A Hint of Rapture

by Miriam Minger

  She was grateful that the paved, steeply graded road was heavily traveled during the day. The crowded highway prevented many of the supply trains from traveling between Inverness and Fort William in the daytime. If supplies were to get through at all, the redcoats had little choice but to use the road at night, despite the threat of raids. There was no other route across the mountainous Highlands.

  Madeleine was pleased to see the vast number of rickety carts and lumbering wagons vying for space with pedestrians carrying bundles and baskets. A sleek black carriage drawn by four elegantly matched horses clattered by, the liveried driver paying little heed to the common folk scurrying out of harm's way. Madeleine caught a glimpse of the carriage's rich, well-dressed occupants, and her mood darkened considerably.

  Probably some of fat King Geordie's loyal Scotsmen—the vile traitors, she thought bitterly. She vehemently hoped the carriage would lose a wheel while crossing the humpbacked bridge up ahead and tumble straight into the loch.

  It didn't. The carriage proceeded safely, much to her disappointment. It followed Wade's Road to the left while she and Garrett reined their horses into a walk along a narrow dirt road. Foyer's Falls were straight ahead, only a short distance away.

  Madeleine's resentment was tempered by a rush of excitement, and she forgot the carriage. She could hear the majestic roar of the falls growing louder and louder. She inhaled the damp air, laden with moisture; it was becoming cooler as they neared the steep, rocky gorge. Then suddenly they were upon it, one of the most magnificent sights imaginable. It took her breath away.

  One spectacular waterfall thundered into another and another, forming tiers of foaming white water. Mist soared high into the air, a rainbow arcing within the infinite sparkling droplets. The falls merged and melded; Te water cascading into the turbulent River Foyers at the bottom of the gorge.

  Madeleine stroked the mare's smooth neck, attempting to calm her. The horse was snorting and stamping her hooves on the ground, clearly terrified by the deafening roar. Madeleine turned to Garrett, who was intently watching the falls. She had to shout to be heard.

  "Would ye mind if we rode down closer to the river? Otherwise I might find myself taking a dive into the falls!"

  He nodded, noting the tight grip she had on the reins, and quickly took the lead. As they moved away from the precipitous gorge overlooking Loch Ness, the mare quieted considerably. Several hundred feet farther and the falls were a dull thunder in the distance, though still visible. Garrett halted his bay and twisted in the saddle to face her.

  "We could stop here if you'd like," he offered, indicating a gentle hill that sloped gradually into the River Foyers. A thick beech wood ran the length of the green hillside, promising welcome shade.

  "Aye, 'tis a fine spot," she agreed tersely and dismounted. She saw Garrett grimace as he eased himself from the saddle, and she guessed he was still suffering from his illness. A pang of guilt tweaked her conscience, but she shrugged it off. He was feeling better, wasn't he? He was certainly well enough to renew his single-minded search for Black Jack!

  Almost angrily she strode down the hill and tethered her mare to a tree. She plopped on the grass, watching as Garrett did the same. She made no effort to help him as he spread out a woolen blanket beside her.

  He knelt and dumped out the contents of his saddlebag: a loaf of thick-crusted bread, a small wheel of cheese, and some rosy apples. It was simple fare, but Madeleine's mouth watered. She'd had no breakfast, and the long ride had fueled her appetite.

  She immediately tore off a chunk of bread, ignoring his chuckle at her haste. She split the cheese in thirds, offering him two pieces and keeping one wedge for herself. She took a bite, savoring the aged cheddar flavor. It was an English cheese, but she had to admit it was quite good.

  "Here. You must be thirsty," Garrett said as he poured a cup of red wine from a wineskin and handed it to her.

  "Thank ye," she said. She took a long draft, her eyes widening in surprise.

  The smooth wine was hardly what she had expected. It was a French vintage which she had no trouble stomaching; the French hated the English almost as much as the Highlanders. Yet how had Garrett come by such a wine? French imports were prohibited in England, since the two countries were forever at war, or taxed so highly they were well out of reach to all but the rich.

  "Do you like it?" Garrett asked, noting her stunned reaction.

