A Hint of Rapture (49 page)

Madeleine said
nothing, not wanting to goad his rage any further.

"I know he
has, and for that he will die," Dougald said bitterly.

She closed her
eyes as his mouth found hers, possessive and brutally demanding. He was hurting
her, and tears welled beneath her lashes. She choked them back, even as she
fought against the wave of nausea assailing her senses. She only hoped he would
not discern that she felt nothing for him now—nothing.

When he finally
released her, she felt defiled by the man who had once been her betrothed—a man
who was no more than a shell of his former self, a man from whom she had
everything to fear.

"I—I
should get back," Madeleine stammered, glancing behind her for her horse.
One of the other Highlanders was holding the mare for her, and she quickly
thanked him as she took the reins. She winced as Dougald gave her a lift into
the saddle, hardly able to bear his touch on her.

"We'll
watch for yer signal, Maddie," Dougald said, his hazel eyes boring into
hers curiously. "Dinna forget."

Her throat was
constricted so tightly she could not reply. She merely nodded, a fixed smile on
her face as she sharply turned the horse around and galloped back along the
shaded path, putting as much space between herself and Dougald Fraser as
possible.

Tears ran
unchecked down her face; sobs of disbelief tore at her throat. Her desperate
thoughts spurred her on, even as she broke from the trees and raced toward Mhor
Manor.

As soon as
Garrett returned to the estate, they would ride into Farraline and face Angus
together.

Next to
herself, Angus spoke for the entire village, and his word was respected
throughout Strathherrick. He had believed in Garrett once, before her wild
accusations had poisoned his mind against him.

If Angus
accepted the truth, there was still a chance that he might be able to sway her
kinsmen against Dougald's hideous plan.

She cried out
her anguish at the darker thought that he might not be able to convince them.

If so, she would flee her beloved Highlands with
Garrett and never return. Aye, she would do it gladly. She would do anything to
save his life and their future together.

Chapter 33

Almost two hours passed before Garrett's soldiers
thundered up the dirt drive, Sergeant Fletcher in the lead.

Madeleine flew from the drawing room where she'd been
anxiously waiting and met them just outside the front door. Her gaze scanned
the entire group, her heart lurching in her breast. Garrett was not among them.

"Where's Major Marshall?" she blurted as
Sergeant Fletcher dismounted. He appeared startled by her question.

"The major's not here?" he asked as she
rushed up to him.

"No," she replied, searching his face.
"I've been standing by the window, watching, and ye're the first to come
back."

"That's odd," the sergeant said, clearly
perplexed. "As soon as we found our missing men, Major Marshall took off
across the moor." He cleared his throat, glancing at her somewhat
sheepishly. "Don't think me too bold, m'lady, but he said his beautiful
bride was waiting for him."

"But if he left before ye, he should have been
here by now," Madeleine insisted, too worried even to smile at the
sergeant's statement. "How far away were ye? Where did ye find yer two
soldiers?"

"That's another strange thing," Sergeant
Fletcher related. "I doubt we'd ever have found them if we hadn't given
chase after a Highlander who fired a pistol at us—"

"Ye were shot at?" she interrupted him,
horrified.

"Over our heads, m'lady," the sergeant
continued. "We set off after him and stumbled upon our men, tied and
blindfolded beneath a tree along the banks of Loch Mhor, almost four miles
directly to the south." He shook his head. "It was almost as if we
were led to that spot, as if this whole escapade was planned, though the major
and I had no clue as to why."

"Did ye catch the man who fired upon ye?"

"No. A few of us went after the bloke, but we lost
him in the woods. Major Marshall decided as long as we'd found our men, we
should head back. He mentioned that .he was going to discuss it with you later,
since you know these people so well. What do you think, m'lady?"

Madeleine didn't reply, her mind racing. If Garrett and
his men had ridden to the south, then they surely would have forded Aberchalder
Burn. Was it possible that Garrett might have been apprehended on his way back
because he was alone?

