A Hint of Rapture (35 page)

"What the hell does that mean?" Garrett
shouted angrily, jumping to his feet. "Either you can help me or you
can't!"

Gordon grabbed the glass on the table, sloshing some of
the brandy onto the carpet. He shoved the glass at Garrett. "Drink
this," he demanded between clenched teeth. "When you're calmer, we'll
talk." He walked around the desk, pausing to peer out the window as a glossy
black carriage clattered to a halt near the front door. His tone softened
somewhat. "Ah, Celinda must have completed her afternoon calls." He
turned around just as Garrett slammed his empty tumbler on the table.

"There, I feel better," Garrett said, his
throat burning. "Do we have an agreement, Lord Kemsley?"

Gordon nodded, eyeing Garrett steadily. "I will
draft a petition of pardon and present it to the king tomorrow morning. I well
understand the need for haste in this matter. "

"What will you tell him?"

Gordon impatiently waved off Garrett's question.
"Leave the particulars to me, Garrett. I know the king's mind. His
Highness has an intense dislike for Jacobites, as you've seen displayed in the
duke of Cumberland's and Hawley's recent behavior, both being sons after his
own heart."

"I'd call them butchers," Garrett spat.

"Now, now, brother, you'd best be careful what you
say, or you might find yourself being tried for treason," Gordon warned,
throwing him a dark look.

Garrett's jaw tightened, his eyes flaring. "Don't
even think of it. You know such a scheme would only drag you down with me,
blackening your name along with mine. "

"Believe me, Garrett, I realized long ago that
that idea lacked potential," Gordon commented dryly. He began to pace
behind his desk, idly playing with the frothy white lace at his throat. "A
young woman stealing food to save her starving people . . . Well, even if she
is a Jacobite the story does have a decided touch of pathos."

"Pathos?" Garrett snorted. "You have a
gift for reducing brave and desperate acts to a matter of little consequence,
Gordon. You should see what's been done to the Highlands, see the innocent
people struggling to survive on what little we've left to them."

Gordon pointedly ignored his outburst. "Yes, it
just might sway the king," he considered aloud. "After all, the
Highland Scots are his subjects as well, though they'd be the last to admit it.
King George has already effected pardons for some of the misguided fools who
participated in the uprising. Why not pardon a woman who has wisely seen fit to
charm an English officer?" Suddenly he stopped pacing to stare at Garrett.

"What?" Garrett snapped, glaring back at him.

"You said you love this wench?" Gordon
queried. "Perhaps, then, you're even considering a marriage?"

"Her name is Madeleine," Garrett corrected
him, "and yes, that is my hope, if she'll have me. After what Hawley did
the other night, she's more likely to spit in my face."

"It's perfect," Gordon said to himself.
"That might be exactly the point to sway him."

"What are you talking about?"

Gordon set down his glass and came around the desk to
stand in front of Garrett. "You're a fool if you think the king will
restore a forfeited estate to a pardoned criminal," he said harshly.
"What guarantee does King George have that she won't begin her disruptive
activities again?"

Garrett shook his head, unable to answer.

"Exactly. So what I propose is this. Offer the
wench a choice. If she agrees to marry you, she'll be granted the king's pardon
and the estate will be restored in your name. You'll be stationed permanently
in Strathherrick, where you'll complete your commission, and King George will
rest easy knowing she's wed to an Englishman who will keep her under firm
control."

"And if she doesn't agree to marry me?"
Garrett asked grimly, though he already sensed the answer.

Gordon shrugged. "Then she chooses her own death
sentence."

Furious, Garrett grabbed Gordon's velvet coat,
wrenching his brother to within inches of his face. "That's not good
enough, Gordon," he grated, his voice dangerously low. "Either she
lives or you've lost Rosemoor forever. I'd burn it down rather than have you
ever set foot in it again."

Gordon's face was ashen, though he didn't flinch.
"Let go of me," he demanded quietly, belying his barely controlled
rage "Don't threaten me again, Garrett. I'm your only hope, and you damn
well know it. Do you think I'd rest this entire agreement on the fickle whims
of a woman?"

