Midnight Honor

Cameron—the
Camshroinaich Dubh
whose name had conjured ghosts out of Fearchar Farquharson's past. Lady Drummuir, with her reliable legion of spies, had heard that Cameron had won Hamilton Garner's betrothed in a duel, that he had married the woman himself—a
Sassenach
—and taken her home to Lochaber. He had also been at Colt's Bridge and Prestonpans, and Garner's rage, having seen him there, knew no bounds. He had sworn to track his enemy to the ends of the earth if it meant killing every Jacobite single-handedly in the pursuit.
    “These rebels do not fight in accordance to any known military order,” Garner protested now. “I cannot begin to recount the number of times I have attempted to enlighten General Hawley to this unpleasant fact. They creep about in the darkness, wading through bogs, emerging covered in mud and stink. Any lines they form are ragged at best and break atthe first screech of encouragement from their infernal pipers. They discharge but one round from their muskets and toss them aside, reaching our lines with their claymores in hand, while our men are still bent over their weapons, priming them for a second shot. They will even fling off their plaids and skirts if the bulk of their clothing hampers them. Imagine that, if you will. Scores of screaming, half-naked devils descending upon you, wielding swords as tall as any normal man.”
    There was a pause, then an indignant
harrumph
from Lord Loudoun. “They fight like barbarians, sirs. They eat cold oatmeal and animal blood, for God's sake. They are a clamorous, disorganized rabble, and the major showed exemplary fortitude flaying the skin off the back of any man who did not instantly set aside the terms of his parole.”
    “Indeed,” Worsham murmured, nonplussed by the earl's rant, “for where is the merit in upholding a soldier's oath when one is dealing with cattle thieves and sheep-fuckers?”
    Anne, listening from behind the curtain, felt the blood boil up into her cheeks. Her lips parted in an attempt to gather more air into her lungs but the effort was hampered by the tightness of her stomacher. The urge was growing to fling the draperies aside and confront the lot of them, and indeed, her temper was such that she might well have thrown caution to the wind and done exactly that had the next voice not stopped her cold.
    “Come now. You are too harsh on my neighbors. We are not all enamored of our farm animals. Some of us prefer all those lovely English lassies you have had transported up from London.”
    Another round of lusty laughter acknowledged Angus Moy's remark.
    “Indeed, the whores are cleaner than most,” said another man. “And decidedly more eager than their Highland counterparts.”
    Worsham's voice rose above the second round of ribald laughter. “But your wife, sir,” he said to Angus. “She seems a fiery little vixen with energy to spare. Surely you are not tossing her into the stew pot as well?”
    Anne held her breath, her fingers clenching tight around the folds of her skirt. She fully hoped to hear the lethal hiss of steel as her husband drew his sword to cut the envisioned smirk off the Englishman's face, but she was shocked to hear him respond with an exaggerated sigh.
    “Alas, I grew weary long ago of my wife's … various energies. And of trying to curb either her tongue or her penchant for supporting lost causes.”
    “Women,” said Duncan Forbes, “can be bellicose creatures at the best of times. Pretty to look at, intriguing to bed, but if they are not taken firmly in hand on the walk back from the altar, they can be the cause of one blasted migraine after another. Even my son used to despair at times of his Arabella's simpering, but a few sound beatings put her quickly to rights. Perhaps you've just been too lax on her, m'boy. A good throuncing once in a while never hurts; shows who's master and who is just there by the grace of our benevolence.”
    “I will keep that in mind,” Angus said with a low chuckle.
    “She is a Farquharson, is she not?” Major Garner posed the question over the sound of Forbes closing and locking a cupboard in his desk. “Related to the old man and his trio of foot soldiers?”
    “He is her grandfather,” Angus provided.
    “And you see no need to rein her in?” His surprise was as apparent as Angus's nonchalance.
    “Frankly, we've told him not to,” Loudoun answered. “She is the old bastard's pride and joy, and so long as he thinks she has the freedom