A Hint of Rapture (23 page)

She retreated a step, her heart pounding furiously as
she took another desperate stab at dismissing him. "I'm feeling a bit out
of sorts, Garrett," she said, smiling weakly. "Perhaps another
night."

He did not reply but studied her closely. Odd tremors
shot through her, and she had to fight to calm her breathing.

Her gaze moved over him, and her pulse fluttered as she
noted the simple elegance of his clothes. He wore tight-fitting black breeches
which accentuated his slim hips and sinewed thighs, and a full, white shirt
which heightened the golden cast of his skin, the open collar revealing a nest
of dark blond curls. His hair shone like burnished flame in the flickering
candlelight, while his striking features were half cloaked in shadow. Oh, why
did he have to be so handsome?

"I've been feeling a bit out of sorts as
well," he said at last, his voice laden with a deep intensity she had not
heard before. "Perhaps we suffer the same malady, you and I."

"M-malady?" she stammered.

Garrett nodded, his eyes searing into hers. "A
fever, a fire burning in the blood, an ache that has but one cure. That's how I
feel whenever I'm around you, Madeleine." He reached out and smoothed a
silken tress. "Who were you thinking of when you stood before the mirror?
A lover, perhaps?"

Madeleine gasped, her cheeks firing hotly. She gave no
answer but frantically attempted to brush past him. Her foot caught in her
skirt, tripping her, and she cried out as she began to fall. The next thing she
knew she was staring into Garrett's eyes, his arms tightening like a vise
around her trembling body.

"Who were you thinking of, Maddie?" he
whispered huskily, his warm breath fanning her cheeks.

She shook her head, unable to speak. Unbridled
sensations rippled through her body. Then his mouth found hers, and she knew
nothing but the passionate power of his kiss. His lips ravaged hers, his tongue
flicking at her teeth, and she opened her mouth to him. She moaned as he held
her to his chest, his fingers twined in her hair.

"Tell me who you desire," he demanded
hoarsely, forcing her head back and covering her throat with biting kisses.

Madeleine nearly screamed aloud as his mouth found the
hollow between her heaving breasts, his lips like hot brands upon her flesh. In
a passion-dimmed daze, she felt his hand cup her, his fingers dragging away her
bodice and chemise. His tongue circled a sensitive nipple in a ring of moist,
molten fire. It was hot, insistent, provoking the forbidden hunger already
raging within her. If she did not deny him now, she would be lost.

"No," she murmured, bracing her hands against
his chest even as every part of her cried out to meld with him, to feel the
wonder of his skin against her body. "No, Garrett, please. I want ye to
stop . . . Stop!"

Her wrenching cry echoed about the room, and tears
sprang to her eyes as Garrett pulled abruptly away from her. His expression was
unreadable, though his eyes were gray and storm-tossed, his breathing jagged.

"It seems I was wrong once again," he said
cryptically, running his hand through his hair.

Madeleine straightened her bodice, fighting against the
tears that would course down her flushed cheeks. "Please, go," she
managed to say, glancing away from him.

"My apologies, Mistress Fraser," he said
stiffly. "I promise you it won't happen again." He strode across the
room and was gone, his determined footsteps resounding in the hallway.

Madeleine stumbled to the door, scarcely able to see
through the tears swimming in her eyes. She shut it and drew the bolt, then
leaned her forehead against the polished wood.

How she wanted to fling wide the door and run after
him, to tell him that he was the man she desired! But she would not be a
traitor to everything she loved, everything for which she had fought so dearly.

"Ye're the mistress of Farraline," she
whispered fiercely, walking back toward the bed. "Dinna forget it! Yer
people are depending upon yer care and good judgment." Strangely the words
gave her no comfort. She threw herself on the mattress, the full burden of her
responsibility pressing down on her like a terrible weight.

For the first time she cursed the task her father had
given her. She buried her face in a pillow and began to weep bitterly,
overwhelmed by fear, intense longing, and regret for all that she would never
know.

Chapter 15

Garrett angrily paced the drawing room, a crinkled piece
of paper in his hand. He stopped near the window and pushed aside the curtain,
holding the paper up to the fading light.