He staggered back as Garrett roughly released him. His
expression was grim as he straightened his coat, his gray-green eyes darkened
to the same hard slate as his younger brother's. "You said she has five
kinsmen who were captured with her."

Garrett nodded, too angry to speak.

"It's simple, Garrett. Tell Mistress Fraser that
if she doesn't agree, her kinsmen will share the same fate as her own. Do you
think she will so wantonly throw away their lives? I doubt it. From, the way
you've described her, she'd do anything to save them."

Gordon moved away at the sound of tapping footsteps in
the outer hall. "I share the same Scots blood as you, Garrett," he
added quickly. "I've heard grandmother's countless stories of clan
loyalty. If Mistress Fraser knows her kinsmen will also be pardoned if she
agrees to a marriage, then you'll have a wife before the day is out." He
threw back the last of his brandy. "I only hope she's worth it to
you."

Suddenly the door swung open, and a tall, blond woman
in a beribboned gown of rose satin walked gracefully into the room.

"Oh, forgive me, darling," she said, stopping
abruptly. "I didn't know you had a visitor."

Garrett turned around, his gaze meeting cool ice-blue
eyes in an exquisite porcelain face. "Celinda," he said, swallowing
his ire. "It's good to see you again."

"Garrett," Celinda said, clearly stunned. She
walked stiffly toward him. "What a surprise." She cast a look at her
husband as Garrett kissed her hand lightly. "Gordon, you didn't tell me
your brother was due in London. I would have planned a dinner, made arrangements—"

"It was as much of a surprise to me, my
dear."

"It's only a short visit, Celinda," Garrett
replied, seeking to ease some of the tension in the room. "I trust I will
be on my way back to Scotland tomorrow, after my business here has been
completed." He glanced meaningfully at Gordon, who slightly inclined his
head.

"Well, I hope you'll share supper with us,"
Celinda said graciously, having recovered herself and her impeccable manners.
She accepted Garrett's proffered arm. "Do you have lodging? If not, we'd
be delighted to have you stay with us, wouldn't we, Gordon?"

Garrett found himself smiling. Celinda was as beautiful
and imperturbable as ever. He had long ago forgiven her for her slight,
realizing she had meant him no ill will. She had evidently always wanted to be
the wife of a member of the House of Lords, something Garrett could never have
offered her.

He walked with her from the library, thinking how
fortunate he was that Celinda had chosen Gordon instead. It had left his heart
free to love his wild Highland beauty.

Garrett felt his heart lurch in his chest at the
thought of Madeleine in a cold prison cell.

God willing, he prayed fervently, King George would
sign the pardon, and he would arrive in Edinburgh in time to save her from the
gallows by making her his bride.

***

It was three days before the precious document was
placed in Garrett's hands, three days that had passed like the slowest torture.

"His highness was reluctant to sign," Gordon
stated matter-of-factly, "no doubt anticipating Hawley's displeasure. It
was his high regard for my good judgment and the marriage clause that finally
convinced him, though he quipped that you must be mad to take on a Highlander
as a wife. He trusts you'll keep her well in hand." He sighed
meaningfully. "I hope the delay does not prove costly to us."

Garrett made no comment as he read every word
carefully, at the bottom of the page tracing his finger over the king's florid
signature and the royal seal. His blood roared in his veins and he felt
light-headed with relief, scarcely believing it. Madeleine's pardon.

"Satisfied?"

Garrett glanced at his brother across the desk.
"Yes," he acknowledged. "Everything seems to be in order."
He quickly rolled up the document and slipped it inside his heavy riding coat.
"You've reviewed the papers drawn up by my solicitor?"

Gordon nodded tersely.

"Good. I have retained a quarter interest in the
property's income and the monetary inheritance I received from Father, for
which you receive full deed and title to Rosemoor and the remaining yearly
income. Are you agreeable to this arrangement?"

"I have signed it," Gordon answered, arching
a dark brow. "You strike a hard bargain, Garrett. I look forward to
hearing from you posthaste concerning the outcome. I trust it will prove
profitable for both of us."

Garrett was already striding to the door. As an
afterthought he stopped and turned around, his gaze meeting his brother's.
"I thank you, Gordon," he said, the words not leaping easily from his
tongue. He knew if not for Rosemoor, the priceless parchment next to his heart
would never have come to pass. Yet he meant it all the same, for what it was
worth.

