Midnight Honor

wagons would find the river without any warning. We smelled the smoke from your fire, and …” She waved a hand to indicate the natural progression of events, but the woman just stared.
    “I ken who ye are,” Rose whispered, her initial awe over their guests replaced by the more practical emotion of fear. “An' I ken why ye're here. Ye've come tae take ma Colin awa' tae war.”
    “No,” Anne said carefully. “We've not come to take him away. He is free to join us if he wishes, but we will not force any man to come with us. Each must listen to his own heart and decide the best way to serve his family, his clan, his honor.”
    “Aye, well.” The girl bit her lip and glanced down at the wooden cradle. “Ye put it that way, he'll no' be able tae refuse, will he?”
    She turned her back, startling the two smaller children into scrambling to reposition themselves as she leaned over to pick up the fussing baby and settle it back over her hip. “Will ye have broth, or a mug o' ale? There's rabbit stew as well. Glenna can fetch it f'ae ye, if ye're of a mind.”
    “A cup of broth would be very welcomed, but I do not want to put you to any trouble.”
    “'Tis too late f'ae that now.” She paused and glanced past Anne's shoulder as MacGillivray ducked his head beneath the low lintel and came into the cottage, followed closely by the Farquharson twins. “Ye've brung the trouble wi' ye.”
    Seeing the handsome trio, Glenna Mor showed a reaction for the first time, straightening and squaring her shoulders sothat her breasts pushed round and full against her bodice. There was an inordinately large amount to push, and the twins' gaze stalled there long enough for John to give them both a clout on the shoulder.
    “Like I said,” the wife muttered. “Looks like ye've brung the trouble wi' ye.”
    Anne had been determined to repress all memories of the incident in MacGillivray's bedroom. The kiss had meant nothing. Nor had it in any way been a conscious effort on his part to seduce her. He had still been half drunk from the previous night, scarcely accountable for his actions. Yet it was difficult to ignore the effect his presence had on other women. The trull, Glenna Mor, all but fell over herself to serve him his ale and ladle the choicest bits of meat into his wooden bowl. The lacings on her bodice miraculously loosened from one turn to the next so that each time she leaned forward, he had an impressive view of her breasts. And being a hot-blooded male, he noticed. More than once, Anne caught him staring unabashedly at the succulent offerings, his one brow slightly raised in speculation, his mouth curved in a lopsided grin. Robbie was less circumspect. He practically had to keep his hands in his lap to prevent his kilt from tenting each time she brushed his shoulder or gave him a sly wink. While Anne had no right to be angered by the innocent flirtations, she felt as bristly as a hedgehog and found herself wanting to reach across the table and slap them all silly.
    It wasn't fair. She might have been able to abide the sloe-eyed glances and smiles and swaying hips with somewhat more tolerance had her husband been beside her. As it was, each time the girl's bodice gaped, she felt her own breasts chafing against the constraints of her cambric shirt; each time the wench ran her fingers through her hair and flirted openly with John or the twins, Anne thought of the tremors she had felt in Angus's hands when he'd taken the brush and stroked it through her own hair, the movements slow and sensual, the effect as thrilling as the tiny crackles of static the motion produced. She thought of his body, hard and straining into hers. She remembered the heat of his skin, the warm smell of him, the way his head arched back and his eyes smoldered withpride when she shivered around him time and again and refused to let him go.
    He had lied for her. He had not exposed her part in the theft to Forbes or Loudoun or Worsham, but what did that mean? What
exactly
did that mean? If he cared for her enough to put himself in such a precarious position—surely he would have been arrested and treated to the same prison hospitality as Anne, had they caught him in the lie—why had he not swept her into his arms at Drummuir House and told her so? Why had he deliberately kept himself at arm's length?
    No, it wasn't fair. And it wasn't fair to be in the constant company of a man who seemed to know she was not always squirming and red-faced