Midnight Honor

you took up a sword and raised your clan in support of the Pretender's treasonous efforts to usurp the throne of England from King George? Do you deny you led those men to join rankswith the Jacobite rebel Lord Lewis Gordon at Aberdeen, and from there proceeded to engage in an act of war against the king's army on the field at Falkirk? And do you deny you were present on the moor at Drummossie not three days hence?”
    “Do you intend to credit me with starting the entire rebellion, sir? For if you do, I think it only fair to warn you I have not that much influence.”
    “You had influence enough to lure”—he looked down, consulting a sheet of paper—“at least five hundred clansmen to your cause.”
    “It was not my cause, sir. It was Scotland's. And in actual fact, the number was closer to eight hundred.”
    Hawley's face was sharp as a blade in the candlelight. “So you do
not
deny your affiliation with the Pretender?”
    “My loyalties to Scotland's rightful king and heir have never been a well-kept secret, as I am certain Lord Loudoun may attest. Yet while I may have applauded the prince's victories and supported the decision of some of my husband's clansmen to follow the course their honor dictated, I would not say I had any more or less influence over their actions than scores of other wives, mothers, and sisters.”
    “Most of whom did not take up a sword and join their men in battle.” Hawley half rose out of his chair. “You were
seen
on the field at Falkirk!”
    “Was I, indeed?” she remarked wryly. “And would this have been by the same brave men who swore they saw three thousand Camerons and MacDonalds lurking in the trees the night Lord Loudoun dispatched soldiers to Moy Hall to capture the prince?”
    Loudoun looked up at that, reddening as each of his fellow officers leaned forward to glance his way. The beginnings of a spluttered defense were silenced when Cumberland raised his hand.
    “So,” the duke said. “You deny being at Falkirk?”
    “No. I do not deny it at all, Your Grace. I was there, just as dozens of other wives were there, for it was, above all else, a grand and glorious adventure the likes of which cannot be found hereabout in the pastures and moors of Inverness.”
    “You are claiming it was a diversion, nothing more?”
    “An
exciting
diversion, Your Grace.”
    “And you ask us to believe you took no part in the recruiting of men? Or that the reports we were given that place you on the battlefield at Falkirk were mistaken?”
    She sighed. “I would put the question to this panel of august military men instead, asking if they would sanction the presence of women on a battlefield, much less allow them a position of command? Would you, Lord Loudoun, encourage your wife to take to the field? And if you did, would you expect your officers and men to follow her blindly over hill and dale?”
    A few of the officers lowered their heads to conceal their smirks, for Lord Loudoun's wife was as big as a bullock, and the thought of her hiking her petticoats to heave over a mud wall did nothing to maintain their sense of decorum.
    The duke resumed his slow pacing again, but only as far as the table. His gaze strayed downward from her smile to the deep V of her cleavage. Her cloak had become loose and sat precariously balanced on the rounds of her shoulders. Somewhere along the way she had lost the gauze tucking piece as well; her skin took on an almost luminous quality in the candlelight, emphasizing the low scallop in the bodice and the deep shadow between her breasts. Strands of her hair had flown loose, the wisps catching the light and glowing like a fiery halo around her head.
    “I confess you are not in the least what I expected, Lady MacKintosh,” Cumberland murmured. “Reports have invariably put you a foot taller, several stone heavier, with a full moustache that would do a brigadier proud. I will also confess I find it difficult to envision you running out onto a battlefield in full armor.”
    “Thank you, Your Grace. It was a charge against which I did not know quite how to defend.”
    “Oh, I think you have done admirably well. The gown, the hair—” He waved a fat hand to include the entire presentation. “Not one man on this tribunal failed to give pause when you came through that door. And these are hard-hearted brutes, my dear. Hard-hearted brutes. Would there were indeed a few score women like yourself who did take to the field of honor, we might