A Hint of Rapture (36 page)

A loud, jarring noise startled her, shattering her daydream.
She spun around as the heavy iron bar was lifted on the other side of the door,
the screeching sound causing her to grit her teeth. The door was pulled back,
revealing a group of six armed guards. The closest one ducked his head and
entered the small chamber.

Madeleine backed up against the wall, cold fear
flooding her body. The guard was so solemn—dear God, had she miscounted the
days? Was it Saturday after all, the day of her execution? Her throat was
constricted so tightly she could scarcely draw breath.

"Wh-what?" she choked, her eyes wide with
fright.

"You must come with me, Mistress Fraser," the
guard muttered, grabbing her arm. When she recoiled, he gave her a hard push
and she stumbled forward, almost falling. He caught her in time, but she yanked
away from him.

"Where—where are ye taking me?" she
stammered, seeking refuge in a corner. She gasped when another guard entered
the cell. Her eyes darted desperately from one man to the other. She felt
trapped, like a hunted animal, as they advanced upon her, seizing her arms.
"No!" she cried, her feet slipping on the stone floor as they
propelled her toward the door. "No!"

Outside in the dim corridor, she found herself
surrounded by guards, two in front and two in back of her, besides the soldiers
gripping her arms. The presence of so many guards checked her futile cries, and
she fell silent, overcome with dread.

This was not how she had planned to act at all,
Madeleine thought wildly, limping between her captors as they hurried her along
the corridor and up a long flight of winding stairs. Where had her courage
flown? Her resolve to face her death bravely? She was so frightened she feared
she might wet her clothes and humiliate herself before these English soldiers.
She could never have anticipated the stark terror gripping her now.

Madeleine panted, fast losing her battle to retain any
semblance of reason and her ability to place one foot before the other. If not
for the guards supporting her arms and forcing her along, she would have
collapsed altogether. They walked through an empty room, then a wide studded
door swung open and they were outside in a square courtyard flanked on all
sides by two-story buildings.

Madeleine blinked, shielding her eyes. Despite the
dense clouds, the daylight was much more intense than anything she had
experienced for five days. She hazarded a glance around her, fearing to find a
wagon which would carry her to the execution site.

There was no wagon, and as the guards marched across
the courtyard, she thought fleetingly that they were going to make her walk the
entire way. She could not have teen more stunned when they entered another
building and proceeded down a wide hallway, stopping abruptly before an
ornately carved door. The guard on her left knocked loudly, Yen lifted the
brass latch and pushed open the door.

Madeleine was ushered into a large room spartanly
furnished with a long, polished table at one end and a single upholstered chair
in the center of the floor. While the four guards who had flanked her waited by
the door, the two men holding her arms pushed her forward and shoved her into
the chair, snapping to attention as a side door creaked open.

Breathless and totally bewildered, Madeleine gasped as
General Hawley lumbered into the room, scarcely acknowledging her presence. He
was followed by the prison sheriff and the judge who had tried and pronounced
sentence on her and her kinsmen the day after they had arrived at Edinburgh
Castle.

What was going on? she wondered crazily, not even
venturing to guess why she had been brought to this room. She was so intent on
watching them take their places at the table that she did not notice the last
man enter and remain standing near the wall. She only glanced at him when she
heard his boots scraping on the wooden floor. Her heart stopped.

Garrett.

She was so stunned that the earth could have dropped
from beneath her and she would never have known it. She stared at him and he
stared back, his eyes filled with familiar warmth.

All she could think was that he was surely a phantom;
her mind must be playing tricks. She had gone mad; the terrible strain had
broken her at last. She probably would have fainted if General Hawley's booming
voice had not shattered the room's silence. Blood rushed to her face as he
addressed her.

"Mistress Madeleine Fraser, if you would kindly
direct your attention this way," he commanded, pounding his huge fist on
the table.

She jumped, her gaze riveted on the corpulent general,
certain if she looked back at the wall, Garrett would be gone.

Unwittingly, her eyes darted back. He was still there,
the faintest smile on his lips. How strange such a phantom had been sent to
her, the image of a man she had thought she would never see again. She glanced
back at General Hawley, who was scowling, his face a mottled shade of red.

