A Hint of Rapture (13 page)

Madeleine shivered. It was the whiskey, she thought
dazedly. The whiskey and the hot sun had addled her brain. It seemed she had no
sense of anything but the physical beauty of the man standing almost beneath
the tumbling waterfall.

Her eyes roamed at will over his body, across his
sculpted chest and the rugged span of his shoulders, down his flat stomach,
tightly corded with muscle, to his slim hips and the dark triangle of curls
below . . . God's wounds! Had she no shame?

He turned suddenly, poised to dive off the side of the
rock. His long, sinewed legs braced, and his thighs and calves flexed creating
a muscled indentation where his hips met his buttocks. Then he was gone,
scarcely a ripple cutting the water where he disappeared.

Madeleine felt herself slowly sinking to the ground,
and she rested her forehead on her hands. Why did she feel so faint all of a
sudden? It had to be the whiskey, the heat, and her stays. Glens had laced them
far too tightly. She fumbled at her back trying to loosen the laces, but it
seemed her fingers were so many thumbs. Her hands fell to her sides, and she
slumped against the boulder.

Madeleine had no sense of how long she had lain there
when she felt a sharp tug and heard a jagged tearing sound. All she knew was
that one moment she could scarcely breathe, then the next she was free.

She gulped in great gasps of air, crying out as she was
lifted by strong arms. She tilted her head back, her stunned gaze meeting a
pair of smiling gray-green eyes.

"It has always been my belief that those garments
should be considered instruments of torture and banned from public use,"
Garrett said easily, though his tone belied his concern.

He could not have been more surprised to find Madeleine
crumpled behind the boulder. How long had she been there? He had thought he was
alone at this jeweled loch. He had just finished dressing and was walking along
the shore when he saw her lying there unconscious. He was relieved to see her
color return swiftly, her skin blushing a becoming rose shade.

"I'm sorry about your stays, but I think you're
better off without them. Especially on such a blistering hot day as this."
He held her close against his chest as he carried her to the shoreline.
"Would you like a sip of water?"

At Madeleine's quick nod he bent down on one knee and
set her beside him on the grass, supporting her with his arm. He cupped his
hands and dipped them into the water, then brought them to her lips. She drank
thirstily, unaware that most of the water was running down her chin and throat,
soaking her filmy white chemise.

Once more he brought cool water to her mouth until she
pushed away from him and bent over the loch. She splashed her face and throat,
then cupped her hand again and again until her thirst was sated. At last she
sat back on her heels, a half smile on her lips as she swept back her damp
hair.

"I thank ye," Madeleine murmured hesitantly
and shrugged. "I dinna know what happened. I think 'twas the heat . .
." Her voice trailed off, and she looked out over the shimmering loch,
embarrassed.

Garrett swallowed hard. His eyes were not on the loch.
He stared at her full breasts . . . high and rounded, perfect. The pink nipples
pushed tautly against her drenched chemise, the fabric like transparent gauze
upon her skin.

A streak of fire shot through his body, a streak of
blazing hunger. How he longed to reach out and cradle a tempting mound, to
circle a teasing nub with his thumb, ever so slowly, to feel its hardness and
taste its sweetness . . . She was so close to him, he could feel the heat of
her body, could smell the heady scent of her skin, her hair, warmed by the sun.

It happened before he realized what he was doing. He
rose to his knees, trancelike, and reached out for her. He crushed her to him,
his mouth capturing hers. He heard a roaring in his ears as the blood pumped
wildly through his veins, and his fingers caressed a firm breast that seemed to
leap into his hand.

Madeleine's heart jumped to her throat. Suddenly she
was dizzy all over again, her body trembling and quaking, held captive by his
overwhelming embrace. She did not think fighting him. Sweet, aching sensation
drove all thought of escape from her

Fragmented pictures flashed through her awareness:
Garrett standing in the middle of the camp, his hair like spun gold in the
firelight; Garrett bending over the wash basin, sleek and muscular; Garrett
beneath the waterfall, his powerful golden-bronze body wet and gleaming.

