Rescued by Her Highland Soldier

by Sarah Mallory

  She glanced at Grant, who nodded. ‘We ask only that you allow us time to board the ship.’

  ‘And if we do not agree, you will kill us,’ said Major Rutter.

  ‘I am no murderer,’ Grant retorted. ‘We will leave you here as prisoners, until your soldiers arrive.’

  ‘Now, now, I do not see there is any need for such measures,’ put in Colonel Sowton, who appeared to have regained most of his customary bonhomie. ‘As mademoiselle has said, we have the traitor and the gold. A very satisfactory result, wouldn’t you say, Major Rutter?’

  The Major considered for a moment. ‘From everything I have just heard, I admit I am more inclined to trust Grant Rathmore than the other one.’

  Cowie gave a howl of rage.

  ‘You would reward him for being a traitor!’ His manner changed and he added in a wheedling tone, ‘Ardvarrick is a prosperous estate. Think how pleased King George would be with you for adding such a jewel to his wealth.’

  Madeleine saw the flicker of distaste on the Major’s face, but it was the Colonel who responded.

  ‘His Majesty might well be pleased,’ he said sharply, ‘but he will be even happier to know he has supporters he can depend upon in the Highlands. You have proved yourself to be a rogue, sir. I would rather trust Grant Rathmore to uphold the future peace in this country than you.’ He gave Cowie one final, contemptuous glance and turned to smile at Grant.

  ‘We will make out our report in your favour, Mr Rathmore. I believe I have sufficient influence in the right quarters to guarantee you a full pardon. And furthermore, before we part today, I shall make sure you are granted safe passage back to Ardvarrick.’

  Glancing up at Grant, Madeleine saw the relief and delight in his countenance.

  He bowed. ‘You are very good Colonel.’

  ‘But, mind you, we shall expect you to play your part as the Laird’s son. Uphold the law and keep your people out of trouble.’

  ‘I will do my utmost, you have my word on that.’

  ‘Capital! The Crown needs reliable, trustworthy people in these parts, ain’t that so, Rutter? I might see my way to inviting you to London, too. Put in a word for you at Court, you know. There could even be honours in it.’

  Madeleine listened in growing dismay. What might Grant not achieve if he found favour at the English Court? But not with a penniless wife beside him. What had Ewan Cowie called her? A French slut. She was not quite that, but she was the daughter of a schemer, an itinerant gambler. When London society discovered her background and her birth, they would turn their backs on her. And on Grant. He did not deserve that.

  * * *

  Grant stared at the Colonel, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. He questioned him closely and looked to the Major for his confirmation that a pardon was almost guaranteed. Ardvarrick was safe and no blame for his actions would taint his family. He could not have dreamed of such an outcome.

  Ewan Cowie interrupted several times, trying to throw suspicion upon him with ever more false and preposterous claims, but neither officer paid any heed to his rantings.

  ‘It is settled,’ concluded Major Rutter. ‘As soon as our men arrive, we can arrange an escort for you to Ardvarrick. The gold will be taken to Edinburgh, as will Ewan Cowie. He will stand trial there.’

  ‘Then it is only left for me to beg your pardon for our deceiving you at Calder House,’ said Grant.

  ‘As to that, I can understand why you considered it necessary,’ replied the Colonel, all genial rationality. ‘And there is no denying the presence of the young lady added considerably to the pleasure of our stay, eh, Rutter?’

  ‘She was a delightful house guest with a well-informed mind,’ agreed the Major, smiling slightly.

  ‘Aye. ’Tis a pity she ain’t here now to hear our...’

  Grant swung around. He remembered Madeleine murmuring to him, excusing herself, saying she was going to find the privy. But surely that was some time ago? A cold chill ran down his spine and he hurried to the outer room.

  Madeleine’s red leather purse was on the window sill and from beneath it peeped a fold of paper. It was the frontispiece from Robinson Crusoe and his foreboding increased as he snatched it up. There was a single line, hastily written in pencil.

