Chapter 11

Glenis dipped the linen cloth into the basin and wrung it out. She laid it across Garrett’s forehead, carefully covering the bruised, swollen knot above his right temple. She touched his stubbly cheek and found that his skin was cool. He was sleeping peacefully. After four long days and nights, his fever had finally broken.

She smoothed the blanket and tucked it beneath his wide shoulders. Then she rose wearily from the chair and turned around.

“He’s seen the worst of it, Sergeant Fletcher,” she said quietly. “The fever’s gone, ye’ll be glad to know. As soon as we can get some nourishment into him, he’ll be as good as new.”

The stocky soldier nodded gratefully, a look of admiration for the stooped old woman showing on his face. “We can’t thank you enough, ma’am. You’ve saved his life…you and Mistress Fraser.”

Glenis smiled faintly. She picked up the basin and moved to the door. “I’ve some beef broth simmering in the kitchen, and good hot tea in the kettle. Ye must let me know when he wakes, and I’ll bring up a tray. He’ll be thirsty, but dinna let him drink too much water. He needs the broth first, for strength.”

“Yes, of course,” Sergeant Fletcher agreed. “Whatever you think is best.” He sat down by the bed as Glenis left the room.

She walked stiffly down the hall, stopping at Madeleine’s door. She peeked in and shook her head in exasperation.

Madeleine was curled up on her bed with the tartan blanket thrown carelessly over her. Rain was pouring in through the open windows, the drenched curtains hanging like sodden rags from the wooden rods.

“Och, that child,” Glenis muttered. She set down the basin and crossed to each window in turn, closing them firmly. The last one slipped and crashed down with a loud thud.

Madeleine stirred beneath the blanket. “Glenis?”

“Aye, Maddie. ‘Tis me. Go back to sleep.”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “No, no. I’ve slept enough. How is he, Glenis?”

Glenis sighed and sat down on the bed beside her mistress. “The fever’s broken, thanks to yer fine care during the night, Maddie. Ye know, I could have stayed up with him—”

“‘Twas no matter,” Madeleine interrupted her gently. She yawned widely and stretched. “I dinna mind, and ye needed yer sleep. We canna have ye taking sick, Glenis. The household would be a shambles without ye.”

She swung her legs to the floor and patted her servant’s thin shoulder. “Ye’ve a kind heart, Glenis Simpson. Ye cared for the captain like he was yer own kin, redcoat or no.” She glanced at the clock and saw the hands just touching noon. “Ye’ve been with him all morning. Now it’s my turn. And it’s time for ye to have another rest.”

“Aye, I do feel a bit tired.”

“Then it’s settled. Come on, I’ll walk with ye to yer room.”

Madeleine took her servant’s arm and helped her to her feet. While they walked downstairs and into the kitchen Glenis told her what she had advised the sergeant.

“Not too much broth, mind ye,” Glenis instructed, stopping by the hearth, to give the pot’s bubbling contents a quick stir. “Give him a wee taste and see if it stays in his stomach. Then give him a bit more. And see that he drinks a full cup of my special tea.”

“Aye, Glenis, dinna worry,” Madeleine said. She pushed open the door to Glenis’s room, just off the kitchen. “Go on with ye. And dinna mind about supper. I can see to myself.”

“Ye’re a good lass, Maddie Fraser.”

Madeleine smiled and closed the door quietly. She turned around just as the sergeant strode into the kitchen.

“Oh…Mistress Fraser,” he said. “I was looking for your housekeeper, Glenis. The captain is awake—”

“She’s resting, sergeant. I’ll see to the tray for Captain Marshall.”

Madeleine quickly ladled some steaming meat broth into a bowl and poured a cup of tea. When the tray was ready, she followed the sergeant back up the stairs. Her mind was racing as she walked slowly down the dim hallway, careful lest she spill anything.

Garrett was awake at last. She could hardly believe it. He was going to live…

When she had first seen him lying on her father’s bed so ashen and still, with a bloodied gash in his forehead, she had thought he would die for certain. She had tried not to blame herself, knowing in her heart she had done what she needed to survive, yet she had felt responsible nonetheless.

Perhaps that was why she had worked side by side with Glenis and Sergeant Fletcher, fighting to save Garrett’s life. If not for the loss of blood, he might have been up on his feet the next day. But a burning fever had set in. Never before had she seen such agony and such thrashing as his body was wracked by chills and then fiery heat.

The nights she had sat by his bed were a blur of changing sweaty sheets, cooling his face and feverish body with wet cloths, administering Glenis’s healing potions, and enjoying occasional respites when he slept fitfully. During the days she napped and took turns at his bedside with Glenis or Sergeant Fletcher.

