Midnight Honor

granddaughter, an' by God's grace ye've more courage in yer wee finger than Angus Moy can lay claim tae in his entire body.”
    “He is not a coward, Granda',” she insisted quietly.
    “He just disna want tae fight. Well an' good then, we can fight wi'out him. I've gone through all the laws, lassie, an' there's naught says a woman canna lead the clan. I grant ye, it's never been done afore, but then we've never had an army marched all the way tae London afore either! We've never had a prince willin' tae risk everythin' he has tae walk in the mud alongside his troops! We've never had a general like Lord George Murray, nor have we ever had brave men the likes o' Lochiel an' Keppoch an' Lord John Drummond willin' tae risk everythin', tae lose everythin' tae fight f'ae Scotland's freedom. All ye need, lass, is the signatures of a hundred lairds willin' tae acknowledge ye as their leader an' the law says ye can send out the
crosh tarie
an' call the men tae arms.”
    For generations, the burning cross had been sent out across the Highlands as both a demand for clansmen to answer a summons by their chief, and a threat of punishment by fire if they failed to show up at the appointed time and place.
    “The signatures of a hundred lairds?” She offered up a sound that fell somewhere between a scoff and a curse. “Is that all? No armor, no mighty Excalibur, no steel helmet with horns growing out of the sides?”
    “Ye'd not actually be expected tae ride intae battle,” Robbie said, taking exception to her mockery. “Ye'd have tae appoint a captain wi' hard fightin' experience behind him tae lead the men onto the battlefield.”
    “One of you stalwart fellows, I suppose?”
    “No' me,” Jamie said, raising his hands in self-defense.
    “Damned right, no' you,” Robert agreed. “Ye have enough trouble leadin' the way across a moor.”
    Jamie glared. “If ye're referrin' tae last week at Killiecrankie, how was I tae know the ground were thawed?”
    “Thawed? Ye were up tae yer armpits in bog an' squealin' like a stuck pig when we caught up tae ye. Took us two hours tae haul ye out an' two days afore the stink washed off.”
    “Enough.” Eneas's voice cut sharply between the two before addressing Anne. “We didna mean tae spring this on ye so sudden, nor have we come wi' a half-cocked idea. We've asked some o' the lairds what their answer might be if they were given a petition bearin' yer name, an' if it interests ye tae know, we have twenty-seven willin' tae sign already—an' that's no' includin' any man here.”
    Anne did not know what to say. Twenty-seven lairds were ready to break their oath of fealty to their chief, and they were willing to do it on her say-so. Part of her was appalled, certainly. Respect and unquestioning loyalty to the authority of the clan chief was ingrained from birth; what they were suggesting was tantamount to treason within the clan. Another part of her—the part that had reveled in riding the moors with her cousins—was admittedly excited, too, for it meant there were at least twenty-seven lairds who had not laughed her grandfather out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
    “Ye dinna have tae give us yer answer tonight, lass,” Fearchar said. “Sleep on it. Think on it. Watch yer husband dress in his fine scarlet tunic a time or two afore ye make up yer mind.”
    “I don't have to think about it,” Anne said quietly. “The answer is no. What you are asking is … is just not possible. It's utter madness, in fact.”
    “Annie,” Robbie began, “it's f'ae the honor o' the clan.”
    Her gaze cut to her cousin. “Don't you dare try to justify this by telling me it's for the honor of the clan. It may have worked four years ago, but it will not work now.”
    “But Annie—”
    “And do not
but Annie
me.” Her anger flashed in Eneas's direction. “Four years ago you all insisted I marry a man I had never even seen before, a man who had to be threatened and badgered to honor an agreement
he
had neither sought nor wanted. But marry we did, and you justified the threats and badgering by claiming I had an obligation, that the union was for the good of the clan. Well… you may not take your vows and oaths seriously—or perhaps you only take them seriously when they suit your moods and motives—but I do. Angus is my husband. He is also my laird, and I'll not break the vows I made just because it is no longer of any benefit to the Farquharson clan that I keep them. If