Midnight Honor

Forty
Sassenachs
wi' three wagons saggin' wi' what looks like barrels o' grain an' casks o' ale. The men were thinkin' we might have more need o' such things than Thomas Lobster.”
    MacGillivray cast around. There were enough campfires blazing to provide a weak, watery kind of light through the fog, and he could see the girl's silhouette paused by a patch of soft green grass a discreet distance from the house.
    “Aye,” he said. “Bring the horses. We could use a little diversion.”
    Gillies followed his glance and saw the waiting shadow. “I could take the men out maself if ye've more pressin' needs tae tend tae.”
    John stuck his cigar in his mouth and clapped a hand around the shorter man's shoulder. “Ye're a good friend,Gillies, but ye've likely just saved me from a fine case o' the pox.”
    Gillies grinned. “Dinna tell Robbie that. She wrung him out in the haystack no' an hour gaun. He's lyin' there still, drained tae the bone, weak as a saplin', declarin' undyin' love.”
    “Love,” John snorted. “Almost as bad as the bloody pox. Let's away. It'll be dawn in a few hours, an' ye've given me a taste for fresh bannocks.”

Chapter Eleven
    N inety miles directly to the southwest, Angus Moy had such a foul taste in his mouth, no amount of claret, whisky, or French brandy was proving able to remove it. It was not the lingering effects of the meal he'd had earlier, for the salmon served that evening at Holyrood House had been succulent, the venison tender enough to cut with a fork. It was the company that was wearing on his patience, souring his disposition, a condition that seemed to be becoming increasingly frequent with each passing day. Even with his own men, he found himself snapping their heads off with little provocation other than a sidelong glance or a heartbeat of hesitation. He had, to his utter personal disgust, even ordered a man flogged for failing to groom his horse properly the day before.
    The harshness of the penalty had, perversely, won him respect from another quarter. General Henry Hawley was a seasoned campaigner, a veteran of the wars in Europe. He was a particularly cruel commander, a harsh disciplinarian beloved by no one, respected only by those who shared his penchant for floggings and hangings. Every day without fail there were entries made in the Order Book, names of men sentenced to the lash who received any number from the minimum of twenty-five strokes to the maximum of three thousand. Gibbets were one of the first structures erected when Hawley madecamp, and the more prominent the location, he reasoned, the better for maintaining the proper morale. In Edinburgh, he had chosen the town square, for his occupational powers were not limited to soldiers; there were a number of townspeople he felt were deserving of lessons in constancy.
    Businessmen known to have willingly provisioned the Jacobites with weaponry or munitions were fined into bankruptcy and locked in public stocks to be spat upon and pelted with rotted garbage. Those found guilty of participating in acts of sabotage or suspected of causing general mischief were either lashed to within an inch of their lives or hanged by way of example alongside soldiers accused of cowardice or sedition. Women fared little better. Doxies who stated their preference for men in kilts were treated to the whirligig; they were strapped into a chair and raised off the ground, then spun at such length and with such vigor, the nausea and vomiting lasted for days.
    Following Cumberland's example, Hawley had forbidden gambling and banned women from the company tents. A man with an urge had to either ease it with his own hand or risk the lash by bribing his way outside the picket lines to the wagons of the camp followers—none of whom suffered a lack of steady custom despite the restrictions.
    Naturally these rules did not apply to officers. Many of them traveled with wives or mistresses, and to judge by the resplendent array of silks, the glittering splash of jewels, the sweeping décolletages and seductive come-hither smiles, one would be hard-pressed to believe the country was in the midst of a rebellion. No common barracks for these fine officers, either. The lavish homes of the burghers and bankers had been appropriated as billets, the wine cellars and pantries accessed freely, with only the vaguest promises of compensation.
    Angus had been assigned a lovely gray brick home with a spectacular view of the spires and steeples of the