She flushed hotly, remembering the exciting feel of his arms around her. She could not blame him entirely for what had happened between them. It was her own foolish curiosity that had brought her into the room in the first place . . . stumbling into his arms as she did.
Flora looked startled, her cheeks spotting with vivid color. Her tone grew harsh. "I dinna know there was such a thing as an honorable redcoat, Maddie. If so, where were they at Culloden when my Neil fell wounded?"
Embarrassed, Madeleine was unable to answer. She had not meant to give the impression she was commending Garrett.
"Forgive me," Flora said, seeing her discomfort. Her voice softened, and she clasped Madeleine's arm. "Sometimes the bitterness in me grows so strong, I canna fight it down."
" 'Tis no matter," Madeleine said quietly. "Come. I'll walk with ye to yer house."
She and Flora strolled down the main street, avoiding in the puddles still remaining from last night's storm. Their conversation was purposely light; they chatted and laughed about the boys' latest antics. No more was said about English soldiers. Finally they reached Flora's front door.
"Into the house with ye, lads. 'Tis time for dinner," Flora called, laughing as her hungry brood brushed past her. She smiled warmly. "Thank ye for standing up for Mary Rose, Maddie. Having ye for her godmother means a great deal to me." She stepped over the threshold, then added gently, "I hope ye're right about the captain. If 'twas me, I wouldna trust him as far as I could see."
"Ye need have no fear of that," Madeleine replied. "It'll never be said in Strathherrick that I trust an Englishman. "
She waved goodbye and walked briskly down the side street, holding her skirt high above the mud. In a few moments she was standing in front of Angus Ramsay's cottage, which sat at the north end of the village back near the church. She rapped firmly on the door.
" 'Tis Maddie," she said as the door swung open. To her surprise Angus took her arm and roughly yanked her inside.
"What are ye doing?" she cried, rubbing her elbow.
Angus merely pointed out the window, his thick graying brows knit anxiously. She followed his gaze to a large group of redcoats on horseback, just now turning onto the main street.
Her eyes widened as she spied Garrett at the lead on his massive bay. He looked so at ease and sure of himself in the saddle. She felt an inexplicable rush in her stomach, but quickly attributed it to hunger pains.
"Och, lass, I'm sorry if I hurt ye," Angus apologized. "I dinna think 'twould be a good idea for ye to be seen by them, that's all."
Madeleine almost laughed out loud. "Angus, they're living in my house! 'Tis why I've come to talk to ye. Dinna ye suppose they already know who I am?"
"I meant yer coming in here, Maddie. Captain Marshall—"
"How do ye know his name?" Madeleine asked, sobering.
"That's what I'm trying to tell ye. He was in the village earlier this morning and stopped to wish me a good day, of all things! I recognized him from the raid last week. He said I had a fine Scottish burr . . . the devil take him! I think he recognized my voice!"
Madeleine paled, though she tried to think rationally. "No, 'tis not possible, Angus. Ye're jumping to conclusions. Ye hardly spoke a word that night, except for a few short commands. 'Twas Kenneth who did most of the talking, as always. Besides, I'm the mistress of Farraline, and well Captain Marshall knows it. 'Tis my right to visit anyone I please."
Angus seemed not to have heard her. He moved from window to window, not taking his eyes from the soldiers until they had ridden through the village. When they were gone, he turned to her at last, his usually ruddy face ashen and his features drawn.
"I dinna like the looks of this, Maddie," he said, sinking into a chair.
Madeleine sat down beside him. "If ye dinna like the looks of the soldiers, ye winna like what I have to tell ye, either."
Angus shot her a puzzled glance. "What do ye mean?"
She shook her head firmly. "Ewen and Duncan must be here, too. This is a decision we must make together." She felt a rush of pity. She had never seen the stoic widower so shaken. "Perhaps ye'd feel better after a dram of whiskey, Angus."
"Aye, now there's a good idea," he agreed, brightening somewhat, his normal color gradually returning. "A wee dram of the water of life to help an old Scotsman think more clearly." He reached behind him and took a tall glass decanter from the rough-hewn cupboard. "Would ye like a half?"
