A Hint of Rapture (12 page)

" 'Tis no matter," Madeleine said quietly.
"Come. I'll walk with ye to yer house."

She and Flora strolled down the main street, avoiding
in the puddles still remaining from last night's storm. Their conversation was
purposely light; they chatted and laughed about the boys' latest antics. No
more was said about English soldiers. Finally they reached Flora's front door.

"Into the house with ye, lads. 'Tis time for
dinner," Flora called, laughing as her hungry brood brushed past her. She
smiled warmly. "Thank ye for standing up for Mary Rose, Maddie. Having ye
for her godmother means a great deal to me." She stepped over the
threshold, then added gently, "I hope ye're right about the captain.
If
 
'twas me, I wouldna trust him as far
as I could see."

"Ye need have no fear of that," Madeleine
replied. "It'll never be said in Strathherrick that I trust an Englishman.
"

She waved goodbye and walked briskly down the side
street, holding her skirt high above the mud. In a few moments she was standing
in front of Angus Ramsay's cottage, which sat at the north end of the village
back near the church. She rapped firmly on the door.

" 'Tis Maddie," she said as the door swung
open. To her surprise Angus took her arm and roughly yanked her inside.

"What are ye doing?" she cried, rubbing her
elbow.

Angus merely pointed out the window, his thick graying
brows knit anxiously. She followed his gaze to a large group of redcoats on
horseback, just now turning onto the main street.

Her eyes widened as she spied Garrett at the lead on
his massive bay. He looked so at ease and sure of himself in the saddle. She
felt an inexplicable rush in her stomach, but quickly attributed it to hunger
pains.

"Och, lass, I'm sorry if I hurt ye," Angus
apologized. "I dinna think 'twould be a good idea for ye to be seen by
them, that's all."

Madeleine almost laughed out loud. "Angus, they're
living in my house! 'Tis why I've come to talk to ye. Dinna ye suppose they already
know who I am?"

"I meant yer coming in here, Maddie. Captain
Marshall—"

"How do ye know his name?" Madeleine asked,
sobering.

"That's what I'm trying to tell ye. He was in the
village earlier this morning and stopped to wish me a good day, of all things!
I recognized him from the raid last week. He said I had a fine Scottish burr .
. . the devil take him! I think he recognized my voice!"

Madeleine paled, though she tried to think rationally.
"No, 'tis not possible, Angus. Ye're jumping to conclusions. Ye hardly
spoke a word that night, except for a few short commands. 'Twas Kenneth who did
most of the talking, as always. Besides, I'm the mistress of Farraline, and
well Captain Marshall knows it. 'Tis my right to visit anyone I please."

Angus seemed not to have heard her. He moved from
window to window, not taking his eyes from the soldiers until they had ridden
through the village. When they were gone, he turned to her at last, his usually
ruddy face ashen and his features drawn.

"I dinna like the looks of this, Maddie," he
said, sinking into a chair.

Madeleine sat down beside him. "If ye dinna like
the looks of the soldiers, ye winna like what I have to tell ye, either."

Angus shot her a puzzled glance. "What do ye
mean?"

She shook her head firmly. "Ewen and Duncan must
be here, too. This is a decision we must make together." She felt a rush
of pity. She had never seen the stoic widower so shaken. "Perhaps ye'd
feel better after a dram of whiskey, Angus."

"Aye, now there's a good idea," he agreed,
brightening somewhat, his normal color gradually returning. "A wee dram of
the water of life to help an old Scotsman think more clearly." He reached
behind him and took a tall glass decanter from the rough-hewn cupboard.
"Would ye like a half?"

"Aye."
 

Angus poured them both a small glass of the clear,
amber liquid, then set the decanter down in front of him. "To our Bonnie
Prince Charlie!" he toasted, raising his glass.

"Prince Charlie!" Madeleine echoed. She
followed Angus's suit and drained her glass in one swallow. It would have
curled her toes if she had not been brought up on the stuff since childhood.
The liquid still burned her throat like wildfire.

"Better?" she said, trying not to gasp.

"Aye." Angus poured himself another, downed
it, then rose to his feet. "I'll fetch Ewen and Duncan." He put on
his cap, then strode through the door, slamming it behind him.

