Midnight Honor

been tempted with courses that included collops of beef, smoked salmon, saddles of venison, and huge bowls of poached sea scallops swimming in butter. Most of the focus, therefore, had been on the extravagant quantities of good food and wine—both of which had been in short supply in recent months. To be sure, there were the occasional bursts of laughter and rousing cheers from the sea of redcoats surrounding Lord Loudoun as they offered periodic huzzahs to celebrate the retreat of the Jacobite army. Angus, because of his rank and privilege, was situated somewhere in their midst, but Anne and Lady Drummuirhad chosen of their own accord to sit much farther along the table, where the company consisted mostly of older crones and homely spinsters.
    And a few surprises.
    Anne was already in her seat when she glanced along the table and saw a familiar mane of tarnished blond hair. Granted, it was combed smooth and bound at the nape, but there was no mistaking the massive shoulders and dark brooding eyes of John Alexander MacGillivray.
    Anne would be the last one to express surprise at seeing a known Jacobite sympathizer seated at the Lord President's banquet table. Apart from the fact he was a wealthy and powerful laird in his own right, it was most likely MacGillivray's black-market burgundy that the guests were drinking, for his clansmen were as renowned for their smuggling ventures as they were for their warlike independence. He would have been invited, as Anne had, out of a sense of courtesy, and like Anne, he had probably come out of respect for the Dowager Lady Forbes.
    She managed to pass him a fleeting smile before being drawn back into the conversation with Lady Drummuir.
    “He had the nerve to bring a troop of men to my house an' search the cellars,” she declared with an impressively indignant flaring of nostrils. “He claimed he'd heard a rumor the Jacobites were hoardin' a supply of lead shot in my wine tuns. I told him no' to be such a daft bastard; the tuns were used to store the powder, the prince had all the balls.”
    Douglas Forbes, the Lord President's nephew, actually chewed twice on his mouthful of black pudding before he caught the pun, at which time he nearly choked. Etiquette and civility had dictated that a member of the immediate family must be seated near the ladies MacKintosh, and he had actually volunteered for the privilege. He was between Anne and Lady Drummuir, and through the course of the meal there had been several occasions when he required a sharp clap between the shoulders from one or the other.
    It was the dowager's turn this time and she obliged with a hearty cuff that nearly sent him across the table. “There now, laddie, take a wee sip of wine. Yer torment is almostover. See there? The ladies are heavin' off their fine fannies to go take a winkle, an' the men are takin' their brandy an' cigars in the drawing room so the lads can clear away the tables.”
    “I assure you it has not been a torment, Lady Drummuir,” he said with a grin. “Far from it.” He noticed Anne moving, and stood quickly to hold her chair as she rose. When she thanked him for the courtesy, he flushed and stammered out an emboldened invitation. “If you would not regard it as being too presumptuous, Lady Anne, I would be spectacularly honored if you would grant me the pleasure of a dance later this evening. If your time is not already spoken for, that is. And of course, if you would care to dance. With me, I mean.”
    Anne took a moment to admire the throbbing shade of red his ears achieved.
    “Spectacularly honored? I do not believe anyone has attributed such merits to a mere dance. In this case, although I thank you for asking, Mr. Forbes, I suspect your uncle would prefer if you did not.”
    “So long as the preference is not yours, Lady Anne, my uncle can go shoot himself in the foot.”
    She laughed and tipped her head. “You offer too much temptation, sir. The honor would be mine, and I should like very much to dance with you.”
    The lad was so thrilled he started to escort her out into the hallway, but The MacGillivray was suddenly beside them, the glint in his eye advising Douglas Forbes to melt onto the floor with the other gnats instead.
    “I need a word with ye,” he murmured, barely moving his lips as he walked Anne to the end of the dining hall. “Slip down the stairs an' meet me in the library soon as ye're able.”
    He did not wait for her answer, nor could she think of one on