Midnight Honor (26 page)

“It would be for the best,” she agreed.

“Aye. It would.”

She lowered her hand. He lowered his. And they each exhaled a steamy puff of breath.

Suddenly cold, Anne hugged her arms and drew her plaid tighter around her shoulders. They had stopped at the end of the neat little stone path that led to the front of the cottage; a lamp had been left in the window, the latter made of pressed sheets of horn so that the glow was diffused and did not reach past the overhanging thatch on the roof.

It was simple, one large room with a pallet in one corner, a table in the other. There might have been more furniture—a chair or a stool, and pots on the wall—but at the moment, Anne could only recall the bed.

“I'd best leave ye here, then,” John said, his voice tense with the conflict between loyalty and desire. “Ye'll be all right?”

“I'll be fine. John—!”

He had turned to leave, but at her call, he looked back—so quickly she almost took an instinctive step toward him.

And would that be so terrible? The English army was half a day's march away. MacGillivray would be leading the MacKintoshes into battle. He would be in the front line, the first to step onto the field, the first to break into the charge, the first to meet the awful fusillade from a thousand English muskets. It was true the English stood in disciplined lines like a row of child's skittles, but it meant they could fire, load, and fire their weapons again over and over in the time it took for the Highlanders to rage across an open field to meet them. John would be there, in the front ranks, through every deadly volley, for it was not the Highlander way to crouch behind rocks or wait in ambush. Honor and tradition sent them
charging headlong to meet their fate with the battle cry of the clan screaming from their lips.

Anne would be forced to stay well back out of range of any stray shots or cannon shells. If she saw her brave golden lion go down, would it seem so important that she had remained faithful to the man who might well be the one who fired the fateful shot?

It isn't fair
, Anne thought.
Not to John, not to me, not to Angus
.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For walking me back.”

The ache was still there. The agony of indecision, of knowing right from wrong but still wanting … even if it was just for the one night…

“I'll send one o' the lads to fetch ye in the mornin',” he said. “Try to get some sleep.”

She nodded, unable to tell him how absurd a hope that would be, unable to speak at all for the tightness in her throat. His footsteps made a sound like that of crushed glass on the frozen earth, and as she watched him stride away into the darkness, she thought it sounded a little like the brittle cracking of her heart.

With a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of her soul, she entered the cottage and looked around. Small. Nondescript. Desolate. Exactly the kind of cottage in most respects as the one she had called home throughout most of her life. She was never meant to be the chatelaine of a grand estate like Moy Hall. She was never meant to wear corsets and fine silk, or to have upward of seventy servants look to her for instruction.

She tipped her head back against the wood of the door frame. Would it have been so terrible to forget she was that grand chatelaine for just one night? The loneliness was like a palpable thing inside her, but so were the feelings and emotions of Wild Rhuad Annie. MacGillivray wanted her; the heat was in his every breath, his every unguarded glance. What woman with any manner of grip on her wits would send him away, he to his cold bed, she to hers? What warm-blooded woman in her right senses would not want to feel those arms around her, hear that voice trembling in her ear, feel that naked body pushing slowly into hers?

She groaned softly and closed her eyes.

Was it possible to love two men at the same time? Would her soul burn in hell for even daring to ponder such a thing?

The sound of a quiet knock on the door sent her jumping forward. She turned and stared at the scarred timber a moment, wondering if John had been thinking the same thoughts. If it was him, if he was standing there, his bonnet in his hand, a curse on his lips, and a careless disregard for eternal hellfire burning in his eyes … then, in fairness or not, the decision had been taken out of her hands.

Chapter Thirteen

A
fter her initial gasp of surprise, it took a further moment to recognize the shadowed figure who stood in the entryway. The collar of his cloak was up, his hat was pulled low over his brow, and the weak lamplight barely touched on the shape of his nose or the grim, flat line of his mouth.

“Angus?”

He reached up and pulled the bonnet off his dark hair, and if not for the fact she was still clutching the door, she might have staggered with the shock. As it was, she was thankful she had something to hold on to, to support her for the ten seconds it took to blink the whirling black dots out of her vision.

“Angus?” she whispered. “Is it really you? Where … where on earth have you come from? How did you find me? Good God, you look like a block of ice! How long have you been out there?”

“I am not sure. A couple of hours, I suppose.”

“A couple of—? But… where? Why—? How—?”

She knew her questions were incoherent as well as incomplete, but her tongue did not seem able to catch up to the wild tumbling of her thoughts. Flustered, she pulled him inside, only thinking at the last moment to glance out into the darkness before she pushed the door shut.

“No one saw me,” Angus said. “I was careful.”

“But where have you come from? How did you find me?”

“I've come from Falkirk,” he said. “And, in truth, it was Hardy who found you.”

“Hardy?”

“I did not think it would be particularly prudent for anyone to see me roaming around the enemy camp. Besides, I was not entirely certain I would be welcome.”

“Not welcome? You are my husband, of course you would be welcome.” Then, as if her mind was just catching up with the previous answers, she released his gloved hand and withdrew a step. “Falkirk? You are here with the king's army.”

It was not a question and it did not require an answer. Now that he had loosened his cloak and lowered the woolen collar, she could see the blazing red of his tunic, the blue facings on his collar and cuffs.

He saw her staring and blew out a soft breath by way of a wry explanation. “Not particularly wise to be seen leaving the government camp out of uniform, either.”

Her eyes locked briefly with his before cutting away to the droplets of melting ice on his face and hair.

“Come.” She backed up toward the hearth. “Sit and warm yourself by the fire. It will only take a moment to build it up hot again. Or … can you not stay?”

“I can stay. For a little while.”

