Chapter 13

“I’ll lead the way, if ye dinna mind, Garrett,” Madeleine said when they set out from Mhor Manor twenty minutes later. A curious smile tugged at Garrett’s mouth, and she thought he might protest, but instead he inclined his head in deference to her wishes.

“Lead on, Mistress Fraser,” he said gallantly.

She smiled briefly in return and kicked her dun-colored mare into a gallop. She purposely veered them away from Farraline and the much-traveled roads connecting the villages in Strathherrick, opting instead for a lesser known route across the valley.

She had no intention of passing through any villages in the company of a redcoat. It was bad enough that word had already been spread that she and Glenis had nursed Garrett back to health. Meg was less trustworthy than Madeleine had thought, it seemed.

Her kinsmen had questioned her about the rumor when she met them to plan last night’s raid, but fortunately they had accepted her explanation that Glenis had taken pity on Garrett and required her help. An old woman’s lapse was easily forgiven. She, on the other hand, had to be more careful.

She could not afford to fan the flames of gossip any further by riding brazenly at Garrett’s side for all to see. Her people trusted and respected her, and she wanted it to remain that way. If this route took them longer, so be it. At least her credibility would be preserved.

They rode in uncomfortable silence for the first half hour, skirting Loch Mhor and the village of Errogie, then headed northwest, where they forded the River Farigaig.

The lathered horses seemed to enjoy the crossing. The day was very warm, and the sun was brilliant in the blue sky scattered with clouds. The river’s shimmering depths and shady banks offered a cool respite from the midday heat.

Madeleine was halfway across the rushing stream when her mare paused for a long drink. If the river had not been so swollen from recent rains she would not have cared, but she feared the strong currents might topple them. She tugged at the reins, but to no avail. The mare would not lift her head.

“Ye stubborn beast,” she said with exasperation as Garrett drew up alongside her. “On with ye now.”

“Problems?” he asked.

“‘Tis plain to see, Garrett. She winna budge!”

With a hearty laugh he took the reins from her and gave the recalcitrant mare a good yank. Madeleine nearly lost her seat as the mare bounded forward after his massive bay, and the horses splashed across the river. When she and Garrett made it to the shoreline, they were soaked and laughing uproariously.

She smiled at him through the water droplets clinging to her lashes. “Will ye look at us,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “We might as well have fallen into the river!”

“We’ll be dry soon from this heat,” Garrett said with a grin. He reached out and gently wiped a damp tendril from her flushed cheek. “The water felt good, though, didn’t it?”

“Aye,” Madeleine replied, sobering at his touch. She felt a flutter deep inside her breast as he handed her the reins. It was all she could do to murmur her thanks.

They resumed their journey, but the strained tension between them had been lifted. Madeleine began to point out sights of interest here and there, especially when they reached Wade’s Road. Loch Ness stretched to the north and south as far as the eye could see, a great expanse of smooth, blue-gray water flanked by sweeping green hills and steep rock walls dropping into its depths.

There was a decidedly gloomy air about the loch, despite the bright sunshine. Perhaps it was because the waters were so vast and so deep. Or perhaps it was the eerie stories that leaped to mind whenever one beheld the mysterious loch. Madeleine shuddered, and her skin tingled with goosebumps.

“Is it true that the Scots believe a monster roams these waters?” Garrett asked, pulling up beside her. “When I was a boy my grandmother told me such a tale, and I had nightmares for days.”

She glanced at him in surprise, wondering how he had read her thoughts. “Aye, ‘tis true,” she replied, staring back out across the dark water. “‘Tis said to be a great black beast with humps, a long neck, and wee horns on its head. I’ve never seen it, but my parents swore they did once.”

“Really? When was that?”

“Long ago, when my mother was carrying me. They were sitting over there.” She pointed to a green plateau high atop a rocky cliff, aware that Garrett was watching her with a curious mix of wonderment and skepticism. His interest spurred her on. She enjoyed telling this story immensely.

“‘Twas a cloudy, late autumn day and the wind was strong, ruffling the surface of the loch. Suddenly the water began to bubble and churn. The beast rose up from the depths and cut through the water with great curved paddles, like black wings. It left a huge wake, then ‘twas gone.” She chuckled, a faraway look in her eyes. “Da thought for sure my mother would birth me there on the cliff, she was so frightened.”

“And you believe this story?”

Madeleine stared into his eyes. “Aye, I believe it, if my father and mother said ‘twas so.” She said nothing for a long moment, then gave another little laugh and looked away. “I used to complain whenever we journeyed by the loch, because I was never gifted with a sight of the beast.” She grew thoughtful, her voice soft and quiet. “My da always said ‘twas a good lesson. ‘Maddie,’ he would tell me, ‘it teaches ye to believe in something ye canna see.’“

She sighed, touched by a wave of sadness. To think of her parents together and happy, her father alive and whole. She felt close to tears but choked them back.