"Mistress Fraser, I shall be brief," he
began, shooting a furious look at Garrett. He took a rolled parchment from the
somber-faced judge and held it in his hand, pointing it at her as he spoke.
"His Majesty King George has seen fit to take a personal interest in your
situation and has offered you the chance of a pardon, upon certain conditions
to which you must agree."

Madeleine was not sure she had heard him correctly. For
an instant she thought she might be dreaming, and she sank her thumbnail into
her palm. She blinked at the stinging pain, but the room did not disappear. It
was real, God help her. Then Garrett must be real.

"A-a pardon?" she asked.

"That's exactly what I said, wench," General
Hawley spat. He leaned forward, the chair creaking ominously under his weight.
"I'll tell you this, Mistress Fraser. Your pardon has come as a total
surprise to me, brought forward only within the last hour by Major Marshall
here. I would like nothing more than to see you hang, along with your Jacobite
friends, but I am compelled to offer you a chance to redeem your miserable
life." He sat back, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. "Upon certain
conditions, of course."

General Hawley's words were slowly sinking into
Madeleine's brain. Garrett had brought a pardon from King George himself. She
felt a tiny glimmer of hope flare within her, and she glanced at him, but he
was staring at the rolled parchment in the general's hand.

"What conditions?" she inquired, the timbre
of her voice gaining strength. Aye, she would gladly agree to give up her
raiding, she found herself thinking, if that was the condition. She would swear
to it!

"Tell her, Major Marshall," General Hawley
demanded heatedly, "as it seems this is your personal quest as well. But
pray keep it short."

Madeleine slowly drew in her breath as Garrett took a
few steps toward her.

"Madeleine, you must listen carefully," he
began, his familiar deep voice sending a shiver coursing through her. "You
will only be pardoned from your crime of treason, and the sentence of death, if
you agree to a certain proposal."

She nodded her understanding.

"Get on with it, man, we haven't got all
afternoon!" General Hawley shouted impatiently. Suddenly he changed his
mind. "Back off, major. I'll tell the wench the choice she must
make."

Madeleine watched silently as Garrett's jaw tightened,
but he nodded, acquiescing to his commander.

"The conditions are these, Mistress Fraser,"
General Hawley muttered, clutching the document. "To receive his majesty's
pardon, you must agree to marry Major Garrett Marshall, who shall then become
the sole proprietor of the estate known as Mhor Manor in Strathherrick,
Inverness-shire."

Madeleine felt as if she had been struck. She had never
expected this! Her mind reeled in a confusing dance of thoughts and racing
emotions. She swallowed hard, her gaze meeting Garrett's. "Marry an
Englishman?" she asked incredulously.

The question came from her lips so suddenly she was
barely aware she had said it. Yet it sprang from a part of her that was so
ingrained she could not have responded otherwise, despite everything Angus had
told her, despite the secret feelings she held so deeply within her.

Desperate wishes, vain hopes, and dreams were one
thing. Reality was quite another. There was only one answer, nurtured by
hundreds of years of hatred and mistrust between neighboring peoples,
reinforced all the more by the recent brutality she had witnessed, even if she
knew Garrett had no part in it.

She looked down at her folded hands. "I canna
marry Major Marshall," she stated evenly, knowing she was choosing death.
"I'll not be a traitor to my people."

"There. She has made her choice," General
Hawley said, a pleased expression on his fleshy face as he sat back in his
chair. 'The execution will forward as planned. "

"No!" Garrett shouted vehemently, striding to
the table. "You have not given her the full conditions." He glared at
the judge. "You know the law. The prisoner must know every condition
before the choice can be made."

The judge turned to General Hawley and whispered to him
almost apologetically. "The major is correct, general. A king's pardon is
not to be taken so lightly." He nodded to Garrett. "You may continue,
Major Marshall."

Madeleine gasped as Garrett whirled around, his eyes
blazing into her own.