Raw fear shot through her. Had she given herself away
to Dougald after all? Had he possibly sensed the truth of her feelings for
Garrett? Was he planning his own personal revenge rather than waiting for this
evening?

She blanched, remembering Dougald's ominous words. He
had said he wanted to strangle Garrett with his bare hands—

"Lady Marshall, are you all right?" Sergeant
Fletcher asked, startling her. He took her arm. "You look ill. Let me help
you inside."

"No, I'm fine, sergeant. But thank ye," she
said, forcing herself to think rationally and calmly. Hysterics would do
neither her nor Garrett any good and would only stir the sergeant's suspicions.
She had to act, and quickly, but she couldn't involve Garrett's soldiers.

If he had been taken captive by Dougald and his
renegade Highlanders, they'd probably kill him at the first sign of any
redcoats, if they hadn't already.

Sickened by the thought, Madeleine banished it from her
mind. She would not give up hope so easily. She couldn't. She began to walk
into the house, Sergeant Fletcher at her side, still holding her arm.

"I'm sure my husband will return shortly,"
she said to him at the foot of the stairs, affecting a light tone. "Thank
ye for yer kind attention, sergeant. In truth, I have been feeling a bit tired
of late. I think I'll go lie down for a while. When Major Marshall arrives, ye
might tell him I'm waiting for him in our room."

Sergeant Fletcher nodded, smiling at her. She had no
idea what Garrett might have told him, but obviously it was enough that the
sergeant surmised all was well between them. She smiled back at him warmly,
then turned and hurried up the stairs.

Once in the hallway, Madeleine rushed right past their
bedchamber and into her former room. She dosed the door quietly and hurried
over to the armoire, pulling out the bottom drawer. She dug beneath piles of
linen bedding to find what she was looking for. She drew out the last set of
black clothes she possessed and carried them to the bed.

She changed quickly, grateful she still had a pair of
trousers to wear instead of skirts which would only slow her down. Her thoughts
turned to what lay ahead.

She had to get to Farraline at once and find Angus. She
held no illusions that she would be able to persuade Dougald on her own to
spare Garrett's life. Dougald would laugh in her face. She needed Angus by her
side, and as many of her kinsmen as would follow her to Aberchalder Burn. But
first she would need to convince them Garrett was not the king's spy.

Madeleine shook out the black jacket, her dirk falling
onto the floor. She picked it up, testing its familiar weight in her hand. The
silver hilt had tarnished since she had seen it last, the night she was
captured as Black Jack. How long ago it all seemed.

She hadn't taken the dirk with her that night but had
hidden it instead, not wanting her father's prized gift to fall into her
captors' hands. She slid it into the leather sheath at her belt, knowing she
might very well need a weapon.

After slipping her brogues back on her feet, Madeleine
was ready. She left her chamber and sneaked silently down the side stairs,
heading for the drawing room. She had never thought she would use the secret
tunnel again, until a few moments ago.

If Sergeant Fletcher knew she was going into Farraline,
he'd insist she have an escort. That was the last thing she wanted. The only
problem was that she wouldn't have a horse, but that could not be helped. She
would never make it to the stable without being seen. 'Twas almost impossible
in the full light of day with so many soldiers around. She would have to borrow
a horse in the village.

Madeleine peeked into the drawing room, not surprised
to see it was empty. Garrett had insisted that the main part of the house was
to be restricted for their private use alone, unless by invitation. Yet she had
to be careful nonetheless.

She darted into the closet, fumbling with the newly
repaired trap door, which was slightly different than the last. Finally she got
it open. She clambered down the ladder, realizing she had forgotten a flint and
candle.

There was no time to go back. With her arms held out in
front of her, she ran through the pitch-dark tunnel, gasping as invisible
spiderwebs swept across her face. Her hands broke her impact as she hit the far
wall with a thud.

She cursed loudly, her voice echoing eerily in the
dark. She could not scramble up the ladder fast enough. She pushed against the heavy
trap door until it gave way, blinking as daylight flooded the tunnel.

