A Hint of Rapture (18 page)

Why was he telling her this? she wondered wildly, her
pulse racing. She didn't care, or did she?

"What of you, Maddie Fraser?" Garrett asked
suddenly, causing her heart to skip a beat. "An enchanting woman like
yourself—"

"Humph! Ah, excuse me, captain," Sergeant
Fletcher said loudly, clearing his throat as he pushed
 
open the door. "I've brought you some
more hot tea."

Madeleine snatched her hand away as she felt her cheeks
firing bright pink. She glanced from the grizzled soldier to Garrett. His eyes
clearly showed his disappointment at the sudden interruption.

"Lie back with ye now," she said briskly,
attempting to mask her rampant emotions. She smoothed the tartan spread and
stepped away from the bed, threading her fingers together nervously. "Ye
must see that he gets some rest, Sergeant Fletcher," she advised, passing
by him as she walked quickly to the door. "If ye need anything, ye've only
to ask."

"Madeleine," Garrett called out to her.

She leaned for an instant on the door frame and drew a
steadying breath before she turned around. "Aye?"

"I owe you and Glenis my life. I'm grateful to
you."

She felt a dizzy rush of warmth as his eyes bored into
hers, and her knees grew weak. Embarrassed by his sincerity, she flashed him a
small smile, then fled the room.

Madeleine leaned against the wall just outside the room
and closed her eyes. She could not deny that his words had pleased her.

Whatever was the matter with her? She had never felt so
breathless and giddy in her life! It was almost as if Garrett wielded some
mysterious power over her whenever she was near him, eliciting a strange
yearning within her she could not comprehend. A yearning such as she had felt
at the loch, shattering her reason and her will. A yearning that frightened
her—

"If you're up to it, captain, maybe you could tell
me what happened the other night."

Madeleine froze as she overheard Sergeant Fletcher's
words, her eyes snapping open. Her jumbled emotions receded into the
background. She listened carefully, scarcely breathing.

"I think it was Black Jack," Garrett began,
describing his pursuit of a black-clad figure across the moor until the moment
he was struck on the head. "I could swear it was he. I believe we've been
searching too far afield, Fletcher. Perhaps this outlaw resides nearby, maybe
in the mountains directly to the east, maybe even in Farraline. I want you to
double the guards at night, and we'll also begin patrolling the village."

Madeleine swore softly. She should have been more
careful, but she hadn't expected anyone to be out on the moor at that time of
night. Now her task would be harder than ever.

"I've some important news for you, Captain
Marshall, especially in light of what you just told me. It came by special
courier yesterday from Colonel Wolfe. Perhaps we should discuss it later, if you're
feeling tired."

"I'm fine, except for this blasted ache in my
head. What is the news?"

"Black Jack and his men raided another supply
train, just north of Inverfarigaig, on the night you were injured. It could
very well have been he out on the moor, on his way back from the raid."

"Damn!"

"It seems our presence hasn't daunted the bastard
in the least, captain."

"Was there anything else in the message?"

"Yes. I've got it right here."

Madeleine heard the crisp rustling of paper, then
another vehement outburst from Garrett.

"Three weeks? He's given us only three weeks to
capture the outlaw? The colonel must be mad, or, more likely General Hawley had
something to do with it. He probably lost more of his precious wine in that
supply train."

Madeleine gulped. There had been several casks of wine
in one of the front wagons. Since wine was useless to them, Kenneth and Allan
had dumped the casks into Loch Ness, to make more room in the wagon for
foodstuffs.

They had lowered their voices, and she couldn't hear them.
Frustrated, she crept closer to the door. What she heard then filled her with
apprehension.

"I think it's time I tell Madeleine about our
mission."

"Why, captain? She's just a slip of a girl. What
could she possibly know about Black Jack?"

"She's the mistress of Farraline, Fletcher. The
Frasers of Strathherrick are her people. She must know something about what's
going on in this valley. If I bring our mission out into the open, she might be
willing to help us. Especially if she knows the danger her people face if Black
Jack isn't captured soon."

