A Hint of Rapture

by Miriam Minger

  It had been such a long time since she had tried on this beautiful gown. Her fingers trembled as she pinned the bodice to her chemise, knowing it would not look quite right without stays but not caring. She hadn't worn a corset since that afternoon at the loch.

  The memory of Garrett's kiss came flooding back to her as if it had happened that very day, and her wretched torment began anew. She tentatively touched her lips, feeling again the blazing heat of his mouth upon hers.

  She had found herself thinking of that moment many times over this past week, especially in Garrett's presence. He seemed to elicit the wildest imaginings in her—

  "No more," she warned herself unconvincingly, crossing to the full-length mirror. As she stared at her shimmering reflection, she tried to shrug off the vivid memory, but the unsettling sensations stayed with her, taunting her.

  Would Garrett find her lovely in this gown? she wondered, shivering with excitement. She trailed a finger along the low-cut bodice and up the lush curve of her breast, sighing softly.

  She turned, her satin skirt rustling and swaying, and stood in profile. Her hands strayed to her white throat. She lifted up her hair, envisioning a more sophisticated style, then she let it tumble down her back in a riot of tangled chestnut curls.

  She closed her eyes, her hand sliding slowly down her body from her neck to her curved hip. An image of Garrett leaped into her mind, and she sighed again. He was dripping wet, naked and his strong hands were caressing her own wet skin . . .

  "I far prefer your hair down, Madeleine, wild and unfettered. Like you."

  Madeleine's eyes flew open and she whirled on her intruder, mortified that he had seen her . . . God's wounds, she had never felt so embarrassed!

  "Garrett! How—how long have ye been standing there?"

  "Not long," he said quietly, stepping inside the room. "Forgive me for startling you, Madeleine. When you didn't meet me in the drawing room, I decided to come and find you. I knocked, hearing your footsteps, and opened the door slightly." He paused, his eyes raking her from head to foot. "I see you've dressed for dinner."

  Madeleine moved away from the mirror, flustered by the way his gaze was fixed upon her, as if he would devour her whole. She shivered at the thought, struggling to maintain what little was left of her composure.

  "Garrett, ye really must leave. I canna sup with ye tonight."

  "No?" he asked, drawing closer to her. "Then why the gown? It is a most becoming one, I might add."

  " 'Twas my mother's," Madeleine blurted, becoming increasingly unnerved by his presence. "I wanted to try it on, that's all."

  "It fits you perfectly, Madeleine," he said appreciatively. His gaze wandered to her breasts, which thrust against the neckline. "Perfectly." He met her eyes, his expression growing serious. "Why won't you dine with me?"

  She retreated a step, her heart pounding furiously as she took another desperate stab at dismissing him. "I'm feeling a bit out of sorts, Garrett," she said, smiling weakly. "Perhaps another night."

  He did not reply but studied her closely. Odd tremors shot through her, and she had to fight to calm her breathing.

  Her gaze moved over him, and her pulse fluttered as she noted the simple elegance of his clothes. He wore tight-fitting black breeches which accentuated his slim hips and sinewed thighs, and a full, white shirt which heightened the golden cast of his skin, the open collar revealing a nest of dark blond curls. His hair shone like burnished flame in the flickering candlelight, while his striking features were half cloaked in shadow. Oh, why did he have to be so handsome?

  "I've been feeling a bit out of sorts as well," he said at last, his voice laden with a deep intensity she had not heard before. "Perhaps we suffer the same malady, you and I."

  "M-malady?" she stammered.

  Garrett nodded, his eyes searing into hers. "A fever, a fire burning in the blood, an ache that has but one cure. That's how I feel whenever I'm around you, Madeleine." He reached out and smoothed a silken tress. "Who were you thinking of when you stood before the mirror? A lover, perhaps?"

  Madeleine gasped, her cheeks firing hotly. She gave no answer but frantically attempted to brush past him. Her foot caught in her skirt, tripping her, and she cried out as she began to fall. The next thing she knew she was staring into Garrett's eyes, his arms tightening like a vise around her trembling body.

