Midnight Honor

you want another Joan of Arc, you will have to look elsewhere for someone to ride the white charger.”
    Jamie and Robbie started to retort with arguments in their own defense, but Anne turned her back to the room and no longer listened. In truth, it
had
taken the combined efforts of all three cousins and her grandfather to coax her into going through with the wedding to Angus Moy. The fact it had not turned out to be the hated, dreaded, feared ordeal she had envisioned had nothing to do with her resentment now. They had used her like a pawn once to get what they wanted; she was not about to let them use her again, especially since it was only her name they wanted, and not even her.
    “Dinna let it eat at ye, lass,” MacGillivray murmured, coming up and handing her a newly refilled tankard of ale. “Ye were right to tell them to go to hell. 'Tis a foolish thing they're askin' an' ye're better off stayin' out of it.”
    Anne was tall for a woman, and accustomed to meetingmost men on eye level, but to look into MacGillivray's eyes, she had to physically tilt her head upward.
    She smiled and was about to thank him for the ale when she remembered Eneas had said none of the men in this room had signed the petition. That would include MacGillivray, who had sat like a big cat in the shadows throughout the discussion, undoubtedly harboring his own opinions on the foolishness of what they proposed. On the other hand, there was no lack of respect for him among his peers, and his clansmen were bonny fighters; not a one would remain behind if he gave orders to take up arms. He would have been Anne's first choice to lead anyone into battle, and she could well understand if his pride had been left a little stung that it was not his name on the petition.
    The faint grin that had been pulling at his mouth widened, giving Anne the distinct impression he knew exactly what she was thinking.
    The proof of it came on a soft laugh. “I aspire to be nothin' more than what I am, Annie. Had they asked me, I would have throfted them out the door on the toe o' ma boot.”
    “Yet you did nothing to
stop
them from asking me.” “Mayhap I was curious to hear yer answer.” His eyes were like deep black pools and, try as she might, she could not look away. Nor could she stop herself from asking, “Had I said yes, what would you have done?”
    His head tipped to one side and his gaze made a slow, leisurely study of her face, taking in the smooth curve of her cheek, the slight upturn at the end of her nose, the lush fullness of her lower lip. When he was finished, his smile had been lost somewhere in the stillness and Anne had forgotten what she had asked.
    “We'll never know what might have happened, will we?”
    Somehow she knew he was not talking about petitions or signatures or rebellions. He was back with her behind the booth at the fairground and his hands were deep in her hair; his hard, oiled body was hotter than the sunlight, and his mouth was introducing her to sensations she'd had no idea she was capable of feeling.
    “Ye'd best be on yer way, Annie,” Eneas said from the window. “I'll have Gillies bring the horses round.”
    “Yes,” she said, glancing over at him. “Thank you.”
    When she looked back, MacGillivray had moved away from the hearth and returned to the shadows, taking whatever memories had been disturbed with him.

Chapter Three
    A nne hurried up the darkened staircase to the second floor of Moy Hall. She had removed her boots after squelching two or three steps inside the rear door, and her stockinged feet made no sound on the waxed wooden floors. The ride from Dunmaglass had been without incident, though Eneas, who had elected to act as her escort on the way back, had periodically called a halt to look over his shoulder and study the gusts of swirling snow.
    Shivering and red-nosed, Anne arrived at her bedchamber and released an audible sigh of gratitude when she saw a fire blazing high in the grate. She had half unwound her plaid, shedding clumps of ice and melting snow onto the floor all the while, before she stiffened and turned slowly to stare at the fireplace again.
    “It is a cold night. I thought you might appreciate the heat. I even had your maid draw a bath, although I expect the water has cooled by now.”
    Anne's hands clutched the woolen folds as she followed the voice. Angus was seated in the armchair in the far corner of the room. His coat and waistcoat had been discarded, his fine lawn