“Your mother must have been very beautiful,” Garrett said sincerely, startling her. “Why is there no portrait of her at Mhor Manor?”

“All the family portraits were slashed to ribbons by the redcoats who came before ye,” she replied, watching his eyes darken.

“I’m truly sorry, Madeleine. If I’d been there, I would have done what I could to prevent—”

“‘Tis over with, Garrett,” she said with a small shrug, cutting off his unexpected apology. “I’d rather not speak of it.”

He fell silent, looking out across the loch, and she wondered what he was thinking. She felt surprisingly little resentment toward him. She could hardly blame him for what had happened to her home, nor could she imagine him ever participating in such madness. She sensed a decency in him that reminded her of her father.

Madeleine bit her lip, stunned by her comparison. Dougald had never elicited such thoughts from her, nor had he ever looked at her quite the way Garrett did, making her flesh tingle and her heart hammer, fanning the heat building within her.

No! Dinna forget Garrett is yer enemy! she chided herself fiercely. Ye canna compare him to yer da or to Dougald. ‘Tisn’t right!

Oddly enough, her self-reproach rang hollow within her. Things didn’t seem so clear anymore, at least not when she was around Garrett. He seemed to have the uncanny ability to soften her hatred. He was becoming less of a redcoat in her eyes and more of a man, a most intriguing man.

With great effort she forced the whole confusing matter from her mind. “Ye were right about my mother,” she began anew. “She was said to be the prettiest lass in Strathherrick—lively, sharp-witted, and a bit stubborn when ‘twas needed.”

“She sounds just like you, Madeleine,” Garrett said softly.

His compliment caused her to shift uncomfortably in the saddle. “Do ye see that faraway bluff on the northern shore?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject. She flushed under his amused scrutiny and was more than relieved when he looked to where she was pointing. “‘Tis the ruins of Castle Urquhart. ‘Twas a fine castle once, belonging to the Grants. There’s little left now but crumbling walls and a dungeon.”

“A dungeon? I suppose it’s haunted by ghosts, as many of Scotland’s castles are rumored to be.”

“No, I havna heard any stories of ghosts at Castle Urquhart,” Madeleine replied. “But there are two vaults in the dungeon, left unopened for hundreds of years. One’s rumored to have treasure in it, and the other the plague.”

“That’s a choice I would not wish to make,” Garrett said with a deep, rumbling laugh. He glanced back at her, his expression growing serious. “I’ve enjoyed these stories, Madeleine, but I think we should move on to Foyer’s Falls. Perhaps we can find a nice spot overlooking the waterfall where we can rest and talk further. Jeremy was good enough to pack a lunch for us.”

Madeleine nodded. She suddenly felt foolish and a little hurt. Here she was carrying on about water beasts, ghosts, and castle ruins, when all along Garrett had nothing on his mind but Black Jack.

“I dinna mean to bore ye, Garrett,” she said defensively. “Nor waste yer precious time.” She jerked on the reins and kicked her mare, urging the animal into a fast trot.

Garrett was caught unaware by her swift action. She left him behind, but he quickly overtook her, his bay’s powerful strides far surpassing those of her mare. Again the silence lay oppressively between them, both keeping to their own thoughts as they rode side by side along Wade’s Road.

Madeleine ignored the groups of English soldiers they passed, her eyes fixed straight ahead as she and Garrett dodged in and out of the bustling highway traffic.

She was grateful that the paved, steeply graded road was heavily traveled during the day. The crowded highway prevented many of the supply trains from traveling between Inverness and Fort William in the daytime. If supplies were to get through at all, the redcoats had little choice but to use the road at night, despite the threat of raids. There was no other route across the mountainous Highlands.

Madeleine was pleased to see the vast number of rickety carts and lumbering wagons vying for space with pedestrians carrying bundles and baskets. A sleek black carriage drawn by four elegantly matched horses clattered by, the liveried driver paying little heed to the common folk scurrying out of harm’s way. Madeleine caught a glimpse of the carriage’s rich, well-dressed occupants, and her mood darkened considerably.

Probably some of fat King Geordie’s loyal Scotsmen—the vile traitors, she thought bitterly. She vehemently hoped the carriage would lose a wheel while crossing the humpbacked bridge up ahead and tumble straight into the loch.

It didn’t. The carriage proceeded safely, much to her disappointment. It followed Wade’s Road to the left while she and Garrett reined their horses into a walk along a narrow dirt road. Foyer’s Falls were straight ahead, only a short distance away.

Madeleine’s resentment was tempered by a rush of excitement, and she forgot the carriage. She could hear the majestic roar of the falls growing louder and louder. She inhaled the damp air, laden with moisture; it was becoming cooler as they neared the steep, rocky gorge. Then suddenly they were upon it, one of the most magnificent sights imaginable. It took her breath away.

