Midnight Honor

me to attend! Not to spend an entire evening in the same room as Duncan Forbes and that bilious Earl of Loudoun!”
    “Culloden is a large estate, I have no doubt you can find enough walls to act as buffers. And yes, I do expect you to attend. Whatever your feelings may be toward her son, the Dowager Lady Forbes has done nothing to deserve your enmity or your contempt. Even my mother has consented to leave her lair for the occasion, and if the Dragon Lady can manage to keep her tongue between her teeth for the evening, I see no reason why you cannot make a similar effort. That will, of course, include refraining from insulting the other guests or drawing your knives over every imagined slight.”
    “I have never worn knives to a formal dinner,” she snapped.
    “Then you have obviously never been looking in a mirror when your temper is roused.” He paused a moment, forcing himself to regain control. “Well?”
    “Well, what?”
    “I plan to leave here around six P.M.; may I anticipate the pleasure of your company in the carriage, Lady MacKintosh?”
    Anne turned and walked toward her dressing room. At the doors that led through to her own bedchamber, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “I expect you will know the answer to that at six P.M. tomorrow, my lord. As will I.”

Chapter Five
    A ngus was in the library when the clock on the mantel struck six. He was dressed in an elegant long jacket of rich hunting green velvet over a skirted waistcoat made of a paler shade of green silk. The latter was embroidered with bands of clustered ivy leaves, while the front facings of the doublet were stiff with ornate scrolls of gold thread, the cuffs folded back to allow a rich display of ruffles about the wrists. The short breacan kilt was red-and-green tartan; his calves were sheathed in hose of dark red wool with green fretting. His shoes were buckled in silver, and a scabbard of soft kid leather chased in gold was draped from shoulder to hip and held his dress sword. As was his favor, he wore no wig, but his hair had been plied with hot tongs at the temples, the length gathered into a neatly bound tail.
    He had not seen Anne all day, had not received any messages to indicate whether she would be accompanying him to the party or preferred him to attend on his own and remain there until hell froze over. Despite his excesses of the previous night, he'd had two large glasses of claret in the past fifteen minutes while he paced and watched the hand on the timepiece crawl inexorably toward the twelve. Normally, she strived to be punctual and was more often than not early. Angus had caught a glimpse of her personal maid, Drena,scurrying down the hallway earlier, but he had deemed it unworthy of him to stop a servant to inquire if his wife was dressed for an evening out, or an evening at home.
    He adjusted his sporran for the tenth time in as many minutes and ran a finger between his neck and cravat to ease some of the tightness. His valet, Robert Hardy, had assisted him in dressing, as usual, and while the tall, thin manservant rarely expressed his opinions in words, his mood could generally be gauged by the amount of tension he applied to the neckcloth or the brusqueness in his hand as he brushed specks of lint off the velvet coat.
    Tonight he had all but battered Angus's shoulders with the vigor of his brushstrokes, and if the starched linen had been wound any tighter his master's face would have turned blue.
    Hardy, a staunch and proper manservant for many years, had initially been affronted to the verge of seeking employment elsewhere when he heard of his master's impending marriage to a red-haired hellion. He had been as disdainful as the rest of the servants, until the day he had found Anne up to her elbows in blood, trying frantically to help one of the scullery maids who had cut herself on a fireplace grating. Not only had quick thinking saved the girl's life, but Anne's knowledge of wounds and stitchery had likely saved the arm. Since most highborn ladies would have been more inclined to scream and faint rather than ruin a silk gown with blood-stains—a servant's blood, no less—Hardy began to view the erstwhile hellion with a grudging measure of respect. He began to communicate, by barely perceptible nods and shakes of the head at first, which forks or spoons were to be used with each course during a long formal meal. Eventually, he laid out an entire, elaborate setting for a formal banquet,