A Hint of Rapture (20 page)

Madeleine nodded. She suddenly felt foolish and a
little hurt. Here she was carrying on about water beasts, ghosts, and castle
ruins, when all along Garrett had nothing on his mind but Black Jack.

"I dinna mean to bore ye, Garrett," she said
defensively. "Nor waste yer precious time." She jerked on the reins
and kicked her mare, urging the animal into a fast trot.

Garrett was caught unaware by her swift action. She
left him behind, but he quickly overtook her, his bay's powerful strides far
surpassing those of her mare. Again the silence lay oppressively between them,
both keeping to their own thoughts as they rode side by side along Wade's Road.

Madeleine ignored the groups of English soldiers they
passed, her eyes fixed straight ahead as she and Garrett dodged in and out of
the bustling highway traffic.

She was grateful that the paved, steeply graded road
was heavily traveled during the day. The crowded highway prevented many of the
supply trains from traveling between Inverness and Fort William in the daytime.
If supplies were to get through at all, the redcoats had little choice but to
use the road at night, despite the threat of raids. There was no other route
across the mountainous Highlands.

Madeleine was pleased to see the vast number of rickety
carts and lumbering wagons vying for space with pedestrians carrying bundles
and baskets. A sleek black carriage drawn by four elegantly matched horses
clattered by, the liveried driver paying little heed to the common folk
scurrying out of harm's way. Madeleine caught a glimpse of the carriage's rich,
well-dressed occupants, and her mood darkened considerably.

Probably some of fat King Geordie's loyal Scotsmen—the
vile traitors, she thought bitterly. She vehemently hoped the carriage would
lose a wheel while crossing the humpbacked bridge up ahead and tumble straight
into the loch.

It didn't. The carriage proceeded safely, much to her
disappointment. It followed Wade's Road to the left while she and Garrett reined
their horses into a walk along a narrow dirt road. Foyer's Falls were straight
ahead, only a short distance away.

Madeleine's resentment was tempered by a rush of
excitement, and she forgot the carriage. She could hear the majestic roar of
the falls growing louder and louder. She inhaled the damp air, laden with
moisture; it was becoming cooler as they neared the steep, rocky gorge. Then
suddenly they were upon it, one of the most magnificent sights imaginable. It
took her breath away.

One spectacular waterfall thundered into another and
another, forming tiers of foaming white water. Mist soared high into the air, a
rainbow arcing within the infinite sparkling droplets. The falls merged and
melded; Te water cascading into the turbulent River Foyers at the bottom of the
gorge.

Madeleine stroked the mare's smooth neck, attempting to
calm her. The horse was snorting and stamping her hooves on the ground, clearly
terrified by the deafening roar. Madeleine turned to Garrett, who was intently
watching the falls. She had to shout to be heard.

"Would ye mind if we rode down closer to the
river? Otherwise I might find myself taking a dive into the falls!"

He nodded, noting the tight grip she had on the reins,
and quickly took the lead. As they moved away from the precipitous gorge
overlooking Loch Ness, the mare quieted considerably. Several hundred feet
farther and the falls were a dull thunder in the distance, though still
visible. Garrett halted his bay and twisted in the saddle to face her.

"We could stop here if you'd like," he
offered, indicating a gentle hill that sloped gradually into the River Foyers.
A thick beech wood ran the length of the green hillside, promising welcome
shade.

"Aye, 'tis a fine spot," she agreed tersely
and dismounted. She saw Garrett grimace as he eased himself from the saddle,
and she guessed he was still suffering from his illness. A pang of guilt
tweaked her conscience, but she shrugged it off. He was feeling better, wasn't
he? He was certainly well enough to renew his single-minded search for Black
Jack!

Almost angrily she strode down the hill and tethered
her mare to a tree. She plopped on the grass, watching as Garrett did the same.
She made no effort to help him as he spread out a woolen blanket beside her.

He knelt and dumped out the contents of his saddlebag:
a loaf of thick-crusted bread, a small wheel of cheese, and some rosy apples.
It was simple fare, but Madeleine's mouth watered. She'd had no breakfast, and
the long ride had fueled her appetite.

