Chapter 10

It had been dark for several hours when Madeleine crept silently across her chamber to peer at the mantel clock. The porcelain face was just visible by the faint light of the moon shining through her windows.

It was quarter to eleven. Time to set out through the secret tunnel if she was to meet her kinsmen at the yew tree near the village of Errogie by midnight.

Dressed in her gray cotton gown and already wearing her sturdy black boots, she wrapped a tartan shawl around her head and shoulders, clutching it with one hand. Under her arm she carried the black clothes she wore during her raids in a tight roll. When she was sure she was ready, she tiptoed to the door and lifted the latch.

She grimaced as the door creaked ever so slightly. Holding her breath, she peered into the dark hallway and listened. She heard nothing. Garrett and his men had returned to Mhor Manor only two hours ago, but fortunately they had all retired at once.

At least she thought they had. Now that she was standing in the hallway, she could see a faint light shining under Garrett’s door.

Wasn’t it like him to still be awake, no doubt plotting his next move to capture his infamous brigand. She turned and crossed the hallway, thankful for the carpeting which masked her movement, and stepped gingerly down the side stairs.

At the bottom she paused as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. A dim light burned in the main hallway, and she heard snores from the guard stationed there. What would Garrett think if he knew his soldier was sleeping at his duty station? she wondered. Well, she didn’t care. She had one less guard to worry about.

She walked cautiously into the drawing room and headed directly to the closet, dodging the small side tables placed near the brocade armchairs. She lifted the latch quietly and stepped inside the narrow enclosure, found the round peg, and pulled the door shut behind her.

Madeleine drew a deep breath, her heartbeat drumming loudly in her ears. She shivered with nervous excitement. She hadn’t been in the tunnel since she was fourteen, when her father had showed it to her for the first time, though she had heard about it since childhood. She dropped to her hands and knees near the back wall and groped along the intricately planked floor.

Where was that notch? Her fingers ran along the cracks, searching, until she found one that was slightly wider than the others, just large enough for her fingertips. She pushed against the wood, which was springy to the touch.

Suddenly a thick wedge of planking popped up, leaving a space wide enough for her hands. She gritted her teeth and lifted the trap door until the iron hinges would go no further.

A wave of dank, musty air assaulted her nostrils, and she barely stopped herself from sneezing. Still in pitch darkness, she crouched and lowered one foot into the gaping hole.

Her foot caught immediately on a wooden ladder off to one side. She climbed down carefully, her hand grasping the wooden handle on the trap door while she descended into the tunnel. As the trap door settled back into place, years of dirt and dust rained down upon her. She sneezed loudly, once, twice, praying that no one could hear her down there.

The air was quite chilly, and Madeleine was glad she had worn her shawl. She heard the sound of dripping water and tentatively reached out and touched one earthen wall. It was damp and spongy. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Mold.

She drew out a candle stub and a small pewter tinderbox from her pocket. Kneeling, she deftly struck the flint and lit the candle. Instantly she was surrounded by soft yellow light, the wick sputtering and hissing. She gasped when she looked up.

The tunnel loomed ahead of her, melting into a black abyss beyond the flickering light of her candle. The wooden beams supporting the ceiling were draped with spiderwebs, reminding her of a crypt. She stood and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her, glancing up one last time to make sure the trap door was securely sealed.

Madeleine began to walk, slowly at first, but then faster. She had no wish to tarry in this spooky underground passage. She tried to imagine her ancestors rushing through the tunnel, but the countless spiderwebs distracted her. As soon as she swept one aside, another was tangled in her clothes, in her braided hair, even in her mouth.

She spat distastefully. God’s wounds! She couldn’t wait until she was free of this place. She began to run, her panting breaths echoing in front of her and behind her. She remembered enjoying this far more at fourteen, but her father had been with her then, holding her hand, talking reassuringly to her, and making her laugh so she wouldn’t be frightened.

Madeleine thought she might scream by the time she reached the end of the tunnel. Disgustedly she swatted a fat brown spider from her shoulder. If it weren’t for Garrett and his blasted redcoats, she thought, she would be going about her raids as before without having to resort to such drastic and repulsive measures.

At the end there was another trap door which was much heavier to lift than the other. She knew it was covered by six inches of sod above ground. She extinguished her candle, plunging the tunnel into darkness, and set it with the tinderbox in one corner. Then she scrambled up the ladder and heaved her shoulder against the trap door with every ounce of her strength.