The second night had been the worst. Garrett’s tormented cries had chilled her to the bone. He had shouted out names—Celinda, Gordon—accompanied by wild oaths. Who were these people, and why would he curse them so?

His strong body had shaken with tremors at one point, and he had become delirious. She could not forget his words, which had driven into her heart like piercing arrows.

“No, stop them. We’ve got to stop them! They’re wounded men…my God, stop the killing! Damn Cumberland! Damn Cumberland to hell! Here…drink this…it will help the pain… No, don’t shoot, he’s dying, can’t you see? No, I won’t stand away… Don’t shoot him… No! God help us, have they all gone mad?”

She shuddered as she remembered his face twisting in grief and the tears staining his cheeks. She had felt tears sting her own eyes, and she had been unable to swallow. Could he be speaking of Culloden? Surely he had been there. Had he witnessed the slaughter? Had he tried to stop the senseless killing?

He had slept then, exhausted, his face pale and deathlike, only to awaken an hour later, calling her name. She had been alone with him because Glenis had gone to fetch some fresh water. He had tried to sit up and she had forced him back down, stroking his hair and soothing him while he whispered her name again and again.

Another name had come to his lips, an odd name, a nickname. Black Jack. He said it several times, murmuring to himself.

I will find you. I will find you, Black Jack .

She had sensed at once who he meant. Black Jack. That must be the name the English soldiers had given her. It fit perfectly. She dressed in black and raided only at night.

His vehement words finally confirmed her suspicions and gut intuition.

Captain Garrett Marshall had been sent to look for a brigand, and she was that brigand. She was Black Jack.

While sitting beside him, watching him drift into another restless sleep, Madeleine had suddenly remembered something else he had said to her the first day they met.

It is the innocent people who will suffer and bear the blame if these brigands are not stopped .

An ominous chill had gripped her. What had he meant? Was it a threat, a hint of violence to come if his search for her proved unsuccessful?

“Would you like me to carry the tray, Mistress Fraser?” Sergeant Fletcher asked, his voice jarring her back to reality.

He was staring at her, a puzzled expression on his face, and with a start Madeleine realized that she had stopped in the middle of the hallway. Her hands were trembling slightly, rattling the china teacup in its saucer.

“No. I’m fine, sergeant,” she said, her calm tone masking her agitation. She could swear her heart was thumping loudly enough to be heard in Farraline!

She held the tray firmly and walked toward the master bedchamber. The sergeant opened the door for her, and she stepped inside the candlelit room. Her gaze flew to the wide, canopied bed. The green velvet bed curtains were drawn back and tied with a fringed cord, revealing Garrett propped up against three plump pillows, his head back and his eyes closed.

He was such a handsome man, Madeleine found herself thinking, despite the gauntness of his face. She had come to know his features intimately during the past few days, and now it seemed she always carried a vivid picture of him in her mind.

His dark blond hair reminded her of autumn grain rippling in the sun. His brows were a darker color, straight and thick over deep-set eyes, and his forehead was strong, marred only by the nasty gash she had given him.

His nose was straight, his mouth sensuous and pleasing, and his jaw square-cut and shadowed with dark whiskers. The rugged planes beneath his cheekbones were hollow, but that was to be expected after what he had suffered. He had not eaten in days.

She was glad to see his color was better. He was wearing a clean white bedshirt that buttoned down the front, and silken blond curls showed at the neckline. She looked away as a blush crept across her skin, and then walked to the bedside table where she set down the tray.

She stirred a spoonful of heather honey into the tea along with a bit of cream and then poured in a dram of whiskey. She was unaware that Garrett had opened his eyes and was watching her until she heard his deep voice.

“You’re doing this for me, Mistress Fraser?”

She jumped, dropping the spoon with a clatter. She met his gaze. His eyes were as warm and smiling as she remembered, and their vivid gray-green depths seemed to hold her captive. He was studying her face intently, as if he were seeing her for the first time. She felt a flush of heat at his admiring perusal.

“Mistress Fraser and her housekeeper, Glenis, have been caring for you from the start, captain,” Sergeant Fletcher revealed before she could reply. “They’ve been here night and day—along with myself, of course.”

“Is this true?” he asked quietly.

“Aye,” Madeleine said simply, trying to ignore the shivers racing along her spine. If only he would stop looking at her so!

“I wonder what I’ve done to deserve such fine treatment,” Garrett said with a thin smile. “I only wish I had done it sooner.”

Madeleine couldn’t tell if he was jesting or not, and she certainly wasn’t about to tell him the truth behind her presence in his room. She chose to ignore his statement and glanced over at the sergeant.

