A Hint of Rapture (46 page)

"You don't have to explain your motives to me,
sir," Sergeant Fletcher said, lowering his voice. "I can well imagine
the task you've set for yourself. I only wish these Highlanders might show some
appreciation for what you're doing for them. I get the strong impression they
don't want our help. Don't even want us around, for that matter."

"So do I, Fletcher. So do I," Garrett said,
watching as suspicious faces appeared behind cracked doors or peered out at
them from windows as he and his men rode along the main street.

He drew up on the reins when they reached the
reconstructed church, his mood darkening even more. The fully loaded wagons he
had left there days ago were still untouched, further proof that his plan was
failing miserably.

He shot a glance over at Angus Ramsay's cottage across
the street. His worst moment had come yesterday when Angus turned his back on
him, refusing even to speak with him. Whatever inroads he thought he had made
with the burly Highlander had vanished.

Thoroughly disgruntled, Garrett was about to veer his
horse around when he spied movement beneath the protective covering on one of
the wagons. He dismounted quickly, leaving Sergeant Fletcher and his soldiers
staring after him. He strode over to the wagon and threw back the canvas,
starting in surprise when a small red-haired boy jumped up and scrambled over
the side.

"Hold on there," Garrett said, catching the
boy by the collar of his jacket.

"Let me go!" the boy cried desperately, his
short legs pumping uselessly. "Let me go!"

Garrett grabbed the child's narrow shoulders and turned
him around gently. "It's all right, boy. I'm not going to hurt you. Tell
me your name."

"Neil, Neil Chrystie," the boy stammered,
looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Well, Neil Chrystie, my name is Garrett
Marsh—"

"I know who ye are," the youngster blurted with
astounding bravado, his fear clearly forgotten. "Ye married our
Maddie!"

"So I did," Garrett said, somewhat
nonplussed. "Tell me Neil. What were you doing in the wagon? Choosing
something for your mother, I hope. Do you need some help?"

Neil shook his head vigorously, shrugging away from
Garrett's loosened grasp. "There's nothing my mama would want from those
wagons!" he shouted, clenching his small fists and shaking them at
Garrett. "We Frasers dinna want a thing from King Geordie's spy!"

Completely stunned by this belligerent outburst,
Garrett caught the boy's sleeve. "Spy? Where did you hear such nonsense,
Neil?" he asked tightly, but before the child could answer another voice
sounded behind him.

"Let the boy go, if ye will, Major Marshall."

Garrett released him and spun around to find Angus
Ramsay staring at him stonily, the man's huge arms crossed over his chest.

"Angus," he said in a greeting as he
straightened up, but he received no response.

"Go on home with ye, Neil," Angus commanded
the astonished boy, who was looking from Garrett back to his towering kinsman.
"Dinna be playing 'round the wagons anymore, do ye hear?"

"Aye!" Neil took off like a frightened rabbit
and didn't look back.

"A good ev'ning to ye, then, Major Marshall,"
Angus muttered with the slightest nod.

Garrett said nothing as Angus turned abruptly and
strode back to his cottage, the door held open for him by a strapping
dark-haired man Garrett had never seen before. Then the door slammed shut,
leaving Garrett to his simmering fury, young Neil Chrystie's words ringing in
his ears. Suddenly everything was clear to him, painfully clear.

Spy! So that was it. The villagers truly believed he
was a spy for King George. That would explain everything: the spurned cottages,
household goods, and cattle, and Angus's surly behavior yesterday and just now.
Somehow they must have gotten the word from Madeleine, even though she had
never left Mhor Manor since returning from Edinburgh. Somehow . . .

It must have been through Meg and Kitty, Garrett surmised
grimly, walking back to his stallion. Madeleine must have filled their ears
with every manner of accusation—probably the same farfetched story she had
flung at him at Edinburgh Castle—and told them to pass it along to the
villagers in Farraline.

Perhaps she had even done so that morning the two young
women had come to help her with the cleaning, e thought incredulously, amazed
that he hadn't considered the possibility sooner. They had suddenly disappeared
to go—bramble picking! On top of her betrayal, Madeleine had lied to him. How
many more of her lies had he unwittingly swallowed?

