Madeleine brought a brimming bowl to the table along with more bread. She refilled the woman's mug, not surprised to see her hungrily devour the stew, soaking up every last drop with the breadcrusts. Madeleine was beginning to believe this woman was indeed a fugitive. It was clear she hadn't eaten a good meal in days.
After three bowls of stew, a pot of tea, and nearly a loaf of bread, the woman's ravenous appetite was sated. She pushed back from the table and raised her head ever so slightly.
"Sit with me, lass, for a wee bit," she croaked in a husky tone that was more a command than a request.
Madeleine sat down across the table, eyeing the old woman's broad features in the candlelight. A bulbous nose, massive jowls, a fat double chin. She had the strangest feeling she had seen her somewhere before.
"Ye recognize me, dinna ye, Maddie Fraser?"
Madeleine gasped at the decidedly male voice, her eyes widening in surprise. "God's wounds, could it be?"
Low, rumbling laughter erupted from her visitor at her astonished statement, a distinctive chuckle Madeleine had not heard in more than a year. Not since the red grouse hunt early last summer. Her father had hosted the event for his tacksmen and his guest of honor, Lord Lovat, the chief of Clan Fraser.
She leaned forward in her chair, staring incredulously at the grinning old man. It was Simon Fraser himself, a hunted fugitive since Culloden, disguised as a woman. And the place was swarming with redcoats!
What could Lord Lovat be thinking? Didn't he realize his danger? Hadn't he seen the guards posted along the drive? Hadn't he seen the soldiers through the windows, bunked in the dancing room and the guest rooms? She tried to speak, but her throat was constricted so tightly no words came.
"Calm yerself, lassie," Simon Fraser said softly, sobering at her obvious distress. "I've seen the redcoats, if that's what ye're wondering. And they dinna see me. If they had, they wouldna care two whits about an old woman calling at the house. I'm not worried, nor should ye be. Believe me, there's fewer redcoats in Mhor Manor than out on the roads tonight scouring the mountains. 'Tis safer by far."
When she continued to gape at him, he sighed and patted her hand. " 'Tis why I'm here, Maddie. I long for nothing more than a good night's rest in a warm bed. Ye've already seen to the fine meal. My old bones grow weary from this chase. 'Tis mad I suppose, but the lights in yer house looked so inviting from Beinn Bhuidhe, despite yer English guests. I couldna help m'self."
"Ye've been hiding on Beinn Bhuidhe?" Madeleine asked, finding her voice at last.
"Aye, for a week now. I was in Badenoch for quite a while, staying here and there, and before that Glen Cannich to the north . . ." His voice trailed off, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. "Och, Maddie, 'tis a long story, and I've no heart for it tonight. 'Tis my plan to set out for the west Highlands before dawn. Loch Morar. I've friends there who'll help me. 'Tis my hope to find a ship to France."
"France?"
"Aye. 'Tis the safest plan. My lands are lost to me, my castle burned to the ground. I canna hide there. And my kinsmen risk much to shelter me, even disguised as I am." He forced a weak smile. "I know 'tis a dangerous thing to ask ye, Maddie, but if I could stay here only one night, I'll be off before the sun rises in the morn—"
"Of course ye must stay!" Madeleine whispered vehemently. "Dinna think to ask me again, m'lord. I'd be insulted if ye did. The chief of Clan Fraser is always welcome in my home, redcoats or no. I'm honored ye chose to entrust me with yer care."
"Ye're a brave lass, Maddie, and I thank ye. Ye do the memory of yer father proud, God rest him."
Madeleine felt a sudden lump in her throat, but she forced herself to think of the task at hand. She rose and swiftly cleared the table. The sooner Lord Lovat was settled somewhere in the house, away from prying eyes, the better. But where?
He couldn't sleep in Glenis's room, she decided, dumping the dishes into the washpan. It wasn't safe enough. There was no lock on the door, and Garrett and his soldiers were forever passing through the kitchen, sometimes even waking Glenis to ask for this or that. It would not do if they found Lord Lovat instead, despite his disguise.
