A Hint of Rapture (33 page)

General Hawley kicked his horse with his brightly
polished boots. The animal was clearly straining as it walked past them, then
stopped once again in the road. "Captain Marshall?" the general said
without turning his head.

Sergeant Fletcher turned to Garrett. "I should
take her, captain," he said anxiously. "I'll see to it that she's
well tended, with warm blankets and the like. She did the same for you once . .
." His voice trailed off, and he looked momentarily flustered.

Garrett could empathize with his sergeant's confusion.
He reluctantly handed Madeleine over to him, his hand brushing against her
cheek. "Thank you, Fletcher."

He turned and mounted his bay, which had been brought
to him by one of his soldiers. He drew up alongside General Hawley, who was
staring toward the south end of the village, glints of fire reflected in his
hooded eyes.

Garrett felt a chill cut through him at the pleased
smile on the general's face. "General Hawley, I took the liberty of
ordering your men to stay their torches, seeing that I've captured Black
Jack—"

"So I've just been informed," General Hawley
interrupted bluntly, without taking his gaze from the burning cottages. A long,
uncomfortable silence settled between them until the general spoke up
excitedly. "Look there." He pointed with his horsewhip. "What a
magnificent sight."

Garrett followed his gaze to a cottage only fifty feet
away, one of the last to have been torched before he called a halt to the
destruction. A ball of flame shot up high into the inky black sky as the roof suddenly
gave way, crashing into the fire-gutted interior with a roaring whoosh.

"I would like to see that happen to every cottage
in the Highlands," General Hawley said acidly. "These Jacobite
bastards will never survive the winter without roofs over their treasonous
heads. When they're freezing and starving to death, they'll wish a thousand
times I hadn't spared their miserable lives tonight." He looked sharply at
Garrett. "My order stands, Captain Marshall. Farraline is to be burned to
the ground as a warning to any other villages in Strathherrick who might harbor
an enemy of the Crown." He dug his boots into his stallion's flanks.
"I've acquired quite a thirst from this night's work, captain. Lead
on."

Garrett felt as if he had been slammed violently in the
chest. He could scarcely breathe, and he could not think. He could only act.

Gripped by stark despair he urged his bay into a trot,
riding side by side with a man from whom he could expect no pity.

Behind them the night once again resounded with screams
as General Hawley's soldiers set about their task with renewed vengeance,
cottage after cottage falling to the twisting flames.

Chapter 23

It was almost noon the next day when Garrett and his
soldiers prepared to leave Mhor Manor, ordered by General Hawley to rejoin
Colonel Wolfe's regiment at Fort Augustus.

"Your mission is completed to the satisfaction of
your superiors. You are dismissed, Major Marshall!" General Hawley's
second-in-command shouted, with a final salute after the brief promotion ceremony.

Garrett stonily acknowledged the officer, then turned
to Sergeant Fletcher. "Give the order, sergeant," he said tersely.

"Step lively, men. We're on to Fort
Augustus!"

Garrett was consumed by fury as his men began to march
in solemn double lines down the dirt drive, his prancing bay bringing up the
rear. He felt as if he were living a nightmare. The events of the past hours
played relentlessly in his mind . . .

Last night after a few brimming goblets of wine,
General Hawley had soon tired of asking questions about Black Jack and had
insisted upon viewing the secret tunnel. Axes had made short work of the
planked floor in the drawing room closet, exposing the gaping black hole.

It had been a terrible revelation, and had confirmed
everything Glenis had told him. Yet it was no more terrible than the general's
disclosure of his plans for Madeleine and her kinsmen amid a celebration which
was fueled by copious quantities of red wine.

"First we'll have a day's respite after the rigors
of this evening," General Hawley had stated drunkenly, his strident
laughter echoing about the room, "then we're off to my new headquarters in
Edinburgh and the triumphant task of delivering our Jacobite dogs to the castle
gaol. Within a fortnight, the wench and her traitor friends will be tried for
treason and hanged!"

Garrett grimaced at the awful memory, his knuckles
white as he clutched the reins. He had known at that moment there was no use in
making a plea for Madeleine's life and the lives of her kinsmen. After what he
had witnessed in Farraline he could expect no mercy from General Henry Hawley.