  I release you from your vows.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Madeleine sat on the bunk of the small cabin, huddled inside her cloak and shivering, not so much from cold as misery.

  She had reached the shore just as the sailors were putting barrels of fresh water into the last of the boats and sent up a prayer of thanks that she was not too late to board the French ship. Grant could not follow her here. She was safe to return to her homeland and her father.

  The thought did not fill her with joy, but she had to go somewhere. She would not stay. She had already decided that she would return to Tante Élisabeth until she could sell the sapphires and what was left of her mother’s jewels and set up her own establishment.

  But you will inevitably dwindle into an old maid, like your aunt.

  No! Whatever happened she would not do that. She would not become a dowdy spinster to be pitied and ridiculed by those younger and wealthier. She might travel the world. If she did not marry, then she would be considered an eccentric, but would that be so very bad? She might even be fêted in society for her peculiar ways.

  That would be bearable, perhaps, but it would never make up for losing Grant.

  Grant. The very thought of him was like a knife twisting in her stomach, but it was for the best that she had left him. If the Jacobites had won the day, then the war between France and Britain would have ended, but for now at least that dream was over. Grant was heir to Ardvarrick and the last thing he needed was a French wife to hold him back and throw any doubt upon his loyalty to the Crown.

  Maddie had heard him talk of his home, seen the way his face softened when he spoke of it. At such times he looked so much younger and she glimpsed the boy he had once been. He loved Ardvarrick and would soon take up his old life there. He would forget her and find a good, eligible woman to be his bride. Someone other than her to stand with him, shoulder to shoulder against the world.

  It was too much. Tears welled up and with a cry she threw herself down upon the hard bunk, but even now she was not allowed to indulge in her misery. There was a knock upon the door and a tentative voice called to her.

  ‘Mademoiselle d’Evremont, the Captain wishes you to join him on deck. Immédiatement, s’il vous plaît.’

  ‘Oui. Je viendrai.’ She scrabbled for her handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

  Papa was an adventurer, a gambler and a soldier of fortune, she reminded herself, buttoning her coat. He never cowered away, wallowing in self-pity. It was time to show she was her father’s daughter.

  She straightened her shoulders and left the cabin.

  The Captain was waiting to help her up the final few steps to the deck.

  ‘A thousand pardons, mademoiselle, but there is a man...’

  Grant! She shrank away, looking about her nervously.

  ‘No, no, he is not on board,’ the Captain assured her. ‘He is on the water. In a boat very small and he is alone.’

  ‘I will not speak to him. I am going back to my cabin. Pray tell him to leave this instant.’

  ‘Alas, he is a man most determined, mademoiselle. He insists upon speaking with you.’

  ‘And I have said I shall not see him.’ She almost stamped her foot. ‘Pray set sail, Captain, as you had planned.’

  ‘C’est impossible.’

  ‘I do not see why. He cannot follow us in a little boat.’

  The Captain gazed at her for a moment, then spread his hands. ‘Come, mademoiselle, you must see for yourself my dilemma.’

  He led her to the side rail and she was obliged to stand on tiptoe to peer over. There below her was Grant, t
he painter of his rowing boat secured to the anchor cable of the great ship.

  ‘He refuses to come aboard,’ explained the Captain. ‘Mais, if we raise the anchor, then his petit bateau will come with it.’

  At that moment Grant looked up at her, his hat tipped back on his head at a rakish angle, and Maddie’s heart turned over.

  ‘Please go,’ she called down to him. ‘I left you a note.’

  ‘I know. And defaced a perfectly good book in the process.’

  She had no time for his foolery.

  ‘I am going to France,’ she told him. ‘I am going to join my father.’

  ‘You cannot leave. You are my wife.’

  ‘I told you, I release you from your vows.’

  ‘Ah, but I do not release you from yours. I explained to you most carefully the vows are binding.’