“Could ye kindly push that chair closer to the bed?”

Sergeant Fletcher nodded and quickly did as she asked. She sat down and cradled the bowl of broth in her hands.

“That’s enough talk for now, captain—”

“Please,” he cut her off, his expression sobering, his eyes serious. “Garrett. And I’d be honored if you would allow me to call you Madeleine.”

Madeleine stared at him and then shrugged. ‘Twas no harm in it, she decided. She would humor him, for now.

“Very well, Garrett. Glenis’s orders were for ye to eat this broth, but only a little at a time.” Ignoring his unsettling gaze, she concentrated on holding the spoon to his mouth and tilting it. He swallowed weakly and smiled again.

“That’s good. More, please…Madeleine.”

She almost laughed out loud in spite of herself. “I told ye, Glenis said slowly.”

His hunger was a good sign, she thought as she fed him more. She blushed anew when she spilled some broth on his upper chest, the liquid disappearing beneath his bedshirt.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said uncomfortably, setting down the bowl. “‘Twas so clumsy of me.” She undid the buttons and wiped his chest and tautly muscled abdomen with a linen napkin, not daring to look at his face. Her fingers shook as she refastened his shirt, and she fumbled with the last few buttons.

“It’s no matter, Madeleine,” Garrett said softly, bringing his hands up to cover her own. She started, meeting his eyes, and for an instant she was lost, aware of nothing but his touch and the heated expression in his gaze.

Sergeant Fletcher’s embarrassed cough finally broke the spell between them. Madeleine’s heart thundered as she slid her hands from beneath Garrett’s and reached for the cup of tea. “Glenis said ye’re to drink this down. It’s her special remedy.”

“What’s in it?” Garrett asked with a smile. He sniffed the dark, clouded liquid and eyed her skeptically.

“Never ye mind. Now drink. ‘Tis no longer hot, so it winna burn yer throat.”

He took a sip and grimaced. “I’d say there’s a bit of Scots whiskey in this tea.” He wheezed, his eyes smarting. He took a longer draft. “I’d swear to it.” He lifted the cup and gamely finished it off, presenting it to her with a small flourish. “You must tell Glenis I enjoyed the broth and the tea very much. And I especially enjoyed your kind assistance, Madeleine.”

Flustered by the quiet intensity in his voice, Madeleine rose to her feet. “Ye must rest, Garrett. Could ye ease up a bit so I might fix yer pillows?”

Garrett leaned on one elbow as she plumped the pillows. Suddenly he winced in pain, his hand flying to the knot on his head. He touched it gingerly.

“That’s where the bloke hit you, captain, whoever he was,” Sergeant Fletcher said, looking at his commanding officer with concern. “We searched the entire area around the house, but there was no trace of him, not even footprints. It’s like he was swallowed up by the moor.”

Madeleine’s eyes widened. If the sergeant only knew how close he was to the truth. She bent over Garrett and tucked the tartan bedspread around his lean waist, very much aware that he was watching her. She felt a shiver and stepped away from the bed. “There now, Garrett. Ye can lie back.”

He did so, exhaling sharply, and it was clear to Madeleine that his small movement had taxed him greatly. He would no doubt remain bedridden for several days, which was fine with her. While Garrett was recuperating she could resume her raids without fear of his personal intervention.

Now that he was feeling better, her conscience was soothed. Well, only somewhat, she admitted to herself. Yet Glenis and Sergeant Fletcher would have to see to Garrett without her now. She had to plan her raids. Just last night Ewen had sent word to her through Duncan, who had passed himself off as a blacksmith looking for work, asking when they would ride again. She would no longer make her kinsmen wait.

She picked up the tray and turned to leave, but stopped when Garrett gently touched her arm.

“Would you sit here with me awhile, Madeleine?” he asked quietly, staring into her eyes. “Please. I’d appreciate your company. Fletcher will take the tray back to the kitchen, won’t you, sergeant?”

Before Madeleine could refuse, the sergeant walked over and took the tray from her. “It will give me a chance to fetch some lunch for myself, if you don’t mind, Mistress Fraser,” he said. He moved briskly to the door. “I’ll be back shortly.” Then he was gone, leaving Madeleine standing awkwardly beside the bed.

“Please…sit down,” Garrett bade her.

Madeleine sighed softly, then sat, deciding there was no harm in lingering for a little while. She stared at her folded hands, not knowing quite what to say. She hadn’t expected this at all.

“Sergeant Fletcher told me I’ve been out for four days,” he said, breaking the silence. “I can hardly believe it. That must have been some bump on the head.”