"You would trust her with this information,
captain? A Highland wench? Say she does know Black Jack's whereabouts. What if
she warns him and we never find him?"

"We'll have to take that risk. I have no choice but
to trust her. Three weeks is not a long time, Fletcher, and you know Hawley.
Madeleine may be our best chance to end this peacefully. I only hope she'll
trust me enough to believe what I tell her."

"Would you like me to talk to her, sir? You should
rest, at least for another day or so. You look tired, and I've burdened you
enough already."

"No, I'll take care of it. I'm sure I'll soon feel
more like myself."

"I hope so, captain. You gave me the devil of a
scare. I'll leave you now so you can get some sleep."

Madeleine blanched and backed quickly away from the
door. She held her breath as she hurried along the hallway and down the stairs.
She didn't stop until she had reached the kitchen, where she slumped into a
chair.

So Garrett was planning to take her into his confidence
and to ask her questions about Black Jack. Well, she had some questions of her
own. She rested her forehead in her hands, her mind reeling.

What was this danger he had mentioned? Did it have
something to do with what he had said last week about innocent people suffering
and bearing the blame? How did that fat swine, General Hawley, fit into all
this?

Exasperated, she slammed her small fist on the table.
She didn't have time to sort it all out now. Her kinsmen were waiting for her
in the village, waiting to plan their next raid. She'd sent a message to Ewen
saying she would meet them that afternoon at Angus's cottage if she could get
away.

With so many people to feed in Strathherrick, the food
they'd stolen a few nights ago would not last much longer, and the stores
hidden in the cave on Beinn Dubhcharaidh were being depleted with each passing
day. She did not have time to waste wondering what the redcoats were up to.
Besides, if Garrett was true to his word she would know the answers to her
troubling questions soon enough.

Madeleine grabbed a thick woolen shawl from a peg by
the kitchen door and wrapped it securely around her, covering her head. She
opened the door and stepped out into the drizzling rain, ignoring the guards'
curious stares as she sloshed along the puddle drive.

If she had her way, they would set out on another raid
that night. It would be the very distraction she needed to free her mind from
what she had just overheard and the strange foreboding that still gripped her.

Chapter 12

Garrett groaned as he drew on his shirt, waving away
Sergeant Fletcher, who was standing nearby. He had never known his muscles to
feel so tight and sore. His trembling fingers worked at the buttons one by one
while he stood somewhat shakily in the middle of the room. Finally he was done.
He reached for his coat, staggering ever so slightly. The sergeant rushed to
his side and caught his arm.

"Captain, are you sure you want to do this?
Another day won't matter so much. Perhaps you should stay in bed—"

"I'm fine, Fletcher," Garrett insisted
sharply, for what seemed like the hundredth time. He shrugged on his coat.
"You're worse than a nagging nursemaid."

When he saw his sergeant's wounded look, he chided
himself for his thoughtlessness. The man had had much to do with his recovery.
He softened his tone. "Don't worry, Fletcher. It's time I got up on my
feet. Lying in bed another day won't make it any easier for me to regain my
strength. I've got to start moving around again, go walking, riding. I need
some fresh air—it's the best cure I can think of."

"Very well, captain," Sergeant Fletcher said,
though he did not look completely convinced.

"I know what you're thinking," Garrett said
wryly. "But it won't happen again. I feel better already, just standing
here."

He remembered all too clearly his first attempt to rise
from the bed yesterday, not long after Sergeant Fletcher had left the room to
let him sleep. His legs had buckled beneath him, and he had crumpled to the
floor. The sergeant had rushed in to find him on his knees clutching the
bedspread, vainly trying to stand.

He would have tried again if it hadn't been for
Sergeant Fletcher's strong insistence that he resign himself to one more day of
bed rest. Glens had vehemently seconded the opinion later, when she heard about
his futile effort. He smiled as he recalled her heated words.

"How dare ye get out of bed when ye're just over
the fever," she had scolded him. "I dinna nurse ye these past four days
to see ye take sick agin, Captain Garrett Marshall. Ye'll do just as the good
sergeant has asked ye, and as I'm tellin' ye!"