"It's not so simple, Madeleine," he said,
advancing on her. "There are other lives involved here besides your own,
which the general has neglected to tell you. If you agree to marry me, you will
not only save your life but your kinsmen's as well."

Her eyes widened, her mind spinning once again.
Garrett's voice was harsh, grating into her jumbled thoughts.

"You've always claimed to put your kin before
yourself, Madeleine. Will you let them die horribly—Angus, Ewen—knowing you
have it in your power to spare their lives? Marriage to an Englishman seems a
small Price to pay for those you hold so dear. The estate may no longer be in
your name, but you would be living there as before, with your kin around you—"

"That's it, isn't it, Garrett?" Madeleine
accused him suddenly, jumping up from her chair. She was shaking from the anger
possessing her, shaking from the cruel realization ringing in her mind.
"Ye dinna care about me or my kinsmen. 'Tis the land ye want, Mhor Manor,
so ye threaten me with my kin as ye've done before to get what ye want. Do ye
have lands in England, an estate of yer own?"

Garrett shook his head. "No," he said
quietly. "I have nothing in England."

"Aye, so I'm right, then!" Madeleine exclaimed.
"Ye're landless, and ye saw yer chance to grab something for yerself when
ye discovered I was Black Jack, knowing my lands would be forfeit once I was
tried for treason."

"Madeleine," Garrett began, only to be cut
off as she rushed on, her voice becoming more shrill.

"Yet ye knew if ye dinna have me by yer side ye'd
never be able to make a go of it among the Frasers of Strathherrick. So ye went
to London quick as ye could and acquired a pardon for me so ye could do just
that!" She drew a ragged breath. "Did ye bribe yer way to the king?
Obviously ye convinced him 'twould be worth a pardon and a grant of land to
have an Englishman living among the Highlanders. The better to spy on them,
aye, Garrett? Keeping the peace for the Crown on yer ill-gotten estate?"

"Enough!" roared General Hawley, heaving his
massive bulk up from his chair. "Stand away, Major Marshall!" As
Garrett reluctantly obeyed him, the general pointed threateningly at Madeleine.

"State your choice, wench," he ordered, his
face bright red and sweating. "I'll not listen to any more of your
treasonous talk. Either wed the major or hang with your kin. Now choose!"

Madeleine's chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart
pounding furiously against her ribs. Her gaze shifted from the general's
enraged face to Garrett. His face was ashen despite his bronzed coloring, and
his eyes bored into hers. She heard her own voice as if from far away,
answering the general, sealing her fate.

"I will wed Major Marshall, if only to spare my
kin."

She heard Garrett's breath escape in a rush, saw the
flicker of relief in his eyes. She had never felt such crushing bitterness in
her life.

Aye, ye've won yer fine estate, she thought fiercely,
and yer Highland bride. But ye'll rue this day, Garrett. I swear it. Ye'll rue
this day.

"So be it," the judge proclaimed, rising to
stand beside General Hawley. The sheriff quickly followed his lead. "The
prisoner has accepted his majesty's benevolent pardon. The sentence of death
upon Mistress Madeleine Fraser and her four kinsmen is hereby revoked."

"Four kinsmen?" Garrett queried, glancing at
Madeleine. She ignored him, staring stonily at the general.

"One of the bastards saw fit to expire on the way
to Edinburgh," General Hawley answered for her. "There is some
justice." He turned to the sheriff. "Accompany the major and his
lovely bride-to-be" —he spat distastefully, appraising her dirty feet and
bedraggled appearance— "to Saint Margaret's Chapel. When they are properly
wed, her four kinsmen may be released."

"Yes, sir," the sheriff said, nodding
briskly.

General Hawley leveled his hooded gaze upon Garrett.
"See that you're on your way back to the Highlands by tomorrow morning,
Major Marshall. If I might remind you, you still have duties to fulfill in Strathherrick.
Your commission does not expire until next summer. You will have a full company
of my soldiers to assist you until you may summon your own men from Fort
Augustus."

With a last surly glance at Madeleine, he stormed from
the room, the judge close upon his heels. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Let's go, major," the sheriff said, waving
to the guards. They immediately surrounded Madeleine.