A Hint of Rapture (29 page)

"Glenis, are ye packed and ready?" she called
softly, careful lest she be heard. Garrett had left six soldiers behind to
patrol the manor house. She could hear Corporal Sims chatting with several
guards stationed just outside the front door. Their jovial laughter carried into
the kitchen.

"Glenis!" she hissed, more loudly this time.
The soldiers' high spirits were beginning to grate on her nerves, which were
already stretched taut. Did they have to be so brazenly overconfident? Those
six men were fortunate they had not ridden out with the others!

The grating sound of the latch lifting interrupted her
grim thoughts. She stepped back as Glenis drew open the door.

Madeleine could not help thinking how fragile her
servant appeared, how frail and stooped. The furrows in her face were deeper
and more pronounced. It looked as if Glenis had aged another ten years since
Madeleine had told her tonight would be the final raid. Yet Glenis's dark brown
eyes were glittering brightly, reflecting her plucky temper. Madeleine found
solace in that, believing Glenis realized it was best that she leave Mhor
Manor.

"Aye, lass, I'm ready," Glenis muttered,
blowing out the solitary candle resting in a wall sconce. She walked slowly
into the kitchen, carrying a large basket over each arm.

"Here, let me help ye," Madeleine offered,
but Glenis shook her gray head.

"I can manage these two," she insisted
firmly. "There's a sack on the floor ye can carry for me."

Madeleine picked up the bulky sack and hoisted it over
her shoulder. "The cart's just outside the kitchen door, Glenis," she
said. "The redcoats were so busy they dinna notice what I was about."

Glenis merely nodded and shuffled to the door. She set
down one of the baskets for a moment and drew the hood of her thick woolen
cloak over her head. She took a last sweeping look at the dimly lit kitchen,
then picked up her basket and opened the door.

They stepped outside into a light rain, thunder roaring
dully in the distance. The storm that had threatened earlier seemed to have
bypassed the valley, though occasional streaks of lightning still flashed
across the sky.

Madeleine lifted the sack into the cart, then the
baskets, and covered everything with a heavy blanket to protect the meager
belongings from the rain.

"There, Glenis," she said, turning to her
servant. "The blanket should hold fine 'til ye get to Meg's. 'Tisn't
raining so hard ye need to worry about yer things."

"I dinna care if they float away," Glenis
sputtered vehemently, her face suddenly etched with sorrow. "They mean
nothing to me, Maddie Fraser. Nothing. Ye're the only thing on God's earth I
care about. And to think there's nothing I can do to stop what's to happen to
ye . . ." Her voice faltered, sobs shaking her hunched shoulders. Her
trembling hand gently caressed Madeleine's wet cheek. She struggled to say
something, but no words came.

"Hush with ye now," Madeleine whispered,
folding her beloved servant into her arms. It pained her heart terribly that
she had no solace to offer. She hugged Glenis fiercely, the old woman
shuddering in her arms, until at last she drew away. "Ye must go, darlin'
Glenis. "

"Aye," Glenis sighed, wiping the tears from
her eyes. Her quavering voice was tinged with sudden resolve. "I must
go." She turned and grasped the edge of the cart. "Help me into the
seat, lass."

Madeleine obliged her, handing her the reins when
Glenis was settled, her cloak drawn tightly around her slight frame.
"Godspeed," she said simply. Without waiting for a reply, she slapped
the horse's rump. The animal jerked forward, the wheels creaking and churning
in the mud.

"Hold on, there!" a male voice shouted.

Madeleine spun around just as Corporal Sims rushed up
and grabbed the harness, staying the startled animal's course.

"Where do you think you're off to?" he blurted,
looking from Glenis to Madeleine. "What's going on here?"

Madeleine's eyes flashed a quick warning to Glenis,
urging her to be silent, then she turned back to the corporal. "Dinna
Captain Marshall tell ye Glenis was traveling into Farraline this ev'ning,
Corporal Sims?" she asked innocently, smiling at him. "On a special
mission."

"Why, no . . . uh . . . he didn't," the young
soldier stated, clearly distracted by her winsome smile.