Anne turned away, a tiny sliver of panic running down her spine. Her husband was here. She hadn't seen him in nearly a month, and the last time they had been together at the dowager's house …

The whole ugly scene came crashing back in a series of disjointed images and angry echoes. They had not exactly parted on happy terms; since then, she had openly thumbed her nose at his authority both as a chief and a husband, and only moments ago had been contemplating bedding another man.

She pushed
that
thought out of her mind as best she could and bent over the fire to add fresh, dry wood to the bed of glowing coals.

“You are well?” she asked lamely, glancing over her shoulder. “You look well.”

He had not moved from the doorway. Had not moved at all except to take off his gloves and comb his fingers nervously through the dark waves of his hair.

“I am well enough. And you? You look … fit.”

She followed his gaze to her trews and tall knee boots, the thick bulk of her doublet and shortcoat, the casually plaited coil of her hair where it hung over her shoulder.

“Please,” she said, pointing to a stool beside the hearth. “Come closer to the fire. Warm yourself.”

He seemed to hesitate, as if by admitting he was indeed chilled to the bone he would be admitting some other inadequacy.

Anne unwrapped her own plaid and rubbed her hands together to warm them. “I've just come in myself. We were at the tavern. We actually just arrived in camp this morning. Around noon, really.”

Now she was talking just to make noise. Beside her, the dry tinder caught and a flame flared along the lengths of the fresh logs, crackling loudly enough to make her jump. To cover her nervousness, she fetched a bottle of wine from the table; after filling two mugs halfway, she added some steaming water from the kettle that hung over the grate.

Angus moved stiffly, grudgingly, but he took the offered mug, wrapping his fingers around the heated metal and cradling it to warm his hands. After another awkward moment, he accepted her invitation to sit, lowering himself gingerly onto a stool while Anne sat back on her heels beside him.

She took a single sip of her wine to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth, but set it aside almost immediately, not wanting to risk numbing her wits more.

“When I saw you standing there, I thought… well, I hoped …”

“You hoped I had finally come to my senses and decided to join you?”

“Something like that,” she acknowledged softly.

“Well, I haven't. Come to join you, that is. I have, however, come to ask you what the bloody hell you think you are doing. You and those damned cousins of yours.”

He asked the question so casually, kept his voice so mellow and low, they might have been sitting in front of a blazing fire at home discussing the next crop of apples.

“None of us made the decision lightly,” she began. “Or entered it in haste.”

“No. No, I understand it took you nearly three weeks to gather the signatures of enough fools willing to follow you to Aberdeen. Oh, yes, I've heard all about your petition. I can even tell you who signed it and what threats were employed to get them to do so. What I do not understand is why you can't see that they are using you—Fearchar, your cousins, all of them. They used you to get to MacGillivray, for there was no other earthly way he would have broken his oath to me.”

She felt another shiver, one that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the frost in his eyes.

“As to that,” he asked quietly, “was it not enough to have humiliated me by taking control of the clan? Did you have to fashion horns for me at the same time?”

“Horns?” Her voice was a bewildered tremor. “I don't know what you—”

“That was quite a touching scene I just witnessed between you and MacGillivray. It must have been so much more convenient for the pair of you while you were living with him at Dunmaglass.”

A second log caught fire, throwing more light across his face, and for the first time Anne saw that there was more than just anger rendering his face gaunt and tight. There was pain as well. Deep emotional pain, so naked and vulnerable on a man who prided himself in his composure that she felt her heart begin to wither and crumble into a heap of dust.

“Angus … John has never been anything other than an absolute gentleman in my presence. Not by word or deed has he ever sought to offer more than his hospitality and friendship. I moved out of Moy Hall and into Dunmaglass, yes, but only as a guest and only to avoid having any taint that might become attached to my name or actions spill over to yours. Dunmaglass was as much an army camp as Bannockburn is now, and I sorely doubt we could have found a private moment together to do so much as touch hands, let alone touch anything else, even if we had been so inclined. Which neither
of us was. I never forgot I was a married woman, and neither did he.”

“That did not seem to be the case a few moments ago. Not when you had your heads together at the end of the path. And not by the way you said his name when you opened the door just now.”

She bit the edge of her lip. She hadn't realized she'd gasped out John's name, just as she wasn't completely sure what she would have done had it been he and not Angus standing on the threshold. But it was Angus who was here before her now, with more than just his husbandly pride bruised. She had gone behind his back and she had usurped his authority within the clan, but what choice had he given her? What choice had he given his clansmen? It was obviously one they had not wanted to make, for she had seen reports as well. There were spies and couriers going back and forth between the enemy encampments like a trail of ants. Angus had left Inverness with six hundred clansmen, but by the time they arrived in Edinburgh, most of them had quietly slipped away and either gone back home or crossed over the moor to join the prince. But she would not throw that in his face. As for his assumption that she had moved into Dunmaglass so that she and MacGillivray might carry on some wild and passionate affair…!

“I have had far too much wine tonight,” she admitted shakily, “and I am really not strong enough to do battle with you, Angus. I am certainly not strong enough to lie to you. If you choose not to take my word for it, then you are going to believe the worst and nothing I can say or do will change your mind. But I swear I have not been unfaithful. I'll not insult either one of us by saying I have not had thoughts and dreams … some of them vivid enough to keep me awake through the night. I will also freely confess that I have been lonely and frightened and perhaps even a little desperate to have someone hold me and treat me like a woman. I have feelings for John, yes, but I don't know what they are and I have never acted upon them. What you saw outside was a man putting his heart into my hands and my refusing it because I care too deeply for another. Simply that and nothing more. As for the rest, I am only too well aware that Fearchar used me as a
means of getting what he wanted, but so has everyone else at some time or another, including you.”