Nor could he sleep upstairs, she thought, walking back to the table. If Garrett heard any noise coming from the two empty guest rooms across the hall from his own chamber, he would surely become suspicious. Lord Lovat's masquerade was well played, but it might not hold up under close scrutiny or a barrage of questions. No, she would have to think of something else.
She was struck by an idea, farfetched, yet she sensed it might work. Perhaps Lord Lovat could sleep upstairs in her room. No one would bother him there, especially if the door was bolted. Garrett believed she had already gone to bed for the night. Meanwhile, she could hide quietly in one of the guest rooms and wait for the dawn . . .
She was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped when Glenis walked abruptly into the kitchen, while Simon gasped at the footsteps behind him. He ducked his head so the bonnet hid his face, and he clutched his shawl tightly.
Madeleine rushed over to her stunned servant's side, her finger to her lips, her eyes flashing caution. " 'Tis all right, m'lord," she said reassuringly over her shoulder. " 'Tis only Glenis."
"M'lord?" Glenis said, her dark eyes widening at the stout female figure hunched in the chair. She glanced questioningly at Madeleine. "M'lord?"
"Aye. Ye mustna breathe a word of this to anyone, Glenis. 'Tis Simon Fraser, our Lord Lovat."
At Madeleine's words, Simon twisted around and gave Glenis a wink. " 'Tis good to see ye again, Glenis darlin'. "
"God protect us!" Glenis blurted, blanching white as a sheet. She rolled her eyes heavenward, looking as if she might faint. Madeleine grabbed her arm and gave her a good shake.
"Shhh, Glenis, keep yer wits about ye," she demanded. "We dinna have time for any hysterics. I need yer help. We've got to get Lord Lovat upstairs and into my room without anyone seeing him. He'll be staying at Mhor Manor tonight."
"Yer room?" Glenis asked, totally confused.
"Aye. I'll explain later. Listen to me, Glenis. Go into the drawing room and break something. Anything. That should lure the guard away from his post. We'll need only an instant to sneak up the stairs. Now go!"
With a last wide-eyed glance at Simon, Glenis bobbed her head and fled the kitchen as fast as her stiff legs would carry her. A few moments later there was a crash of breaking china.
Madeleine wasted no time. She looped her arm through Simon's, and together they hurried into the main hallway. The guard was on his knees in the drawing room, his back to them while he helped Glenis retrieve shards of a shattered plate.
Madeleine assisted Simon up the stairs, hoping Garrett had not heard the clamor. She had a story brewing in her mind just in case. Her great-aunt Morag had come for supper and was suddenly taken ill . . .
Fortunately it appeared she wouldn't have to use her story. The hallway was dark and silent, no light shone from beneath Garrett's door. Madeleine quietly led the way with Simon close behind her until they reached her room. She fairly pushed him inside and bid him a hasty good night.
"I'll wake ye in the morning, m'lord, before dawn," she whispered. "Bolt the door, mind ye, and dinna open it 'til ye hear four short knocks. We'll have to trick the guard again, but 'tis no matter. These redcoats are a dim-witted lot. Ye'll be safely on yer way before dawn."
"I thank ye, Maddie," he said. "Sleep well."
The door closed with a small click, and she heard the bolt slide into place. Satisfied, she turned and made her way back down the hallway.
Sleep well, she thought wryly. She wouldn't sleep a wink tonight. While the chieftain of Clan Fraser was under her roof, she was charged with his protection.
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. The raid! She sighed resignedly. Och, there was nothing to be done about it now.
It seemed she had raided her last supply train. The foodstuffs they had gathered in the cave would have to be enough. There was no time to carry out any mo
re raids after tonight, other than what she had planned for the following evening. But then she would be alone.
At least her kinsmen would know to abandon the raid when she failed to meet them at the yew tree, she thought as she continued down the hallway. She had no doubt they would understand. It was her duty to guard Lord Lovat with her life, as would any Fraser. She would do whatever was necessary to ensure his safety.
Madeleine's hand was on the door latch to the guest chamber when a loud thud sounded from her room, followed by a blustered oath. She grimaced, scurrying back to her door.
"Lord Lovat, are ye all right?" she called softly.
"Aye, lass. Just a bit clumsy is all. Dinna worry."
