Midnight Honor

Pitsligo saw Anne and waved, as did the younger Murray of Broughton standing at the head of his splendidly attired hussars, the latter distinguishable by their fur caps and black leather cross straps. Lord Elcho's company of Lifeguards was composed of gentlemen, all of great fortune; their uniforms were red and blue, and to a man they were well mounted on horses that would not have looked out of place at a race ground.
    For the most part, however, the clansmen wore their kilted plaids, warm bullhide doublets, and tartan coats. On their bonnets was the badge that identified their clan, and on their lips the
cath-ghairm
that rallied them for battle. Every clan had their piper to stir their blood to fever pitch and, hopefully, strike a note of terror into the enemy who faced them across a field. The chiefs brought along a bard as well, who would record the day's events in exacting detail so that the valorous acts of bravery would be set down for posterity and the glory of the clan. These were usually men of meticulous memories and sonorous voices who would later compose the songs and poems to be retold around the campfires.
    Anne's heart swelled with pride when they breasted the last hill and she saw the men of Clan Chattan. They were waiting for their colonel to lead them to the field, and when they saw her, a great cheer went up, louder than any skirling piper. Some would die this day, others would come away with dreadful, crippling injuries. But to a man they cheered, and half a dozen of them hoisted John MacGillivray onto their shoulders before depositing him on his horse.
    MacGillivray was grinning as hugely as his men, his blond hair streaming back in the gusts of wind. He too had dressed with care, substituting for the plain woolen jacket he had worn away from Aberdeen a more regal one dyed a rich crotal blue. His hose and breacan were red with blue and black stripes;
brógs
had replaced his boots, the deer-hide worn fur out, and she knew this would be for ease of running. His bonnet sat on a jaunty angle on his head, the white Stuart cockade prominent beside the sprig of whortleberry. Strapped across his back was the basket-hilted
clai' mór
, deadly enough in his powerful hands without the need for the assorted pistols and dirks that bristled over all points of his body.
    He tugged a burnished forelock as a sign of respect as he greeted Anne, then grinned even wider. “Lord George wanted ye to ride with the prince, but I told him we wanted ye here with us, Colonel. With yer men. At least until we reach the moor.”
    He said it loud enough to cause another roar of approval and Anne, blinking with her determination to keep her eyesdry, proudly took her place at the head of the long column of men. The Bruce seemed to know he carried someone very important that day, for his steps were high and sure, his tail held aloft in a fan of gray silk. Unlike other mounts that were unaccustomed to so many men and drums and pipers, he neither flinched nor broke out of line as the prince's army marched to war.
    Twelve miles to the south, Adrienne de Boule lowered the delicate china cup from her mouth, leaving a small bead of chocolate on her lower lip. Without preamble, Major Roger Worsham leaned over and licked it away, his tongue continuing the sweep by snaking between her lips and embarking on a deep, prowling kiss.
    He had no idea of the time, for the light that came through the window was dull and gray. The wind was gusting, spraying the glass with spatters of rain that seemed to justify a leisurely stretch and subsequent snuggling down onto the soft cushion of her breasts. His head was still fuddled and thick from the wine he had consumed the previous evening—a fact he considered odd, since he could have sworn he only had two, perhaps three glasses. And although he could not recall with any certainty how well he had performed, he assumed he had not left the company flags unfurled, for the minx looked tousled and smelled deliciously of sex.
    He let his hand wander along the satiny smoothness of her body, marveling for the thousandth time how such a beauty had come to choose him over the scores of others competing for her attention. When he curled his fingers between her thighs he was rewarded with a sultry purr, and wondered if there was enough time before the rest of the household stirred.
    Two doors away in a bedroom decorated in purple damask with pale yellow accents, Major Hamilton Garner was groaning. He was lying