"Och, with all the rushing about, he most likely
forgot," she said lightly. She leaned forward, speaking to him in
conspiratorial tones. "Can I trust ye to keep a secret, corporal?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the other guards
standing by the front door, then looked back at her. He stepped closer,
inclining his head. "What secret?"

"Captain Marshall asked Glenis if she wouldna mind
fetching a cask of Scots whiskey for him from her cousin in Farraline,"
she whispered into his ear. "Her cousin's one of the finest distillers in
Strathherrick."

"Whiskey?"

"Aye. Captain Marshall wants it for the
celebration after, well, ye know. 'Tis a surprise for ye and the rest of the
soldiers. To thank ye for all yer fine efforts, I suppose."

"Oh," Corporal Sims breathed, licking his
lips.

"I'd go m'self," Madeleine continued,
"and spare Glenis the trouble, but she'd like to visit with her cousin.
He's been sickly of late, and she has some herb medicine for him." She
paused, smiling at him apologetically. "I hope ye dinna mind me spoiling
the surprise for ye, corporal, but ye did ask."

"No, no, I don't mind," the soldier
stammered. His expression clouded. "It's a dangerous night to be out,
though, Mistress Fraser, for you or your housekeeper. Perhaps I should
accompany her—"

"That winna be necessary, Corporal Sims,"
Madeleine objected firmly, "but I do thank ye for yer kind offer just the
same. I'm sure Captain Marshall would find yer efforts better spent in guarding
Mhor Manor." Her voice fell to an insistent whisper. "Glenis should
really be on her way, ye know. I dinna want to think of the captain's
displeasure when he returns to find his whiskey has been delayed."

Corporal Sims's eyes widened, and he sharply sucked in
his breath. "I've held you up too long already," he said, waving on
the cart.

When Glenis clucked her tongue to the horse and flicked
the reins, the cart squeaked into motion, and Madeleine caught the corporal's
sleeve. "Ye winna say a word to the others, will ye, Corporal Sims?"

He glanced down at her hand on his arm and swallowed
hard. If it hadn't been so dark she would have seen he was blushing to the
roots of his scalp. He met her searching gaze. "Not a word," he
declared emphatically. "I'm in command . . . uh . . . while Captain
Marshall and Sergeant Fletcher are gone, of course. If I say it's none of their
business, they won't ask me again."

"Thank ye, Denny," Madeleine said warmly.
"I'll be sure to mention yer kind cooperation to the captain."

He seemed stunned that she'd used his first name, or
even remembered it. "My—my pleasure, Mistress Fraser," he stuttered,
smiling sheepishly. He turned around so abruptly that he stubbed boot on a
flagstone and almost tripped. He straightened his shoulders, however, and kept
on walking as if nothing had happened.

At any other time, Madeleine might have laughed. On
this occasion she felt only relief that another unforeseen obstacle had been
overcome. She waited until the corporal had rejoined the other guards, then she
caught up with the cart as it rumbled down the drive. She held on to the seat,
running alongside. Her other hand clutched her muddied skirt to keep it from
tangling in the wooden spokes.

"Who taught ye to tell such stories, Maddie
Fraser?" Glenis scolded, feigning a reproachful tone. She glanced tenderly
at Madeleine, her eyes awash with tears, then her gaze skipped back to the
curved drive.

Madeleine felt hot tears streak her face, mingling with
the cool rain. Her lips were quivering as she attempted a smile. "Ye did,
Glenis Simpson," she panted. "Every time . . . ye caught me in some
scrape . . . ye told me I better have a good story . . . or else."

Her hand fell away from the seat as the cart picked up
speed at the bottom of the drive, the horse veering onto the road to Farraline.
"I-I love ye, Glenis," she gasped, not knowing if her old servant had
heard her or not. But it didn't matter. Glenis knew.

Madeleine stood there for a long time in the gentle
rain, her eyes fixed on the distant lighted windows of Farraline. At last she
turned back to the house and trudged up the drive. She was aware she must look
a sight with her hair plastered to her head and her sodden gown dragging in the
mud, but she didn't care.

She ignored the guards' curious stares and walked right
through their midst, heading determinedly for the front door. She stepped
inside, trailing rivulets of water as she climbed the stairs. Her brogues made
squishing noises as she hurried to her room.