She reminded him of his grandmother at that moment,
with her hands on her narrow hips and her dark eyes flaring. He had no intention
of crossing her. He had obediently remained in bed, and she had rewarded him
with the best beef stew he had ever tasted, and more of that fiery Scots tea.
He slept more soundly after that meal than he had in days.

Garrett's stomach suddenly rumbled. It was so loud that
Sergeant Fletcher laughed.

"If you're that hungry, captain, then you must be
feeling better, just as you say."

"Come on, let's go downstairs," Garrett said,
walking stiffly to the door. "Maybe Jeremy has baked some of his pan bread
for breakfast."

In the hallway he glanced over his shoulder at
Madeleine's room. He was not surprised to see her door wide open. It was late,
almost ten o'clock, and no doubt she had already been up for hours.

She probably wasn't even at home, he thought, holding
on to the sturdy banister and taking the steps carefully.

Sergeant Fletcher had told him she had spent much of
the previous day and well into the evening in Farraline. He found himself
wondering what, or who, had caused her to return so late to Mhor Manor. A
lover, perhaps, whom she hadn't seen for several days because she was nursing
him? Probably so. She certainly had gaped at him when he brought up the topic
yesterday.

Garrett felt a familiar sting of jealousy, but swiftly
quelled it. Madeleine had every right to visit the village and her people as
often as she wished. If she was meeting her lover, well, that was not his
concern.

He walked outside, his gaze narrowing at the distant
thatched heather and turf roofs of Farraline. He heaved a sigh as a tightness
welled up inside him.

He was lying to himself if he thought he didn't care
whether she had a lover. He cared deeply. He hadn't realized how much until he
had opened his eyes to find her standing beside his bed. It had been like a
sweet dream becoming reality.

Beautiful Madeleine was talking with him, feeding him,
caring for him, her hand lightly grazing his shoulder as she plumped his
pillows. His pulse had surged at her touch, stoking the fire raging deep within
him.

Frustrated, Garrett turned away and followed his
sergeant to the back of the manor house, where the cooking tent was set up. He
smelled bacon frying, the fresh-baked aroma of pan bread and brewed coffee, but
he seemed to have lost his appetite. He halfheartedly took the full plate Jeremy
Witt offered him.

"It's good to see you up and about, Captain
Marshall," the bantam-size cook said cheerfully. "Here you go,
sergeant. The rest of the men have already eaten."

Garrett sat on a rough-hewn bench while the sergeant
settled himself on the grass. Fletcher dug heartily into his plate, gulping
down huge mouthfuls of food with hot coffee.

"Is something wrong, captain?" Sergeant
Fletcher asked mid-swallow, surveying Garrett's untouched plate.

"No," Garrett replied tightly. Knowing he
needed the nourishment, he forced himself to eat. The food was good, and after
a few bites he felt his appetite gradually returning. He finished everything on
his plate and even enjoyed another serving of pan bread. He was on his second
mug of coffee when he spied a slight figure walking briskly toward the manor
house from the direction of the tiny loch. His cup stopped midway to his mouth
as he realized it was Madeleine. He set his plate and mug on the bench and rose
to his feet, watching her intently.

She was so lovely.

He drank in the fetching vision she made, feeling as if
he could stare at her forever. Her blue skirt skimmed her curved hips, its hem
swaying as she walked. Her chestnut hair shone glossily in the sun and. curled
about her face in damp tendrils. She had a towel in her hand, and she was
swinging it jauntily.

So she hadn't gone into Farraline this morning, he
thought, feeling a surge of pleasure mixed with relief. She must have been
bathing in the loch. He could tell she hadn't seen him yet, and he enjoyed the
sensation of catching a brief glimpse into her private world. She was smiling
faintly, and he wondered what was she thinking.

The moment was over too soon. Suddenly she spied him,
and he watched the smile fade from her lips. She looked surprised, then her
expression became guarded. He sobered as well, feeling a twinge of resignation
as he recalled yesterday's discussion with Sergeant Fletcher.

Three weeks. That's all he had left. He had hoped to
have enough time to win her trust, to develop some understanding between them,
perhaps even to . . .