  "Who were you thinking of, Maddie?" he whispered huskily, his warm breath fanning her cheeks.

  She shook her head, unable to speak. Unbridled sensations rippled through her body. Then his mouth found hers, and she knew nothing but the passionate power of his kiss. His lips ravaged hers, his tongue flicking at her teeth, and she opened her mouth to him. She moaned as he held her to his chest, his fingers twined in her hair.

  "Tell me who you desire," he demanded hoarsely, forcing her head back and covering her throat with biting kisses.

  Madeleine nearly screamed aloud as his mouth found the hollow between her heaving breasts, his lips like hot brands upon her flesh. In a passion-dimmed daze, she felt his hand cup her, his fingers dragging away her bodice and chemise. His tongue circled a sensitive nipple in a ring of moist, molten fire. It was hot, insistent, provoking the forbidden hunger already raging within her. If she did not deny him now, she would be lost.

  "No," she murmured, bracing her hands against his chest even as every part of her cried out to meld with him, to feel the wonder of his skin against her body. "No, Garrett, please. I want ye to stop . . . Stop!"

  Her wrenching cry echoed about the room, and tears sprang to her eyes as Garrett pulled abruptly away from her. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes were gray and storm-tossed, his breathing jagged.

  "It seems I was wrong once again," he said cryptically, running his hand through his hair.

  Madeleine straightened her bodice, fighting against the tears that would course down her flushed cheeks. "Please, go," she managed to say, glancing away from him.

  "My apologies, Mistress Fraser," he said stiffly. "I promise you it won't happen again." He strode across the room and was gone, his determined footsteps resounding in the hallway.

  Madeleine stumbled to the door, scarcely able to see through the tears swimming in her eyes. She shut it and drew the bolt, then leaned her forehead against the polished wood.

  How she wanted to fling wide the door and run after him, to tell him that he was the man she desired! But she would not be a traitor to everything she loved, everything for which she had fought so dearly.

  "Ye're the mistress of Farraline," she whispered fiercely, walking back toward the bed. "Dinna forget it! Yer people are depending upon yer care and good judgment." Strangely the words gave her no comfort. She threw herself on the mattress, the full burden of her responsibility pressing down on her like a terrible weight.

  For the first time she cursed the task her father had given her. She buried her face in a pillow and began to weep bitterly, overwhelmed by fear, intense longing, and regret for all that she would never know.

  Chapter 15

  Garrett angrily paced the drawing room, a crinkled piece of paper in his hand. He stopped near the window and pushed aside the curtain, holding the paper up to the fading light.

  He read the terse message again, for probably the tenth time. It was written in Colonel Wolfe's distinctive scrawl, punctuated by numerous ink blotches. The words seemed to jump off the page and burn into his brain.

  Black Jack had struck again, this time just west of Inverness. General Hawley was furious and threatened immediate action. It was the seventh successful raid in two weeks, not counting the thirty cattle mysteriously stolen in Glen Tarff, a few miles south of Fort Augustus. Seven blasted raids in two weeks, spread out all over the county . . .

  "Damn Black Jack to hell!" Garrett cursed aloud, turning away from the window. He balled up the paper and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He hated to admit it, but this message was further proof that his peaceful mission was a dismal failure. Despite everythin
g he had done—endlessly searching the valley, interrogating villagers, and recently staking out roads at night—it appeared the elusive outlaw was unstoppable.

  He sat down heavily in the armchair, pounding his fist on the padded brocade. Time was slipping away from him. General Hawley would no doubt be there within days, maybe sooner from the scathing tone of the message.

  Was his mission really going to end as he feared, in flaming cottages and the helpless screams of men, women, and children? Soon it would be nightfall. Would Black Jack ride again, while he and his men chased shadows across the valley?

  A flash of forest-green skirt, bright tartan shawl, and tousled chestnut hair caught his attention. He moved once more to the window and watched as Madeleine walked toward the house. She gave no notice to the soldiers standing guard. Her eyes were straight ahead, her step brisk and determined.

