A Hint of Rapture (40 page)

Madeleine took a deep breath, inhaling the pungent
scents of moss and heather. The heather was in full bloom, covering the rolling
moor like a purple mantle, and dotted here and there with rare patches of lucky
white blossoms. The scattered groves of trees were ablaze with color,
especially her favorite, the beech, with its fire-bronze leaves. Another wave
of excitement gripped her. She could scarcely believe she was home!

She glanced over her shoulder at the winding cavalcade
stretching behind her, grateful she was not bringing up the rear along with her
kinsmen and a dozen mounted soldiers. She would have been doubly frustrated. It
was all those lumbering wagons that had slowed their progress in the first
place.

Her forehead puckered in a frown. She still didn't know
what was in the wagons. Every time she had ventured to peek beneath the canvas
coverings, Garrett had suddenly been behind her, inquiring why she was snooping
about where she didn't belong. That accusation had never failed to infuriate
her, as did most of what Garrett said to her.

Even his apology over what had happened to Kenneth had
angered her. It was Garrett's soldier who had shot her kinsman, though deep
down she knew she couldn't really blame him. The surgeon's cruel treatment,
after all, had caused Kenneth's death.

Madeleine sighed, her eyes unwittingly seeking out
Garrett at the front of the cavalcade, riding astride his prancing gray
stallion. His broad back was to her, his hair shining like honeyed gold in the
sort. She could not deny she found him to be the most handsome of men.

Her heart beat a little faster as Garrett turned
suddenly to find her studying him. When he flashed her a smile, she quickly
looked away, flustered, her anger piqued more at herself than at him. It never
failed to amaze her how his slightest attention set her pulse racing. It seemed
her senses were determined to thwart her best efforts to despise him.

At least Garrett had left her alone through much of the
journey, she thought gratefully. Especially the nights they had shared a tent.
With him lying so close to her, she had been unable to sleep until sheer
exhaustion had swept over her.

She had also seen little of her kinsmen. She simply
could not face them. It was enough that they presumed she slept each night with
a redcoat. She knew she would have to speak to them eventually, but for now she
just couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Och, Maddie, ye canna run away from them
forever," she chided herself, chagrined by her fears. Maybe her kinsmen
didn't think so badly of her after all, despite what she believed. Garrett had
said they were grateful to her.

Aye, then, she decided. After her kinsmen were reunited
with their families and friends and things had settled down a bit, she would
meet with them and explain everything.

She could only guess what lies Garrett had already told
them. Her kinsmen needed to hear from her own lips what had actually and the
truth behind her pardon. She ha to warn them not to be swayed by any attempts
Garrett might make to gain their acceptance, either by his words or actions—

"What are you thinking?" a familiar voice
asked lightly, startling Madeleine from her determined reverie. She glared at
Garrett, who had suddenly ridden up beside her.

"My thoughts are none of yer concern," she
snapped, sweeping a loose chestnut lock from her face. She could see his warm
smile tighten, but other than that he appeared unperturbed by her churlish
reply.

"Would you like to ride ahead with me?" he
offered. "You must be eager to see your home again."

A tart response flew to Madeleine's lips, but she bit
it back. Garrett knew well enough how she felt when it came to Mhor Manor and
his ownership of her land. There was no sense in beating it into the ground.

"Aye, I'd like to see what's left of it," she
replied evenly, ignoring his look of mild surprise. She followed his lead,
urging her roan mare into a gallop beside his powerful stallion. They quickly
left the plodding cavalcade far behind them.

Madeleine felt a wild sense of exhilaration as they
raced along and a gladness that she was still alive. In her heart she was
grateful to Garrett for saving her life, regardless of his method. Perhaps one
day she might even thank him.

No, 'twas unlikely, she told herself, dismissing the
thought. Her exhilaration swiftly became apprehension as they neared Mhor Manor
from the south.