Finally the trap door gave way and fell back against a tree trunk. She climbed out, ducking the low branches and swallowing great lungfuls of fresh, night air. She was grateful for the thick cover of fir trees, which hid her from view.

She glanced behind her at the manor house some forty yards away, glowing a pale white in the moonlight, then back to the yawning trap door. What an ordeal that had been, but she would have to repeat it again and again until the English soldiers left Strathherrick.

Och, if it benefited her people, then so be it, she consoled herself. That was worth every hardship. She closed the trap door, smoothed the grass-laden sod, and set off at a brisk walk toward Errogie, which was just over two miles away.

She could have asked her kinsmen to wait for her closer to Mhor Manor, but that would have been far too dangerous with the soldiers billeted there. It was better for her to meet them at the ancient yew tree where her clan had cut their badges for hundreds of years. Such a meeting place would surely bring them good luck.

Halfway there Madeleine changed clothes, which allowed her to quicken her pace. It was much easier to tramp upon the peaty, heather-strewn moors in trousers than in an unwieldy gown. The nights were cool in the Highlands, no matter how hot the day, and her heavy woolen jacket gave her extra warmth.

She ran the last distance because she didn’t want to be late. She had instructed her kinsmen to wait no longer than fifteen minutes after midnight. If she didn’t arrive by then, it meant the raid should be abandoned.

Night sounds surrounded her as she ran, adding a haunting quality to the starlit night. There wasn’t even a hint of fog that was so common in the Highlands.

She started as a hind barked nearby, alerting other red deer to her presence. Small animals—pine marten, voles, rabbits, and field mice—rustled and squeaked in the darkness. A peregrine falcon, startled from its perch, shrieked from a high treetop. She loved these wild sounds, the cries of the night.

She rounded the northern tip of Loch Mhor, stopping for the briefest moment to gaze breathlessly at the long stretch of water. A ribbon of moonlight streamed across the placid surface, melting into the inky black depths. It was so beautiful, and she found herself wishing she had someone to share such a bewitching sight with her. Unwittingly, she thought of Garrett…

She shivered, banishing him from her mind. What was coming over her? Her kinsmen were waiting for her and were no doubt wondering what was taking her so long. She set out once again, determined to think of nothing but the impending raid.

Madeleine raced over the last hill, holding on to her black cap. She spied the towering yew tree, but there was no sign of her kinsmen. Her heart knocked against her breast. She knew she wasn’t late. Had something happened? She slowed to a furtive walk as she looked around.

“Maddie, over here!”

Relief poured through her at the sound of Ewen’s voice. She looked to her right and smiled broadly as five familiar shapes materialized out of the blackness. Six horses followed behind them, the animals nickering softly.

“Ye had me worried for a moment,” she whispered once she was in their midst. “Why dinna ye wait for me by the yew tree?”

“A small group of soldiers passed by here a half hour ago,” Angus said, his gruff voice low and anxious. “Probably a few of the devil’s lot searching for our prince. It seemed they were on their way north to Inverness, but we decided not to take any chances. We hid well back in those trees there, just over the rise.” He sighed heavily. “‘Tis a good thing ye came no sooner, Maddie.”

“Dinna fret over it,” she said. “The danger is past. See, our yew has already brought us luck once this evening.”

“Aye, so it has,” Angus agreed as the others nodded their heads. “Here are yer pistols, lass, all primed and ready.”

“Thank ye,” she said, taking the two pistols from him and slipping them into her belt, which also held her dirk. She was glad Angus had convinced her to allow him to care for her weapons, especially now that redcoats were quartered in her house. These pistols were the last thing she wanted found in her possession.

Madeleine sensed her kinsmen’s eagerness as they gathered close around her, waiting for her command. It matched her own.

“We’ll ride to Wade’s Road, as we planned, and settle in at the pine grove near Inverfarigaig,” she said quietly. “Ye’ll wait for my signal. If ‘tis safe, we’ll take the first supply train that comes along. Any questions?’

There were none.

“All right, then. We’ve had a week’s rest and a few unwelcome surprises” —she paused, deciding not to mention Garrett’s name— “since last we rode together. But we’ll not think of that now. We’ll think only of the villagers who need fresh meat for their cooking pots.”

They quickly mounted their horses and broke into a gallop along the narrow road to Inverfarigaig. As they passed the ancient yew tree, Madeleine veered her mount toward it. She reached up and yanked off a fresh sprig, sticking it into the pocket of her jacket.