  So she's finally returning from Farraline, he thought bitterly. From visiting her people, and her lover. While there were so many lives at stake she busied herself with God-only-knew-what, as if there was nothing amiss, no danger looming on the horizon. Her lack of concern was incredible! Could it be she hadn't believed him about Hawley after all?

  Garrett frowned, at a total loss. He had looked for her earlier, determined to ask her one last time for her help, especially now that he had received this message. He still could not bring himself to believe that she knew absolutely nothing about Black Jack, despite her claim of ignorance. It just didn't make sense, considering her respected position in the valley.

  Glenis had told him merely that Madeleine had gone to the village and would say nothing more. It seemed even the old woman had turned against him, avoiding him at every opportunity. Madeleine had certainly evaded him ever since the night he had gone to her room and fairly forced himself on her, thinking she might feel as he did.

  His jaw tightened, a wave of frustration possessing him. Fool! Once again he had allowed his personal desires and misguided emotions to get in the way of his mission. He should have pressed her further, as he had intended. Instead he had been bewitched by her company, her smiles, and his own fantasies of how things might be between them when Black Jack was captured.

  Garrett flinched as the front door slammed and Madeleine's light footsteps sounded in the hall. He strode from the drawing room, almost bumping into her. She jumped back, startled, and clutched her basket tightly. It was plain to see that he had unnerved her.

  "I was wondering when you might return from the village," he said, gesturing for the guard to disappear. The man obeyed him quickly, ducking into the hall leading to the soldiers' sleeping quarters. "We have to talk, Madeleine."

  Madeleine stared at him wide-eyed, aware of the nervous flutter in her stomach and the heat flooding her body. She had scarcely seen him since

  She forced the potent memory from her mind, not trusting herself to remain here with him any longer. "I-I'm sorry, Garrett," she said, conjuring a convincing half lie. "I'm very tired. A kinswoman in Farraline is near childbirth. I may be called back during the night to bring more of Glenis's herb medicine. Perhaps we can talk in the morning." She brushed past him and moved toward the staircase.

  Aye, she really was tired, she thought wearily. That much was true. She'd spent much of the afternoon planning tonight's raid with her kinsmen. It would be their last one together, though they didn't know it yet. Now she needed nothing more than a long nap. Midnight would come soon enough, and she had to be well rested and alert—

  She started when Garrett suddenly grabbed her arm.

  "No, Madeleine," he said firmly, turning her about to face him. "This can't wait until tomorrow."

  His gaze was so insistent she knew she would not escape him. "Very well," she relented, her heart racing. Was he going to ask her about the other night? she wondered anxiously. Surely he wasn't going to drill her about—

  "Two weeks ago you claimed you knew nothing about Black Jack," he began, confirming her suspicion. His grip tightened around her arm. "I've just received word that there have been seven raids since that day. I'll ask you once more, Madeleine. Do you know anything at all about this outlaw?"

  Anger erupted within her at his rough treatment, mixed with a sense of desperation. She couldn't tell him yet! She had one last raid to complete, then there would be more than enough food in the cave to last the winter. She would tell him in the morning, but not now. She had planned everything so carefully. By tomorrow night, Garrett would have his Black Jack.

  "Ye're hurting me!" she exclaimed hotly. She tried to wrench free, but he held her fast. "I told ye! I know nothing of yer outlaw. Now let me go!"

  Garrett sighed heavily as he reluctantly released her. She did not wait to see if he had anything further to say but dashed up the stairs, feeling his eyes bore into her back. Once she was in her room, she bolted the door against him. She knew he was still thinking of her, wondering why she would not help him. If he only knew how afraid she truly was.

  Ye've put him off, lass, 'tis all that matters, Madeleine assured herself shakily, setting down her basket and throwing off her shawl. She kicked off her brogues and lay down on the bed, hugging her arms to her chest.

  How she wished at that moment that she was a little girl again, with no more worries than how she would elude Glenis's stern and watchful eye, or which of her favorite ponies she should ride across the moor. Life had been so simple and carefree then.