  She lowered her cup, licking her lips self-consciously. "Aye, 'tis very good. I've always liked French wines."

  "Ah, so you're familiar with foreign vintages."

  His casual comment pricked her temper. "We're not savages here as ye might have supposed, Garrett, though yer kind treat us as such," she spouted hotly. "My da taught me a great deal about fine wines, and dancing, and proper table manners. He saw to it I was well educated, just as my mother had been. Ye might be interested to know I can read and write as well as any of yer aristocratic lady friends!"

  "Better, I'd warrant," he said under his breath, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When she looked at him quizzically, he sobered. "I did not mean what I said as an insult, Madeleine. Forgive me if it seemed so. And it has not escaped my attention that you possess many exquisite qualities." His voice became husky, his eyes blazing into hers with a strange but compelling fire. "A man would easily become the envy of any court with a woman such as you by his side."

  Madeleine stared at him, surprised by his candor, her heart thumping wildly. She thought to take a sip of wine, but her hands were trembling so badly she dared not attempt it. She did not want him to see how much his words had affected her.

  "Did yer brother, Gordon, give ye the wine as a parting gift?" she asked with feigned flippancy, desperately hoping to veer their conversation from its unsettling course.

  "It's my own private stock," he replied tightly, a scowl appearing on his handsome face. "I brought a cask with me from England. My life as a soldier would truly be desolate without such small pleasures, and fortunately I've the means to provide myself with some comforts, Gordon be damned."

  Madeleine sensed his anger and said no more. Obviously there was a deep rift between the two brothers, a rift she did not wish to explore. It was also clear Garrett had some wealth of his own to afford such wine, making him one of the luckier younger sons of the nobility. She hastily decided it was none of her business to pry any further into his personal affairs.

  She looked on silently as Garrett lifted his cup and drank deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gazed out over the rumbling river for a very long moment, as if composing his thoughts, then back at her. His eyes caught and held hers.

  "Tell me, Madeleine. Do you recall our discussion the day my soldiers and I commandeered Mhor Manor? About troublemakers and outlaws?"

  Madeleine fought the swell of apprehension rising in her heart. "Aye," she said, gripping the cup tightly. "I asked ye if there were outlaws in Strathherrick." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "Ye wouldna answer."

  Garrett sighed, his gaze never leaving her face. His expression was hard and grim. It frightened her.

  "You must listen carefully to me, Madeleine. I must ask you to trust me, as I'm about to trust you."

  Madeleine stared at him, incredulous. "I trust no Englishmen," she declared emphatically, setting down her half-empty cup. "Ye're mad to even think—"

  "In this case you must," he said, cutting her off impatiently. "Please hear me out, Madeleine. That's all I ask."

  She said nothing, eyeing him sullenly. He interpreted her silence as an assent and rushed on.

  "I was sent to Strathherrick to search for an outlaw. We call him Black Jack."

  She flinched inwardly. "Black Jack? 'Tis a clever name."

  "Yes. A clever name for a very dangerous man. He's been raiding English supply trains for about three months now, from Inverness Firth to Loch Lochy. Several English soldiers have been shot either by him or by his men. One almost died."

  The
re, he'd said it, she thought with relief. A very dangerous man. He had no idea his notorious Black Jack was sitting right across from him. She wondered fleetingly if he referred to the man she had shot.

  "I must find Black Jack within three weeks, Madeleine. I thought you might be able to help me. Do you know anything at all about this outlaw? Anything."

  She could not believe her ears. Did he truly think she would help him? He must, or he wouldn't be looking at her so expectantly. How utterly absurd. Little did he know that if she helped him, she'd be settling a hangman's noose about her own neck! She shuddered at the dreadful thought, her anger piqued once again by his presumption.

  "I know nothing of yer outlaw, Garrett, and ye're a fool if ye think I'd ever help ye, even if I did."

  Suddenly his hands gripped her arms cruelly, and he pulled her against him, his face within inches of her own. She tried to wrench free, but he held her fast. His breath was warm on her skin and fragrant with wine; his eyes had darkened to the color of slate. "Would you say the same thing, Mistress Madeleine Fraser," he asked, his voice low and intense, "if you knew that within three weeks the Highlanders of Strathherrick would suffer more deeply than ever before?"