Relieved, she leaned her head against the doorjamb. It was going to be a long night. She pushed away from the door, stiffening as a hand suddenly touched her shoulder, and her heart sank into her shoes.
Chapter 16
"Madeleine, what's going on?" Garrett asked, his deep voice tinged with concern. "I was just coming up the stairs, and I heard someone fall. Are you all right?"
Madeleine whirled around, gaping at the familiar silhouette looming in the darkness. A quick lie jumped to her lips.
" 'Twas nothing, Garrett. I merely tripped on a pair of brogues when I was leaving my room. 'Twas stupid of me, dropping them in the middle of the floor like that." She bent down and rubbed her knee convincingly, moaning a little. "Och, it hurts a bit, but I think I'll be fine."
"Come with me," he said firmly. "We should take a look at it in the light."
Before she could protest, he swept her into his arms and strode down the hallway to his room. He leaned into the door, shoving it open, and made straight for the bed, where he set her down gently.
Madeleine listened as he fumbled about the bedside table for the flint and steel. At least he hadn't tried to carry her back into her own room, she thought gratefully. She heard him strike the flint, and she blinked as warm candlelight flooded the large room.
Garrett knelt in front of her, his eyes meeting her startled gaze. "Could you lift your skirt for me, Madeleine?"
She nodded, her heart thumping fiercely against her breast. As she raised her skirt slowly, a fiery blush burned her cheeks. She draped the hem over the top of her legs and held it down modestly.
"Which knee is it?"
Madeleine gasped at the light pressure of his hand on her ankle. "The—the left one," she stammered.
"Do you mind if I pull down your stocking?" he asked gently.
She shook her head, mesmerized by the sight of his hands slipping beneath the hem of her gown. She felt a sharp intake of breath as his fingers barely grazed her thigh. He deftly slid the thin white stocking down her leg.
"Here?" he inquired, tenderly touching her knee. His smooth fingertips pushed and explored, around and around, tickling her, though she tried hard not to show it. She feigned a wince of pain.
"Oooh, 'tis there," she said, pursing her lips. She lifted her head to find him studying her, his attention no longer on her knee. His penetrating gaze seemed to devour her, though his expression was inscrutable.
She shivered, unable to tear her eyes away. He was looking at her just as he had the other night!
The taunting memory of his lips at her breast leaped into her mind. She flushed hotly and forced it away, shifting on the bed. Her movement broke the spell, for Garrett looked down, caressing her left knee with his thumbs.
"There's no swelling," he said quietly. "I think it is only bruised." He began to pull up her stocking.
"I can manage, thank ye," Madeleine said, embarrassed. As he rose to his feet, she drew the stocking over her knee and quickly shook out her skirt.
"From the sound of your fall, I'm surprised it was no worse," he said.
"Aye, 'tis a lucky thing," she agreed. She stood up slowly, testing her weight on her "injured" knee. " 'Tisn't hurting so badly now. Thank ye for yer trouble, Garrett." She affected a slight limp as she padded toward the door in her stockinged feet.
"I'll see you to your room, Madeleine," he offered, taking the pewter candlestick from the bedside table.
Madeleine stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. "No, that winna be necessary," she objected lightly. She glanced at him over her shoulder. I can see my way well enough."
"I insist," Garrett said, his features set with determination. He was at her side in two strides and wound his arm through hers. "I'll not have you injuring yourself further by tripping about in the dark."
Madeleine's mind raced frantically. If Garrett accompanied her to her room only to discover the door bolted, he would surely demand to know why. She could not risk Lord Lovat being found out. What could she possibly say to dissuade him? She walked slowly, stalling for time.
"I thought you'd gone to bed an hour ago, Madeleine," Garrett said, matching her pace. "I was surprised to see you were still up."
His soft-spoken statement jolted her, reminding her of why she had left her room in the first place. It gave her a chilling idea.
Perhaps if she talked to him now about Black Jack, it would divert his attention, she thought wildly. There was no longer any reason to wait until morning.
Once Garrett knew she was going to help him find his outlaw tomorrow evening, she hoped he would forget all about escorting her and rush out to inform Sergeant Fletcher. When he returned, she would be gone to bed, or so he would think. Aye, that's what she would do. She had no other choice.