Such anger burned inside him, his hands were shaking as
he seized the reins and hoisted himself into the saddle. Yet it was nothing
compared to the fierce resolve burning in his heart.

Dammit, he had taken enough abuse! Madeleine had
obviously turned her kin against him, so his plan had been doomed from the
start. Well, the devil take his plan and the hell with patience!

"I'll see you at the house," he said tersely,
veering his stallion sharply around. Sergeant Fletcher's words were lost to him
as he set out at a full gallop through the village and onto the road to Mhor
Manor. The wind whistled wildly around him, fueling his racing thoughts.

It was time Madeleine knew exactly how he felt about
her, whether she wanted to hear it or not. He would not keep his feelings to
himself any longer, nor would he tolerate any more of her irrational lies and
accusations. She would know the truth behind King George's pardon once and for
all!

Vibrant memories crowded in upon him as he sped toward
the manor house. He could remember so clearly that sunny afternoon when he
first set eyes on the mistress of Farraline, Madeleine Fraser, the fairest
woman he had ever seen. It could have been yesterday, the recollection was so
vivid.

Yet it was hard to believe that just over two months
had elapsed since that day. It felt as if he had lived a lifetime since then,
as if he had exhausted a lifetime of emotion ranging from the sweetest joy to
the most heartrending despair. All condensed into nine turbulent weeks.

Garrett scarcely waited for his powerful stallion to
come to a stop before he jumped from the saddle and ran to the kitchen door. At
this time of night, Madeleine was usually helping Kitty by setting the dining
table. He burst in the door, a loud gasp and a crash of china greeting his
stormy entrance.

"M-major Marshall!" Kitty cried, a puddle of
brown gravy and broken china at her feet.

Garrett glanced into the dining room, but there was no
sign of Madeleine. "Where is she?" he asked impatiently.

"Who?"

"Maddie, wench! Who do you think?" he
responded angrily, then softened his tone at her stricken look. "I'm
sorry, Kitty. Isn't she helping you tonight?"

"No, I believe she's lying down," the maidservant
said shakily. "At least she was a while ago. She wasna feeling herself
today. She's been working far too hard, we think."

That news gave Garrett pause, but he quickly shrugged
it off. Exhausted from the web of lies she's spun around herself, he thought
darkly, rushing through the dining room. He took the stairs three at a time and
strode to their room, his blood roaring in his ears.

He pushed open the door, stunned to find the bedchamber
dark and silent, without even a low fire burning in the hearth. He moved toward
her side of the bed, his heart beating fiercely against his chest. He reached
out his hand and found nothing. The bed was empty, the covers drawn, as if no
one had slept there for hours.

His startled gaze swept the shadowed corners. He even
went so far as to check behind the screen, but to no avail. Madeleine was not
there. He strode from the room, angrily slamming the door.

Myriad unpleasant possibilities flashed through his mind
as he checked every room on the second floor, only to find them all empty.
Dammit, where could she be? he wondered wildly. Where could she have gone?
Farraline? Surely she hadn't ventured out on another raid . . .

That unsettling thought filled him with cold fury. As
soon as he grabbed his heavy coat from the drawing room closet, he would set
out to look for her and not rest until he found her. Enough was enough!

Garrett ran down the stairs, almost bumping into
Madeleine as she rounded the corner from the dining room.

"Madeleine!"

"G-Garrett," she stammered, spots of high
color appearing on her cheeks. "Kitty just told me ye were looking for me
upstairs. I was on my way to find ye. I must have been in the dancing room when
ye came in. I put some extra blankets in there for yer men. 'Twill be a cold
night, I think."

Garrett pulled her into the drawing room, his gaze
swiftly raking over her. She was wearing the wrapping gown he had given her in
Edinburgh, the shimmering blue silk matching the vivid azure of her eyes. Her
chestnut hair flowed freely down her back and softly framed her lovely
features, the thick tresses gleaming with gold in the firelight.

He found himself thinking he had never seen her so
bewitchingly beautiful. But why was she looking at him so strangely, as if she
were seeing him for the first time?

"I was just coming in here to get my coat,"
he said distractedly, glancing at the closet door.