She spied the manor house through the spreading fir
trees, standing stark and silent against the backdrop of soaring mountains.
Even from this distance she could see several windows had been shattered on the
first floor, the empty window frames like black holes gaping from the
whitewashed exterior. Yet the house itself appeared intact, with no evidence of
fire.

She anxiously flicked the reins across the mare's rump.
The startled animal surged forward, outdistancing Garrett's stallion and
cantering at a breakneck speed down the last stretch of road and into the
drive. She drew up the reins sharply and slid off the lathered horse a few feet
from the front door.

Without waiting for Garrett, Madeleine rushed inside.
She stopped abruptly in the main hallway, her eyes widening, her heart sinking
into her boots. She felt as if she was reliving the first time the soldiers had
ravaged her home.

She turned around slowly, looking first at the dining
room; the polished table was split down the center as if it had been hewn in
two, wine stains were splashed on the walls, chairs were overturned. She held
her breath as she glanced into the drawing room. The furniture was intact, but
the glass from her mother's cabinet lay shattered on the floor, and the brocade
padding on the armchairs was slashed and mutilated.

She walked into the room, staring numbly at the closet
door, nearly ripped off its hinges. There was nothing left of the planked floor
inside the closet, the entrance to the secret tunnel clearly revealed. Angus
had told her that Garrett had said something to General Hawley about the
tunnel, yet she couldn't imagine how he had found it.

"It looks like the celebration continued long
after I left Mhor Manor," Garrett said behind her, cutting into her
thoughts.

Madeleine turned to face him. "Celebration?"

He nodded. "Of Black Jack's capture." He
quickly changed the subject. "Do you want to look upstairs?

She shook her head. "No, not yet." She walked
past him and into the dining room, aware that he was following her.

She righted a chair near one of the shattered windows,
staring dazedly at the water-damaged sill and the mildewed rug beneath her
feet. Rain must have poured in through the empty frames during numerous
thunderstorms like the ones she had imagined from her prison cell.

"I'll board up these windows until we can have new
glass brought from Inverness," Garrett said quietly. "If there's
anything else you want replaced immediately, Madeleine, you must let me
know."

She didn't answer him but moved toward the door leading
into the kitchen. Her nostrils flared, and her stomach flipflopped. There was a
putrid stench coming from the kitchen. She paled, afraid to think of what she
might find.

"Don't, Madeleine. Wait here," Garrett bid
her, catching her arm. He pulled his cravat from around his neck and covered his
mouth with it, then opened the door and disappeared into the kitchen.

She heard him cough and curse loudly, then listened to
the outer kitchen door opening and closing and the long shut windows squeaking
in protest as they were hastily raised. Finally Garrett strode back into the
dining room and slammed the door behind him.

"You don't want to go in there for a while, not
until the place airs out," Garrett said, his eyes watering.

"What was it?"

Garrett grimaced, slightly pale himself. "Hawley's
cooks left a sheep's carcass to rot on the kitchen table. I'll have it buried
right away and the kitchen scrubbed down." He shuddered visibly. "I
think it will be a long time before I'm able to eat lamb again." He took
her arm and escorted her back toward the main hallway. "The upstairs is
probably much the same as down here. Would you rather we ride into
Farraline?"

Madeleine started, his question piercing the dazed fog
that had settled over her. "Why do ye want to go into Farraline?" she
asked suspiciously, jerking her arm away.

Garrett sighed heavily. "I'd like to see the
extent of the damage, if you don't mind, Madeleine. As soon as my own soldiers
arrive from Fort Augustus, we're going to help rebuild the village. We'll have
to work fast if we're to beat the snow."

Stunned, Madeleine turned on him, his words confirming
what she had thought all along. "Part of yer grand plan, aye,
Garrett?" she accused loudly, her voice reverberating throughout the
silent house. "Well, I'll tell ye this. I'll not be a part of it!"

"Maddie—"

"No, ye'll hear me out," she silenced him.
"If ye think to use me to sway my kin to yer favor, or to influence them
in any way, perhaps to accept the tyranny of King Geordie, ye're wrong. I'm yer
wife by law, I canna deny it. But I winna play the wife, Garrett, nor support
yer actions. Ye'll soon find out the Frasers of Strathherrick want none of yer
help, nor will they want an English spy in their midst, once they discover yer
true purpose."

