Midnight Honor

on admiring the carpentry, Anne applied the hairpin, cursing softly when the lock proved to be more complicated. It succumbed eventually, and when she swung the false drawers aside, the first thing she saw was a packet of dispatches bound and wrapped in a leather pouch. There were other bundles, other papers, all of which earned a cursory inspection before she discarded some and added others to a pile on the floor beside her.
    When she reached the limit of what she thought she could safely conceal on her person, she pushed the false front of drawers back in place. Since she had never quite mastered the art of
locking
anything with a hairpin, she had to hope no one would come looking for any of the missing papers until morning.
    She stood, lifting the layers of her overskirt, underskirt, and petticoat to bare the frame of her farthingale. Between the fourth and fifth rib of whalebone, a pocket had been sewn onto the strips of linen. Her protest to Angus the previous night about not wearing knives to a formal affair was forgotten as she reached inside the pocket and removed the wickedly sharp dirk. The bundles of papers made for a snug fit, and with nowhere else to conceal the dirk, she rearranged several books on a nearby shelf and shoved the weapon well back behind them.
    With her hand pressed flat over the constricting tightness of her bodice, she took a moment to catch her breath before ensuring her skirts were straight and orderly again, her hair was not missing a curl, and she had not left anything behind. Everything seemed to be the way she had found it apart from the curtains on the alcoves, and they had obviously gone unnoticed earlier. As a final precaution, she ventured into mouse country one last time to open the French doors, leaving them ajar enough to suggest an alternate means of entry and exit.
    Back at the main door, she paused and pressed her ear to the wood. She cracked it open a sliver of an inch, then two,then boldly threw her shoulders back and walked out into the hallway, a rueful expression on her face as if she had just taken a wrong turn.
    The pretense was not needed. Apart from one red-faced couple who emerged from another darkened niche farther along the hall and refused to even meet her eye, she saw no one until she reached the vicinity of the entrance hallway. The weight of the bundle hanging from her farthingale made it feel as if her skirt were dragging at a tilt, and as she passed before an ornately gilded mirror, she fully expected to see the evidence of her guilt reflected back. Surprisingly enough, she saw only a tall, pale woman in gold silk whose eyes were possibly a bit too rounded and dark, and who had to force herself to stop and lean toward the polished surface as if to adjust a displaced curl.
    If luck was in any way on her side, Anne reasoned, the theft would not be discovered until she was long gone, and even then she, a mere woman, would hardly be considered the prime suspect. Once she was safely back at Moy Hall and able to think clearly again, she would decide what to do with the stolen papers, but for now, she had to get out of here. She had to regain her composure and act as if nothing were amiss, as if the horrendous pain twisting inside her chest were not there at all.
    “My dear, are ye all right?”
    “What?” Anne started as Lady Drummuir reached out and touched her arm.
    “Ye look as if ye've seen the ghost of William Wallace.”
    Anne swallowed. “I'm fine, just tired. Have you seen Angus?”
    “Since the last time ye asked not two minutes gone? Nay. Nay, I've not.”
    Anne searched the crowded room, but although she saw Lords Forbes and Loudoun laughing at some unheard triviality, there was no sign of her husband. A servant walked by and she signaled for a glass of wine, which she emptied in three swallows and replaced with another.
    Meanwhile, couples were lining up in two swirling columns of color that formed the opening lines of thecontredanse. She located Adrienne de Boule, the sapphire blue silk of her gown shining like a jewel under the thousand candles in the chandelier overhead. Her partner was the green-eyed Major Garner—a suitable match, Anne thought belligerently, though she almost wished it were Angus, if for no other reason than she would know where he was.
    Farther along, the young Mr. Forbes was dancing with one of the MacLaren sisters—who could keep track of their names when there were seven who all looked frighteningly alike? He