A Hint of Rapture (6 page)

He did not. After another ten minutes, Madeleine
decided the time had come. It was finally quiet in the clearing, and the only
sounds were an occasional snore, the wind whooshing through the Caledonian
pines and tall oaks, and the flames crackling and hissing. She took a deep
breath and raised her arm above her head.

Her eyes widened as the three guards suddenly
disappeared from their posts without even a struggle, attesting to the strength
and skill of her kinsmen. She only hoped the Fraser brothers had knocked their
opponents unconscious instead of slitting their throats.

She rose stealthily to her feet. The two men beside her
followed her cue and fanned out among the trees, circling the camp in an effort
to give the impression of far greater numbers.

When she was sure all pistols were drawn and flashing
dirks were at the ready, she slowly nodded her head. Treading carefully and
silently over clumps of moss, damp leaves, and pine needles, they advanced upon
the camp until they were almost on top of the sleeping soldiers.

Waving the others on, Madeleine halted beside a stout
oak, hiding in the shadow of its lower branches. She could not afford to be
recognized as a woman.

Despite her efforts to disguise her sex, her black garb
could not completely hide her feminine curves. Luckily she was tall for a woman
and could be mistaken for a man of slight build. Her blackened face and
low-slung cap hid the softness of her facial features well.

She leveled her pistols at the prone officer, noting
the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket. Her expression was
grim as she and her kinsmen cocked their weapons. The staccato clicks echoed
about the clearing.

***

Barely asleep, Garrett awakened abruptly at the ominous
sound. In one swift movement he rolled onto his side and lunged for his sword,
the hair rising on the back of his neck as he heard orders barked in the King's
English with a thick Highland burr.

"Stay where ye are lads, or win a bullet between
yer eyes for yer efforts!"

Garrett froze, gritting his teeth. His hand was barely
on the hilt of his sword. He dared to lift his head a fraction and look wildly
across the clearing. Spying at least four unrecognizable armed men in the dim
light, he quickly laid his head back down and clenched his fists in
frustration.

Damn! He should have known better than to camp here for
the night, becoming prey to any fugitive Highlanders. Despite the complaints of
his men, they should have marched on to Farraline. He had sensed something in
the air, a palpable tension which had made it difficult for him to sleep, but he
had shrugged it off. Why the devil hadn't he trusted his gut instincts?

"Now ye'll do us a favor and lie still whilst we
gather yer weapons," the menacing voice continued, cutting into his
thoughts. "Remember, lads, make nary a move or ye'll be dead before ye
draw yer next breath."

Garrett listened to the footfalls moving swiftly about
the camp and the chink of weapons being thrown into a distant pile. Suddenly
his blanket was wrenched from beneath him, and a pistol was held six inches
from his face as his own weapons were gathered up by a masked Highlander.

"Good ev'ning to ye, captain," said the gruff
voice of an older man. " 'Twas good of ye to finally lay yerself to
sleep." He picked up Garrett's sword. "I hope ye dinna mind if I take
this. Ye'll not be needing it tonight."

The Highlander's words confirmed Garrett's earlier
intuition. They must have been in the woods all along, waiting for the right
moment to spring their surprise attack. God, he hated feeling so helpless!
There had to be something he could do.

"Now don't be issuing any orders ye might
regret," the man added with a low laugh, sensing his discomfort.
"Just stay put along with yer soldiers, and ye'll live to see another
day."

Garrett made no reply as the man withdrew his pistol
and moved on to the next soldier. He stared up into the inky blackness
overhead, dotted with glittering stars, and wondered what these Highlanders
might have in store for them. Revenge for Culloden, perhaps?

A heavy silence hung over the clearing after the last
of the weapons was thrown onto the pile.

"All right, lads, ye can stand up now," the
same voice commanded. "Slowly does it. Keep yer hands out where we can see
them."

Garrett sat up and twisted around, attempting to take a
more complete count of the enemy. As far as he could tell, there were five
altogether, including the four he had seen earlier and one other, unless there
were more Highlanders lurking in the woods . . .

