arrival in the hours well before dawn had lightened the mood of many of the men and left Craig to mull all over again how disturbed he became at her presence. The men admired her, had enjoyed her company when she’d been on campaign with them before and hosted them at Cullidunloch. They also trusted her.
And Craig… He couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of her soft skin beneath his palm, the way she’d been so brave as he sewed up the wound on her arm. The way her eyes had danced with humor one minute and all seriousness the next.
How much he wanted to be back there now, sitting alone with her, far away from the melancholy of battle. The danger of the army before them. The sadness of the loss of her home. God, they must be heartbroken over it. And Pinecone… Had the cat made it to safety? Was he being ridiculous for wondering?
The black of night had turned to a muted gray, made foggy by the rain. In the distance, a horn blew—Murray sounding the troops to rise. Finally. Craig pulled his gaze away from Annie and directed it toward his men.
“To arms,” Craig said. “We’ve been waiting all night for that signal. Though we’re a few hours behind, tonight we’ll celebrate our victory!”
Cheers resounded in the predawn haze, and the men moved in a blur as they dressed and prepared their weapons. Within a quarter hour, they were marching the couple of miles toward the moor that the prince had deemed to be the place of battle.
Graham turned his horse toward Craig, and unbidden, Craig searched for Annie. He expected to see her with her brother, but she wasn’t there.
“The prince has ordered my sister to remain behind preparing beds for the injured,” Graham said, somehow having guessed that Craig had been looking for her. He didn’t want to read into that observation.
Craig cleared his throat and gave a perfunctory nod. He hated the idea of Annie remaining behind. She would be in more danger in such a remote place where Cumberland’s men could get to her than if she were near the battle and Craig’s help. But he bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything. It wasn’t any of his business what the lass did anyhow. Her brother would make the right choices to keep her safe.
“Murray says Cumberland’s men are already advancing on Culloden,” Graham said.
“Then we’ll meet them halfway there, before they get close enough to Culloden House.” Craig wouldn’t put it past Cumberland to decide to put an end to this war by killing the one man he blamed for it—the prince—instead of taking him prisoner.
“Aye.” Graham nodded and then said softly, “And ye remember what I asked of ye, MacLean?”
Ye’re the best of all of us. I canna think of anyone else I would rather have as protector to my family… Protecting Annie. Craig swallowed, his voice coming out gruff as he said, “I remember.”
Graham flashed him a confident grin. “We’ll celebrate tonight.”
“With a cask of whisky for every man, we’ll toast again and again until we fall down drunk.”
“And for every man his own roasted goose,” Graham added, exaggerating as there were no geese to be had. Somehow, they’d find a way.
“Ten loaves of bread with freshly churned butter.” Craig’s stomach growled at the thought.
“Oh, but it will be a grand feast. We fight today for the glory of having that feast and no bloody dragoons hovering over us, threatening our livelihoods. Burning our houses.”
“Aye. Those bastards will never hurt our own again.”
After months of battling, after years of torment, it would finally be coming to an end. King George’s youngest son, the Duke of Cumberland, was the one leading this battle. If the Jacobites won against the king’s son, surely it would bring an end to war. Craig had to believe it. And there was one man in particular he hoped to face on the field: Captain Thomas Boyd. The man had been terrorizing the Highlands for years. Craig himself had come into contact with him only once, and that had been nine years ago, but it was a day he’d never forget.
Craig’s father had been captured during a raid on an armory held by the English, caught stealing gunpowder and weapons. Craig had been on the lookout, whistling like mad when he saw the line of red jackets marching toward the armory. Somehow his warning had been misunderstood on the inside, for only half the