Garrett quickly felt her slender limbs for broken bones. There fortunately didn't seem to be any. Her breathing appeared normal, her chest rising and falling evenly. He leaned over her and gently moved her hair away from her face, his hand grazing her soft cheek. He felt a sudden catch in his throat.
If anyone had been blessed with the legendary Scots beauty he had heard so much about, it was this woman. She was stunning. This was not the porcelain perfection he had seen during a brief stay in Edinburgh, where the damsels mimicked Londoners in their use of rouge and lip stain. This woman possessed a beauty kissed by nature, breathtaking and unspoiled, like the wild Highlands about her.
Garrett could not resist tracing his finger along the high curve of her cheekbone. He marveled at the silken texture of her skin and its fresh hues of sun-warmed rose and cream. Her forehead was shapely, and slim brows arched above closed eyelids fringed with lush, dark lashes. Her nose was straight, almost patrician. Her lips were full, delicately curved, and as red as ripe berries above her soft and rounded chin.
He had a strong urge to press his mouth against hers and taste the inviting warmth of her lips, but he did not. Another soft moan forced his errant thoughts back to the matter at hand. The woman had not yet regained consciousness and needed care. She would do far better lying in a bed than on the hard ground.
Perhaps he should take her to the manor house, Garrett thought. She had been riding in that direction; she probably worked there as a maidservant. Her simple, frayed gown and her scuffed shoes certainly attested to such a post.
He bent down and scooped her into his arms, then rose easily to his feet. He stepped over the hedges and turned onto the dirt drive, striding toward the manor house. He could hear jingling harnesses and creaking wagon wheels, indicating his men were not far away. He walked faster. He was anxious to be done with this chore before they arrived. He was not in the mood for any coarse jests.
As he neared the front door, Garrett glanced once more at the woman. His gaze traveled over her white throat, the enticing outline of her breasts straining against her bodice, and her narrow waist. Heat raced through his body.
What had Colonel Wolfe said to him the morning he first heard about Black Jack? Something about finding a lass to aid his quest, and secrets betrayed at the height of passion?
Garrett smiled thoughtfully. Perhaps this tempting wench might very well lead him to Black Jack.
If she worked as a maid in this house, he would see her often. Perhaps after a tender wooing—a few soft words, well-chosen compliments, and gentle caresses—she might prove willing and eager to warm his bed. Once he gained her trust, she might even share with him any knowledge she had about Black Jack. He was not one to wantonly mislead a woman's affections, but time was of the essence in this mission. It was worth a—
He exhaled sharply, grunting in pain as a stinging jab in the ribs caught him by surprise. The next thing he knew the woman pushed against him and wrenched free of his arms, kicking his shin and stamping on his toes as she found her footing. Her startling blue eyes blazed as she wheeled to face him.
"H-how dare ye!" she sputtered, confusion and rage reflected in her eyes. When she stepped back and began to stagger, Garrett feared she might fall. He reached out to steady her, but she darted away.
"Easy, lassie," he said softly. "I'm only trying to help you."
"Dinna lassie me, ye swine! Ye filthy redcoat!"
Garrett chuckled at her heated outburst. He walked slowly toward her, his eyes raking her from head to foot.
She was truly the comeliest woman he had ever seen, with a fiery spirit to match. Yet he still feared she might collapse. Her knees appeared wobbly, and she was massaging her left temple. He had better subdue her before she brought herself to more harm.
"Tell me your name," he insisted gently, moving closer. The woman shook her head fiercely. "Your horse ran into mine on the road. Do you remember? You took a hard fall, lass, and I think it's best you lie down for a while."
"Aye, I remember well enough, and I dinna need yer reminding," she spat, retreating another few steps. "Had ye not been riding where ye're not welcome, 'twould not have happened." A flicker of pain crossed her face, but she raised her chin stubbornly. "I'm fine now, as ye can see, though 'tis no business of yers. Now get off my la—"
"Oh, but it is my business, as is everything in this valley," Garrett interrupted, growing impatient. He looked beyond her shoulder at the first supply wagon turning into the drive. It gave him an idea. "My soldiers are arriving, lass. Come on now, I've no more time to argue with you."