In an instant she was out, heaving in great gulps of
fresh air. She began to race toward Farraline, hiding behind the trees as long
as she could, then broke into a dead run across the rolling moor.

She was astounded when she reached the southern edge of
the village, thinking how much it resembled the Farraline that had stood there
before Hawley had burned it down. She hadn't been there since the day she
returned from Edinburgh. It was amazing how much had been accomplished in so
short a period of time, thanks in large part to the labor of Garrett and his
men.

Madeleine slowed her pace only slightly when she came
upon the main street. It was freshly swept, neat and deathly quiet. No children
shrieked and played in the streets, no feminine laughter filtered from the
cottages, no male voices rang out, no horses neighed, nothing. Only silence and
the sighing wind.

She rushed up to the nearest cottage and peered inside
the door, which had been left standing ajar, but it was empty. So were the next
three she visited. She dashed down the street to Angus's house, built exactly
on the spot where his cottage had stood before. She entered only to find that
it was empty, too.

Madeleine hastened back into the street and ran up and
down its length, calling out to anyone who might be there. Her cries carried
back to her, muffled by the brisk wind. She had never encountered a stranger
scene. The village was completely deserted.

She stood there a moment, not knowing quite what to do.
If she did not find Angus, she would have to face Dougald alone. A daunting
thought, but if that was all that was left to her . . .

A distant rumbling sound suddenly caught her attention,
and she stiffened, listening. Had she only imagined it? No, there it was again,
louder this time—and it was coming from the direction of Loch Mhor.

Madeleine began to run toward the sound, leaving the
village behind her. What had been a rumbling to her ears in Farraline become
raised voices, shouting in anger. She could see them now, a large group of
people, some on horseback, some standing, all of them gathered around a tall
beech tree with thick branches overhanging the dark water.

She ran faster, her breath ripping at her throat, her
lungs on fire. She began to make out faces: Allan Fraser; Flora Chrystie
holding her wriggling babe in her arms, her three boys at her skirts; Ewen
Burke and Agnes, his wife; Meg and her parents; Kitty; and so many others. They
were all the villagers of Farraline.

What could they possibly be doing? she wondered, dazed
and light-headed from her exertion. Why were they assembled here, so far from
their homes?

Then she saw him, his head towering above the crowd,
and she felt as if she were choking, unable to draw breath.

Dougald.

He yelled out something, and the villagers responded by
shouting back at him. She caught words, phrases, each one a death knell
pounding into her brain.

"Hang the English bastard!"

"We dinna want King Geordie's spy in our midst. Do
away with him now, with our blessing!"

"Ye'll not torment our Maddie Fraser any longer,
ye devil!"

"Aye, hang him and throw his corpse into the loch.
'Twill appear he drowned, and good riddance!"

"No! Garrett," she gasped in disbelief, fearing
she might collapse at any moment. She no longer felt her legs pumping beneath
her, and she was terrified she might lose consciousness before she reached
them. "Please, God, dinna let me faint," she prayed breathlessly. She
was almost there. "He needs me . . . he needs me . . . grant me
courage—"

Madeleine burst upon them so suddenly the villagers
jumped back in surprise. She stumbled, but no one was close enough to break her
fall. She sprawled facedown in the heather, the wind knocked out of her, too exhausted
even to lift her head.

" 'Tis Maddie!" the villagers echoed
throughout their ranks, astonished.

In the next instant she was dragged to her feet, a
strong arm supporting her around the waist. She looked up, meeting Angus's
concerned gaze.

"Ye must stop this," she rasped, fighting to
catch her breath, fighting the numbness in her limbs. " 'Tis not right! I
love him—I love him."

"Hush, lass. Be careful what ye're saying,"
Angus warned, keeping his voice low, aware that everyone was staring at them.

Madeleine did not answer, her gaze falling on the man
lying crumpled at the base of the tree. His dark blond hair was matted with
blood.

"Garrett," she whispered, tears spilling down
her cheeks.