He read the terse message again, for probably the tenth
time. It was written in Colonel Wolfe's distinctive scrawl, punctuated by
numerous ink blotches. The words seemed to jump off the page and burn into his
brain.

Black Jack had struck again, this time just west of
Inverness. General Hawley was furious and threatened immediate action. It was
the seventh successful raid in two weeks, not counting the thirty cattle
mysteriously stolen in Glen Tarff, a few miles south of Fort Augustus. Seven
blasted raids in two weeks, spread out all over the county . . .

"Damn Black Jack to hell!" Garrett cursed
aloud, turning away from the window. He balled up the paper and stuffed it into
his coat pocket. He hated to admit it, but this message was further proof that
his peaceful mission was a dismal failure. Despite everything he had
done—endlessly searching the valley, interrogating villagers, and recently
staking out roads at night—it appeared the elusive outlaw was unstoppable.

He sat down heavily in the armchair, pounding his fist
on the padded brocade. Time was slipping away from him. General Hawley would no
doubt be there within days, maybe sooner from the scathing tone of the message.

Was his mission really going to end as he feared, in
flaming cottages and the helpless screams of men, women, and children? Soon it
would be nightfall. Would Black Jack ride again, while he and his men chased
shadows across the valley?

A flash of forest-green skirt, bright tartan shawl, and
tousled chestnut hair caught his attention. He moved once more to the window
and watched as Madeleine walked toward the house. She gave no notice to the
soldiers standing guard. Her eyes were straight ahead, her step brisk and
determined.

So she's finally returning from Farraline, he thought
bitterly. From visiting her people, and her lover. While there were so many
lives at stake she busied herself with God-only-knew-what, as if there was
nothing amiss, no danger looming on the horizon. Her lack of concern was
incredible! Could it be she hadn't believed him about Hawley after all?

Garrett frowned, at a total loss. He had looked for her
earlier, determined to ask her one last time for her help, especially now that
he had received this message. He still could not bring himself to believe that
she knew absolutely nothing about Black Jack, despite her claim of ignorance.
It just didn't make sense, considering her respected position in the valley.

Glenis had told him merely that Madeleine had gone to
the village and would say nothing more. It seemed even the old woman had turned
against him, avoiding him at every opportunity. Madeleine had certainly evaded
him ever since the night he had gone to her room and fairly forced himself on
her, thinking she might feel as he did.

His jaw tightened, a wave of frustration possessing
him. Fool! Once again he had allowed his personal desires and misguided
emotions to get in the way of his mission. He should have pressed her further,
as he had intended. Instead he had been bewitched by her company, her smiles,
and his own fantasies of how things might be between them when Black Jack was
captured.

Garrett flinched as the front door slammed and Madeleine's
light footsteps sounded in the hall. He strode from the drawing room, almost
bumping into her. She jumped back, startled, and clutched her basket tightly.
It was plain to see that he had unnerved her.

"I was wondering when you might return from the
village," he said, gesturing for the guard to disappear. The man obeyed
him quickly, ducking into the hall leading to the soldiers' sleeping quarters.
"We have to talk, Madeleine."

Madeleine stared at him wide-eyed, aware of the nervous
flutter in her stomach and the heat flooding her body. She had scarcely seen
him since

She forced the potent memory from her mind, not
trusting herself to remain here with him any longer. "I-I'm sorry,
Garrett," she said, conjuring a convincing half lie. "I'm very tired.
A kinswoman in Farraline is near childbirth. I may be called back during the
night to bring more of Glenis's herb medicine. Perhaps we can talk in the
morning." She brushed past him and moved toward the staircase.

Aye, she really was tired, she thought wearily. That
much was true. She'd spent much of the afternoon planning tonight's raid with
her kinsmen. It would be their last one together, though they didn't know it
yet. Now she needed nothing more than a long nap. Midnight would come soon
enough, and she had to be well rested and alert—

She started when Garrett suddenly grabbed her arm.

"No, Madeleine," he said firmly, turning her
about to face him. "This can't wait until tomorrow."