"Aye."
Angus poured them both a small glass of the clear, amber liquid, then set the decanter down in front of him. "To our Bonnie Prince Charlie!" he toasted, raising his glass.
"Prince Charlie!" Madeleine echoed. She followed Angus's suit and drained her glass in one swallow. It would have curled her toes if she had not been brought up on the stuff since childhood. The liquid still burned her throat like wildfire.
"Better?" she said, trying not to gasp.
"Aye." Angus poured himself another, downed it, then rose to his feet. "I'll fetch Ewen and Duncan." He put on his cap, then strode through the door, slamming it behind him.
The silence in the large, shadowed room was overwhelming. Madeleine fingered her glass while she waited, turning it around and around, rehearsing her words in her mind. She would have to be doubly persuasive because of what Angus had told her. She hoped her kinsmen would agree to continue their raids, whether Garrett had recognized Angus's voice or not.
Either that, she considered grimly, or she would have to go it alone. And she would, too! No one would recognize her voice. She had never said a word on any of their raids. She had nothing to fear.
Chapter 8
"So we're decided?" Madeleine asked, looking around the small table. "We'll continue the raids, soldiers or no?" Ewen and Duncan quickly nodded their assent while Angus stared thoughtfully at his folded hands.
"Angus?"
He glanced at her, his brow creased, his deep-set eyes mirroring his turmoil. "Aye, Maddie, I'll go along," he said reluctantly. "Though I think I'm more trouble to yer cause than I'm worth."
"Nonsense," she objected. "We need ye, Angus. I need ye. And Captain Marshall couldna know yer voice from a few simple ayes and mutterings about the weather." She rose from her chair. "Duncan, will ye see that Kenneth and Allan know what we've discussed today?"
"Aye."
"Good. I have no doubt they'll choose to ride with us. Ye might also ask after Kenneth's arm, Duncan. If he needs more healing salve, ye must let me know." She sighed. "I guess 'tis a good thing the Fraser brothers are hiding in the mountains. If Captain Marshall ever saw the scar from that knife wound, it would give Kenneth away for sure."
She walked to the door, then turned around, her somber gaze sweeping the little party. "If we're careful and dinna make any wrong moves, there'll be no trouble. Just be about yer business as before. In no time those soldiers will leave Strathherrick, none the wiser." She smiled faintly. "Until tomorrow, then. I'll meet you at the old yew tree at midnight."
Madeleine closed the door on the low buzz of male voices. She knew her kinsmen would probably share a few drams of whiskey and no doubt discuss their next planned raid on Wade's Road before they dispersed. As for herself, two halves were quite enough. She felt a bit dizzy. She set off through the village and then down the winding road leading to Mhor Manor.
She was not surprised that the puddles dotting the road earlier that afternoon had vanished altogether, leaving the surface hard-packed and dry. The day was unusually warm for the Highlands, and the hot sun was relentless.
As she walked Madeleine could feel the sweat trickling down her back and between her breasts. The heat was so oppressive her breathing was becoming labored, and she cursed the constricting stays she wore. She thought longingly of a cool sip of water and suddenly had an idea.
It had been well over a week since she'd gone swimming in Loch Conagleann at the foot of Beinn Bhuidhe. The tiny loch was one of her favorite places, secluded, peaceful, with a mountain-fed waterfall refreshing
its pristine depths. Aye, that was it. A swim was just what she needed.
Madeleine quickened her pace, eager to be rid of her thirst and her sweat-soaked clothing. She left the dusty road behind her, opting for a footpath she had used since childhood. It was the quickest way she knew to the loch.
She almost shouted for joy when she finally reached it. The clear aquamarine water seemed to beckon to her. The calm surface stretched out before her like a shimmering silver mirror in the bright sunlight, disturbed only by a plummeting waterfall at the northernmost end. The tall fir trees rimming the shoreline rustled with the barest breeze, fanning her flushed face.