Aye, now she was well protected. She caught up with her kinsmen and passed them, swiftly taking the lead.

***

Garrett lay staring at the ceiling, his head resting in his hands. It was the second night in a row he couldn’t sleep.

He exhaled slowly. If this kept up, he’d be sleeping during the day when he was supposed to be about his mission, which might not even matter. After the miserable day he’d had, he was no closer to discovering anything about Black Jack than if he and his men hadn’t gone out at all. The Highlanders of Strathherrick were as tight-lipped as they came when they were protecting one of their own.

He rolled over and reached for the gold pocket watch lying atop the bedside table. He held it up and squinted at it in the faint moonlight.

Damn! It was half past three already. He’d finished writing in his military journal and had gone to bed near midnight. He had spent almost four useless hours tossing and turning, all the while wondering how he was going to accomplish his mission and if he would ever hold Madeleine in his arms again.

Garrett threw the watch onto the table in disgust and leaned on his elbow. Well, he had a few choices. He could either remain here in bed and chase sleep for another hour, or he could perhaps get something to eat from Glenis’s kitchen. He hoped she wouldn’t mind his intrusion too much.

Or maybe he could take a walk outside, he thought. Some fresh air and exercise might help clear his mind and perhaps even make him drowsy.

He made a quick decision and flung back the covers. It took him only a moment to dress, then he was out the door and walking quietly down the dark hallway.

Suddenly he stopped and turned around slowly. Good God, what was possessing him? He walked back past his room and toward the other end of the hallway…toward Madeleine’s room.

His hand touched the latch. He told himself he merely wanted to see that she was well. Yet he knew it was more than that.

He had the strongest desire to gaze on her beauty while she slept. He hadn’t seen her since the afternoon at the loch, and he felt as if he were starving for a glimpse of her.

Garrett stepped into her room, leaving the door slightly ajar. It had flashed through his mind that she might awaken and take unkindly to his presence in her bedchamber. And she was armed, he thought dryly. He had seen to that. Better to leave the door open, in case he needed to exit quickly to escape her dirk.

He moved stealthily toward the bed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could see a slender form outlined beneath the coverlet. He forced himself to breathe slowly and steadily, although his heart was pounding. He reached out and touched his fingers lightly on the folded edge of the coverlet.

A strong gust of wind suddenly blew into the room from the open window, billowing the long gauze curtains. They flapped and twisted in the breeze, and Garrett backed away, fearing she would wake and find him there. He glanced at the bed regretfully and quickly left the room, closing the door softly behind him. He did not notice that he had failed to secure the latch, and the door slipped open again.

Somewhat shaken, he strode down the hallway to the main staircase. Obviously he would have to wait until tomorrow to see her again, which was probably just as well. If she had found him in her room, her curses would no doubt have awakened the entire household. Her language seemed to become inspired whenever she saw him.

Garrett hurried down the steps, his eyes narrowing angrily.

Heaven help him, were his men becoming as careless and undisciplined as they seemed? The guard was sleeping so soundly, with his chair tilted against the wall and his mouth gaping open, that he didn’t even hear Garrett’s approach.

Garrett kicked one of the chair legs as he walked by, and the chair fell forward. The soldier sprawled onto the floor, groaning and mumbling incoherently.

“Is this how you hold your position, man?” Garrett asked, his expression hard. He slid the knife from his belt, bent over the gaping soldier and grabbed him by the hair. He rested the sharp blade under the man’s right ear.

“Don’t you realize a Highlander could sneak in without a moment’s warning and slit your sorry throat?” He traced the cold tip along the soldier’s neck from ear to ear to drive home his message. The man was so terrified he couldn’t speak. He only nodded, swallowing furiously.

“Get up,” Garrett said sternly, withdrawing his knife and sheathing it. The soldier jumped to his feet, swaying slightly. It was obvious his knees were shaking. “I’m going out for a walk. See that you’re awake when I get back.”

“Y-yes, sir. Yes, sir!”

Garrett opened the door and strode outside. The three soldiers patrolling the drive stopped and snapped to attention. He was glad to see at least they had not deserted their posts.

“Good evening, Captain Marshall…er…I mean good morning,” one of the soldiers offered.

Garrett acknowledged the greeting with a short nod. “I take it everything has been quiet tonight.”

“Yes, captain.”

“Good. Carry on.” He walked away from them, aware that they were wondering what he was doing up so early in the morning. He shrugged it off. It was good to keep them on their toes.

