Midnight Honor

death, giving whoever it was plenty of time to slip into the other alcove.”
    Anne nodded, her face pale. “That must be what happened. But if it was Forbes or one of the other officers, why was I not stopped? Whoever it was had to have seen me take the dispatches and hide them, so why was I not confronted in the ballroom or the parlor and shown to be a thief?”
    The dowager frowned, obviously asking herself the same questions.
    “The one hope,” she said finally, “the
only
hope is that it wisna one of the men who was there earlier, for I canna see any of them not nip-tongued with glee at the thought of strip-pin' ye down an' arrestin' ye with the proof of treason hangin' off yer skirts. Still an' again,” she added, playing her own devil's advocate, “had they shamed ye an' arrested ye in such a public manner, might they not have worried what the other lairds would have done? Better to wait until ye were away from Culloden, where it could be done without danger of swords bein' drawn.”
    After staring at each other for a moment, both women reached up simultaneously and unlatched the windows beside them, lowering the sashes enough to poke their heads through and study the darkness of the road behind them. Apart from the muted pinpricks of light marking the cottages they were passing, the road was a clear, dark ribbon cutting through the tree-lined parks on either side. They were nearing the outskirts of Inverness, following the banks of the Moray Firth, and if anyone had pursued them from Culloden, this would present the perfect stretch to overtake them.
    Anne remained hanging over the window sash until her cheeks were chilled and the wind had torn several curls loose. When she retreated inside again, the dowager had already affected repairs to her own coif and chose not to comment on their brief lapse of dignity.
    “There is a third possibility,” she said. “An' that would be that ye were not the only one curious to see what the Lord President had locked away in his desk.”
    “You mean someone else at the party set out to rob him?”
    “We were not the only ones who would have preferred to stay at home an' tattoo our arses with sharp sticks. The MacGregor was there with his son, the brace of them standin' stiffer than iron pikes. MacPherson an' Strathbogie, MacFall an' MacKillican, were in the corners, the lot of them lookin' in as black a mood as The MacGillivray, an' likely gone just as quickly once homage was paid, though surely not with the same urgency as Big John. One of them could as easily have been in the library as another.”
    The women exchanged a glance, then looked away, neither one convinced, and again the silence stretched between them, broken only by the rolling of the carriage wheels over the rutted road.
    “Are ye dead certain, lass, that ye heard what ye say ye heard?”
    It had only been a few short hours ago that the dowager had defended her son by saying he was only doing what he thought was best for the clan, and Anne knew the strain in her voice was not caused entirely by fear for her personal well-being.
    “I heard Forbes tell him to ply me with kindness in order that I might confide in him anything Fearchar told me about the prince's army. I also heard Angus say that he … that he was weary of my various energies and my penchant for supporting lost causes.”
    Lady Drummuir expelled a sigh that bespoke the full weight of her seven decades. “So now ye feel it is up to you to dash off in a mad fit o' vengeance?”
    Anne had not said as much, had not even made the decision in her own mind, but she did so now without hesitation. “Granda' was right. There is no one else of equal rank thelairds will follow. Nor is there any son or brother to send by way of preserving the honor of the clan.”
    “I ken what ye're sayin', child, but the danger—! Will ye strap a
clai' mór
to yer back and pistols on yer hips, an' will ye ride onto a battlefield with blood in yer eye? Aye, yer heart is in the right place, I grant ye, an' aye, ye'll likely stir enough shame in the clan to get the proxies ye need, but the lairds will want a man to lead them.”
    “I will give them a man,” Anne said quietly. “I will give them John MacGillivray.”
    “MacGillivray!”
    “He is obviously willing to fight, and so are his men.”
    “Och, he's not a man to toy with, Anne,” the dowager cautioned. “He's like a great blooded stallion who may appear to be broken to the saddle, but once he