A sudden movement a short distance from the clearing
caught his attention. His eyes widened in amazement at the slight figure
standing well back in the shadows, dressed from head to toe in black, the
firelight glinting off two leveled pistols. The scene fit Colonel Wolfe's
description exactly. Black Jack!

The irony of the situation hit Garrett hard. He had
been sent out expressly to capture this elusive outlaw, and now he and his
soldiers had become the man's captives.

He glanced at the line of wagons winding back along the
wide path they had taken from Wade's Road, with the horses tethered nearby. If
what he had heard about Black Jack was true, these outlaws were more interested
in the supply wagons than in revenge. If no one provoked them, that was. They
had shot men before.

"On yer feet, captain," the nearest
Highlander growled, aiming his pistol threateningly at Garrett's chest.

Garrett stood up, catching out of the corner of his eye
the covert movement of the burly sergeant standing to his right. He whirled,
but it was too late to stop him.

Pulling a knife from his boot, the sergeant flung it at
the Highlander, who attempted to dodge the lethal missile. He wasn't quick
enough. The blade sank into his upper arm, and he cursed loudly. At the same
time a shot rang out in the clearing, and the sergeant sank heavily to the
ground.

"I'm hit, captain!" the sergeant gasped as if
he could not quite believe it. An ugly red stain widened around the singed hole
just below his left shoulder, blood streaming through his splayed fingers.

Stunned, Garrett looked from the black-clad figure in
the shadows who was holding a smoking pistol, to the soldier sprawled at his
feet. He took a step toward the wounded man.

"Stop where ye are," the nearby Highlander
grated. His pistol was still trained on Garrett though blood seeped from inside
his sleeve and streaked his trembling hand. Without a sound, he pulled the
knife from his flesh and hurled it to the ground.

Garrett's eyes narrowed angrily. "My sergeant
needs help. Shoot me if you will, but I'm not going to stand here while he
bleeds to death."

For a moment the Highlander simply stared at him as if
defying him to make another move. Then he seemed to waver. He glanced at Black
Jack in the shadows, who nodded curtly, and back to Garrett. "Go on with
ye then," he muttered, rubbing his arm.

Garrett dropped to his knees beside the wounded man. He
whipped his cravat from around his neck and used it to staunch the bleeding.
"That was a foolhardy thing to do, sergeant," he said sternly, though
he could not fault the man for trying.

"I'd do it again, Captain Marshall," the
sergeant grunted, his face ashen. "The wily bastards!"

Garrett was silent. He, too, had a knife in his boot,
as did many of the soldiers. Perhaps if their efforts were somehow coordinated,
there still might be a chance—

The injured Highlander's voice boomed across the
clearing, interrupting his thoughts. "While yer captain plays nursemaid,
the rest of ye strip off yer boots and yer clothes and throw everything in one
pile. Ye winna conceal any more weapons if we can help it. Then lie facedown on
the ground. Move!"

Garrett swore softly. So much for that plan.

After a few minutes he lifted the soiled from the
wound, pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped. Yet the man would need
medical attention to remove the bullet, which meant returning to Fort Augustus.
He could well imagine Colonel Wolfe's face, not to mention General Hawley's,
when they discovered what had happened. Dammit all! His mission had been
thwarted before it had really begun, and he had no one to blame but himself.

"Up with ye, captain, now, and strip off yer fine
uniform," the Highlander demanded. "It looks like yer sergeant will
live, so he'll not be needing yer care for a while. And we've no more time to
spend chatting with ye."

Garrett rose to his feet, his face darkening with fury
as he yanked off his boots and began to undress. His soldiers were already
stark naked and lying facedown in the dirt, while two of Black Jack's men tied
their hands and feet together.

The Highlander gave a short laugh when he picked up one
of Garrett's boots and a knife fell to the ground with a thud. "It could
have been ye with the ball in yer shoulder, eh, captain?"

Garrett didn't answer but merely shot a glance in Black
Jack's direction. To his surprise, the outlaw was nowhere to be seen. He
stepped out of his breeches, standing as God had made him in the center of the
camp. The indignity of it was almost more than he could stomach.

"Lie down by yer men."

Garrett threw his clothes on the pile near the fire and
grimly followed the Highlander's order. His hands were tied behind his back,
then his feet were bound securely.