His gaze was so insistent she knew she would not escape
him. "Very well," she relented, her heart racing. Was he going to ask
her about the other night? she wondered anxiously. Surely he wasn't going to
drill her about—

"Two weeks ago you claimed you knew nothing about
Black Jack," he began, confirming her suspicion. His grip tightened around
her arm. "I've just received word that there have been seven raids since
that day. I'll ask you once more, Madeleine. Do you know anything at all about
this outlaw?"

Anger erupted within her at his rough treatment, mixed
with a sense of desperation. She couldn't tell him yet! She had one last raid
to complete, then there would be more than enough food in the cave to last the
winter. She would tell him in the morning, but not now. She had planned
everything so carefully. By tomorrow night, Garrett would have his Black Jack.

"Ye're hurting me!" she exclaimed hotly. She
tried to wrench free, but he held her fast. "I told ye! I know nothing of
yer outlaw. Now let me go!"

Garrett sighed heavily as he reluctantly released her.
She did not wait to see if he had anything further to say but dashed up the
stairs, feeling his eyes bore into her back. Once she was in her room, she
bolted the door against him. She knew he was still thinking of her, wondering
why she would not help him. If he only knew how afraid she truly was.

Ye've put him off, lass, 'tis all that matters,
Madeleine assured herself shakily, setting down her basket and throwing off her
shawl. She kicked off her brogues and lay down on the bed, hugging her arms to
her chest.

How she wished at that moment that she was a little
girl again, with no more worries than how she would elude Glenis's stern and
watchful eye, or which of her favorite ponies she should ride across the moor.
Life had been so simple and carefree then.

"Ye canna escape yer troubles by wishing them
away," she whispered fiercely. "Ye're a grown woman now, Maddie
Fraser, and ye must face what life has brought to ye."

She closed her eyes, willing her body to relax even
while her thoughts continued to tumble and whirl.

She was astounded by how smoothly the raids had gone so
far, despite Garrett's placing extra patrols in Farraline and on some of the
roads surrounding the village. The supply trains had also been more heavily
guarded, but the element of surprise had not failed her and her kinsman yet.

With Glenis's help she had even feigned a slight
illness when she and her kinsmen had journeyed overnight to Glen Tarff to steal
another herd of cattle. While she was gone, Glenis had virtually camped outside
her door for two days, allowing no one in her room, not even Meg.

" 'Tis a woman's ailment," was all her
faithful servant offered as explanation. It soon would pass, but until then,
Madeleine needed complete rest and solitude. Thankfully, Garrett had been
deceived.

Aye, that ruse had been risky, as had all her raids,
but it was well worth it. The cave at Beinn Dubhcharaidh was nearly stocked
from floor to ceiling with barrels, crates, and sacks containing every manner
of foodstuff, from salted beef to turnips. If anything happened to her, she
could be assured her people would have enough food to survive the winter.

If anything happened to her . . .

Madeleine shivered, suddenly ice-cold. She rose
abruptly from her bed, her hand clutching her throat.

How could she possibly rest when she imagined the noose
tightening around her neck with each passing moment? Dear God, where would she
ever find the courage to face what was ahead?

She walked swiftly to the door despite the wooden
feeling in her legs.

She would speak with Glenis. Glenis never lacked for
words of wisdom and strength in trying times; it was her comfort that had seen
Madeleine past her father's death. It would be hard for them to discuss what
lay ahead, but it was better than suffering alone. And it was time Glenis knew
of her plans.

Madeleine hurried downstairs, grateful there was no
sign of Garrett. She ignored the guard who had returned to his post and rushed
into the kitchen.

She was disappointed to see that Glenis was not there.
She checked her room, but it was empty. She was about to double back and search
the rest of the house when she heard a soft knock on the kitchen door.

Her brow knit anxiously. It was dark out already. Who
would be about at this supper hour? She thought of her kinsmen and hurried to
the door.

She cracked it open, peering outside. She could barely
make out an old woman's stooped figure in the thin sliver of candlelight cast
from the kitchen. A large fringed bonnet covered the woman's bowed head,
shadowing her features.