  The Captain had retired to a discreet distance, but she was very much aware that a number of officers were on deck and several sailors were in the rigging, watching and listening to their exchange. She had no idea how many of them spoke English, but she thought it must be pretty clear what was going on. Her cheeks burned with mortification.

  ‘Things have changed,’ she said.

  ‘We promised to be husband and wife, for better or worse.’ He looked up at her. ‘I would have thought my being pardoned and heir to Ardvarrick would be considered by most to be for the better.’

  ‘You do not understand. I am a Frenchwoman. Our countries are at war.’

  ‘That has not changed from when you married me.’

  ‘But then you were a vagabond,’ she said desperately. ‘You had no home, no prospects. We were going to roam the world together.’

  ‘And we can still, if that is what you want.’

  ‘You are the heir to Ardvarrick. Go home, Grant. Your family needs you.’

  She heard a few mutters of approval from the rigging, but Grant made no move.

  ‘That may be so,’ he agreed. The light died from his face—he suddenly looked very serious. ‘But I need you, Madeleine. I need you to be part of that family, to stand with me, to help me rebuild my life at Ardvarrick.’

  Tears welled up, misting her eyes.

  ‘Go away, Grant,’ she said brokenly. ‘Untie your boat and leave here.’

  ‘I cannot do that.’

  ‘Ooh, you—you stupid, obstinate man!’ she cried. ‘Go now or I swear I will order the Captain to set sail and leave you to your fate!’

  ‘I mean I cannot row back,’ he called up to her. ‘My injured arm, you see. It is too weak, I am too tired to row back alone.’

  She did not believe him for one moment and closed her lips firmly against any reply.

  ‘Very well, madam, if you will not come back with me, then I must climb aboard and come to France with you.’

  From the muttering around her Maddie knew at least some of the crew understood what he was saying and her consternation grew.

  ‘You cannot! You would be an exile.’

  ‘I would rather be an exile with you than live here without my heart.’

  There was a shout of ‘Bravo!’ from the rigging and she felt her cheeks burn even hotter.

  Grant continued, ‘I cannot remember if I ever told you how much I love you, Madeleine, but I am telling you now.’ Even at the distance between them she could feel the power of his eyes upon her, the tug of a bond so strong she thought it might drag her heart from her chest. ‘I love you with all my heart and all my soul, dearest. I cannot live without you.’

  Grant stood up and the little boat rocked dangerously. He caught hold of the anchor cable.

  ‘Well, Wife, what is it to be? Do I come to you, or will you come back with me to Ardvarrick?’

  She heard a gentle cough from the Captain, who had moved up to stand beside her.

  ‘I regret that I must hurry you, madam, but we must go now. The tide, you see...’

  Madeleine stared at him for a long moment, then she raised her chin.

  ‘Then if your men would be good enough to lower me over the side, Captain, I will join my husband.’

  * * *

  Madeleine’s male attire made the manoeuvre much simpler than if she had been wearing hooped skirts, but it was accomplished amid much laughter and cheering and any number of ribald comments that Madeleine refused to acknowledge. Once she was seated in the little boat the Captain dropped her saddlebags down to her.

  ‘I have taken the liberty of putting in there a letter from your father, madam. He instructed me to give it to you once we were under sail, but in the circumstances...’ He spread his hands and shrugged before turning to address Grant. ‘And you, m’sieur. I wish you and your lady bonne chance.’

  * * *

  Grant showed no signs of fatigue or distress as he rowed to the shore and once they had dragged the small boat up on to the beach Madeleine turned to glare at him, a martial light in her eye.

  ‘Your arm is not troubling you at all! I should have ordered the Captain to weigh anchor and left you to your fate!’

  ‘Why did you not do so?’

  ‘I was afraid you would drown.’

  He smiled. ‘Devil a bit. I learned to swim almost as soon as I could walk.’

  Maddie gave a little hiss of frustration. She was torn between indignation and laughter and, unable to look him in the eye without giving herself away, she pulled her saddlebags to her and marched off, leaving Grant to secure the boat.