He hiked down the drive and onto the road to Farraline for a good distance, then doubled back the other way. He knew he’d made the right choice. The cool night air was working like a tonic on his senses, drawing everything into sharp focus and clearing his mind.

Garrett stopped and stared up at the black sky, sprinkled with thousands of winking stars. The moon hung like a pale white crescent just over the mountains.

His gaze fell on the great, hulking shadows soaring directly in front of him. Somewhere in those craggy hills and hollows dwelled the man he was seeking, he was sure of it.

“Where are you, Black Jack?” Garrett said softly, his words lost on the sighing breeze. “Dammit, where are you?”

He turned and began to walk in a wide arc around the manor house, his boots sinking into the spongy moor. The fir trees were thick here, tall, ancient trees that had withstood many a Highland winter. He rambled on, content to be outside amid such rugged beauty. He drew in great breaths of the bracing air, slapping his arms vigorously. Perhaps he should have worn his coat—

“What the devil?” he exclaimed suddenly, crouching on his haunches. Had he just imagined it…or was someone creeping across the moor?

Garrett held himself completely still with his senses alert and his body poised for action. He watched and listened.

Yes, there it was again! His keen eyes followed a lone figure who was stealing like a silent cat across a stretch of barren moor. Then the shadowy form disappeared into a copse of fir trees, the branches swallowing him up and covering his flight.

Garrett could not believe it.

A black-clad figure in the dark night. Could it possibly be…?

He didn’t dare to hope. There was no time for thought, only action. He sprinted toward the trees, his heart racing, his eyes searching for any sign of movement.

Garrett fell to the ground as the figure darted out again only thirty feet away from him. His fingers groped for his knife, and he pulled it out, clutching it in one hand. He jumped up and bolted after the fleeing form.

Garrett cursed under his breath as the figure dashed into another copse of trees just ahead of him, no more than ten feet away. He did not slow down. He was so close, and he had to catch the bastard!

His lungs were on fire and his thighs were pumping hard, but his footfalls made little sound. He headed straight for the trees, knocking the branches out of the way as he plunged into the wooded grove. The figure was only an arm’s length away now.

Garrett reached out and lunged, catching a handful of thick fabric. He yanked hard, and the figure fell in front of him, tripping him.

Garrett lurched forward, the momentum of his body toppling him over and over as he rolled on the ground. He hit the tree trunk so hard it knocked the breath from his body. He lay there on his stomach, stunned, his mouth full of dirt.

Then he felt a heavy branch striking him on the side of the head. He yelled out in pain, saw blinding streaks of light bursting in front of his eyes, then nothing…

***

Madeleine dropped the branch and stepped back, her chest heaving furiously. She massaged her aching shoulder, which she had bruised in her fall.

Damn, just when everything had gone so smoothly, this had to happen. The soldier’s cry still rang in her ears, still echoed about the fir grove. She had to get out of there fast, in case any guards had also heard his cry.

She didn’t bother to turn the soldier over to see if he was still breathing. There was no time, and she would discover soon enough if he lived or died.

She found the bundle of clothing she had dropped when she was tackled and ran swiftly toward the center of the grove where the tallest fir tree stood. She stooped under the low-lying branches, sifting her hands through the tall grasses for the loose square of sod. She found the concealed trap door and lifted it. Taking one last deep breath of fresh air, she clambered down the ladder, pulling the door down over her.

Again she was showered by dirt and debris. She coughed ‘and wheezed, fumbling in the dark for the candle and tinderbox. She hurriedly lit the candle, her fear easing as golden light flooded her end of the tunnel. She dripped some wax on one of the rungs and twisted the candle into it.

Madeleine shook out the bundle of her gown and shawl and quickly changed out of her black garb.

At least she would be wearing proper clothes if she were caught in the drawing room. She could easily explain that she had been awakened by the cry in the woods and had dashed down the stairs to find out what had happened. If they found her near the closet, or even inside it, she could say she was looking for lamp oil. The closet was stocked with oil, candles, and many other household items.

She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, broke off the candle, and hurried through the tunnel. The shadowed passage didn’t bother her as much this time. Her mind was too preoccupied, and her thoughts were spinning.

She had never had such a close call before. That soldier, whoever he was, had almost caught her. She had only heard him running up behind her at the last moment, right before he grabbed her jacket. Thankfully he had stumbled over her and rolled away, instead of coming down on top of her. Otherwise she might never have escaped.