She immediately kicked off her brogues and rolled down her stockings, holding everything in one hand as she tramped along the gently sloping banks looking for a choice, shaded spot. The grass tickled her toes, and she paused to pick a handful of bluebells and sweet yellow primroses. She inhaled deeply, the delicate fragrance bringing a wide smile to her lips.
How odd, she thought. It felt as if she had not truly smiled in years. She marveled that the simplest things could bring such quiet joy, such serenity.
She strolled on. The stark eastern slopes of Beinn Bhuidhe towered above her in stunning contrast to the lush greenery surrounding the loch. The Fraser brothers were up there somewhere, in their remote mountain cave. That thought brought with it a rush of sadness for their plight, though she knew they were luckier than many. At least they still lived.
She breathed in the perfumed scent of her bouquet once more, willing such melancholy thoughts from her mind. She wanted to forget and enjoy herself, even if it were only for a short time. She wanted no painful memories, no responsibilities, no decisions to be made. Just sparkling water, sunlight playing upon her skin, and fresh mountain air.
At last she stopped beneath a spreading sycamore tree, the low branches providing some mottled shade. She dropped her shoes and stockings and set her wildflowers almost reverently atop a boulder that had tumbled from the mountain in an ancient landslide. Then she turned her back to the loch and hastily began to slip out of her gown.
She was standing in her chemise and linen drawers, her fingers furiously working at the laces of her stays, when a loud splash sounded from the north end of the small loch near the waterfall. She gasped and whirled around but saw nothing, only a ripple growing in ever widening circles and gentle waves marring the mirror-like surface.
What could it have been? she wondered. There were fish in the loch, but hardly big enough to create such a splash. Perhaps a rock had rolled down the steep hill and into the water . . .
Suddenly a bronzed man shot up from the depths in a glittering spray of sunlit droplets only twenty feet away from her. Madeleine jumped back in surprise and darted behind the large boulder. She cautiously peeked out at the unwelcome intruder who was now standing in waist-deep water.
The man's back was to her, powerful bands of muscle knotting across his broad shoulders as he raised his arms and ran his hands through his wet blond hair. Then he turned, and she glimpsed his face just before he arched his body and dove cleanly beneath the surface. It was Garrett!
Madeleine sank to her knees, pounding her curled fist on the craggy rock. So much for a quiet afternoon of peaceful solitude. She should have guessed it wouldn't take long for him to find her favorite place! But why now, when she so wanted to be alone? At least she could be thankful he hadn't seen her.
She rose to her feet once again and peered over the top of the boulder. Garrett was swimming with forceful strokes toward the surging waterfall, his long legs kicking vigorously. She watched as he disappeared beneath the thundering white cascade, and she felt a moment's fear.
Those rocks beneath the falls were sharp and jagged, the currents unpredictable, the waters churning and deep—a treacherous snare for even an accomplished swimmer. Stories abounded of those who had lost their lives in such waterfalls. Children were warned away from them by the tale of a phantom water beast, the uruisg, who was said to live in waterfalls and waited hungrily for unwary swimmers.
So she had been warned as a child. Glens had told her the strange tale and she had never forgotten it, though she no longer believed it. She had been thirteen when she had finally dared to swim beneath this very waterfall, and she remembered the swirling currents trying to drag her down into the depths like cold, grasping fingers.
Madeleine held her breath, her heart pounding. Seconds passed, and still there was no sign of Garrett. What should she do? What could she do? Perhaps it was already too late . . .
Relief poured through her when she saw him hoist himself up onto a flat, overhanging rock near the base of the waterfall. She was stunned by her emotion.
He was an Englishman. A soldier. Why should she care if he lived or died? Was it because he was a quarter Scots? Or was it simply compassion for another human being . . . ?
He stood up tall and straight on the rock, and she drew her breath in sharply. Her confused thoughts fled her mind. He was naked . . . dripping wet and naked. His lean, tanned body was so beautiful, glistening and golden in the sun, that she could not tear her eyes away.
She watched in reluctant fascination, knowing she should not be staring, feeling like a naughty child caught at some prank. Her skin was tingling, a strangeness she had never felt before. She was breathless, her breasts heaving beneath her tightly laced stays.
