Midnight Honor

facedown on the bed, his arms and legs sprawled, a spidery thread of saliva trickling from his open mouth. The woman beside him moved carefully to extricate herself from the tangle of covers, desperate not to waken him. Her thighs were bruised, her breasts were scratched as ifsome wild beast had savaged her, and every orifice of her body ached so badly she wanted to weep.
    Accompanying one of the British officers to bed had not been intentional on her part, and she only had herself to blame. The major had been so handsome, his green eyes so boldly seductive, she had been flowing like a fountain all through dinner and could barely wait to feel his hands, his mouth on her body.
    Now she moved as quietly and quickly as she could, gathering up her clothes like a frightened mouse collecting crumbs. Not until she stood at the door did she turn and glare at the major's milk-white body. He was groaning again, thrashing out at some unseen enemy. It had been her mistake to waken him after one such nightmare last night, and she had paid dearly for her compassion. He had lashed out at her, calling her “Catherine,” and forced her to do things that made her yearn to take a knife to his body and carve away the offending parts. She felt nothing but disgust now as she gave her long blond hair a toss, bidding him farewell with a crudely up-thrust middle finger.
    In the morning room, General Henry Hawley sat at the breakfast table, his head aching, his tongue coated with a sour fur that no amount of chocolate seemed to remedy. He felt groggy and stupid and was certain he was overlooking something vital in his dictations to the aide-de-camp who sat beside him.
    “I shall want the linens and the bedding—once it has been laundered, of course—and I imagine the Earl of Kilmarnock must have a respectable wardrobe of clothing. I noticed a very fine library as well; take care to pack the books in sturdy crates, for I should not want them to suffer during transport to Edinburgh. There is a rather handsome repeating clock in my bedchamber, and I am particularly fond of that japanned board—” He paused and indicated the inlaid cupboard on which pots of chocolate, tea, and coffee sat. “Might as well include the china and silver plate. It will make a pleasant gift for my sister-in-law, who puts great store in such things. And check the larder. There seems to be an ample supply of salt beef, sugar, ham, and whatnot for the lady to spare enoughvictuals to make the journey back to Edinburgh palatable. Devil me, for that matter: Take the lot. Have the extra sent in care of myself to Holyrood House.”
    “Yessir. What shall I tell the Lady Kilmarnock with regard to compensation?”
    “Tell her what we tell them all: After we have gone, she may apply to the offices of the Judge Advocate if she wishes an accounting. Her generosity has not fooled me in the least, I say, not in the least. She claims her husband is away on business, but I suspect that business is being conducted in the company of the Pretender's camp. She should therefore count herself lucky we do not confiscate every scrap of furniture and every grain of salt, and peel the silk off the walls as well.”
    “Yessir.”
    “Which reminds me—” He sipped and pointed. “Those curtains—?”
    “Yessir. I shall see to it.”
    A delicate peal of laughter from the hallway made Hawley wince as he turned his head. Grudging the effort, he lowered his boots from the corner of the table and stood as their hostess swept through the open doorway. Lady Kilmarnock was young, with a lively eye and a ready laugh that she used freely with guests and servants alike. She dismissed the maid to whom she had been giving instructions, then smiled and dropped in a gracious curtsy when she saw the general.
    Hawley's thin-lipped response was somewhat less genuine. He had bought his first commission in 1694 and spent most of his life in the army. Approaching his seventh decade, he was unmarried and biliously unattractive. Lady Kilmarnock had not had to worry about the sanctity of her own boudoir in the absence of her husband. The general was as particular about his companions as he was his accommodations, and there was no one in Callendar House who might have enticed him save for the cook's daughter, who was barely above nine years of age and plump as a dumpling.
    “Good morning, General. Good heavens, can it really be nearing noon? I trust you slept well?”
    “In truth,” he scowled, “I