She immediately tore off a chunk of bread, ignoring his
chuckle at her haste. She split the cheese in thirds, offering him two pieces
and keeping one wedge for herself. She took a bite, savoring the aged cheddar
flavor. It was an English cheese, but she had to admit it was quite good.

"Here. You must be thirsty," Garrett said as
he poured a cup of red wine from a wineskin and handed it to her.

"Thank ye," she said. She took a long draft,
her eyes widening in surprise.

The smooth wine was hardly what she had expected. It
was a French vintage which she had no trouble stomaching; the French hated the
English almost as much as the Highlanders. Yet how had Garrett come by such a
wine? French imports were prohibited in England, since the two countries were
forever at war, or taxed so highly they were well out of reach to all but the
rich.

"Do you like it?" Garrett asked, noting her
stunned reaction.

She lowered her cup, licking her lips self-consciously.
"Aye, 'tis very good. I've always liked French wines."

"Ah, so you're familiar with foreign
vintages."

His casual comment pricked her temper. "We're not
savages here as ye might have supposed, Garrett, though yer kind treat us as
such," she spouted hotly. "My da taught me a great deal about fine
wines, and dancing, and proper table manners. He saw to it I was well educated,
just as my mother had been. Ye might be interested to know I can read and write
as well as any of yer aristocratic lady friends!"

"Better, I'd warrant," he said under his
breath, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When she looked at him
quizzically, he sobered. "I did not mean what I said as an insult,
Madeleine. Forgive me if it seemed so. And it has not escaped my attention that
you possess many exquisite qualities." His voice became husky, his eyes
blazing into hers with a strange but compelling fire. "A man would easily
become the envy of any court with a woman such as you by his side."

Madeleine stared at him, surprised by his candor, her
heart thumping wildly. She thought to take a sip of wine, but her hands were
trembling so badly she dared not attempt it. She did not want him to see how
much his words had affected her.

"Did yer brother, Gordon, give ye the wine as a
parting gift?" she asked with feigned flippancy, desperately hoping to
veer their conversation from its unsettling course.

"It's my own private stock," he replied
tightly, a scowl appearing on his handsome face. "I brought a cask with me
from England. My life as a soldier would truly be desolate without such small
pleasures, and fortunately I've the means to provide myself with some comforts,
Gordon be damned."

Madeleine sensed his anger and said no more. Obviously
there was a deep rift between the two brothers, a rift she did not wish to
explore. It was also clear Garrett had some wealth of his own to afford such
wine, making him one of the luckier younger sons of the nobility. She hastily
decided it was none of her business to pry any further into his personal
affairs.

She looked on silently as Garrett lifted his cup and
drank deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gazed out over the
rumbling river for a very long moment, as if composing his thoughts, then back
at her. His eyes caught and held hers.

"Tell me, Madeleine. Do you recall our discussion
the day my soldiers and I commandeered Mhor Manor? About troublemakers and
outlaws?"

Madeleine fought the swell of apprehension rising in
her heart. "Aye," she said, gripping the cup tightly. "I asked
ye if there were outlaws in Strathherrick." She shrugged her slender
shoulders. "Ye wouldna answer."

Garrett sighed, his gaze never leaving her face. His
expression was hard and grim. It frightened her.

"You must listen carefully to me, Madeleine. I
must ask you to trust me, as I'm about to trust you."

Madeleine stared at him, incredulous. "I trust no
Englishmen," she declared emphatically, setting down her half-empty cup.
"Ye're mad to even think—"

"In this case you must," he said, cutting her
off impatiently. "Please hear me out, Madeleine. That's all I ask."

She said nothing, eyeing him sullenly. He interpreted
her silence as an assent and rushed on.

"I was sent to Strathherrick to search for an
outlaw. We call him Black Jack."

She flinched inwardly. "Black Jack? 'Tis a clever
name."

"Yes. A clever name for a very dangerous man. He's
been raiding English supply trains for about three months now, from Inverness
Firth to Loch Lochy. Several English soldiers have been shot either by him or
by his men. One almost died."

There, he'd said it, she thought with relief. A very
dangerous man. He had no idea his notorious Black Jack was sitting right across
from him. She wondered fleetingly if he referred to the man she had shot.