The silence in the large, shadowed room was
overwhelming. Madeleine fingered her glass while she waited, turning it around
and around, rehearsing her words in her mind. She would have to be doubly
persuasive because of what Angus had told her. She hoped her kinsmen would
agree to continue their raids, whether Garrett had recognized Angus's voice or
not.

Either that, she considered grimly, or she would have
to go it alone. And she would, too! No one would recognize her voice. She had
never said a word on any of their raids. She had nothing to fear.

Chapter 8

"So we're decided?" Madeleine asked, looking
around the small table. "We'll continue the raids, soldiers or no?"
Ewen and Duncan quickly nodded their assent while Angus stared thoughtfully at
his folded hands.

"Angus?"

He glanced at her, his brow creased, his deep-set eyes
mirroring his turmoil. "Aye, Maddie, I'll go along," he said
reluctantly. "Though I think I'm more trouble to yer cause than I'm
worth."

"Nonsense," she objected. "We need ye,
Angus. I need ye. And Captain Marshall couldna know yer voice from a few simple
ayes and mutterings about the weather." She rose from her chair.
"Duncan, will ye see that Kenneth and Allan know what we've discussed
today?"

"Aye."

"Good. I have no doubt they'll choose to ride with
us. Ye might also ask after Kenneth's arm, Duncan. If he needs more healing
salve, ye must let me know." She sighed. "I guess 'tis a good thing
the Fraser brothers are hiding in the mountains. If Captain Marshall ever saw
the scar from that knife wound, it would give Kenneth away for sure."

She walked to the door, then turned around, her somber
gaze sweeping the little party. "If we're careful and dinna make any wrong
moves, there'll be no trouble. Just be about yer business as before. In no time
those soldiers will leave Strathherrick, none the wiser." She smiled
faintly. "Until tomorrow, then. I'll meet you at the old yew tree at
midnight."

Madeleine closed the door on the low buzz of male
voices. She knew her kinsmen would probably share a few drams of whiskey and no
doubt discuss their next planned raid on Wade's Road before they dispersed. As
for herself, two halves were quite enough. She felt a bit dizzy. She set off
through the village and then down the winding road leading to Mhor Manor.

She was not surprised that the puddles dotting the road
earlier that afternoon had vanished altogether, leaving the surface hard-packed
and dry. The day was unusually warm for the Highlands, and the hot sun was
relentless.

As she walked Madeleine could feel the sweat trickling
down her back and between her breasts. The heat was so oppressive her breathing
was becoming labored, and she cursed the constricting stays she wore. She
thought longingly of a cool sip of water and suddenly had an idea.

It had been well over a week since she'd gone swimming
in Loch Conagleann at the foot of Beinn Bhuidhe. The tiny loch was one of her favorite
places, secluded, peaceful, with a mountain-fed waterfall refreshing its
pristine depths. Aye, that was it. A swim was just what she needed.

Madeleine quickened her pace, eager to be rid of her
thirst and her sweat-soaked clothing. She left the dusty road behind her,
opting for a footpath she had used since childhood. It was the quickest way she
knew to the loch.

She almost shouted for joy when she finally reached it.
The clear aquamarine water seemed to beckon to her. The calm surface stretched
out before her like a shimmering silver mirror in the bright sunlight,
disturbed only by a plummeting waterfall at the northernmost end. The tall fir
trees rimming the shoreline rustled with the barest breeze, fanning her flushed
face.

She immediately kicked off her brogues and rolled down
her stockings, holding everything in one hand as she tramped along the gently
sloping banks looking for a choice, shaded spot. The grass tickled her toes,
and she paused to pick a handful of bluebells and sweet yellow primroses. She
inhaled deeply, the delicate fragrance bringing a wide smile to her lips.

How odd, she thought. It felt as if she had not truly
smiled in years. She marveled that the simplest things could bring such quiet
joy, such serenity.

She strolled on. The stark eastern slopes of Beinn
Bhuidhe towered above her in stunning contrast to the lush greenery surrounding
the loch. The Fraser brothers were up there somewhere, in their remote mountain
cave. That thought brought with it a rush of sadness for their plight, though
she knew they were luckier than many. At least they still lived.

