Midnight Honor

because her trews itched.
    “Ye look as if ye've fought a battle already, lass.” MacGillivray's quiet voice came over her shoulder, startling Anne into looking up from the fire. She had moved there when Robbie had started laying pats and pinches on Glenna Mor's bottom and the girl's incessant giggles had begun to shred Anne's last nerve. She wasn't sure how long she had been staring at the low ripple of flames, but there were snores coming from the family pallet, and more than one figure lay bundled in plaid on the dirt floor.
    She was seated on a three-legged stool, and without waiting for an invitation, MacGillivray lowered himself onto the floor beside her, sitting cross-legged, cradling a cup of whisky in his hands.
    “'Twas a long day. We started out before dawn, did we not?”
    “Aye, that we did. An' we'll start out afore dawn on the morrow, too, so ye shouldna be squanderin' what little time ye have to rest by thinkin' on things that have no answer.”
    She studied his firelit profile for a moment before scowling. “You cannot possibly know what I am thinking, John MacGillivray.”
    “No? Then I'll gladly apologize if I'm wrong, but ye've the look of a wife worryin' after her husband.”
    She just stared until he looked up and grinned gently. “Tis a look we've both seen often enough these past weeks, each time a man kisses his wife an' bairns an' promises he'll be back after we've driven the
Sassenachs
back to England.”
    “Even so, I will accept your apology,” she said archly, turning her gaze back to the fire, “for you are wrong; I wasn't thinking of Angus at all. He made his choice, I made mine, and we both knew we would have to live with the consequences. In truth, I wasn't thinking of anything at all. I was just enjoying the sensation of having warm toes and fingers.”
    She was aware of his smile, but since she did not feel like compounding her foolishness by having her bluff called, she did not look his way again.
    In the end, he sighed affably and stretched his hands toward the heat. “A worthy pleasure,” he agreed. “For the rest of the body as well.”
    She watched his hands as he turned them this way and that, noting the width of the callused palms, the length of the strong, blunt-tipped fingers. Angus's hands were smoother, far more elegant than they were powerful, more comfortable holding a quill than a
clai' mór
. They were gentle and tentative when they reached for her, and she could not imagine for a moment Angus Moy lifting her against a wall at a public fairground and threatening to take her there and then before God's eyes if she did not give him a kiss.
    “Jesus God and all the saints,” she whispered, bowing her head with a small shake, wondering what it would take to rid her mind of such unwanted images.
    “Ye have need of a special prayer?” MacGillivray asked.
    Unaware she had invoked the heavenly powers aloud, she felt all the more foolish for it and smiled wearily. “An exorcism, perhaps. But you were right. I should make my bed while I have the chance.”
    She started to shift forward, to push herself off the stool, but her legs had become locked in the folded position and refused to budge.
    John's grin came back, tempered by a cluck of his tongue. “Did ye not use the unguent I gave ye, lass? It will ease the stiffness out o' yer muscles each night an' let ye ride in comfort in the mornin'.”
    “It smells dreadful, like camphor and turpentine and something else I cannot fathom.”
    “A virgin's piss gathered fresh in the mornin'.” He laughed when he saw her startled expression, and sprang tohis feet so easily she wanted to kick him. Reaching down, he grasped her around the waist, bringing her up slowly, letting her legs straighten and uncramp with a minimum of strain. It took a full minute or more, with Anne's hands resting on his chest all the while, her fingers splayed over the solid bulk of muscle beneath. His head was bent forward, bringing the musky scent of smoke and whisky closer than was probably wise at that precise moment, but his next suggestion nearly sent her toppling backward.
    “Drop yer trews for me, lass: I'll ease what ails ye in no time.”
    Her eyes, blue and huge, locked with his long enough for the smile to fade from his face and his complexion to grow ruddy.
    “I meant the salve,” he murmured. “Ye need to rub it in hard for it to work best.”
    “I can manage it on my own.”
    “Aye, of course ye can.” He lifted one of