Madeleine winced. She coughed slightly and raised her head. “Aye, ye gave us quite a scare…” She faltered, her cheeks suddenly very warm. “I mean yer men, they’ve been worried sick for ye, and Sergeant Fletcher—well, Glenis and I thought for sure he’d fall ill himself when ye became delirious. He was so upset that we had to send him outside for fresh air.”

He chuckled, and she smiled. His face looked so boyishly handsome when he laughed, so honest and open. If not for the fact that he was a redcoat, she might have liked this man.

Madeleine looked away, disturbed by her thoughts.

“I suppose I filled your ears with a lot of nonsense,” Garrett said, startling her. “I’ve seen people with fevers before. My father had one just before he died, as did my grandmother. It’s like listening to someone’s nightmare.”

She stared at him, wondering if he was well enough for her to ask him about Culloden. She quickly decided against it when he grimaced and his hand strayed to his bruised forehead. His memories were obviously painful, perhaps too painful to discuss right now. In a few days she would ask him, when he was more fully recovered.

“Ye did mumble a bit,” Madeleine allowed. “Well, it was more swearing, really.”

“Swearing?”

“Aye. Ye dinna have kind words to say for Gordon, or Celinda.”

Garrett seemed stunned for a moment then laughed softly, but Madeleine sensed there was no humor in it.

“Gordon, the earl of Kemsley, is my older brother,” he replied, his tone edged with bitterness. “It’s because of him I’m in the military. He bought a commission for me as a token of his high esteem and affection,” he added sarcastically.

“Ye were forced?” Madeleine asked, confused.

Garrett smiled wryly. “In a way. I could have turned it down, but our family honor demanded I accept. I’ve one year left, then I’m a free man.”

Madeleine’s mind raced. So Garrett was an aristocrat. That explained his gentlemanly ways and refined speech. She knew the English army was a common refuge for younger sons of the nobility, who usually possessed no estate of their own.

Perhaps the earl had been thinking of Garrett’s welfare and provided him with a profession, at least for a few years. Yet it was clear Garrett resented what had happened to him. Had he been forced to leave a woman behind, a mistress, a betrothed? Celinda?

Garrett’s fingers lightly touched her arm, dispelling her thoughts but not the twinge of jealousy that pricked her.

“Now I believe I should thank Gordon,” he said, staring at her intently. “This is the most pleasant assignment I’ve ever had, because I met you.” Madeleine’s eyes stared into his, and her skin tingled from his featherlight touch. Perplexed, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair and drew her arm away.

“And who is Celinda?” she asked, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. As Garrett looked at her curiously, she had the strangest feeling he could sense how furiously her heart was pounding.

“Celinda is Gordon’s wife,” he replied. “We courted for a time, but she opted for my brother’s title.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Madeleine stammered, surmising she had touched a raw nerve. No wonder he had cursed Celinda’s name. To be so slighted, and for his own brother! How terrible. Garrett must have truly loved Celinda to express such emotion in his delirium.

Discomforted by that thought, she rose from the chair. “Forgive me for prying, Garrett. Ye really should rest now.” She gasped as he caught her hand.

“Celinda was a youthful fancy, nothing more, Madeleine,” he said, stroking her trembling fingers with his thumb.

“Ye dinna have to explain—”

“There’s no one else,” he insisted, leaning up on his elbow.

Why was he telling her this? she wondered wildly, her pulse racing. She didn’t care, or did she?

“What of you, Maddie Fraser?” Garrett asked suddenly, causing her heart to skip a beat. “An enchanting woman like yourself—”

“Humph! Ah, excuse me, captain,” Sergeant Fletcher said loudly, clearing his throat as he pushed open the door. “I’ve brought you some more hot tea.”

Madeleine snatched her hand away as she felt her cheeks firing bright pink. She glanced from the grizzled soldier to Garrett. His eyes clearly showed his disappointment at the sudden interruption.

“Lie back with ye now,” she said briskly, attempting to mask her rampant emotions. She smoothed the tartan spread and stepped away from the bed, threading her fingers together nervously. “Ye must see that he gets some rest, Sergeant Fletcher,” she advised, passing by him as she walked quickly to the door. “If ye need anything, ye’ve only to ask.”

“Madeleine,” Garrett called out to her.

She leaned for an instant on the door frame and drew a steadying breath before she turned around. “Aye?”

“I owe you and Glenis my life. I’m grateful to you.”

She felt a dizzy rush of warmth as his eyes bored into hers, and her knees grew weak. Embarrassed by his sincerity, she flashed him a small smile, then fled the room.

Madeleine leaned against the wall just outside the room and closed her eyes. She could not deny that his words had pleased her.