Garrett stared at her, his eyes darkening though his expression
was inscrutable. "It's not my plan to use you, Madeleine, as you so put
it," he said grimly, "or to act as a spy, as you so firmly believe. I
only seek to right some of the damage done." He strode to the door,
calling out over his shoulder. "Either come with me or stay here. It's up
to you."

Madeleine was tempted to tell him exactly where he
should go and slam the door in his face, but she wanted desperately to see for
herself how the villagers were faring. She swallowed a good part of her ire, knowing
she didn't want to wait and hear the news secondhand from Garrett. She ran out
the door and quickly mounted her mare, cursing again the skirt that so
constricted her movement.

Neither of them spoke as they rode toward Farraline,
the strained silence that was becoming so familiar settling between them once
more.

Madeleine felt her throat tighten as they drew closer,
fearing the worse, yet she could already see white smoke curling into the air
just beyond the low rise, a very good sign. She nearly shouted for joy as the
entire village came into view.

Many of the cottages had already been rebuilt on the
scorched earth where they had stood before, the same stones, now blackened with
soot, forming the low walls. She was pleased to see even their small church had
been rebuilt.

Yet it was clear there was still much work to be done.
Nothing was left of those poorer cottages built entirely of turf walls and
thatched heather roofs. Makeshift hovels abounded where the cottages had once
stood, some propped up by charred tree trunks while others leaned against the
sturdier stone cottages.

Madeleine took heart in the amount of activity in the
village—children were playing, men were clambering atop newly thatched roofs
and weighting them with stones to fend off the wind, women were busily sweeping
streets or laboring over communal black pots set upon tripods.

She inhaled deeply of the aroma of food cooking in the
air. She heard laughter and friendly shouting, calls for more stones to finish
a wall or more turnips for the stew. She even heard Flora Chrystie calling for
her boy Neil somewhere in the village. Her kinswoman's voice carried to her
like the sweetest music.

Angus had been right, Madeleine thought, smiling as she
remembered his words of comfort the morning after their capture. Her people's
hope had not died that horrible night. She had accomplished what she'd set out
to do.

Thanks to Garrett Marshall, she found herself thinking.

Aye, she could admit it. Garrett had played a part in
this as much as she. This scene would have been far different if it hadn't been
for his warning about Hawley's impending threat. She could at least thank him
for forcing her into a decision that had spared her people's lives.

Madeleine turned to him, words of gratitude upon her lips,
only to discover he was no longer at her side. She twisted around in the
saddle, looking for him. He was riding back toward Mhor Manor. She could barely
hear him calling out to the driver of the first wagon just now turning into the
estate.

The moment was gone. Once again she felt her anger
swiftly returning as she finally guessed what was in those wagons.

This was all part of Garrett's plan.

It had become very plain that he possessed a sizable
income, no doubt his inheritance. The extravagant night at the Edinburgh inn
attested to that, along with the beautiful clothes he had bought her, the
finely bred mare, and even the herd of cattle.

The wagons were probably filled with things he knew her
people needed, things they had lost in the flames that could not be made easily
or replaced without money. Precious items he could use to win their favor and
acceptance and make his task of keeping the peace for King George all the
easier.

Yet if Garrett had such an inheritance, why hadn't he
simply bought himself an estate in England? she wondered, perplexed. Why had he
chosen her land instead, forcing her to become his bride so he might live among
Highlanders who were hostile at best to any English presence?

It was beyond reasoning, unless . . .

No, she hadn't misjudged him, Madeleine decided
heatedly, forcing the disturbing thought from her mind. 'Twas easy enough to
explain. Whatever Garrett's inheritance, it was probably not enough to buy
himself an English estate as fine as Mhor Manor, yet it was sufficient to cover
his bribes and afford him a comfortable living on Fraser lands. Bastard!