A Hint of Rapture (11 page)

"Dinna Madeleine me. Ye've no right, same as ye've
no right to be staying in this room and no right to be here in my house!"

She turned and fled down the hallway, ignoring his
calls for her to stop. Once in her room, she slammed the door shut behind her
and locked it. She heard his footsteps approaching and her breath caught in her
throat.

"Ye better not think to enter my room by force, ye
devil," Madeleine mumbled, her back to the door. She pulled up her skirt
and reached for the dirk she always wore strapped to her right thigh, ever
since the day the soldiers had plundered her home.

It was the last gift her father had given her, smaller
than most such weapons, with a silver hilt especially made to fit her hand. She
held the razor-sharp blade against her breast and waited in the darkness of her
room, listening.

She exhaled as his footsteps stopped abruptly and
retreated back down the hallway. She waited a short while longer, then sheathed
the dirk. She walked over to the bedside table, struck a flint, and lit a
thick, tallow candle. As golden light filled the room, she noticed her fingers
were shaking.

Bastard! she fumed, moving to her wardrobe. She changed
quickly into a dark gray gown of coarse wool, suitable for her furtive outing.
Then she sat on the bed and deftly braided her hair, securing it with a black
ribbon. She flung the braid over her shoulder and fell back on the mattress,
pounding it in annoyance.

If only she could leave for Farraline now! She couldn't
wait to talk to her kinsmen, and she knew exactly what she was going to say. No
more indecision wracked her.

She would do everything in her power to persuade them
to continue the raids, whatever the danger. She was not going to allow this
English dog, this . . . this Captain Garrett Marshall, to deter her from aiding
her people.

Madeleine sat up and blew out the candle, then settled
herself on the mattress again. She reached over and pulled a soft pillow under
her head, closing her eyes.

A vision of Garrett appeared unbidden before her, just
as she had seen him only moments before: his long, lean form bent over the
washstand, his strong profile etched in the lamplight, water dripping from his
tanned face and down his broad chest, over glistening blond curls. She saw his
flashing smile, his startling gray-green eyes studying her, unnerving her, as
if he could guess what she was thinking and feeling . . .

Madeleine punched her pillow angrily, forcing the
disturbing image from her mind. It was not so easy to dispel the memory of his
powerful embrace. Wholly frustrated, she grabbed the tartan blanket folded
neatly at the end of the bed and covered herself, then rolled over onto her
side.

Aye, she would go on with her raids right under his
nose, she thought defiantly, tucking her legs beneath her. And she would relish
every minute of it!

She yawned, growing drowsy. After a short nap she would
set out through that secret tunnel, her mission clearly before her. Her
decision had been made. There would be no turning back.

Chapter 7

Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows,
blinding Madeleine as she opened her eyes. She pulled the blanket over her face
and yawned. She could hear birds chirping outside and squirrels busily
chattering along with the gently rustling leaves and creaking branches stirred
by a soft breeze. They were such lovely sounds, she thought drowsily. She loved
summer mornings . . .

Summer mornings! Suddenly Madeleine threw back the
blanket and sat up, squinting against the brightness.

"God's wounds, girl, ye've slept the whole night
away," she said to herself, exasperated. Obviously yesterday's excitement
had proved too much for her. She cast the blanket aside in disgust and rose
from the bed.

She was stiff and sore from sleeping at such an awkward
angle, crosswise, with her legs curled up beneath her, and she winced
painfully. She stood on tiptoe and stretched her arms high above her head, then
dropped them to her sides. She took a few steps, almost tripping because her
skirt and her linen petticoat were tangled about her legs.

She shook the material out vigorously. Her gaze darted
to the porcelain clock on the mantelpiece, one of her few belongings that had
escaped the soldiers. It was quarter past eleven.