She had seen near naked men before at many a Highland game when the contestants threw off their kilts in the heat of exertion and wrestled or tossed the caber in a meager loincloth. She had seen Dougald Fraser at such a game, his massive body muscled and strong, his powerful thighs the size of her waist. She had felt embarrassed, aye, and thrilled . . . but never like this.
Why had she not felt this before, during the raid? she wondered. She had seen Garrett and his men unclothed, tied up and lying defenseless on the ground. But it had been different then. They had been forced to strip. Was it because she had sensed their deep humiliation, their vulnerability before their enemies? Was that why she had walked into the dark woods, unable to watch?
Madeleine shivered. It was the whiskey, she thought dazedly. The whiskey and the hot sun had addled her brain. It seemed she had no sense of anything but the physical beauty of the man standing almost beneath the tumbling waterfall.
Her eyes roamed at will over his body, across his sculpted chest and the rugged span of his shoulders, down his flat stomach, tightly corded with muscle, to his slim hips and the dark triangle of curls below . . . God's wounds! Had she no shame?
He turned suddenly, poised to dive off the side of the rock. His long, sinewed legs braced, and his thighs and calves flexed creating a muscled indentation where his hips met his buttocks. Then he was gone, scarcely a ripple cutting the water where he disappeared.
Madeleine felt herself slowly sinking to the ground, and she rested her forehead on her hands. Why did she feel so faint all of a sudden? It had to be the whiskey, the heat, and her stays. Glens had laced them far too tightly. She fumbled at her back trying to loosen the laces, but it seemed her fingers were so many thumbs. Her hands fell to her sides, and she slumped against the boulder.
Madeleine had no sense of how long she had lain there when she felt a sharp tug and heard a jagged tearing sound. All she knew was that one moment she could scarcely breathe, then the next she was free.
She gulped in great gasps of air, crying out as she was lifted by strong arms. She tilted her head back, her stunned gaze meeting a pair of smiling gray-green eyes.
"It has always been my belief that those garments should be considered instruments of torture and banned from public use," Garrett said easily, though his tone belied his concern.
He could not have been more surprised to find Madeleine crumpled behind the boulder. How long had she been there? He had thought he was alone at this jeweled loch. He had just finished dressing and was walking along the shore when he saw her lying there unconscious. He was relieved to see her color return swiftly, her skin blushin
g a becoming rose shade.
"I'm sorry about your stays, but I think you're better off without them. Especially on such a blistering hot day as this." He held her close against his chest as he carried her to the shoreline. "Would you like a sip of water?"
At Madeleine's quick nod he bent down on one knee and set her beside him on the grass, supporting her with his arm. He cupped his hands and dipped them into the water, then brought them to her lips. She drank thirstily, unaware that most of the water was running down her chin and throat, soaking her filmy white chemise.
Once more he brought cool water to her mouth until she pushed away from him and bent over the loch. She splashed her face and throat, then cupped her hand again and again until her thirst was sated. At last she sat back on her heels, a half smile on her lips as she swept back her damp hair.
"I thank ye," Madeleine murmured hesitantly and shrugged. "I dinna know what happened. I think 'twas the heat . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she looked out over the shimmering loch, embarrassed.
Garrett swallowed hard. His eyes were not on the loch. He stared at her full breasts . . . high and rounded, perfect. The pink nipples pushed tautly against her drenched chemise, the fabric like transparent gauze upon her skin.
A streak of fire shot through his body, a streak of blazing hunger. How he longed to reach out and cradle a tempting mound, to circle a teasing nub with his thumb, ever so slowly, to feel its hardness and taste its sweetness . . . She was so close to him, he could feel the heat of her body, could smell the heady scent of her skin, her hair, warmed by the sun.
It happened before he realized what he was doing. He rose to his knees, trancelike, and reached out for her. He crushed her to him, his mouth capturing hers. He heard a roaring in his ears as the blood pumped wildly through his veins, and his fingers caressed a firm breast that seemed to leap into his hand.
A Hint of Rapture Page 9