  Madeleine gasped, her throat tightening painfully. "What do ye mean?" she whispered hoarsely.

  "I believe I mentioned my chief commander's name to you, General Henry Hawley, the duke of Cumberland's half brother. The general has a remarkable talent for brutality. I have no doubt you've heard of some of his recent exploits."

  She bobbed her head. "Aye."

  "If I cannot find Black Jack within three weeks, General Hawley has sworn to descend on your valley like the angel of death himself. He'll start by burning every house in Strathherrick, even your own. Only then will he ask questions about Black Jack, and believe me, Hawley won't rest until he has that outlaw in chains. His methods are not pretty, Madeleine, but if you want, I can describe them for you—"

  "No!" she cried, her fingers desperately prying at his hands. "Ye're hurting me!"

  "He'll hurt you, too, Maddie, only far worse." He released her so suddenly that she toppled back onto the blanket. She scrambled to her feet, rubbing her arms. Her flesh stung where he'd gripped her. Tears smarted her eyes and rolled unchecked down her pale cheeks.

  At the sight of her tears Garrett rose beside her, heaving a ragged sigh. His expression was no longer hard. His eyes desperately searched her own.

  "I'm sorry, Madeleine," he apologized. "Forgive me. I only want you to understand the seriousness of General Hawley's threat." He reached out to her, but she darted away. "I don't want to see anything happen to you—"

  "Liar!" Madeleine spat, her wet eyes flashing. She panted, straining hard to catch her breath. Was this the danger Garrett had spoken of to Sergeant Fletcher? she wondered crazily. Surely it wasn't true! The picture he painted was so brutal, so horrible that she could not think rationally.

  "What have they promised ye for telling these lies, for threatening me with the lives of my kinsmen, innocent women and children?" she asked challengingly.

  "Not lies, Madeleine. It's the truth, I swear it. You must believe me."

  She glared at him, clenching her fists. "I can see what ye've been doing, Captain Garrett Marshall, with yer gentlemanly ways and fine compliments! Ply the Scots wench with wine, give her a kiss or two, and if ye're lucky, maybe she'll believe yer flattery and maybe," she hissed, "the Highland lass will fall into yer arms, perhaps even yer bed, and tell ye anything ye need to know. If that doesna work, threaten the stubborn wench with lies. She'll surely come 'round, either way, and ye'll have yer outlaw in a flash!"

  She advanced on him, the pent-up fury of the past months overwhelming her completely. "What's yer reward for such lies and deceit?" she shrieked. "The rank of major? A pot of gold?"

  The next thing Madeleine knew she was striking him with her fists, pounding his broad chest as hard as she could. He stood there a moment and allowed her to beat on him, until at last he grabbed her wrists with one hand and yanked her arms behind her back.

  She struggled and kicked, but he held her so tightly she could hardly move. Finally she went limp in his arms, exhausted, her tears coming in a fresh flood.

  Garrett held her as she wept miserably, her head against his chest, her slim body wracked by a storm of emotion. He tenderly stroked her hair until her sobs quieted. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

  "My reward is simple, Madeleine. I cannot bear to see Strathherrick become another Culloden. I'll never forget that day as long as I live, and it is the same for my commander, Colonel Wolfe. It was his idea to send me here, to use peaceful means to find Black Jack. You may find it hard believe, but there are those of us who abhor what has been done to the Highlands."

  Stunned, she looked up at him through dimmed eyes. "So ye were there, at Culloden."

  "Yes," he answered quietly, a shadow passing across his face. "All of us aren't butchers, Maddie, despite what you may think. After the battle some of us tried to stop the slaughter—"

  "Ye said so during yer fever," she interrupted, using her palm to smudge away her tears. "Ye cried out such terrible things. 'Twas my plan to ask ye about it once ye were on yer feet again."

  He swallowed hard, his voice catching. "Yes, it was terrible, like living through hell on earth. A madness seized our soldiers; it was a bloody frenzy. Cumberland told us he had intercepted a letter from the Jacobites saying they'd offer no quarter to the wounded if they won the battle, so our troops were ordered to do the same."