The pictures quivered and faded, as all her feelings,
and all her perception centered on the wonder of his kiss. His lips were both
rough and gentle as his tongue demanded entrance and filled her mouth,
relentlessly searching. She felt as if she were drowning, the world falling
away beneath her. She wanted more, she wanted . . .

"Madeleine," Garrett whispered huskily, his
loins throbbing with desire. He pulled away and kissed her flushed cheeks, her
eyelids, and her lustrous sable lashes. His fingers were twined in her hair.
"Sweet, beautiful Maddie, lie down with me . . . now, here."

At the sound of her name, Madeleine's eyes snapped open
as if a knife had stabbed her flesh. The sunlight blinded her, forcing into
full consciousness.

God in heaven, what was she doing? Had she gone mad? He
was an Englishman, a redcoat! She shoved him so hard he lost his balance and
fell sideways, right into the loch. The cold water splashed her in the face,
like a chilling slap. She reached down and grabbed for her dirk, but the
leather sheath strapped to her thigh was empty.

"I believe this is what you're looking for,"
Garrett said wryly, sprawled in the shallow water. He pulled the dirk halfway
from his boot, the silver hilt flashing in the sun. "Before I removed your
corset, I thought it best to confiscate your weapon." He laughed shortly.
"Just in case you might object to my offer of assistance."

"Ye son of a whore!" Madeleine hissed, her
eyes narrowed. "Give it to me."

He merely shook his head in answer. He looked at her
steadily, his lips drawn into a tight line.

She wiped her mouth, then spat upon the ground.
"That's what I think of ye and yer kind assistance. Dinna come near me
again, Captain Marshall, or I swear ye'll regret it!"

She wheeled around, nearly stumbling, and hurried over
to the boulder, where she quickly donned her petticoat and gown. All the while
she kept her eyes on Garrett, who hadn't moved an inch. Finally she grabbed her
shoes and stockings, shoving them under one arm, and swept her tattered stays
from the ground.

"And I'll tell ye something else, Captain
Marshall," she said hotly, stamping a bare foot. "if ye pride yerself
on yer kisses, ye might know this: I've had better!"

She held up her skirt and set off running along the
shore. Although she did not once look back, she could feel him watching her.

She had lied. Dougald had kissed her before, but it had
never been like this. Never. Her skin was still ablaze from his caresses, and
her lips were on fire. His heat remained . . . a burning ache, a hint of
rapture.

She ran as fast as her legs would carry her back to the
manor house, as if she could escape the haunting memory.

***

Madeleine did not see Garrett the rest of the day. When
she went to bed that night, she found a bedraggled posy of bluebells and
primroses on her pillow, along with a folded note and her dirk.

What manner of man was he? she wondered. She sat on her
bed for a long time before she read the note. Her fingers were shaking as she opened
it, and her eyes quickly scanned the bold, masculine script:

"Mistress Madeleine Fraser, please accept my
humble apologies for my ungentlemanly behavior this afternoon. Respectfully,
Garrett."

At the bottom of the crisp paper, a hastily scrawled
line was added: "I have never known a kiss such as yours."

Madeleine unconsciously ran her fingertip over the line
while she reread it.
I have never known a
kiss such as yours
. . .

Shivering, she crumpled the note and threw it at the
wall, climbed into bed, and blew out the candle.

Chapter 9

It was early in the morning and still Garrett could not
sleep. Angry at himself, he had been staring at the ceiling for hours, watching
the shadows dance on the plaster and listening to the howling wind.

What had come over him at the loch? What had become of
his resolve to be patient? The questions echoed over and over in his mind, like
a taunt, even as he knew their answers.

He had wanted Madeleine Fraser more than he had ever
wanted any woman. He wanted her even now, and he was astounded by the strength
of his feelings. How had this woman so bewitched him in so short a time? It
seemed that whenever he thought of her, or was near her, he lost all control.

Garrett felt like laughing out loud at the absurdity
and the sheer hopelessness of his rampant desire. She would never have anything
to do with him, not after what he had done. She would probably never trust him.
He could only hope his short note and the return of her dirk had soothed her
temper.

