A Hint of Rapture (15 page)

She spat distastefully. God's wounds! She couldn't wait
until she was free of this place. She began to run, her panting breaths echoing
in front of her and behind her. She remembered enjoying this far more at
fourteen, but her father had been with her then, holding her hand, talking
reassuringly to her, and making her laugh so she wouldn't be frightened.

Madeleine thought she might scream by the time she
reached the end of the tunnel. Disgustedly she swatted a fat brown spider from
her shoulder. If it weren't for Garrett and his blasted redcoats, she thought,
she would be going about her raids as before without having to resort to such
drastic and repulsive measures.

At the end there was another trap door which was much
heavier to lift than the other. She knew it was covered by six inches of sod
above ground. She extinguished her candle, plunging the tunnel into darkness,
and set it with the tinderbox in one corner. Then she scrambled up the ladder
and heaved her shoulder against the trap door with every ounce of her strength.

Finally the trap door gave way and fell back against a
tree trunk. She climbed out, ducking the low branches and swallowing great
lungfuls of fresh, night air. She was grateful for the thick cover of fir
trees, which hid her from view.

She glanced behind her at the manor house some forty
yards away, glowing a pale white in the moonlight, then back to the yawning
trap door. What an ordeal that had been, but she would have to repeat it again
and again until the English soldiers left Strathherrick.

Och, if it benefited her people, then so be it, she
consoled herself. That was worth every hardship. She closed the trap door,
smoothed the grass-laden sod, and set off at a brisk walk toward Errogie, which
was just over two miles away.

She could have asked her kinsmen to wait for her closer
to Mhor Manor, but that would have been far too dangerous with the soldiers
billeted there. It was better for her to meet them at the ancient yew tree
where her clan had cut their badges for hundreds of years. Such a meeting place
would surely bring them good luck.

Halfway there Madeleine changed clothes, which allowed
her to quicken her pace. It was much easier to tramp upon the peaty,
heather-strewn moors in trousers than in an unwieldy gown. The nights were cool
in the Highlands, no matter how hot the day, and her heavy woolen jacket gave
her extra warmth.

She ran the last distance because she didn't want to be
late. She had instructed her kinsmen to wait no longer than fifteen minutes
after midnight. If she didn't arrive by then, it meant the raid should be
abandoned.

Night sounds surrounded her as she ran, adding a
haunting quality to the starlit night. There wasn't even a hint of quality fog
which was so common in the Highlands.

She started as a hind barked nearby, alerting other red
deer to her presence. Small animals—pine marten, voles, rabbits, and field
mice—rustled and squeaked in the darkness. A peregrine falcon, startled from
its perch, shrieked from a high treetop. She loved these wild sounds, the cries
of the night.

She rounded the northern tip of Loch Mhor, stopping for
the briefest moment to gaze breathlessly at the long stretch of water. A ribbon
of moonlight streamed across the placid surface, melting into the inky black
depths. It was so beautiful, and she found herself wishing she had someone to
share such a bewitching sight with her. Unwittingly, she thought of Garrett . .
.

She shivered, banishing him from her mind. What was
coming over her? Her kinsmen were waiting for her and were no doubt wondering
what was taking her so long. She set out once again, determined to think of
nothing but the impending raid.

Madeleine raced over the last hill, holding on to her
black cap. She spied the towering yew tree, but there was no sign of her
kinsmen. Her heart knocked against her breast. She knew she wasn't late. Had something
happened? She slowed to a furtive walk as she looked around.

"Maddie, over here!"

Relief poured through her at the sound of Ewen's voice.
She looked to her right and smiled broadly as five familiar shapes materialized
out of the blackness. Six horses followed behind them, the animals nickering
softly.

"Ye had me worried for a moment," she
whispered once she was in their midst. "Why dinna ye wait for me by the
yew tree?"

"A small group of soldiers passed by here a half
hour ago," Angus said, his gruff voice low and anxious. "Probably a
few of the devil's lot searching for our prince. It seemed they were on their
way north to Inverness, but we decided not to take any chances. We hid well
back in those trees there, just over the rise." He sighed heavily. "
'Tis a good thing ye came no sooner, Maddie."