At these words she whirled around, and Garrett seized his opportunity. In two steps he had her in his arms. She screamed, twisting and struggling, but he held her tightly. Tossing her over his shoulder, he gritted his teeth as her doubled fists rained blows upon his neck and broad back.
For a wench who had suffered a hard fall, she was certainly putting up a good fight, he thought wryly, holding her legs away so she couldn't kick him. Suddenly her body went limp, and she began to mumble incoherently. The strain of her recent injury had obviously proved too much for her, as he thought it might.
Garrett strode to the door and pounded on it. After a few moments he heard shuffling footsteps, then the door was opened by a frail-looking old woman. She gaped up at him, her hands flying to her throat.
"Maddie!"
"So that's the spitfire's name," he said under his breath, walking into the dim hallway. He turned to face the woman. "And what is your name, dear lady?"
"Gl-Glenis," she stammered, her dark eyes wide with shock. "Glenis Simpson."
"Well, Glenis, this young woman had quite a nasty fall from her horse. She should be put to bed immediately, until she's feeling more like herself. Where are the servants' quarters?"
"Servants' quarters?"
"Yes. If you'll only show me the way, I'll explain what happened. And you might summon the master of the house—"
"Sir Hugh is dead, sir. He was killed at Culloden."
Garrett fell silent and felt awkward. He should have guessed as much. He softened his tone. "His wife, then, the Lady . . ."
"Fraser, sir," she finished for him. "Lady Jean died many years ago. There is only the young mistress now."
"Where is she?" Garrett asked, shifting the woman's weight on his shoulder. "We have much to discuss. And I wish to explain what happened to her maidservant here, Maddie."
Glenis's eyes lit with understanding. " 'Tis no maidservant ye're carryin', sir," she murmured gravely. " 'Tis the mistress of Farraline, Madeleine Fraser."
Now it was Garrett's turn to stare. He swallowed hard, his face flushing warmly. He had never felt so sheepish in his life. He didn't know quite what to do or say.
Glenis finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "If ye'll kindly follow me, sir—"
"Captain Garrett Marshall," he said.
"If ye'll follow me, Captain Marshall," Glenis said with great dignity, "I'll show ye to my mistress's chamber, where I might see to her needs."
Garrett simply nodded. As he climbed the stairs behind the aged Scotswoman, he could not help thinking that his mission had gotten off to another miserable start.
Chapter 5
Glenis closed the polished wardrobe door, clucking her tongue disapprovingly. "Ye've scarce given yerself time to rest, Maddie. 'Tis only been a few hours, and already ye're up and about. Ye took a bad fall accordin' to the captain. He told me all about it. He was quite sorry he'd caused ye harm. I think ye should climb back into bed and stay put until tomorrow morn."
"Since when do ye believe anything an Englishman tells ye?" Madeleine retorted. "I'm fine, Glenis." Her fingers worked furiously at the mother-of-pearl buttons on her bodice. Knowing what was going on downstairs, she could not dress fast enough. She winced at the sudden sharp ache in her head and bit her lower lip.
"There, ye see!" Glenis noted with exasperation, wagging a bony finger. "I should have forced of my nettle tea into ye, whether ye liked
the taste or no. At least ye'd still be asleep and ye wouldna be feelin' so poorly." Glenis moved to the bed and flung back the flowered Coverlet. She patted the mattress firmly. "Back to bed with ye, Madeleine Fraser. Ye can speak to the captain in the morning. From the looks of it, those soldiers plan to be stayin' at Mhor Manor for quite a while."
"They winna if I can help it," Madeleine fumed, ignoring Glenis's suggestion. Redcoats under her own roof! She could hardly believe it. She bent down to fasten the brass buckles on her brogues, then straightened, smoothing the skirt of her clean linen gown. "What did ye say was that captain's name?"
Clearly frustrated, Glenis sighed heavily and sank down on the bed. She gave Madeleine a look she had known all her life, reproaching her for her stubbornness. "Captain Marshall. Garrett's his Christian name."