He didn't exactly like the idea that she carried such a
weapon, and it violated English law. But when he saw the fine engraving on the
hilt, he knew he had to give it back to her. It was a gift from her father. She
had lost enough already. He would just have to watch his step in case she chose
to reward his generosity by a stab in the back!

Garrett rolled onto his side and tucked the pillow
under his head. He wondered what she had thought of the last line of his note,
or if she had even read it. He had debated whether to write it, but then had
thrown caution to the wind. It was true. He had never known such a kiss . . .
It was all sweetness and fire, proving an inner passion as wild and tempestuous
as her spirit.

He felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Were her words true
as well? He would be a fool to think such a beauty had never been kissed
before. Perhaps she already loved a man, had lain with a man . . .

Enough! Garrett thought silently, closing his eyes in
frustration. He had to get some sleep! In only a few hours he and his men would
resume their search of the valley for any signs of Black Jack.

If they were as unsuccessful as they had been
yesterday, he would have to begin questioning the villagers, but without giving
away his mission. He held no illusions that the wary Highlanders would offer
much information, but perhaps a mistaken word or an expression might give him a
clue, something to scent the trail.

Colonel Wolfe had made it clear to him that he didn't
have a lot of time before General Hawley would take matters into his own hands.
He certainly couldn't afford to wait and risk his entire mission because of one
woman. After what had happened at the loch, he doubted Madeleine would give him
the time of day, let alone come to his bed and regale him with secrets. He must
have been crazy to think it was ever a possibility.

Garrett sighed heavily and tossed onto his other side.
It seemed that sleep was determined to elude him tonight. All he could think of
was Madeleine. Her lips were so red, so warm, and her breasts were so soft. Her
lithe body had felt so good pressed against his own. God, he would surely go
mad!

He forced the provocative image from his mind and
willed himself to think calmly, rationally. Obviously he wasn't ready to give
up on his original plan, no matter how farfetched.

He would proceed with his search of the valley, yet he
would also continue to try to win Madeleine's trust. He was certain she might
be able to help him. She was mistress of Farraline and a leader to the people
of Strathherrick. Surely she knew something that might lead him to Black Jack.

Garrett threw one arm over his head and shut his eyes
once more. An unsettling question nagged at him. Did he want to win Madeleine's
trust purely for the sake of his mission, or was there another, more selfish
reason?

If he knew the answer, he wasn't admitting it even to
himself. Not yet.

***

Garrett awoke three hours later to the sun slashing
through the windows and across the bed. He groaned, flinging his arm over his
eyes. He felt as if he hadn't slept at all.

A firm knock on the door rattled his senses still
further.

"Who is it?" he shouted irritably.

"Sergeant Fletcher. The men are up and ready to
ride, sir," a brisk voice intoned through the door.

"Very good, Fletcher. I'll be right down."
Garrett threw back the covers resignedly and rose from the bed.

He rubbed his shoulder, which he had bruised on a
jagged rock beneath the waterfall. He should have known better. He dressed
quickly, ignoring the persistent ache, his mind already on the day ahead. He
left his chamber and walked out into the silent hallway.

His gaze instinctively flew to Madeleine's closed door,
but he turned the other way and headed downstairs. He stopped abruptly at the
landing when he heard a woman's voice just outside the front door. It sounded
like Meg, the young maidservant Glenis had introduced him to yesterday.
Surprisingly she was the only other help in this huge house.

"Please let me go, sir. I've told ye, I dinna need
yer help with my basket. 'Tis empty, see for yerself. Now I must be on my way.
Glenis is expecting me."

"What's your hurry, chit?" a deep male voice
groused unpleasantly. "That old goose can wait. Walk with me into the
orchard, like I've asked you, nice and proper. We'll pick some apples, eh, what
do you think about that? Then we'll spread your apron on the ground and sample
a few."

Garrett bristled as he recognizing the soldier's voice.
Damn that Rob Tyler! If there was any man in his company born to make trouble,
it was that one. He'd been a thief before buying a commission in the army to
save his neck from the hangman's noose. Garrett had only brought him along
because Tyler was an expert marksman. He strode to the door.