Madeleine sighed heavily, furious with herself. So much
for giving her kinsmen advance warning and alerting them to their new danger,
she thought bitterly. By now they would have heard from someone else that
English soldiers were billeted at Mhor Manor. News traveled fast in
Strathherrick, especially when it had anything to do with redcoats.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She
would have to wait until later that afternoon to tell them her decision. She
had a christening to attend first. She had promised Flora she would be there,
and she never broke a promise.

She opened her wardrobe, her hand drifting across the
small collection of better gowns hanging to the left side of her everyday wear.
Her fingers lovingly caressed the three gowns she had inherited from her
mother, gowns of silk, point lace, and satin, with quilted brocade underskirts.

Lady Jean Fraser had worn them long ago, during trips
with her husband to Edinburgh and Glasgow. She had been a well-educated woman,
fond of the theater and opera, and Sir Hugh had lovingly indulged her cultured
tastes and love of finery. She had just begun to instill such interests in
Madeleine when she died so tragically, bitten by a venomous adder while picking
brambles in the woods.

Sir Hugh never went to the theater again, and he
traveled very little. When Madeleine asked him once if they could journey to
Edinburgh to see a Shakespearean play, he had quietly refused her. Even as a
young girl, she sensed such diversions were simply too painful for him, evoking
memories of happier days. She had never asked again.

Madeleine absently smoothed a satin flounce. The gowns
were still considered fashionable thirteen years later, at least in the
Highlands, though she didn't care one whit about fashion. It merely pleased her
that they fit her so well and had belonged to her mother. Occasionally she
would try them on in secret and whirl in front of the oval full-length mirror,
the shimmering fabrics bringing hazy recollections, of the beautiful,
chestnut-haired woman who had once worn them.

Her hand skimmed over her other gowns. Simpler in
design and fabric, they had been made especially for her by an accomplished
seamstress in the village and were reserved for special occasions. She smiled.
Today was such an occasion.

Madeleine chose a gown of printed linen, admiring the
delicate pattern as she lifted it from the wardrobe. It was very pretty, with
lilac stripes on a cream background and sprigs of rose, lemon-yellow, and
green. She laid it out carefully on the bed so as not to wrinkle it, then began
to strip off her drab gray dress.

A sharp knock on the door startled her, and she
immediately thought of Garrett. Her heart began to pound. If he had come to ask
her to have luncheon with him . . .

"Who's there?" she called, rushing to the
wardrobe. She grabbed a white cambric robe and whirled it around her shoulders.

"Glenis, lass," her servant called through
the door. "Ye've slept so late I thought I should wake ye. I dinna want ye
to miss the christening."

Madeleine unlocked the door and pulled it open. She was
relieved, yet she felt an odd twinge of disappointment. She shrugged it off.
"Ye're just in time to help me into this gown, Glenis. I fear 'tis one
time I'll not be able to get by without those blasted stays."

Glenis's furrowed face broke into a smile, and she
chuckled as she set a tall pitcher filled with warm water on the washstand. She
turned to the armoire and pulled out the top drawer. "So ye'll be dressin'
like the true lady ye are, eh, Maddie?" she teased, filling her arms with
linen underclothes and a starched petticoat. She plopped them on the bed.
"Well, let's be at it."

After Madeleine quickly bathed, she drew on the lace-edged
chemise and drawers, then held firmly to the bedpost as Glenis laced her stays
with an astounding vigor that belied her advancing age. "Ye'll strangle me
for sure if ye pull any tighter," she protested. "I can hardly
breathe."

" 'Tis the proper way," Glenis replied,
smiling her approval as she tied the starched petticoat around Madeleine's
narrow waist. "No wider than a man's two hands may span it."

Madeleine rolled her eyes at that statement but said
nothing. She would not spoil Glenis's enjoyment. She slipped into the gown,
adjusted the square-cut bodice which was a bit low for her taste, then finally
drew on her best pair of brogues. She quickly undid her braid, brushing her
hair until it shone, and secured it with two silver combs.