"I must find Black Jack within three weeks,
Madeleine. I thought you might be able to help me. Do you know anything at all
about this outlaw? Anything."

She could not believe her ears. Did he truly think she
would help him? He must, or he wouldn't be looking at her so expectantly. How
utterly absurd. Little did he know that if she helped him, she'd be settling a
hangman's noose about her own neck! She shuddered at the dreadful thought, her
anger piqued once again by his presumption.

"I know nothing of yer outlaw, Garrett, and ye're
a fool if ye think I'd ever help ye, even if I did."

Suddenly his hands gripped her arms cruelly, and he
pulled her against him, his face within inches of her own. She tried to wrench
free, but he held her fast. His breath was warm on her skin and fragrant with
wine; his eyes had darkened to the color of slate. "Would you say the same
thing, Mistress Madeleine Fraser," he asked, his voice low and intense,
"if you knew that within three weeks the Highlanders of Strathherrick
would suffer more deeply than ever before?"

Madeleine gasped, her throat tightening painfully.
"What do ye mean?" she whispered hoarsely.

"I believe I mentioned my chief commander's name
to you, General Henry Hawley, the duke of Cumberland's half brother. The
general has a remarkable talent for brutality. I have no doubt you've heard of
some of his recent exploits."

She bobbed her head. "Aye."

"If I cannot find Black Jack within three weeks,
General Hawley has sworn to descend on your valley like the angel of death
himself. He'll start by burning every house in Strathherrick, even your own.
Only then will he ask questions about Black Jack, and believe me, Hawley won't
rest until he has that outlaw in chains. His methods are not pretty, Madeleine,
but if you want, I can describe them for you—"

"No!" she cried, her fingers desperately
prying at his hands. "Ye're hurting me!"

"He'll hurt you, too, Maddie, only far
worse." He released her so suddenly that she toppled back onto the
blanket. She scrambled to her feet, rubbing her arms. Her flesh stung where
he'd gripped her. Tears smarted her eyes and rolled unchecked down her pale
cheeks.

At the sight of her tears Garrett rose beside her,
heaving a ragged sigh. His expression was no longer hard. His eyes desperately
searched her own.

"I'm sorry, Madeleine," he apologized.
"Forgive me. I only want you to understand the seriousness of General
Hawley's threat." He reached out to her, but she darted away. "I
don't want to see anything happen to you—"

"Liar!" Madeleine spat, her wet eyes
flashing. She panted, straining hard to catch her breath. Was this the danger
Garrett had spoken of to Sergeant Fletcher? she wondered crazily. Surely it
wasn't true! The picture he painted was so brutal, so horrible that she could
not think rationally.

"What have they promised ye for telling these
lies, for threatening me with the lives of my kinsmen, innocent women and
children?" she asked challengingly.

"Not lies, Madeleine. It's the truth, I swear it.
You must believe me."

She glared at him, clenching her fists. "I can see
what ye've been doing, Captain Garrett Marshall, with yer gentlemanly ways and
fine compliments! Ply the Scots wench with wine, give her a kiss or two, and if
ye're lucky, maybe she'll believe yer flattery and maybe," she hissed,
"the Highland lass will fall into yer arms, perhaps even yer bed, and tell
ye anything ye need to know. If that doesna work, threaten the stubborn wench
with lies. She'll surely come 'round, either way, and ye'll have yer outlaw in
a flash!"

She advanced on him, the pent-up fury of the past
months overwhelming her completely. "What's yer reward for such lies and
deceit?" she shrieked. "The rank of major? A pot of gold?"

The next thing Madeleine knew she was striking him with
her fists, pounding his broad chest as hard as she could. He stood there a
moment and allowed her to beat on him, until at last he grabbed her wrists with
one hand and yanked her arms behind her back.

She struggled and kicked, but he held her so tightly
she could hardly move. Finally she went limp in his arms, exhausted, her tears
coming in a fresh flood.

Garrett held her as she wept miserably, her head
against his chest, her slim body wracked by a storm of emotion. He tenderly
stroked her hair until her sobs quieted. When he spoke, his voice was barely
above a whisper.