Midnight Honor

and surprise will require a night march. It is roughly twelve miles from here to there; we could cover it easily enough in, say, four hours. Military etiquette aside, if we catch them abed or drunk as beggars, it can only go in our favor. Angus, you say his artillery park is facing west, toward us?”
    “They point the guns in the direction they intend to march.”
    “Then it would behoove our vanguard to attack that position first and remove any possibility of their catching us in a crossfire. Alex, I hate to ask …?”
    Alexander Cameron merely smiled. It had been solely due to his rash heroics and those of his clansmen that the government artillery had been silenced at Prestonpans. A hundred men had charged a battery of forty guns and captured them, but at a terrible cost in brave lives.
    “How many?” The question was directed at Angus.
    “Ten three-pounder battalion guns, four signal-pieces.”
    Cameron pursed his lips and exchanged a glance with his brother Lochiel. “We'll take Fanducci with us; he's brought us luck before.”
    “Which leaves only one other satin-clad
prima donna
to deal with,” Lord George said wryly. “John?”
    Lord Drummond sighed. “Aye. Ye're saddlin' me with the prince?”
    “Unless you would rather he come in my column, inwhich case you would have to retrieve him after the battle, buried up to his neck in a bog and left by the side of the road.”
    “Och, he's no' that bad. If ye flatter him all the day long an' tell him ye like the cut of his tunic.”
    “Then the only question remaining is guides. We will need men who know the wynde like they know their own bodies. With the mist we have tonight, there are too many chances for error.”
    “MacGillivray and MacBean,” Anne said at once. “They practically own the river. My cousins and me as well; we grew up”—she ventured a finger forth and touched the map— “here. Right where the wynde splits away from the bog. John can take the first column; we'll lead the second.”
    It was Angus this time, his objection halfway off his tongue, who forced himself to remain quiet. Just as Anne had refrained from crying out with wifely concern over the gash in his neck, he respected the sense of desperation in the group and held his fear in check … for the moment.
    “That's it, then,” said the general, rolling up his maps. “I'll take the final proposal to the prince, with the approval of those whose opinions matter, and put it to him in such a way as to leave him no options. I suggest you return to your clans and prepare them for an immediate departure. Angus, I thank you for the final count, and you may consider you have the grateful thanks of the entire army for the risks you have taken. I will have an escort waiting outside to take you back when you are ready. Unless, of course—?”
    Angus shook his head, answering the unasked question. Lord George nodded to acknowledge his decision—and his courage—then signaled the rest of the chiefs to give Angus and Anne a few moments of privacy. Angus barely waited for the flap to drop over the door before he tossed his bonnet down on the table and gathered his wife into his arms.
    When the first order of business was settled to a mutual, bruising satisfaction, he tackled the second. “I suppose it is my own fault. In the list of promises I extracted from you, I neglected to specify ‘and do not volunteer to lead an army through a bog in the middle of the night.’”
    “And you, sir.” She touched the side of his neck, able to show her horror now at how close the cut lay along the jugular.“I suppose you earned this while you were copying out lists?”
    “My visit tonight had not been prearranged, so I did not know the proper response to give the sentry. He held his knife to my throat with a little more enthusiasm than was warranted, though not as much as might have been displayed had I not been able to produce my brooch and prove I was who I claimed to be.”
    “I thought you were in Skye with Lord Loudoun.”
    “I was. Until three days ago, anyway. It seems Cumberland put in a ‘special request’ for myself and a dozen other prominent lairds. He wants all the Highland companies in the front line—and that is not the worst of it. He has deliberately chosen officers with no conscience, like Hawley, and given them command of battalions led by brutes and butchers. I have seen things of late that have left me sick at heart. Men hanged for simply stating their