"Dinna fret over it," she said. "The
danger is past. See, our yew has already brought us luck once this
evening."

"Aye, so it has," Angus agreed as the others
nodded their heads. "Here are yer pistols, lass, all primed and
ready."

"Thank ye," she said, taking the two pistols
from him and slipping them into her belt, which also held her dirk. She was
glad Angus had convinced her to allow him to care for her weapons, especially
now that redcoats were quartered in her house. These pistols were the last
thing she wanted found in her possession.

Madeleine sensed her kinsmen's eagerness as they
gathered close around her, waiting for her command. It matched her own.

"We'll ride to Wade's Road, as we planned, and settle
in at the pine grove near Inverfarigaig," she said quietly. "Ye'll
wait for my signal. If 'tis safe, we'll take the first supply train that comes
along. Any questions?'

There were none.

"All right, then. We've had a week's rest and a
few unwelcome surprises" —she paused, deciding not to mention Garrett's
name— "since last we rode together. But we'll not think of that now. We'll
think only of the villagers who need fresh meat for their cooking pots."

They quickly mounted their horses and broke into a gallop
along the narrow road to Inverfarigaig. As they passed the ancient yew tree,
Madeleine veered her mount toward it. She reached up and yanked off a fresh
sprig, sticking it into the pocket of her jacket.

Aye, now she was well protected. She caught up with her
kinsmen and passed them, swiftly taking the lead.

***

Garrett lay staring at the ceiling, his head resting in
his hands. It was the second night in a row he couldn't sleep.

He exhaled slowly. If this kept up, he'd be sleeping
during the day when he was supposed to be about his mission, which might not
even matter. After the miserable day he'd had, he was no closer to discovering
anything about Black Jack than if he and his men hadn't gone out at all. The
Highlanders of Strathherrick were as tight-lipped as they come when they were
protecting one o their own.

He rolled over and reached for the gold pocket watch
lying atop the bedside table. He held it up and squinted at it in the faint
moonlight.

Damn! It was half past three already. He'd finished writing
in his military journal and had gone to bed near midnight. He had spent almost
four useless hours tossing and turning, all the while wondering how he was
going to accomplish his mission and if he would ever hold Madeleine in his arms
again.

Garrett threw the watch onto the table in disgust and
leaned on his elbow. Well, he had a few choices. He could either remain here in
bed and chase sleep for another hour, or he could perhaps get something to eat
from Glenis's kitchen. He hoped she wouldn't mind his intrusion too much.

Or maybe he could take a walk outside, he thought. Some
fresh air and exercise might help clear his mind and perhaps even make him
drowsy.

He made a quick decision and flung back the covers. It
took him only a moment to dress, then he was out the door and walking quietly
down the dark hallway.

Suddenly he stopped and turned around slowly. Good God,
what was possessing him? He walked back past his room and toward the other end
of the hallway . . . toward Madeleine's room.

His hand touched the latch. He told himself he merely
wanted to see that she was well. Yet he knew it was more than that.

He had the strongest desire to gaze on her beauty while
she slept. He hadn't seen her since the afternoon at the loch, and he felt as
if he were starving for a glimpse of her.

Garrett stepped into her room, leaving the door
slightly ajar. It had flashed through his mind that she might awaken and take
unkindly to his presence in her bedchamber. And she was armed, he thought
dryly. He had seen to that. Better to leave the door open, in case he needed to
exit quickly to escape her dirk.

He moved stealthily toward the bed as his eyes adjusted
to the darkness. He could see a slender form outlined beneath the coverlet. He
forced himself to breathe slowly and steadily, although his heart was pounding.
He reached out and touched his fingers lightly on the folded edge of the
coverlet.

A strong gust of wind suddenly blew into the room from
the open window, billowing the long gauze curtains. They flapped and twisted in
the breeze, and Garrett backed away, fearing she would wake and find him there.
He glanced at the bed regretfully and quickly left the room, closing the door
softly behind him. He did not notice that he had failed to secure the latch,
and the door slipped open again.

