Midnight Honor

inside a lanthorn. The smoke rose around his head in a cloud. When he had puffed a good enough glow at the end, he dropped the shield back into place and savored a long, deep draw.
    “May I?”
    He looked down at her and frowned. “May ye what?”
    “May I try it,” she said, pointing at his cigar.
    “No, ye may not. It's bad enough ye dress like a man an' ride like a man; I'll not be the cause of ye horkin' an' spittin' like a man.”
    “Then will you at least come and sit beside me for a minute? I have grown quite fond of the smell of those thingsand it would be a vast improvement over whatever occupied this stall before us.”
    He smiled, but still hesitated. “Annie, I—”
    “Yes, of course, how selfish of me. You need your sleep as well. Please, go ahead. I'll just close my eyes and think of heather after a summer rain.”
    “That was no' what I was about to say.”
    She glanced, as he did, at the rows of sleeping men on the barn floor. The area was dark save for a few cracks in the boards where daylight sliced through in dust-laden slivers, but no one else appeared to be awake, or if they were, they were thinking of their own blistered feet, not the impropriety of a whispered conversation in a hay-filled stall.
    MacGillivray exhaled another stream of smoke and lowered himself gingerly past the cramps in his own legs to sit beside her.
    They were both silent with their thoughts for a few moments, listening to the patter of the icy drizzle that had begun to fall.
    “I never had the chance to thank you.”
    “Thank me for what, lass?”
    “For bringing Angus home to me that night.”
    “Ah. That. An' here I thought ye were goin' to thank me for puttin' ma name on that petition so ye could be here with us, freezin' off yer … well, freezin'.”
    “You are an impossible man to flatter, John MacGillivray.” And before she could think about what she was doing, she leaned over and laid her hand on his cheek, turning his head so that his lips were a mere inch away. A kiss, given thus, would not have been interpreted by anyone as being anything other than a friendly, playful gesture, but there was suddenly a wealth of caution in his dark eyes.
    “You have been a good and dear friend to me, John,” she said softly. “I don't ever want that to change.”
    “It never will, lass, ye have ma oath on that.”
    She smiled and reached down, plucking the cigar out of his unresisting fingers.
    The end was damp and tasted slightly bitter when she put it to her mouth; it drew easily enough but she knew the instant the smoke was on her tongue that it was probably the leastpleasant sensation she'd experienced since the twins dared her to lick a toad when she was small.
    MacGillivray grinned. “Dinna swallow it, lass,” he warned.
    “Mmm?”
    “Let it out. Blow it out afore it goes up yer nose.”
    She expelled the smoke on a “Bah” and handed the cigar back quickly enough to earn an amused chuckle. “I may no' take flattery well, but ye were always the one who had to hold her finger in the flame to believe it was hot. Are ye happy now that yer mouth tastes like the backside of a scorched log?”
    She smiled “yes,” but her eyes filled inexplicably with tears. They were hot, stinging two silvery paths down her cold cheeks; try as she might, she could not stop them.
    MacGillivray swore and stubbed out the cigar. Then, heedless of who might or might not be taking notice, he opened his arms and drew her against his chest. Anne went willingly, even a little helplessly, and it was John, gently stroking the damp tangle of her hair, who went straight to the heart of the matter.
    “He'll be all right, lass. He's no' half so soft as ye think he is.”
    She shook her head, keeping her face buried against his throat. “I just wish I knew where he was this very minute, what he must have thought when we failed to attack the camp.”
    “He probably thought the prince came to his senses. An' he's likely still warm in his bed, or havin' a good stretch an' tuckin' into a hot meal. Right the now, he'll be thinkin' what a bluidy fool he was for goin' back; that he should have stayed here with you instead of leavin' ye in the care of a rogue like me.”
    She made a strangled little sound that was half sob, half laugh, and he tried not to hold her too tightly, to give away too much of his own weakness as she curled herself gratefully against the warmth of his body.
    “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry for