Midnight Honor

twin to Robbie, younger by six minutes. All three of Anne's cousins were of middling height with short, stalky legs and barrel-shaped torsos hewn out of solid muscle. They shared the familial blue eyes and red hair, though in the twinsthe latter was thick and straight and stuck out above their ears in a way that made them always look slightly demoniacal.
    Anne dismounted and Jamie swore a streak in Gaelic, hugging her with enough force to spin her around off her feet. He barely waited until she had caught her breath again before he snatched the bonnet off her head the way he used to do when they were children.
    Her hair tumbled down in a wealth of unruly curls and she would have boxed his ears for the impertinence if she was not so happy to be reunited with all three of her cousins. She was even more eager to see her grandfather again, and, linking arms with the twins, she urged them toward the open door.
    Dunmaglass, albeit larger and better appointed than most stone houses scattered through the glens, was typical of one belonging to a Highland laird who gave more weight to what was practical than to what was pretty. The ground floor consisted of two main rooms, one the kitchen and pantry, the other a parlor for taking meals and entertaining guests before the comfort of an enormous open hearth. Solid wood planks covered the floor where once, to judge by the faintly redolent scent that no amount of beeswax could quite disguise, sheep and goats had been penned inside as a pragmatic measure to save them from the worst of the winter freezes. In the absence of livestock, there were chairs and a long pine table, an overstuffed sofa of indeterminate color and age, and a large braided rug made of many twists of old rags. A staircase against a side wall gave access to the sleeping quarters on the second floor.
    Fearchar Farquharson sat at the end of the table closest to the heat of the fire, with his bony knees spread wide apart, his ancient walking stick planted between them to support his hands. His skin was the texture of wrinkled parchment, draped in folds from the sparse white wisps of his hair to the ragged collar of his coat. His fingers were dried brown twigs; the bared shins that poked out from beneath the hem of his kilt were not much more than bone and grizzle with a transparent layer of weathered skin overtop.
    Only the eyes were still sharp and vibrant, the blue as piercing as the steel edge of a dirk.
    “Och!” He thumped the floor loudly with his stick andcackled. “Wee Ruadh Annie! So ye've come, have ye? Gillies here didna think ye would, but I ken'd ye would. Weel! Why are ye just standin' there like a blin' lump? Come here an' gi' an auld mon a kiss.”
    Anne dropped to her knees before him, laughing as he welcomed her into his arms with a hug of amazing strength.
    “It is so good to see you, Granda',” she cried. “And good to see you looking so well.”
    “Och, weel, it takes a mout longer f'ae these auld bones tae stir of a morn, but they dae. Miles get longer, clachans farther apart, but aye, I'm hale n'braw, thank the Laird above. Here, let me look at ye, lass. God strike me deid, but ye're a fine sight f'ae these tired eyes. An' what's this?” He reached boldly forward and laid a hand on her belly. “Wed four years an' still nae bairn on ye? Christ in a crib, had I ken'd yer husban' wouldna be up tae the task, I'd ha' wed ye tae wee Gillies here. He'd've known how tae fill ye wi' babbies. He'd've had three sprouted an' anither well planted by now, an' ye'd've both had a mout o' pleasure puttin' them there.”
    Anne sighed, accustomed to her grandfather's coarseness, but she could tell by the look on “wee” Gillies's face that he still suffered for it.
    MacBean was a stout, rawboned Highlander who stood barely above five feet, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in the width of his massive shoulders. His face was as craggy as the mountain range he called home, yet he could blush as swift as a lass at the wrong turn of a phrase—especially any phrase involving those mysterious creatures of the opposite sex. He was painfully tongue-tied around women of any age, a vulnerability that amused the old gray fox no end.
    “Ye look like ye've a bone stuck in yer gullet,” Fearchar snorted. “Speak up, mon. Can ye nae work up enough spittle tae say hallo tae wee Annie?”
    Already as red as raw meat, Gillies burned an even hotter shade as he nodded and murmured, “'Tis bonnie