You are about twenty minutes late,” she said without waiting for his answer. “One of the boys from the village overheard some whispers and ran straight here with the news. We managed to roust the prince from bed, and Mr. Hardy has led him, along with a few others, up into the hills. Can you load a pistol, sir?”
    “I… I… yes. Y-yes, of course.”
    She indicated a dozen smoothbore muskets lying on the table alongside the powder, a canister of shot, and a length of silk waiting to be torn into patches for wadding. “I'm afraid we have more guns than men to shoot them at the moment, but best to be prepared.”
    “Is it true, then, my lady? You are without protection here?”
    “My cousins, Robbie and Jamie, have gone to scout the road, taking the smithy and three of his apprentices along as reinforcements. There are perhaps a dozen ill or wounded men who did not have the strength to walk