"Don't thank me yet, brother," Gordon
replied. "You've a long ride ahead of you. You don't want to tempt the
devil." He glanced out the window, then back to Garrett. "I've given
you the best charger I own to start you on your way. Arabian bloodlines."

Garrett swallowed hard, not missing the hint of
understanding in Gordon's eyes. It was the first warmth he had seen there in
years. "Lord Kemsley," he said with a short bow, then turned to go.

"She must be truly extraordinary."

Garrett started, glancing back at his brother. He
smiled faintly, then walked through the door.

Chapter 25

Edinburgh, Scotland

Madeleine sank into a crouching position against the
rough stone wall and pressed her hands over her ears in a futile attempt to
drown out the piteous moans of the prisoner in the adjoining cell, a Highlander
who had lost his mind after Culloden.

Or so the surly guards had told her. More likely he had
gone mad from torture and abuse. She had seen and heard enough misery during
the past five days of imprisonment in Edinburgh Castle to last a lifetime, and
her life was becoming very short indeed.

Her public execution was slated for tomorrow afternoon,
on Castle Hill at the same site where scores of criminals convicted for
treason, heresy, and sorcery had met their end. She was almost thankful the
wretched ordeal would soon be over.

The trial had come soon after she and her kinsmen
arrived in Edinburgh, a hasty affair that had taken no more than an hour from
beginning to end. She, Angus Ramsay, Ewen and Duncan Burke, and Allan Fraser
had been found guilty of high treason against the Crown and sentenced to be
hanged until dead. Their bodies would then be drawn, quartered, and consumed by
fire, their heads displayed prominently on iron spikes to the curious citizenry
of Edinburgh.

At least Kenneth Fraser would not share their grisly
fate, she thought. He had died on the first day of their week-long march to
Edinburgh, and his body was quickly buried beneath a cairn of stones along the
steep Corrieyairack Pass.

She had shed no tears. They had all been spent. She and
her kinsmen were given barely a moment beside the grave before they were shoved
back into line, flanked by soldiers on every side who taunted and jeered.

It had been a nightmare. Her only consolation was that
she had been spared from rape. It was as if her filthy man's garb somehow
protected her, making her appear less a woman in the eyes of the soldiers.

Madeleine sat cross-legged on the floor, worn smooth by
countless prisoners before her. She massaged her bare feet. The painful
blisters were almost healed, enabling her to walk with only a slight limp.

The soles of her feet had been bleeding and raw by the
time they had reached Edinburgh, her leather boots no match for the long march.
She had collapsed on the edge of town and been roughly dumped into a wagon for
the last leg of their journey, her eyes staring hopelessly into those of her
kinsmen, who had trudged close behind.

Madeleine forced the bitter memory from her mind and
rose stiffly, steadying herself against the wall. She had never felt so weak,
and she knew it was from lack of nourishing food. The stale bread and tepid tea
was hardly the fare she needed to keep up her strength.

She laughed grimly, the sound echoing about the
low-ceilinged chamber. Keep up her strength—for what? So she might swing more
vigorously from the gallows, fighting for breath even as the noose tightened
inexorably around her neck?

Banishing the morbid thought, Madeleine limped to the
narrow window and stood up on tiptoe, peering outside.

The stone ledge was slanted upward so sharply she could
see nothing but an overcast sky, but she didn't care. She felt her spirits
lighten despite her limited view. She was thankful she had not been thrown into
a dark hole without windows. This small patch of sky had been her one link to
sanity; an occasional shaft of sunlight was like a welcome friend.

She inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air which did
much to diminish the fetid stench of her cell. The steady breeze was scented
with rain, and she could hear thunder rumbling in the distance.

Madeleine thought of Strathherrick and the wild
thunderstorms that rolled over the mountains from spring until late autumn,
when the wind whistled and howled and the rain lashed the earth. She stood
before the window with her eyes closed, her hands planted on the graded ledge,
the cool draft blowing through h her hair, imagining she was there. She
imagined le was a child again, playing in the puddles, giggling happily,
evading both her father and Glenis-