Madeleine fingered the sprig of yew tucked in the bodice of her gown. Once again it had granted her good fortune. She swore that from that moment on she would never go out on a raid without her clan badge.

She reached the other end of the tunnel and doused the light, threw her black clothes in a corner, then climbed the ladder and fumbled for the wooden handle. The trap door practically flew open on its hinges. She crawled out, heaving a great sigh of relief. From what she could hear inside the closet, the house was quiet.

Madeleine rose to her feet and shut the trap door firmly. Until next time, she thought, straightening her gown and smoothing the top of her hair. She pushed open the closet door and stepped into the drawing room, holding her breath. The soldier in the hallway was awake. She could hear him pacing. She was tiptoeing toward the side stairs when the front door suddenly crashed open and a soldier yelled, “It’s Captain Marshall. He’s been hurt!”

Madeleine gasped. Garrett—hurt? Dear God, he had been the one who had grabbed her in the fir grove!

There was instant commotion in the hallway; men’s voices, raised and shouting, a chair scraping out of the way, and then from the right wing of the house, the sounds of running feet and more shouts.

Madeleine flew up the stairs, heading straight for her room. She stared wide-eyed at her door, stunned that it was open. She thought back uneasily. She had left the door closed, hadn’t she? Yes, she had, she could swear it. Someone must have been in her room while she was gone.

She felt sick, her stomach lurching. She closed the door and bolted it from the inside. As she quickly lit the candle on the table by her bed, her gaze swept the room. Everything was the same as she had left it. She looked at her bed. The coverlet was still pulled over the two pillows she had heaped beneath the sheets, and it lay undisturbed.

A sudden breeze blew in the window, stirring the curtains. Maybe it had been the wind, she reasoned, watching the embroidered gauze billow and curl. The breeze could have been strong enough to force open the door if she hadn’t latched it properly.

Madeleine started as footsteps and anxious voices sounded down the hall, Sergeant Fletcher’s voice booming above the rest.

“Easy now, lads, that’s it. Let’s get him into the room and lay him down on the bed. Watch it, you fool! Good, now hold his shoulders fast while we get him through the door…” His voice trailed off as the men moved into her father’s room.

Exhausted and spent, Madeleine sank down on the edge of the bed, twisting her hands nervously.

It was so dark in those woods, it had been virtually impossible to make out the identity of the soldier who had attacked her. And even if she had known it was Garrett she doubted she would have done anything differently. Her survival had been at stake. Hers and the people she served. If she had been caught, everything would have been lost.

Yet even as she reasoned with herself, she felt a poignant pain, a tumble of mixed emotions that both confused and angered her.

How badly was he hurt? She hadn’t hit him that hard, or had she? What if he should die?

She felt another stab of pain. What was the matter with her? She didn’t care in the least if he lived or died. He meant nothing to her, absolutely nothing. He was a murdering and lying redcoat.

Yet she knew that was not the truth. Garrett Marshall was a redcoat on the surface, but he was altogether different from what she had imagined an Englishman to be like. He had shown himself to be a man of honor and integrity, not at all coarse or crude, a man of humor, a fair man…a man who could send her senses reeling with his slightest touch.

Madeleine put her trembling fingers to her temples. Her head felt as if it were about to explode. She almost screamed at the sudden loud banging on her door.

“Who’s there?” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm and steady.

“Sergeant Fletcher, Mistress Fraser. I must speak with you at once.”

“Just a moment.” Madeleine crossed to her wardrobe and whisked off her gown and boots, replacing it with her white bedgown and cambric robe. She quickly unbraided her hair and ran a brush through the tangles to remove bits of grass and twigs. Then she rushed to open the door.

“Forgive me, Mistress Fraser,” the sergeant began, his eyes moving over her appraisingly. He cleared his throat when he saw her sudden frown, and rushed on. “Captain Marshall has been injured in a mysterious accident. Would your housekeeper…uh…”

“Glenis.”

“Yes, Glenis. Would she have any medicine? We’re looking for our medical supplies, but they’ve been misplaced somewhere. It’s urgent, I’m afraid. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but he’s weak—”

“Of course, Sergeant Fletcher,” Madeleine said, frightened at this news. “If ye’ll follow me, we’ll fetch Glenis. She is well versed in treating many ills.”

Aye, Glenis would help Garrett, she thought, walking swiftly down the stairs with the sergeant close behind her. Unwittingly, she said a silent prayer for the injured man who lay in her father’s bed.

Glenis would know what to do.