  " 'Twas a lie! My father would never have done such a thing, nor would my kinsmen!"

  "I know, Madeleine. I know. But the damage was done. Once the massacre was started, there was no stopping it. There was nothing I could do."

  She felt his body tremble as he held her, his face etched with pain.

  "Just as the battle ended, a Highlander not far from me fell with a gaping stomach wound," he said tonelessly. "When I heard Cumberland's order to take no prisoners, I ran to the man, hoping to drag him safely from the field. I wasn't fast enough. I had barely given him a sip of brandy to ease his pain when another officer shoved me aside and shot the Highlander through the heart." His voice fell to a hoarse whisper. "My uniform, my hands, were soaked in his blood. Dammit, the man was already dying!"

  Madeleine blinked, startled to see unshed tears glistening in Garrett's eyes. She felt her throat tighten painfully, and she looked away, overwhelmed by his emotion.

  She would never have thought to hear such a story from a redcoat. It shook her long-held belief that all Englishmen were murderers and the devil's spawn. Garrett seemed all too human, with feelings and a deep sense of right and wrong. Perhaps that was even harder for her to bear.

  Such knowledge battered the defenses she had built up within herself, the hatred and distrust that had already been weakened by the intimate moments they had shared. Despite her accusations, she could not deny the stirring power Garrett held over her.

  "Madeleine."

  She glanced up, meeting his eyes. His gaze was somber, piercing into her own.

  "As mistress of Farraline, you can help me," he said, his voice throbbing with intensity. "I would like nothing more than for the Frasers of Strathherrick to live in peace . . . for you to live in peace, among your people. I ask only that you consider what I've said. Please. Please weigh everything carefully. It's been a terrible shock for you, but it is God's truth. Just remember, I've only got three weeks."

  Madeleine dropped her gaze as he finally released her. Her mind was spinning and her thoughts and emotions were raging a furious battle. She sensed he was telling the truth, yet she could not bring herself to believe it. She needed time to think.

  "I want to go home," she said, turning away. She heard him sigh heavily. His voice was weary, resigned.

  "Very well."

  While Garrett gathered up the refuse from their meal, she walked to her mare and mounted. She did not wait for him. She flicked th
e reins, and the mare galloped up the hill.

  She avoided Wade's Road altogether and set off at a hard pace northward across the valley. She barely noticed the vibrant purple patches of heather, just beginning to bloom, a sign of the approaching autumn.

  It did not take long for Garrett to catch up with her. When he reined in his bay beside her mare, she did not acknowledge his presence. Nor did she answer when he said her name.

  Garrett did not speak again. Theirs was a long, silent ride back to Mhor Manor, accompanied only by pounding hooves and the whistling wind around them.

  Chapter 14

  "What's wrong, lass?" Glenis asked as she cleared the supper dishes from the kitchen table. "Ye've hardly said a word today" —she picked up Madeleine's plate, shaking her head in disapproval— "and ye've not eaten but a mouthful of food. 'Tis been the same for two days. Tell yer Glenis what's on yer mind this minute, or I'll harp at ye 'til ye do!"

  Madeleine stopped gazing out at the black night and turned from the window, her eyes meeting Glenis's. "How is it ye always know when something's amiss, Glenis?"

  "Humph, lass, ye've made no effort to hide yer troubles from me. When ye winna eat my fine cooking, when ye winna talk but to answer aye or nay I know! Now I've had enough of yer brooding. Are ye not feelin' well? Was it yer raid last night?"

  "No, 'tis not the raid, and I feel fine," Madeleine said, toying with her spoon. She winced inwardly. She was hardly fine.

  How could she tell Glenis about the terrifying decision she had made? It was difficult enough to admit to herself she was frightened, let alone reveal her fear to someone else, even if that person was Glenis.

  "Maddie—"

  Madeleine heaved a sigh. "Och, Glenis, ye've a right to know," she admitted aloud. " 'Twill affect yer life as well as mine."

  "What are ye talkin' about, Maddie?" Glenis asked, clearly confused. She set down the plate and pulled out a chair.