  "Ye canna escape yer troubles by wishing them away," she whispered fiercely. "Ye're a grown woman now, Maddie Fraser, and ye must face what life has brought to ye."

  She closed her eyes, willing her body to relax even while her thoughts continued to tumble and whirl.

  She was astounded by how smoothly the raids had gone so far, despite Garrett's placing extra patrols in Farraline and on some of the roads surrounding the village. The supply trains had also been more heavily guarded, but the element of surprise had not failed her and her kinsman yet.

  With Glenis's help she had even feigned a slight illness when she and her kinsmen had journeyed overnight to Glen Tarff to steal another herd of cattle. While she was gone, Glenis had virtually camped outside her door for two days, allowing no one in her room, not even Meg.

  " 'Tis a woman's ailment," was all her faithful servant offered as explanation. It soon would pass, but until then, Madeleine needed complete rest and solitude. Thankfully, Garrett had been deceived.

  Aye, that ruse had been risky, as had all her raids, but it was well worth it. The cave at Beinn Dubhcharaidh was nearly stocked from floor to ceiling with barrels, crates, and sacks containing every manner of foodstuff, from salted beef to turnips. If anything happened to her, she could be assured her people would have enough food to survive the winter.

  If anything happened to her . . .

  Madeleine shivered, suddenly ice-cold. She rose abruptly from her bed, her hand clutching her throat.

  How could she possibly rest when she imagined the noose tightening around her neck with each passing moment? Dear God, where would she ever find the courage to face what was ahead?

  She walked swiftly to the door despite the wooden feeling in her legs.

  She would speak with Glenis. Glenis never lacked for words of wisdom and strength in trying times; it was her comfort that had seen Madeleine past her father's death. It would be hard for them to discuss what lay ahead, but it was better than suffering alone. And it was time Glenis knew of her plans.

  Madeleine hurried downstairs, grateful there was no sign of Garrett. She ignored the guard who had returned to his post and rushed into the kitchen.

  She was disappointed to see that Glenis was not there. She checked her room, but it was empty. She was about to double back and search the rest of the house when she heard a soft knock on the kitchen door.

  Her brow knit anxiously. It was dark out already. Who would be about at this supper hour? She thought of her kinsmen and hurried to the door.

  She cracked it open, peering outside. She could barely m
ake out an old woman's stooped figure in the thin sliver of candlelight cast from the kitchen. A large fringed bonnet covered the woman's bowed head, shadowing her features.

  "Forgive me, lassie, for this intrusion," the woman wheezed in a gruff voice. "Could ye spare a cup of hot tea and a slice of bread for a weary traveler?"

  Madeleine hesitated only an instant. She drew open the door, studying her unexpected visitor in the flood of light. "Aye, of course," she said graciously. "Come in."

  From what little Madeleine could see of the woman's face, she had never seen her before, and she doubted her visitor was from the valley. If she was a fugitive, Maddie had never seen a more unlikely one. Yet she could not deny this woman her hospitality. It was an unwritten code among the Highlanders that strangers were always made welcome. Except for redcoats, she amended dryly.

  "Thank ye," the woman said, glancing furtively over her shoulder before entering the kitchen. As Madeleine closed the door behind her, she shuffled to the table and immediately sat down, heaving a loud groan of relief. The chair creaked ominously under the woman's weight.

  Madeleine stifled her reaction, but she could not help noticing her visitor was amazingly stout, her hunched shoulders broad and rounded beneath a threadbare shawl. The woman was wearing a gray fustian gown that seemed to lack a clear waistline, appearing almost sacklike in its loose proportion. From beneath the ragged hem peeked dusty black boots, the largest pair Madeleine had ever seen on anyone, let alone a woman.

  Madeleine chided herself for staring and quickly fetched a steaming mug of tea. She cut a thick slice of fresh-baked bread and slathered it with butter, then set the plate in front of the old woman.

  "Is there anything else ye'd like?" she asked. She nodded toward the black kettle hanging above the hearth. "My cook, Glenis, always has a good pot of stew at the read "

  "Aye, 'twould be lovely," the woman said between slurps of tea, without lifting her head.