"That should hold ye for a while, lads," a
different man said, his deep voice tinged with malice. "Perhaps when the
brave sergeant regains consciousness, he'll see fit to let ye go. Hopefully for
yer sakes 'twill be before any Highland wildcat roaming these hills picks up
yer scent. Ye look to be a fine lot of trussed turkeys from this angle!"

Furious, Garrett longed to lash out and tell the man his
raiding days were numbered, but he held his tongue. If he was given another
chance to set out for Strathherrick after this fiasco, he did not want these
outlaws to have any advance warning of what was in store for them.

A sudden whooshing sound startled him, and he began to
cough when acrid gray smoke billowed through the camp. With a groan he realized
the Highlanders had set fire to their boots and uniforms.

Just one more humiliation to endure, Garrett raged
silently. One more score to settle with Black Jack.

His eyes stinging from the thick smoke, he turned his
head and watched three of the Highlanders move toward the wagons, their arms
loaded with confiscated weapons. They disappeared along the path, then he heard
the anxious neighing of horses and wooden wheels creaking. They were hitching
up the supply wagons.

Garrett mumbled a swift prayer that the wagon carrying
extra clothing would be spared. If not, he doubted the few villages they had
passed along Wade's Road could provide them with thirty pairs of boots and
breeches. He and his men would become the laughingstock of the entire army if
they were forced to retire to Fort Augustus barefoot and naked.

He blinked several times from the smoke, his watery
eyes falling on Black Jack walking along the edge of the camp. The outlaw
turned for a moment and looked back in their direction, then was gone,
swallowed up by the dark woods.

"We'll meet again, Black Jack," Garrett
vowed, gasping from the smoke. "And next time, I swear it will be to my
advantage."

Chapter 4

Madeleine felt a warm satisfaction as she lifted the
last basket from the cart and hooked it over her arm. "Will ye see to the
mare, Neil, whilst I visit yer mama?" she said gently, smiling at the
young boy who was hopping excitedly beside the cart.

"Oh, aye, Maddie!" he exclaimed, his ruddy
cheeks aglow with health and vigor. His hazel eyes, wide as saucers, glanced at
the basket. "Have ye anything for me?" he asked hopefully.

Madeleine feigned a stern expression though her eyes
twinkled gaily. "Perhaps I do, Neil, but first ye must answer me this.
Have ye been a good boy this week, and helped yer mama with yer two younger
brothers now that the babe has come?"

Neil nodded his head vigorously, his reddish-blond hair
glistening in the warm sunshine. "Mama says as the oldest, I make a fine
man o' the house!"

Madeleine felt a rush of pity but gave no note of it in
her voice. "And right she is, Neil Chrystie," she agreed heartily as
she flipped aside the linen cloth and reached into the basket. She pulled out a
white tissue-wrapped packet and handed it to the boy. " 'Tis fresh from
Glenis's kitchen. Mind ye, remember to save some for yer brothers."

Neil hastily tore away the paper, his small face
splitting into a wide grin as he revealed the sweet treasures. He bit eagerly
into a thick square of tablet candy studded with sugared walnuts. Munching
happily, he suddenly remembered his manners. "Thank ye, Maddie," he
managed, his mouth full to bursting. Thanks to the English is more the truth of
it, Madeleine thought, walking toward the neat stone cottage. She had found the
unexpected surprise of a large bag of walnuts in one of the supply wagons
stolen earlier in the week.

Aye, it had been a most successful raid. Almost
perfect, except for the shooting. She had never shot a man before. Yet she did
not regret her action. She had done what was necessary to protect her kinsman,
and she would gladly do it again if she had to.

Och, dinna think of the blasted redcoats, she scolded
herself, or 'twill ruin yer outing for sure. She thought instead of what had
transpired that day, and her sense of pleasure swiftly returned.

She had had a wonderful morning paying calls on the
villagers in Farraline, especially the widows of Culloden and their children.
The well-fed, contented faces that had greeted her at every turn were a reward
more precious than gold. The stocked pantries and bubbling stew pots further
gladdened her heart and heightened her belief that she had done the right
thing.