No, he had decided to wait. Another idea was forming in
his mind. It was a desperate plan, but it was his only hope.

Garrett turned in his saddle, hoping to catch one last
glimpse of Mhor Manor and the stable just beyond the house. His heart thudded
dully. But it was too late. The buildings were already hidden behind a thick
copse of fir trees.

He twisted back around, wondering how Madeleine was
faring that morning, wondering if she was well. Thanks to Hawley, he had not
seen her since he had handed her over to Sergeant Fletcher last night. The
general had forbidden any access to the prisoners because he feared an escape
attempt.

At first Garrett thought he could get around the order
because his men were serving as guards. He had gone to the stable after Hawley
and his commanders had finally retired to their rooms, only to discover that
Sergeant Fletcher and his men had been replaced by some of General Hawley's own
troops.

His request to enter had been denied. Frustrated and
angered, he had returned to Glenis's room, his assigned sleeping quarters since
the rooms upstairs were occupied by Hawley's officers. There he had spent a
sleepless night, his mind in anguish.

The worst part of this endless nightmare was the
sickening feeling that he might never see Madeleine again.

"Dammit, man, you will see her again!"
Garrett whispered fiercely to himself.

"What was that, Captain Marshall . . . uh . . . I
mean Major Marshall?" Sergeant Fletcher asked, dropping his position at
the back of the line to walk beside Garrett's horse.

Garrett sighed. "Nothing, Fletcher. I was merely.

He paused, struck by a sudden idea. "I've decided
to ride on ahead, sergeant," he continued evenly, masking his impatience.
"Colonel Wolfe should be informed of our successful mission and Black
Jack's capture as soon as possible. I'd like you to take charge of the men and
see them to Fort Augustus in my stead."

"No trouble at all, major," Sergeant Fletcher
replied, slinging his musket more comfortably over his shoulder. "You're
right about Colonel Wolfe. He'd be more than interested in the news."

"Good," Garrett responded, scarcely hearing
him. "I'll expect you and the men sometime later this evening. It shouldn't
be too hard a march without the wagons."

He didn't wait for a reply but spurred the bay into a
fast gallop. The massive animal seemed to sense his urgency, and his forceful
strides rapidly lengthened the distance between Garrett and his startled soldiers.

Garrett's thoughts whirled as he sped along, the wild
scenery around him fading into a blur of color.

As soon as he reached Fort Augustus, he would explain
everything to Colonel Wolfe. He could trust the colonel to understand. He would
ask for immediate leave, then set out at once for London.

His brother Gordon was his only chance. As a respected
court minister, he had the ear of King George. Nothing less than a king's
pardon would rescue Madeleine from the gallows, and Garrett must somehow
persuade Gordon to request one—in time to save her.

Garrett clenched this teeth as a wave of bitterness
gripped him. How humiliating that he should have to entrust his fragile dream,
his very soul, to a brother who had always hated him.

He only hoped Gordon still wanted to possess Rosemoor.
It was his only means of bargaining for Madeleine's life.

Biting tears suddenly clouded his vision, choking off
his last thought. He was shaken by the intensity of his emotion.

"No, this fight isn't over yet," Garrett
vowed defiantly.

He thought of Madeleine's wild beauty, her kiss, her
laughter, her smiles, and her touch. The vivid memories spurred him on and he
raced across the purple heather, thinking only of when he would see her again.

***

"They're gone, Maddie," Angus reported.
"Major Marshall and his soldiers are gone."

He turned stiffly from the high stable window where he
had watched the past half hour's proceedings: the promotion ceremony, the curt
farewells, the march from Mhor Manor. His gaze met Madeleine's. "They must
be on their way back to Fort Augustus. They dinna take the road into Farraline
but turned south toward Aberchalder."

"Aye, 'tis probably so," Madeleine said
tonelessly. She looked away, leaning her head against the stall. She winced
from a sudden, throbbing ache but chose to ignore it. At least it had dulled
from the piercing pain that had plagued her until a few hours ago.

