A Hint of Rapture (25 page)

"There's no swelling," he said quietly.
"I think it is only bruised." He began to pull up her stocking.

"I can manage, thank ye," Madeleine said,
embarrassed. As he rose to his feet, she drew the stocking over her knee and
quickly shook out her skirt.

"From the sound of your fall, I'm surprised it was
no worse," he said.

"Aye, 'tis a lucky thing," she agreed. She
stood up slowly, testing her weight on her "injured" knee. "
'Tisn't hurting so badly now. Thank ye for yer trouble, Garrett." She
affected a slight limp as she padded toward the door in her stockinged feet.

"I'll see you to your room, Madeleine," he
offered, taking the pewter candlestick from the bedside table.

Madeleine stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her
throat. "No, that winna be necessary," she objected lightly. She
glanced at him over her shoulder. I can see my way well enough."

"I insist," Garrett said, his features set
with determination. He was at her side in two strides and wound his arm through
hers. "I'll not have you injuring yourself further by tripping about in
the dark."

Madeleine's mind raced frantically. If Garrett
accompanied her to her room only to discover the door bolted, he would surely
demand to know why. She could not risk Lord Lovat being found out. What could
she possibly say to dissuade him? She walked slowly, stalling for time.

"I thought you'd gone to bed an hour ago,
Madeleine," Garrett said, matching her pace. "I was surprised to see
you were still up."

His soft-spoken statement jolted her, reminding her of
why she had left her room in the first place. It gave her a chilling idea.

Perhaps if she talked to him now about Black Jack, it
would divert his attention, she thought wildly. There was no longer any reason
to wait until morning.

Once Garrett knew she was going to help him find his
outlaw tomorrow evening, she hoped he would forget all about escorting her and
rush out to inform Sergeant Fletcher. When he returned, she would be gone to
bed, or so he would think. Aye, that's what she would do. She had no other
choice.

A flicker of fear coursed through her body, and she
found she was trembling. She had the oddest sensation she was about to leap
from the edge of a precipice into a pitch-black chasm. Once she offered her
help, there would be no turning back, no second thoughts, and no hope of
rescue.

Courage, lass, she bolstered herself. 'Tis for the well-being
of yer people. Yers is only one life to their many. 'Tis as good a time as any
to seal yer fate.

Madeleine turned to face him, hoping he would not sense
the depth of her fear. "I did go to bed, but I couldna sleep. I've been
thinking about what ye said about Black Jack, and about General Hawley. I was
coming to find ye, Garrett. I thought we might talk."

Garrett was so stunned he wasn't sure he had heard her
correctly. After she heatedly refused his last plea, he had resigned himself to
the conclusion that she would never help him. Now here she was, in his room,
saying she wanted to talk about Black Jack!

Don't get your hopes up, man, he thought, forcing
himself to remain calm. Hear her out first. She might yet disappoint you.

He felt her tremble and sensed she was nervous.
"Sit down, Madeleine," he said gently, leading her to an armchair. He
set the candlestick on the small, three-legged table behind her. "Would
you like a glass of wine before we talk?"

"Aye."

He filled two goblets from the cask set atop the desk,
then returned quickly to her side. He offered her one, noting how her hand was
shaking as she lifted the goblet to her mouth and drank deeply. He took a sip,
barely tasting the wine. His eyes never left her face.

Her large blue eyes were luminous in the candlelight
and tinged with a hint of resignation that he had never seen there before. She
looked so vulnerable, so unlike the defiant young woman he knew. He pulled up
another armchair and sat down beside her.

"What about Black Jack, Madeleine?" he asked,
hoping he was not rushing her. She took another long draft of wine before she
answered, then held the goblet in her lap.

"I've decided to help ye find him," she said
evenly, staring into his eyes. "I believe ye've told me the truth about
Hawley. Tomorrow night, I'll deliver Black Jack into yer hands, and then ye and
yer kind can leave Strathherrick in peace."

Garrett sharply drew in his breath. So his instincts
had been right after all! Madeleine not only knew of Black Jack, she was going
to lead him to the outlaw. This was more than he had ever hoped.

