Midnight Honor

muir.”
    MacGillivray, MacBean, and nearly every other man wascalled forward by name to have the sprig and cockade pinned to their plaids, then to bow their heads for a benediction from the priest. When the last of the clansmen had moved off down the road, Lady Drummuir remained standing in the open carriage, her lips moving silently in prayer.

Chapter Twenty-Three
    C harles Stuart made his headquarters at Culloden House, a short mile from the moor. Having been apprised by his scouts that Cumberland's cook-fires were in full bloom at Nairn and the soldiers showed no signs of marching out that day, he gladly took the opportunity to ride up and down the field, a heroic figure in his scarlet-and-blue tunic. He brandished a jeweled sword overhead as if victory had already been declared, posturing for the men who stood freezing in their ranks, watching him.
    It was late afternoon before the prince conceded and agreed that his cousin was not coming to answer his challenge that day. By then the men were too cold and tired to care. Some had cheered their prince until their throats were raw, others had simply stared and wondered if all royalty was a little mad. They were hungry; most of them had rushed onto the field without so much as a biscuit to break their fast. They wandered back to the parks around Culloden and huddled under what shelter their plaids could provide, or roamed farther into Inverness, where they begged scraps from angry townspeople who blamed them for the false alarm.
    The few tents erected on the grounds of Culloden House quickly filled with chiefs and lairds who held heated debates over their prince's choice for a battlefield. Drummossie was flat and treeless, and would afford no protection againstCumberland's artillery. Lord George had found a field a couple of miles to the east that was pitted with bogs and hills, far more adaptable to the Highlanders' way of fighting and far less friendly to heavy guns and disciplined rows of trained soldiers. But his efforts to persuade the prince to change his mind failed and on one of the few occasions since the campaign began, the dejected general was overheard to say: “We have lost, gentlemen. God save us all.”
    With nothing to be gained by spending a cold, hungry night out in the dampness, MacGillivray tried equally hard to persuade Anne to return to Moy Hall, but she would have none of it. Nor would she accept the invitation from the prince to dine with him or stay at Culloden House, making the excuse that it was her duty, in her capacity as colonel of the regiment, to remain with her men and keep their spirits high. It was only an urgent summons from Alexander Cameron that brought her away from the barn where a large body of MacKintosh men had taken shelter. Since she was still addressed as “Colonel Anne” by most of the lairds, she supposed another endless round of debates and arguments had begun. Naturally, for such mundane things as diplomacy, MacGillivray had made himself scarce.
    Cursing her captain's selective nature—and secretly envying it—Anne tramped through the light drizzle that had begun to fall. The ground had been churned to mud and the wind was shaking the trees with a frosty hand, a harsh reminder that winter was not completely out of the air. The clouds were low and there were no stars, no moon; no pipes played and no singing echoed around the campfires. It was a quiet, forlorn contrast from the night before the battle at Falkirk and Anne shivered herself deeper into her plaid as she walked.
    The twins, who had escorted her from the barn, melted away with the aplomb of their golden-haired captain after delivering her to the designated tent. Anne heard voices inside and refrained from sighing before she ducked beneath the canvas. Cameron was there along with his two brothers, Lochiel and Dr. Archibald. Aluinn MacKail was off to one side with Lord John Drummond and another tall Highlander. Leaning over a lamplit table, his hands braced to support his weight, was Lord George Murray.
    A gust of wind came into the tent with Anne, causing him to look up from the maps he was studying. A corner of the topmost paper fluttered and curled back; the flame inside the glass candle shuddered and gave off a thin plume of black smoke.
    “Anne. I see Monaltrie found you; I trust we have not taken you away from anything important.”
    His voice was completely devoid of any sarcasm, and she had no reason to suspect he was anything but tired and