"Ye look lovely, Maddie!" Glenis exclaimed.
"I wish I could see ye like this more often. Ye're as pretty as a
picture."

" 'Tis not practical, and ye well know it,"
Madeleine objected mildly. "Not with what I'm about."

Glenis's smile faded. Her voice fell to a whisper.
"How did it go last night, lass? What have ye and yer men decided?"

"I dinna make it to Farraline," she said
dryly. "I fell asleep, and only awoke a short while ago." She ignored
Glenis's pleased expression. "I'll be seeing the men later."

" 'Tis just as well, lass," Glenis said.
"Ye needed the rest. And there was a fierce storm last night, with the
wildest thunder and lightning."

"I dinna hear it," Madeleine said. It seemed
the house could have come down about her ears and she wouldn't have known it,
she thought with annoyance.

"Och, 'twas bad. I couldna sleep for the racket.
'Tis glad I am ye were safe in yer bed, though I wished I'd known it at the
time. I wouldna have prayed so hard!"

Madeleine could not help laughing. "Come on,
Glenis, let's go downstairs. I'll have to grab a wee bite of something, then be
on my way if I'm to make it to the church by one o'clock. I left the cart at
Flora's, and I canna ride in this dress, so I'll have to walk."

She stopped midway to the door and glanced at Glenis.
"Are the soldiers about this morning?" she asked. She had no wish to
run into Garrett. If he was somewhere in the house, she would attempt to avoid
him altogether.

"Only a few," Glenis replied, frowning.
"The rest set out for God knows where just after dawn. One of the sly
foxes must have stolen the scones I baked. They were gone from the table when I
went into my kitchen."

Madeleine cursed under her breath, but not for the
missing scones. She had a strong suspicion Garrett and his men had set out to
survey the valley, perhaps searching for any clues as to the whereabouts of the
outlaw he was seeking.

It was just as well, she decided. If he was snooping
about the valley, then he wouldn't be minding what she was doing. That was fine
with her!

***

The sun was blazing high in the sky when Madeleine
stepped from the small stone church, cradling the sleeping infant in her arms.
She held up her hand, shielding the tiny, pink face from the warm sunshine
while Flora put a frilly lace cap over her daughter's head.

"Well, Mary Rose Chrystie, ye're baptized fine and
proper now," Madeleine said and tenderly kissed the babe's cheek.

"Aye, she did well," Flora said with a smile.
"Not a peep out of her, not even a burp to startle the minister."

Madeleine smiled as she gently handed the child to
Flora. She looked down the narrow street to where Flora's three boys were
playing with several other children. Their shrieks of laughter and boisterous
shouting rent the air.

"Mary Rose winna sleep for long with that
din," she said, chuckling, "but I wouldna think of quieting them.
'Tis like music to hear them laugh so."

Flora nodded, rocking the baby in her arms. "Would
ye join us for luncheon, Maddie? I've made a fine roast."

Madeleine shook her head, her expression apologetic.
"I canna, Flora, but thank ye for asking. I must see to some business with
Angus Ramsay. With those redcoats stationed at Mhor Manor, the men in the
village must know what I've been able to glean from the captain."

"I understand," Flora said softly. "Ye
dinna have to explain." She looked at Madeleine with concern. "I'm
afraid for ye, Maddie. I talked to Kitty this morning, and she's grateful ye
thought of her welfare. But I have the same fears for ye. All those soldiers
sleeping under yer roof. I've heard such terrible stories about what's happened
to so many women . . ." She shuddered.

"Dinna worry, Flora," Madeleine tried to
soothe her. "Captain Marshall seems to be an honorable man, more so than
any other redcoat I've seen. He'll keep his soldiers in line."

She nearly bit her tongue in surprise. She'd never said
a kind word about any English soldier before. It felt strange, but it was the
truth. At least from what she had seen of Garrett's manners so far. He had been
quite the gentleman since his arrival at Mhor Manor, except for the incident in
her father's room.

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."