She quickly stripped out of her wet clothes and changed
into the black garb she always wore for her raids, the guise that had earned
her the name Black Jack. There was no need to use extra caution at this point
and wait to change later, as she usually did. When it was time to go, she would
simply wrap her brown linen dressing gown around herself until she was safely
in the drawing room closet, then she would discard it in the tunnel.

She peered at the clock on the mantelpiece. The
porcelain face was almost impossible to read in the darkness, but she didn't
want to light a candle. She looked closer, barely making out the time. It was
just past nine o'clock. Two hours yet before she would leave the manor to join
her kinsmen at the yew tree.

She dragged the rocking chair from the far corner of
the room and set it in front of the window nearest her bed. She opened the
window, the cool breeze catching the curtains and filling the room with sweet,
rain-scented air.

Madeleine sat and began to braid her wet hair. The
chair's gentle rocking motion and the sound of rain droplets plunking on the
leaves outside soothed her frayed emotions, and gradually she felt some of the
tension easing from her body.

She was weary, but she would not allow herself to rest
or even close her eyes. She laid her head back and stared out the window,
envisioning the wild tumble of gray mountains soaring beyond the estate. It was
a view she had known all her life, a cherished view which she doubted she would
ever see again.

Fleeting memories of happier times crowded her mind.
She smiled, remembering when Mhor Manor had resounded with her father's exuberant
laughter and the lively voices of his tacksmen and tenants, gathered for a
twice-yearly ceilidh around a roaring peat fire on the back lawn.

Even as a child she had been allowed to join them,
listening raptly while the bards spun their fantastic stories and poems of
legendary deeds and epic valor. She could almost taste the heady heather ale
passed around the fire; she could almost hear the stirring melodies of harp,
pipes, and fiddle.

She fondly recalled the one occasion when her father
had allowed her a tiny swallow of "stop-the-breath" whiskey, a
dangerously potent brew. It was the only time she had ever heard Glenis
reprimand her father in public, her servant's anxious scolding rising shrilly
above Madeleine's red-faced coughing and teary gasps for breath.

Madeleine chuckled to herself and hugged her arms to
her chest. She would never forget the plaintive songs sung round the blazing
ceilidh fire, laments for heroes long dead, and the rousing recitations of clan
battles hard fought and won.

She shivered suddenly, remembering the poignant songs
of love; love's bitter betrayal, love denied and unrequited, love tragically
lost.

How many times had she seen tears glisten in her
father's eyes when he listened to the mournful verses? Her throat had always
tightened, a sense of helplessness welling up inside her as she longed to
comfort him, yet she knew she could not. All she could do was wish for the
melancholy songs to end, hoping a smile touched her father's face once more.

Madeleine sighed. She had never ceased to wonder why no
one ever sang of love's joy and devotion, the glorious rapture surrounding two
people in love.

She vividly recalled seeing such happiness when her
mother was alive. Her parents had found delight in each other's company and
their life together, enjoying joyous embraces and fervent kisses which had made
her giggle when she was a child. Love could not possibly be all heartbreak and
sorrow.

Madeleine ceased her gentle rocking, sitting still and
silent in the chair.

She had known such rapture last night with Garrett.

Aye, she could admit it to herself now. There was no
need any longer to repress her emotions or pretend her burgeoning feelings for
him did not exist. The truth could no longer be denied, especially in light of
her mortal danger. Her love for Garrett burned within her mind like a beacon,
pure and blindingly radiant.

She had never known such joy as she felt in his arms,
never known such happiness, such searing fulfillment. If that was what it felt
like to love, then she loved Garrett as surely as she lived and breathed.

She had made love to him completely, without question,
bestowing upon him everything she had to give, even as he met her with a
passionate force that far surpassed anything she had ever dreamed possible.

Madeleine gripped the chair, an impassioned yearning
bursting forth from the depths of her soul.

How she wished things were different! How she wished
she could know such love forever!

If only she and Garrett had met in another place,
another time, when they were not enemies, were not fettered by generations of
hatred, mistrust, and cruel bloodshed. A place and time where they could have
loved forever.