"But why have you waited until now to tell me
this?" he asked with a twinge of irritation, thinking of the raids he
could have prevented. "You've told me twice you knew nothing."

"Ye've asked me to do a hard thing, Garrett,"
she responded, her voice almost a whisper. "I needed time to think, to
weigh . . ." she shrugged slightly, falling silent.

Yes, he did understand, he thought. It could not have
been an easy decision. He quickly changed the subject.

"What of the five men who ride with Black
Jack?" he asked, realizing she had made no mention of them.

She shook her head stubbornly. "I canna help ye
there. I dinna know who they are, nor where to find them. "

Garrett leaned forward in his chair, his expression
grim. "I must have them all, Madeleine."

She looked at him sharply. "And ye must trust me
in this, Garrett, as ye asked for my trust two weeks past. Once Black Jack is
captured, ye winna have to worry about the others. They winna ride again, not
without their leader."

Garrett sat back in his chair, pondering her statement.
He was tempted to ask her how she could say this with such certainty, but he
decided against it.

First and foremost, he wanted Black Jack. If she
claimed the others would cease their raiding, it must be true. She knew what
was at stake if they did not.

He nodded. "Very well. I only hope I can convince
General Hawley. He's no doubt set his mind on hanging the whole thieving lot,
then posting their heads on spikes as a warning to other Highlanders who might
choose such a path. Black Jack's head will have to satisfy him."

He saw her flinch, her face growing deathly pale. He
immediately regretted his callous and gruesome statement. "I'm sorry,
Madeleine—"

"Ye're sorry?" she blurted suddenly. Her
laugh was harsh; her eyes flashed brightly. "I'll have ye know this,
Captain Garrett Marshall. If not for Black Jack, there would be far more fresh
graves dotting Strathherrick, full of women and children who starved because
yer fine countrymen saw fit to steal the bread from their tables. Fortunately
we've food enough now to last the winter and seed to plant come spring. I'm
giving ye Black Jack only to save my people more suffering and pain. The kind
yer General Hawley would inflict upon them! The kind they'd not survive even
with food in their bellies. Dinna forget it!''

She tossed down the last of her wine and set the goblet
shakily on the table. "I've had my say. We can discuss the details in the
morning. I dinna want to keep ye from sharing yer wondrous news with Sergeant
Fletcher. I'm sure ye've much to gloat over together, plans to make. Good night
to ye, Garrett."

She stood up abruptly, but he caught her hand in a
steely grip.

"Do you really think I would gloat,
Madeleine?" he said softly. "Sergeant Fletcher will hear of this soon
enough."

He set aside his goblet and rose from his chair, so
close to her the brass buttons on his coat snagged her bodice. She jumped back
as if stung, but he held her fast.

"Don't you think I understand something of what
your decision has cost you, Madeleine?" he demanded, his eyes searing into
her own. "Don't you think I sense your pain? To betray a kinsman, even for
the sake of so many—"

"Ye'll never know the half of how I feel!"
Madeleine exclaimed, her voice throbbing with anguish.

She twisted free of his grasp and hurried to the open door,
scarcely remembering to limp. She heard his footsteps behind her and she knew
she would not escape him. He seemed determined to follow her.

She didn't stop to think. In one swift movement she
slammed the door, bolted it, and whirled around to face him.

Her eyes locked with his as he drew closer. She did not
know in that moment if she was staying to protect Lord Lovat, or surrendering
at last to the inexorable yearning that had taken over her senses, her body,
and her will from the first time Garrett had held her in his arms.

All she knew was that soon she would face her death, by
the hangman's noose if she was brought to trial, or even more unnerving, by a
brace of loaded pistols tomorrow night. She could almost feel the searing
bullets ripping into her flesh, and she closed her eyes tightly, crossing her
arms protectively over her breasts.

It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair! her mind screamed.
Hopeless tears squeezed beneath her eyelids. She had barely lived, had barely
loved . . .

"Madeleine, what's wrong?" Garrett's voice
called to her, his arms pulling her toward him. They enveloped her, and she
sensed a seductive comfort like nothing she had ever known. She pressed against
his broad chest, as if she could melt against him and be safe.

