Midnight Honor

She knew the sound of Deirdre MacKail's light footstep, and she knew the quick rabbit steps of her maid. She waited an extra minute until she was sure, by the scent of mist and woodsmoke and damp plaid, that it was a man attempting to slide quietly into the chair before she smiled and half turned.
    “You were more than one heartbeat away, John MacGillivray.”
    But the eyes that met hers were soft pewter gray, not black. The face was lean and handsome, not bold and awkwardly apologetic.
    “Angus?”
    “If you would rather have MacGillivray for company—?”
    She reached out, reached up, and before the gasp could leave her lips, he was on the bed beside her, his arms around her, his body cradling her close.
    Behind them, clinging to the shadows that were his only shield against the naked emotion on his face, John MacGillivray watched the reunion between husband and wife. He watched Anne's hands twist desperately around his neck even as Angus's buried themselves in the spill of red hair and held her while he tried to silence her frantic whispers beneath his lips. He watched until it was senseless to watch any longer, then turned and quietly slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
    That was where his legs failed him, and he stood with his hand around the doorknob, his forehead pressed against the wood.
    “It's a fine thing you've done, Mr. MacGillivray, fetching the laird home. She needs him very much right now.”
    John looked up, startled to see Deirdre MacKail standing there, a witness to his sin of covetousness. He did not trust himself to answer decently, but he nodded and gave the door a final brush with his hand before he turned away.
    “If anyone asks after me, will ye tell them I've gone to Clunas?”
    “I will, yes. How long shall I say you will be gone?”
    “As long as it takes, lass,” he said quietly. “As long as it takes.”

Chapter Twenty-Two
    A lexander Cameron reneged on his promise to be back at Moy Hall within the week; he was gone more than a fortnight. Fort Augustus had surrendered, after a two-day siege, when one of Count Fanducci's well-aimed cannon shells had struck the powder magazine. Fort William proved to be more stubborn, however, and the talents of the gunners less daunting than those of the excitable Italian. They remained locked in a stalemate at Fort William for two full weeks, returning frustrated and short of temper, having squandered a deal of shot and patience trying to outgun the fort's determined commander.
    Conversely, the Duke of Perth had completely routed Lord Loudoun's forces, chasing them out of Easter Ross and up into the hills of Skye. Another large contingent of prisoners was marched back to Inverness, and once again the prince, turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to the fact that most would break their parole—meaning they would only have to be caught and defeated again—released them.
    In Cumberland's camp, the question of broken paroles was moot, for the option of laying down arms on a promise not to fight again was never offered. Nor were prisoners treated in accordance with any rules of honorable warfare. Most were beaten and starved, their wounds left to fester untreated.Many were hanged without benefit of a trial; many more were simply loaded onto transport ships and never seen again.
    Prince Frederick of Hesse, whose six thousand crack Hessian soldiers had come north with Cumberland, was appalled at the treatment the captured Jacobites received under the duke's command. The prince was Germanic. Nobility and honor were codes he held above all else, and he warned the English duke that his Hessians would not fight without those codes in place.
    Cumberland's response was to immediately hang three prisoners who had been caught attempting to escape. True to his word, Prince Frederick ordered his men to Pitlochry and refused to acknowledge any further dispatches from Cumberland's headquarters.
    March slipped into April with little more than skirmishes to mark activity in either camp. Charles, who had been ill since the night of his narrow escape at Moy, insisted his fevers were to be conquered if they could not be cured, and ordered days of hunting, fishing, and shooting. He appealed to the ladies of Inverness to organize balls, and for these special evenings he moved from Culloden House to Drummuir House, the guest of the Dowager Lady MacKintosh.
    Angus was able to visit Moy Hall two more times; on each occasion, it was Anne who chided