"Are ye going out again? I've been waiting for ye,
hoping we might talk. Could we—before ye go?"

Garrett stared at her, confused. "I'm not going
anywhere. I was setting out to look for you. You weren't in our room, you
weren't in any of the rooms, and I thought . . ." His voice trailed off,
and he sighed heavily, looking down at his dusty boots. "Who the hell
cares what I thought," he said to himself, running his fingers through his
hair. "It seems I was wrong."

"I dinna understand," Madeleine said softly.

Garrett met her eyes. "It was nothing,
Maddie." He exhaled sharply. "I want to talk to you—" His words
died on his lips, suddenly realizing what she had just said. "You want to
talk with me?"

"Aye," she said, shifting nervously.
"But if ye have something to say first, Garrett . . ."

"No, you go ahead," he replied evenly,
belying his own fierce impatience. He drew her further into the room to afford
them some privacy, then abruptly changed his mind just as she opened her mouth.
Dammit all, what he had to say wouldn't wait!

"Glenis was here today, Garrett," she
blurted. "She claims—she claims ye love me."

"I've had enough, Maddie!" he exclaimed at
the same time. "When are you going to realize that I love you?"

The room echoed with their voices, followed by a
stunned silence.

Madeleine's knees felt so weak she thought for sure
they would buckle beneath her. God's wounds, he had said it. 'Twas true. She
stared at Garrett, her heart in her throat. His eyes were boring into hers. He
had never looked so shaken.

"Glenis told you what?" he asked at last, his
voice low and intense.

"She said ye admitted ye loved me when she found
ye on the road to Inverfarigaig the night I was captured."

"When was she here?"

"This morning," Madeleine answered softly,
trembling from head to foot. "But she's gone back to Tullich. She only
came to tell me I was a fool." She saw the barest trace of a smile touch
Garrett's mouth, and she rushed on. "That's why I wanted to talk with ye.
I want ye to tell me for yerself how ye gained King Geordie's pardon." She
paused, blushing warmly. Her voice fell to a whisper. "Glenis claimed if I
knew yer side of the story, I'd understand how much ye care."

Garrett sobered, his expression deadly serious.
"This is quite a turnaround, Madeleine. Does it matter that much to you to
hear the truth?" he asked, studying her face intently.

"Aye, it matters, Garrett," she breathed.
"I must know."

"Very well," he replied, moving closer to
her. He stopped within arm's reach, though he did not touch her. "You
accused me of being landless," he began, "which was true when I came
to get you out of prison. I bargained away my estate in Sussex, Rosemoor, to
obtain your pardon, Madeleine."

"Yer estate?" she said incredulously.
"But ye're a second son. I assumed ye dinna have She faltered, at a loss.

"Rosemoor first belonged to my grandmother, a gift
from her English husband," Garrett explained, "then it was my
mother's, and she left it to me. Fortunately my brother, Gordon, wanted
Rosemoor so badly he was willing to do almost anything for it," he
continued, "and fortunately he was in a position to help me."

Madeleine listened breathlessly as he recounted his
story, his words confirming what Glenis had told her and more.

How cruelly she had misjudged him, she thought dazedly,
believing only the worst of everything he had done for her and her people. The
truth had been plainly before her, yet she had refused to see it. She had been
blinded by her prejudice and fears, instead of trusting her deepest feelings.
She had sensed all along he cared, just as she did.

"I'm not the king's spy," Garrett finished,
his eyes darkened to slate as he stared into hers. "I gained your pardon
for only one reason. I love you, Maddie. You're everything to me. I would have
given my life to save you."

Madeleine gasped softly but kept silent, overwhelmed.
Her mind spun; her blood raced in her veins. He reached out and gently caressed
her cheek, sending shivers streaking along her spine.

"You said it mattered," he said, his voice
dropping to an insistent whisper. His gaze was desperate, searching, as if he
could divine the hidden secrets of her soul. "Why? Is there a chance you
might care, Madeleine?"

All was suddenly still within her, a joy like none she
had ever known unfolding. She trembled from its awakened power. It surged and
swelled, sweeping away all fears, all mistrust, leaving nothing behind but the
secret she had held for so long in her heart. Aye, she loved him! How she loved
him!