"I dinna care one whit about his Christian name," Madeleine muttered under her breath. Without another word she flounced from the room.
How dare they invade my home, she thought furiously as she rushed down the hallway to the main staircase. While she had slept the afternoon away, thirty-odd redcoats had taken over the entire right wing of Mhor Manor. Glenis had told her they were building bunks in the dancing room and the spare guest rooms. Bunks!
Madeleine felt another sharp pang, and she paused, leaning against the wall, until it subsided. Her thoughts were still fuzzy, her memory of the accident earlier that day only fragmented pictures in her mind. She distinctly remembered the wild ride from Farraline, but what followed was no more than a streaking blur of events. Everything had happened so fast.
There had been a violent jolt as her mare struck the other horse, then she had flown through the air. After that she recalled only blackness until she opened her eyes to find herself in the arms of an English soldier. It had been like a terrible nightmare.
She remembered a struggle to free herself and the sound of his deep and steady voice, but not his words. Nor could she recall her own words, only her feelings of anger as he seemed to stalk her, drawing closer and closer. She had had the strangest sensation she had seen him somewhere before . . .
Then she had been in his arms again, fighting and cursing, the breath knocked from her body as he had thrown her over his shoulder. The next thing she knew, she was lying in her bed, Glenis spoonfeeding her that bitter tea. She had fallen asleep, only to wake a short while ago to find Glenis nodding off in the rocking chair by the window.
Madeleine pushed away from the wall and walked to the top of the staircase. She looked down into the main hallway. Her eyes narrowed as a young soldier entered through the front door, his arms full of bedding.
Indignation seized her. The scene reminded her of the last time redcoats had violated her home. She had been powerless to do anything on that occasion. This time she was not. She practically flew down the stairs and gave the soldier a good shove. He fell back, grunting in surprise, blankets and linen sheets tumbling to the floor.
"What do ye think ye're doing?" she cried, throwing herself between him and the hall leading to the adjoining right wing. "Get out of my house, ye freckled weasel! Now! And take yer bedclothes with ye!"
The startled soldier mumbled something unintelligible, his face a bright shade of red that nearly matched his uniform. He began to step backward, keeping one eye on her while he glanced over his shoulder for the door.
"Stop right where you are, soldier," a deep voice commanded him from directly behind Madeleine.
The young man froze. "Yes, sir," he said miserably.
Madeleine spun around to meet this new adversary, a stinging retort on her lips. It died when she came face to face with the handsome, blond officer who loomed in the archway, the powerful breadth of his shoulders blocking out everything behind him. His eyes, a compelling shade of gray flecked with green, studied her quizzically.
It was he. The man who had accosted her, she thought angrily. A familiar sensation gripped her. She could swear she had seen him before today, but where?
Suddenly her memory cleared, like sunlight piercing through a mist. Her last raid! He had been the commanding officer, forced to strip with his men . . . She felt a blush scorch her skin, and she bowed her head so he wouldn't see her discomfort. Her mind raced.
Easy, lass. Stay calm, she assured herself. She and her kinsmen had nothing to fear. They had been well disguised during that raid. 'Twas only a strange coincidence, nothing more.
"That's hardly a way to treat your new guests, Mistress Fraser," the officer began, interrupting her thoughts. "Allow me to introduce—"
"There's no need for introductions," Madeleine snapped, quickly recovering herself. She looked him full in the face. "I know who ye are, Captain Marshall."
"Garrett."
"Whatever. Glenis has told me all about ye."
"Ah, then. I hope it was complimentary."
Garrett smiled as his gaze wandered over her. He took in every aspect of her comely appearance, from her glossy curls to the trim fit of her lavender gown. Its buttoned bodice, demurely edged with lace, revealed a full swell of creamy bosom. She was definitely not a maidservant, he thought appreciatively. How could he have so misjudged her?
He was also pleased to observe that she looked none the worse for her accident. Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy rose color, her eyes were lively and sparkling. He took a step toward her. "How are you feeling?"