Whatever was the matter with her? She had never felt so breathless and giddy in her life! It was almost as if Garrett wielded some mysterious power over her whenever she was near him, eliciting a strange yearning within her she could not comprehend. A yearning such as she had felt at the loch, shattering her reason and her will. A yearning that frightened her—

“If you’re up to it, captain, maybe you could tell me what happened the other night.”

Madeleine froze as she overheard Sergeant Fletcher’s words, her eyes snapping open. Her jumbled emotions receded into the background. She listened carefully, scarcely breathing.

“I think it was Black Jack,” Garrett began, describing his pursuit of a black-clad figure across the moor until the moment he was struck on the head. “I could swear it was he. I believe we’ve been searching too far afield, Fletcher. Perhaps this brigand resides nearby, maybe in the mountains directly to the east, maybe even in Farraline. I want you to double the guards at night, and we’ll also begin patrolling the village.”

Madeleine swore softly. She should have been more careful, but she hadn’t expected anyone to be out on the moor at that time of night. Now her task would be harder than ever.

“I’ve some important news for you, Captain Marshall, especially in light of what you just told me. It came by special courier yesterday from Colonel Wolfe. Perhaps we should discuss it later, if you’re feeling tired.”

“I’m fine, except for this blasted ache in my head. What is the news?”

“Black Jack and his men raided another supply train, just north of Inverfarigaig, on the night you were injured. It could very well have been he out on the moor, on his way back from the raid.”

“Damn!”

“It seems our presence hasn’t daunted the bastard in the least, captain.”

“Was there anything else in the message?”

“Yes. I’ve got it right here.”

Madeleine heard the crisp rustling of paper, then another vehement outburst from Garrett.

“Three weeks? He’s given us only three weeks to capture the brigand? The colonel must be mad, or, more likely General Hawley had something to do with it. He probably lost more of his precious wine in that supply train.”

Madeleine gulped. There had been several casks of wine in one of the front wagons. Since wine was useless to them, Kenneth and Allan had dumped the casks into Loch Ness, to make more room in the wagon for foodstuffs.

They had lowered their voices, and she couldn’t hear them. Frustrated, she crept closer to the door. What she heard then filled her with apprehension.

“I think it’s time I tell Madeleine about our mission.”

“Why, captain? She’s just a slip of a girl. What could she possibly know about Black Jack?”

“She’s the mistress of Farraline, Fletcher. The Frasers of Strathherrick are her people. She must know something about what’s going on in this valley. If I bring our mission out into the open, she might be willing to help us. Especially if she knows the danger her people face if Black Jack isn’t captured soon.”

“You would trust her with this information, captain? A Highland wench? Say she does know Black Jack’s whereabouts. What if she warns him and we never find him?”

“We’ll have to take that risk. I have no choice but to trust her. Three weeks is not a long time, Fletcher, and you know Hawley. Madeleine may be our best chance to end this peacefully. I only hope she’ll trust me enough to believe what I tell her.”

“Would you like me to talk to her, sir? You should rest, at least for another day or so. You look tired, and I’ve burdened you enough already.”

“No, I’ll take care of it. I’m sure I’ll soon feel more like myself.”

“I hope so, captain. You gave me the devil of a scare. I’ll leave you now so you can get some sleep.”

Madeleine blanched and backed quickly away from the door. She held her breath as she hurried along the hallway and down the stairs. She didn’t stop until she had reached the kitchen, where she slumped into a chair.

So Garrett was planning to take her into his confidence and to ask her questions about Black Jack. Well, she had some questions of her own. She rested her forehead in her hands, her mind reeling.

What was this danger he had mentioned? Did it have something to do with what he had said last week about innocent people suffering and bearing the blame? How did that fat swine, General Hawley, fit into all this?

Exasperated, she slammed her small fist on the table. She didn’t have time to sort it all out now. Her kinsmen were waiting for her in the village, waiting to plan their next raid. She’d sent a message to Ewen saying she would meet them that afternoon at Angus’s cottage if she could get away.

With so many people to feed in Strathherrick, the food they’d stolen a few nights ago would not last much longer, and the stores hidden in the cave on Beinn Dubhcharaidh were being depleted with each passing day. She did not have time to waste wondering what the redcoats were up to. Besides, if Garrett was true to his word she would know the answers to her troubling questions soon enough.

Madeleine grabbed a thick woolen shawl from a peg by the kitchen door and wrapped it securely around her, covering her head. She opened the door and stepped out into the drizzling rain, ignoring the guards’ curious stares as she sloshed along the puddle drive.

If she had her way, they would set out on another raid that night. It would be the very distraction she needed to free her mind from what she had just overheard and the strange foreboding that still gripped her.