A flicker of fear coursed through her body, and she found she was trembling. She had the oddest sensation she was about to leap from the edge of a precipice into a pitch-black chasm. Once she offered her help, there would be no turning back, no second thoughts, and no hope of rescue.
Courage, lass, she bolstered herself. 'Tis for the well-being of yer people. Yers is only one life to their many. 'Tis as good a time as any to seal yer fate.
Madeleine turned to face him, hoping he would not sense the depth of her fear. "I did go to bed, but I couldna sleep. I've been thinking about what ye said about Black Jack, and about General Hawley. I was coming to find ye, Garrett. I thought we might talk."
Garrett was so stunned he wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. After she heatedly refused his last plea, he had resigned himself to the conclusion that she would never help him. Now here she was, in his room, saying she wanted to talk about Black Jack!
Don't get your hopes up, man, he thought, forcing himself to remain calm. Hear her out first. She might yet disappoint you.
He felt her tremble and sensed she was nervous. "Sit down, Madeleine," he said gently, leading her to an armchair. He set the candlestick on the small, three-legged table behind her. "Would you like a glass of wine before we talk?"
"Aye."
He filled two goblets from the cask set atop the desk, then returned quickly to her side. He offered her one, noting how her hand was shaking as she lifted the goblet to her mouth and drank deeply. He took a sip, barely tasting the wine. His eyes never left her face.
Her large blue eyes were luminous in the candlelight and tinged with a hint of resignation that he had never seen there before. She looked so vulnerable, so unlike the defiant young woman he knew. He pulled up another armchair and sat down beside her.
"What about Black Jack, Madeleine?" he asked, hoping he was not rushing her. She took another long draft of wine before she answered, then held the goblet in her lap.
"I've decided to help ye find him," she said evenly, staring into his eyes. "I believe ye've told me the truth about Hawley. Tomorrow night, I'll deliver Black Jack into yer hands, and then ye and yer kind can leave Strathherrick in peace."
Garrett sharply drew in his breath. So his instincts had been right after all! Madeleine not only knew of Black Jack, she was going to lead him to the outlaw. This was more than he had ever hoped.
"But why have you waited until now to tell me this?" he asked with a twinge of irritation, thinking of the raids he could have prevented. "You've told me tw
ice you knew nothing."
"Ye've asked me to do a hard thing, Garrett," she responded, her voice almost a whisper. "I needed time to think, to weigh . . ." she shrugged slightly, falling silent.
Yes, he did understand, he thought. It could not have been an easy decision. He quickly changed the subject.
"What of the five men who ride with Black Jack?" he asked, realizing she had made no mention of them.
She shook her head stubbornly. "I canna help ye there. I dinna know who they are, nor where to find them. "
Garrett leaned forward in his chair, his expression grim. "I must have them all, Madeleine."
She looked at him sharply. "And ye must trust me in this, Garrett, as ye asked for my trust two weeks past. Once Black Jack is captured, ye winna have to worry about the others. They winna ride again, not without their leader."
Garrett sat back in his chair, pondering her statement. He was tempted to ask her how she could say this with such certainty, but he decided against it.
First and foremost, he wanted Black Jack. If she claimed the others would cease their raiding, it must be true. She knew what was at stake if they did not.
He nodded. "Very well. I only hope I can convince General Hawley. He's no doubt set his mind on hanging the whole thieving lot, then posting their heads on spikes as a warning to other Highlanders who might choose such a path. Black Jack's head will have to satisfy him."
He saw her flinch, her face growing deathly pale. He immediately regretted his callous and gruesome statement. "I'm sorry, Madeleine—"
"Ye're sorry?" she blurted suddenly. Her laugh was harsh; her eyes flashed brightly. "I'll have ye know this, Captain Garrett Marshall. If not for Black Jack, there would be far more fresh graves dotting Strathherrick, full of women and children who starved because yer fine countrymen saw fit to steal the bread from their tables. Fortunately we've food enough now to last the winter and seed to plant come spring. I'm giving ye Black Jack only to save my people more suffering and pain. The kind yer General Hawley would inflict upon them! The kind they'd not survive even with food in their bellies. Dinna forget it!''
A Hint of Rapture Page 18