  She made her way to a small rocky shelf and sat down to wait for him. Remembering her father’s letter, she pulled it out of her bag and began to read it.

  * * *

  ‘Maddie?’ Grant ran the last few yards to her, alarmed by her pallor. ‘What is it, my love, what is wrong?’

  ‘Papa.’ She held out the letter with a shaking hand. Grant took it and quickly scanned the contents.

  ‘I thought it was lies,’ she whispered, her eyes wide and unfocused. ‘I thought it was all part of his bluff and bluster, but he really is a comte now.’

  ‘It would appear so,’ murmured Grant, frowning over the elaborate script.

  ‘I was wrong about him, I thought him nothing but a fraud.’

  ‘From what you have told me, his behaviour gave you no reason to think anything else.’

  ‘True, but I should have trusted him. I should have believed in him more.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘A comte. A nobleman. Papa!’

  Maddie was still staring into space and Grant sat down beside her.

  ‘Does it make a difference?’ he asked, reaching for her hand. ‘Would you rather have gone to France?’ He glanced up to see the ship was already moving out of the loch. ‘It is too late to recall the longboat, but French merchantmen often dock at Ardvarrick. I have no doubt we can arrange a passage for you, if that is what you want.’

  ‘No. No, I do not want that at all.’

  She clung to him and the profound sense of relief he felt at her words made him realise how much he had been dreading her answer.

  She clung to his hands. ‘You have read his letter, you see Papa also says that he has taken a wife.’ She laughed, albeit shakily. ‘It appears he has won his widowed Comtesse after all.’

  ‘So, everything ends happily.’

  ‘Happily!’ She tore the letter from his grasp and stuffed it back into her bag, then she jumped up and began to stride back and forth.

  ‘Happily?’ she repeated. ‘He tells me nothing, rides off, leaves me in a war-torn country to fend for myself, to face innumerable dangers and to make myself sick with worry, thinking him in all sorts of danger, and all the while he is in France, winning for himself a title and a very rich wife!’

  Grant was relieved to see her spirit returning. He walked over to her.

  ‘To be fair, my love, it is most likely this new-found fortune that allowed him to arrange yo
ur passage back to France.’

  ‘What?’ She spun round, staring at him.

  ‘He did try to save you, when all is said and done.’

  He watched the colour ebb and flow from her cheeks, saw her glorious eyes flash dangerously.

  ‘Oh, yes, I should have known you would defend him, Grant Rathmore. Ha! Men are the same the world over. You go off to war, plan your schemes without a thought for the defenceless women you leave behind to worry for you—’

  He gave a shout of laughter.

  ‘Defenceless? That I will not allow. Who was it duped those Dragoons out of their ill-gotten gains, battered I don’t know how many soldiers over the head and ended by turning up sweet an English colonel?’

  He caught her hands, twisting them behind her back and holding her close against him.

  ‘Now lower those hackles and tell me you love me.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she lashed out, her eyes sparkling. ‘I hate you.’

  ‘Do you?’ His grip tightened. ‘Tell me truthfully now.’

  He was looking down at her with such a glow in his eyes that her breath caught in her throat and her heart was no longer thudding with rage, but desire.

  ‘Say it.’ He pulled her closer. ‘Tell me what you really think of me.’

  ‘You’re heartless,’ she accused him. ‘Ruthless! Shameless...’

  Her defences were crumbling. The quirk of his lips told her he did not believe a word of it. She stopped struggling.

  ‘Well, dear heart, have you quite finished?’

  The tender amusement in his voice whipped up her flagging spirit. She raised her head and gave him a haughty look.

  ‘No, I have not, Grant Rathmore! You are the most arrogant, infuriating Highlander I have ever met. But you are my Highlander and, since you have seen fit to hold me to my vows, I will tell you now that I shall hold you to yours, whatever the future holds.’

  His smile sent her heart skittering. He brought his head down, capturing her lips in a kiss that left them both breathless.