She breathed in the perfumed scent of her bouquet once
more, willing such melancholy thoughts from her mind. She wanted to forget and
enjoy herself, even if it were only for a short time. She wanted no painful
memories, no responsibilities, no decisions to be made. Just sparkling water,
sunlight playing upon her skin, and fresh mountain air.

At last she stopped beneath a spreading sycamore tree,
the low branches providing some mottled shade. She dropped her shoes and
stockings and set her wildflowers almost reverently atop a boulder that had
tumbled from the mountain in an ancient landslide. Then she turned her back to
the loch and hastily began to slip out of her gown.

She was standing in her chemise and linen drawers, her
fingers furiously working at the laces of her stays, when a loud splash sounded
from the north end of the small loch near the waterfall. She gasped and whirled
around but saw nothing, only a ripple growing in ever widening circles and
gentle waves marring the mirror-like surface.

What could it have been? she wondered. There were fish
in the loch, but hardly big enough to create such a splash. Perhaps a rock had
rolled down the steep hill and into the water . . .

Suddenly a bronzed man shot up from the depths in a
glittering spray of sunlit droplets only twenty feet away from her. Madeleine
jumped back in surprise and darted behind the large boulder. She cautiously
peeked out at the unwelcome intruder who was now standing in waist-deep water.

The man's back was to her, powerful bands of muscle
knotting across his broad shoulders as he raised his arms and ran his hands
through his wet blond hair. Then he turned, and she glimpsed his face just
before he arched his body and dove cleanly beneath the surface. It was Garrett!

Madeleine sank to her knees, pounding her curled fist
on the craggy rock. So much for a quiet afternoon of peaceful solitude. She
should have guessed it wouldn't take long for him to find her favorite place!
But why now, when she so wanted to be alone? At least she could be thankful he
hadn't seen her.

She rose to her feet once again and peered over the top
of the boulder. Garrett was swimming with forceful strokes toward the surging
waterfall, his long legs kicking vigorously. She watched as he disappeared
beneath the thundering white cascade, and she felt a moment's fear.

Those rocks beneath the falls were sharp and jagged,
the currents unpredictable, the waters churning and deep—a treacherous snare for
even an accomplished swimmer. Stories abounded of those who had lost their
lives in such waterfalls. Children were warned away from them by the tale of a
phantom water beast, the uruisg, who was said to live in waterfalls and waited
hungrily for unwary swimmers.

So she had been warned as a child. Glens had told her
the strange tale and she had never forgotten it, though she no longer believed
it. She had been thirteen when she had finally dared to swim beneath this very
waterfall, and she remembered the swirling currents trying to drag her down
into the depths like cold, grasping fingers.

Madeleine held her breath, her heart pounding. Seconds
passed, and still there was no sign of Garrett. What should she do? What could
she do? Perhaps it was already too late . . .

Relief poured through her when she saw him hoist
himself up onto a flat, overhanging rock near the base of the waterfall. She
was stunned by her emotion.

He was an Englishman. A soldier. Why should she care if
he lived or died? Was it because he was a quarter Scots? Or was it simply
compassion for another human being . . . ?

He stood up tall and straight on the rock, and she drew
her breath in sharply. Her confused thoughts fled her mind. He was naked . . .
dripping wet and naked. His lean, tanned body was so beautiful, glistening and
golden in the sun, that she could not tear her eyes away.

She watched in reluctant fascination, knowing she
should not be staring, feeling like a naughty child caught at some prank. Her
skin was tingling, a strangeness she had never felt before. She was breathless,
her breasts heaving beneath her tightly laced stays.

She had seen near naked men before at many a Highland
game when the contestants threw off their kilts in the heat of exertion and
wrestled or tossed the caber in a meager loincloth. She had seen Dougald Fraser
at such a game, his massive body muscled and strong, his powerful thighs the
size of her waist. She had felt embarrassed, aye, and thrilled . . . but never
like this.

Why had she not felt this before, during the raid? she
wondered. She had seen Garrett and his men unclothed, tied up and lying
defenseless on the ground. But it had been different then. They had been forced
to strip. Was it because she had sensed their deep humiliation, their
vulnerability before their enemies? Was that why she had walked into the dark
woods, unable to watch?