"What are ye and yer sorry lot of soldiers doing in my house?" she demanded, disregarding his soft-spoken question. His frank appraisal was unsettling, and she shivered, acutely aware of his striking good looks. She placed her hands on her hips and eyed him belligerently, forcing her mind from this baffling attraction.
"Perhaps we could sit in the drawing room while we discuss a few matters, rather than stand here in the hall. Or we could stroll outside. The sun is about to set and it's a lovely summer evening."
"I'll not sit down nor walk in any garden with the likes of ye," Madeleine said evenly, raising her chin. "Ye'll kindly answer my question, Captain Marshall. Why are ye turning my home into a . . . a bunkhouse?'
"Very well." Garrett gestured to the soldier, who was still standing stiffly to one side. The man quickly gathered up the bedding and hurried past them. Only when he disappeared down the hallway did Garrett speak again. His expression sobered.
"I'll be brief, Mistress Fraser. Your manor house will be serving as headquarters and billeting for myself and my men for an indefinite period of time."
"Billeting?"
"Yes. We've been ordered by our chief commander, General Henry Hawley, to occupy Strathherrick."
Madeleine started. She had heard of Butcher Cumberland's bastard brother. His cruelty had far surpassed the duke's at Culloden. If this man was one of his officers, surely he was cut from the same maggot-infested cloth. "For what purpose, captain, if I might ask?"
Garrett did not readily reply. He could not tell her the truth because it might jeopardize his mission.
If she knew anything about Black Jack, she could possibly warn the outlaw of their intent to capture him. No doubt the bastard would flee into the mountains at the first whiff of trouble. Then all would be lost, for himself and the people of Strathherrick. Perhaps if he could ever trust her, it might be different, but for now . . .
"Our purpose is simple," he lied. "We've been stationed in this valley to keep the peace."
She stared at him incredulously. "Keep the peace? Surely 'tis a jest, Captain Marshall," she scoffed. "Since when have ye redcoats been interested in anything more than cruel slaughter, the rape of innocent women and young girls, and the burning of homes and the stealing of cattle?"
Garrett's jaw tightened. He could not contradict her, even if he had wanted to. There was truth in her words, demonstrated time and again these past months. Yet he hated being lumped with the rest of his overzealous, and often unscrupulous, compatriots.
Obviously he and his men would have to prove that they meant no harm to the Highlanders of Strathherrick. This would be a peac
eful occupation, just as he had discussed with Colonel Wolfe. Better to establish such a tone from the start.
"No, it is not a jest," he replied quietly. "We're here to ensure the welfare of those Highlanders who abide by the new laws. The English laws. But I agree with you wholeheartedly, Mistress Fraser. Too many innocents have been punished unjustly for the sake of a few troublemakers."
Madeleine was taken aback. Such words from an Englishman? If she did not know better, she might have considered his statement to be some sort of an apology. Yet smooth words only made her more suspicious of him.
"What troublemakers doe mean, captain?" she asked tightly, a vision of her father flashing before her. "Do ye refer to the brave clansmen who fought and died for the rightful heir to the throne of Great Britain, King James? Or perhaps ye mean the ones who've escaped the noose and yer filthy gaols, only to be hunted mercilessly in their own homeland by the lot of ye bloodthirsty cowards."
Garrett felt a quickening of anger, but quelled it. He knew she was baiting him. He would not give her the satisfaction of justifying her preconceptions about all English officers. He decided a half truth was better than none.
"I admire bravery in any man, friend or foe," he said. "I'll not speak ill of those who fight for their beliefs. The troublemakers are the thieves and outlaws who now prey on the Englishmen and Scotsmen loyal to King George. Whether they commit their crimes for profit or revenge, the outcome is the same. It is the innocent people who will suffer and bear the blame if these outlaws are not stopped."
Madeleine had to force herself to breathe steadily. His cryptic words fell together like pieces of a puzzle in her mind.
God's wounds! This officer and his men had been sent to look for her! That had to be it. They must have been traveling to Farraline when she and her kinsmen raided their camp. Yet it was clear he didn't suspect her, or she would have surely been arrested already.
A Hint of Rapture Page 6