She opened her tear-filled eyes. His face was so close
to hers, and his breath was warm against her skin.

"Why are you crying, Maddie?" he asked softly
and gently. His finger traced a tear down her cheek. "Tell me, sweeting,
tell me."

She heard the words escape her lips with a voice she
did not know. It was tremulous and frightened . . . so horribly frightened.

"Is it true what ye said at the falls, Garrett?
That ye dinna want anything to happen to me?"

"Yes, it's true," he said, hugging her
fiercely. "I've been so worried. But now you'll be safe. You've given me
what I need to protect you, Madeleine. You needn't be afraid. Nothing will ever
happen to you. Not if I can prevent it."

She pulled away slightly and looked into his eyes, her
slim hands reaching up to cradle his face. "Ye care, then, Garrett
Marshall? Truly care about me?"

He nodded wordlessly and held her tighter, so tight she
thought he might be able to drive the terrible fear from her heart. She wanted
so much to forget the horror that was to come, if only for a little while.

"Love me, Garrett," she pleaded. "Show
me ye care, as a man cares for a woman. I must know . . . must know . . ."

"Maddie, do you realize what you're saying?"
Garrett asked huskily, cupping her chin. He searched her face and her eyes.
"You've fought me all along. I thought I would always be something you
hate and despise. And now you ask me to—"

Her kiss silenced him as she stood on her toes and
found his lips. It was a kiss so desperate and so passionate that he groaned
against her mouth and crushed her to his chest. She felt him lift her in his
arms, felt the rugged strength of his body through his long strides, then fell
back against softness and knew she was lying with him on the bed.

Garrett stretched his hard length atop her and pinned
her arms above her head with one strong hand. His dark blond hair, loosed from
its band, fell to frame his face like a sheaf of gold in the candlelight. His
gray-green eyes were alight with a ravenous hunger held too long in check.

"I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you,
Maddie Fraser," he whispered, his breath on her cheeks, her lips, like a
sweet caress. "Wanted you so badly I could not sleep from the ache of it.
I wanted you so badly that when I finally slept I dreamed of nothing but
you."

He seized her lips, kissing her until she was
breathless. "Tell me what you want, Maddie," he demanded brokenly,
his panting breaths merging with her own. "If you truly want me, you must
say it. I must be sure."

"I want ye, Garrett Marshall," she whispered
urgently. "Ye must show me what it is to love—and be loved."

Her words pierced the turbulent cloud of desire raging
within Garrett's mind. Stark realization gripped him, together with a flood of
bittersweet exultation. He released her wrists and brought himself up on his
elbows, his fingers buried in her tangled chestnut curls.

"Am I the first?" he asked gently, yet with a
hint of desperation. He sensed her answer, yet he needed to hear it from her
own lips. He could not fathom why it mattered so much to him, but it did. If
there was no lover, perhaps he could dare to hope her heart was yet free.

"Aye," Madeleine breathed. "Ye're the
first." She reached up and trailed her finger down his clean-shaven cheek
to his lips. She traced the sensuous curves of his mouth, her eyes brimming
with wonder and passion. She smiled ever so faintly. "And I've never known
a kiss such as yers, Garrett."

A ragged sigh escaped his throat, wrenched from the
depths of his soul. He captured her in his arms and kissed her deeply, knowing
that he had been given a most precious gift. A gift to be savored, treasured,
and awakened slowly. He reluctantly pulled away from her lips and rose from the
bed.

"Dinna leave me," Madeleine moaned, her
eyelids fluttering open. Her whole body ached, her reeling senses acutely aware
of his absence. She felt cold, missing the warmth of his weight upon her, until
a flush of heat raked her from head to foot.

What a glorious sight to behold! Entranced, she leaned
up on her elbow, watching in bold fascination as Garrett undressed swiftly
before her.

A thrill of anticipation shot through her as his
powerful body was bared before her, revealing the masculine perfection she
remembered so vividly from the loch. Her eyes raced over him, drinking in his
male beauty, the hard ridges and angles, the knotted muscles, as his every
lithe movement was illuminated in candlelight and shadow.