Somewhat shaken, he strode down the hallway to the main
staircase. Obviously he would have to wait until tomorrow to see her again,
which was probably just as well. If she had found him in her room her curses
would no doubt have awakened the entire household. Her language seemed to
become inspired whenever she saw him.

Garrett hurried down the steps, his eyes narrowing
angrily. Heaven help him, were his men becoming as careless and undisciplined
as they seemed? The guard was sleeping so soundly, with his chair tilted
against the wall and his mouth gaping open, that he didn't even hear Garrett's
approach.

Garrett kicked one of the chair legs as he walked by,
and the chair fell forward. The soldier sprawled onto the floor, groaning and
mumbling incoherently.

"Is this how you hold your position, man?"
Garrett asked, his expression hard. He slid the knife from his belt, bent over
the gaping soldier and grabbed him by the hair. He rested the sharp blade under
the man's right ear.

"Don't you realize a Highlander could sneak in
without a moment's warning and slit your sorry throat?" He traced the cold
tip along the soldier's neck from ear to ear to drive home his message. The man
was so terrified he couldn't speak. He only nodded, swallowing furiously.

"Get up," Garrett said sternly, withdrawing
his knife and sheathing it. The soldier jumped to his feet, swaying slightly.
It was obvious his knees were shaking. "I'm going out for a walk. See that
you're awake when I get back."

"Y-yes, sir. Yes, sir!"

Garrett opened the door and strode outside. The three
soldiers patrolling the drive stopped and snapped to attention. He was glad to
see at least they had not deserted their posts.

"Good evening, Captain Marshall . . . er . . . I
mean good morning," one of the soldiers offered.

Garrett acknowledged the greeting with a short nod.
"I take it everything has been quiet tonight."

"Yes, captain."

"Good. Carry on." He walked away from them,
aware that they were wondering what he was doing up so early in the morning. He
shrugged it off. It was good to keep them on their toes.

He hiked down the drive and onto the road to Farraline
for a good distance, then doubled back the other way. He knew he'd made the
right choice. The cool night air was working like a tonic on his senses,
drawing everything into sharp focus and clearing his mind.

Garrett stopped and stared up at the black sky,
sprinkled with thousand's of winking stars. The moon hung like a pale white
crescent just over the mountains.

His gaze fell on the great, hulking shadows soaring
directly in front of him. Somewhere in those craggy hills and hollows dwelled
the man he was seeking, he was sure of it.

"Where are you, Black Jack?" Garrett said
softly, his words lost on the sighing breeze. "Dammit, where are
you?"

He turned and began to walk in a wide arc around the
manor house, his boots sinking into the spongy moor. The fir trees were thick
here, tall, ancient trees that had withstood many a Highland winter. He rambled
on, content to be outside amid such rugged beauty. He drew in great breaths of
the bracing air, slapping his arms vigorously. Perhaps he should have worn his
coat—

"What the devil?" he exclaimed suddenly,
crouching on his haunches. Had he just imagined it . . . or was someone
creeping across the moor?

Garrett held himself completely still with his senses
alert and his body poised for action. He watched and listened.

Yes, there it was again! His keen eyes followed a lone
figure who was stealing like a silent cat across a stretch of barren moor. Then
the shadowy form disappeared into a copse of fir trees, the branches swallowing
him up and covering his flight.

Garrett could not believe it. A black-clad figure in
the dark night. Could it possibly be . . .

He didn't dare to hope. There was no time for thought,
only action. He sprinted toward the trees, his heart racing, his eyes searching
for any sign of movement.

Garrett fell to the ground as the figure darted out
again only thirty feet away from him. His fingers groped for his knife, and he
pulled it out, clutching it in one hand. He jumped up and bolted after the
fleeing form.

Garrett cursed under his breath as the figure dashed
into another copse of trees just ahead of him, no more than ten feet away. He
did not slow down. He was so close, and he had to catch the bastard!