She glanced back at Angus. He was staring at her
strangely, as if he was surprised she hadn't thrown some sharp-tongued barb to
send Garrett and his men on their way. She couldn't tell him she felt too numb
and paralyzed by Garrett's betrayal even to mention his name.

Angus would never understand. He had no idea of what
had passed between herself and Garrett—nor would he. It was her own private
pain, her well deserved punishment for having trusted a redcoat, for having
ever entertained the notion that she loved him. Aye, she was truly a fool.

"I dinna care where the major is bound,
Angus," she said dully. "I think we should be more concerned with
what's to happen to us now."

It was true enough, she thought, pushing the dirty
straw on the floor with her boot. She didn't want to think about Garrett any
longer. He had gotten what he had come for, and left. It was as simple as could
be. He was gone from her life forever.

"I heard the guards talking outside the
window," Angus said, easing himself down beside her. He grimaced, his body
bruised and sore from last night's ambush. "They said something about
Edinburgh Castle."

Madeleine nodded slowly. "Ye know what that means,
Angus. There's a prison in the castle. 'Tis where our Lord Lovat's son, Master
Simon, is being held." She smiled grimly. " 'Twould not be so bad to
share a cell with our future chief."

When Angus did not readily answer, Madeleine turned
slightly to look at him. He was staring straight ahead, deep concern etched on
his ruddy face. She followed his gaze to where Ewen sat, his eyes closed,
Duncan sleeping beside him, then over to Allan, who was wiping the feverish
sweat from his younger brother's brow.

She sighed heavily, besieged by despair. Kenneth was
very ill, maybe dying. It was not so much the bullet that had felled him, but
the surgeon's disinterested and incompetent care afterward which placed his
life in jeopardy.

It had been a terrible scene. Kenneth's agonized
screams were the first thing she had heard when she regained consciousness. The
removal of the ball from Kenneth's thigh had been accompanied by a great loss
of blood, the surgeon's clumsy knife having only made things worse. Kenneth had
fainted from pain, his hands still desperately clutching his brother's.

After the surgeon had staunched the bleeding and
bandaged the ravaged leg, he had left the stable and never returned. The others
could only tend to Kenneth as best they could, tearing strips of their clothing
into rags which they soaked into their drinking water to soothe his raging
fever.

Now it was clear their efforts had been in vain.
Kenneth was deathly pale, his breathing raspy and shallow. Madeleine feared he
would not survive the journey to Edinburgh, or even the next few hours. Dear
God, when would the horrors end?

She was suddenly overcome by everything that had
happened and by her own wretched helplessness. Her chin trembled, tears
tumbling down her cheeks. She could not have stopped them if she tried, and she
was forced to break her vow that she would never let her kinsmen see her cry.

"Och, Maddie," Angus crooned gently when he
heard her sobbing. He put his arm around her shaking shoulders. " 'Tis not
yer fault, if that's what ye're thinking. Kenneth knew the dangers when he
chose to ride with us. We all did." He hugged her tightly. "We fought
a good battle, Maddie Fraser. For a few months we helped our kin to
survive."

"Farraline is gone, Angus!" Madeleine cried,
her tears flowing unchecked. "Burned to the ground!" She shuddered,
remembering last night's flames and the curling black smoke she had seen that
morning when she peered from the stable window. She could well imagine the
smoldering ruins. "How can ye say we've helped our kin when we brought
this upon them? Now they've no homes, and the winter is coming—"

"Hush with ye!" Angus chided, giving her a
firm shake. "Think, Maddie. Think of all ye've done! Aye, ye gave them
food, but dinna forget ye gave them hope, too. Do ye think 'twill die so easily
in their hearts?"

She sniffed, not answering him.

"Clan Fraser is a hardy lot, lass," he
continued fervently. "They'll rebuild long before winter, ye can be sure.
And there's food on Beinn Dubhcharaidh, plenty of food to last the winter. Ewen
saw to it last night that his good wife knows where to find the cave, and so
does Flora Chrystie. Ye dinna have to worry for the Frasers of Strathherrick,
Maddie. Ye saw to that." He swore under his breath. "They'll prove
that Hawley wrong. A Fraser wishing himself dead—'twill never happen!"