One spectacular waterfall thundered into another and another, forming tiers of foaming white water. Mist soared high into the air, a rainbow arcing within the infinite sparkling droplets. The falls merged and melded, the water cascading into the turbulent River Foyers at the bottom of the gorge.

Madeleine stroked the mare’s smooth neck, attempting to calm her. The horse was snorting and stamping her hooves on the ground, clearly terrified by the deafening roar. Madeleine turned to Garrett, who was intently watching the falls. She had to shout to be heard.

“Would ye mind if we rode down closer to the river? Otherwise I might find myself taking a dive into the falls!”

He nodded, noting the tight grip she had on the reins, and quickly took the lead. As they moved away from the precipitous gorge overlooking Loch Ness, the mare quieted considerably. Several hundred feet farther and the falls were a dull thunder in the distance, though still visible. Garrett halted his bay and twisted in the saddle to face her.

“We could stop here if you’d like,” he offered, indicating a gentle hill that sloped gradually into the River Foyers. A thick beech wood ran the length of the green hillside, promising welcome shade.

“Aye, ‘tis a fine spot,” she agreed tersely and dismounted. She saw Garrett grimace as he eased himself from the saddle, and she guessed he was still suffering from his illness. A pang of guilt tweaked her conscience, but she shrugged it off. He was feeling better, wasn’t he? He was certainly well enough to renew his single-minded search for Black Jack!

Almost angrily she strode down the hill and tethered her mare to a tree. She plopped on the grass, watching as Garrett did the same. She made no effort to help him as he spread out a woolen blanket beside her.

He knelt and dumped out the contents of his saddlebag: a loaf of thick-crusted bread, a small wheel of cheese, and some rosy apples. It was simple fare, but Madeleine’s mouth watered. She’d had no breakfast, and the long ride had fueled her appetite.

She immediately tore off a chunk of bread, ignoring his chuckle at her haste. She split the cheese in thirds, offering him two pieces and keeping one wedge for herself. She took a bite, savoring the aged cheddar flavor. It was an English cheese, but she had to admit it was quite good.

“Here. You must be thirsty,” Garrett said as he poured a cup of red wine from a wineskin and handed it to her.

“Thank ye,” she said. She took a long draft, her eyes widening in surprise.

The smooth wine was hardly what she had expected. It was a French vintage which she had no trouble stomaching; the French hated the English almost as much as the Highlanders. Yet how had Garrett come by such a wine? French imports were prohibited in England, since the two countries were forever at war, or taxed so highly they were well out of reach to all but the rich.

“Do you like it?” Garrett asked, noting her stunned reaction.

She lowered her cup, licking her lips self-consciously. “Aye, ‘tis very good. I’ve always liked French wines.”

“Ah, so you’re familiar with foreign vintages.”

His casual comment pricked her temper. “We’re not savages here as ye might have supposed, Garrett, though yer kind treat us as such,” she spouted hotly. “My da taught me a great deal about fine wines, and dancing, and proper table manners. He saw to it I was well educated, just as my mother had been. Ye might be interested to know I can read and write as well as any of yer aristocratic lady friends!”

“Better, I’d warrant,” he said under his breath, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When she looked at him quizzically, he sobered. “I did not mean what I said as an insult, Madeleine. Forgive me if it seemed so. And it has not escaped my attention that you possess many exquisite qualities.” His voice became husky, his eyes blazing into hers with a strange but compelling fire. “A man would easily become the envy of any court with a woman such as you by his side.”

Madeleine stared at him, surprised by his candor, her heart thumping wildly. She thought to take a sip of wine, but her hands were trembling so badly she dared not attempt it. She did not want him to see how much his words had affected her.

“Did yer brother, Gordon, give ye the wine as a parting gift?” she asked with feigned flippancy, desperately hoping to veer their conversation from its unsettling course.

“It’s my own private stock,” he replied tightly, a scowl appearing on his handsome face. “I brought a cask with me from England. My life as a soldier would truly be desolate without such small pleasures, and fortunately I’ve the means to provide myself with some comforts, Gordon be damned.”

Madeleine sensed his anger and said no more. Obviously there was a deep rift between the two brothers, a rift she did not wish to explore. It was also clear Garrett had some wealth of his own to afford such wine, making him one of the luckier younger sons of the nobility. She hastily decided it was none of her business to pry any further into his personal affairs.

She looked on silently as Garrett lifted his cup and drank deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gazed out over the rumbling river for a very long moment, as if composing his thoughts, then back at her. His eyes caught and held hers.

“Tell me, Madeleine. Do you recall our discussion the day my soldiers and I commandeered Mhor Manor? About troublemakers and brigands?”

Madeleine fought the swell of apprehension rising in her heart. “Aye,” she said, gripping the cup tightly. “I asked ye if there were brigands in Strathherrick.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Ye wouldna answer.”

Garrett sighed, his gaze never leaving her face. His expression was hard and grim. It frightened her.

“You must listen carefully to me, Madeleine. I must ask you to trust me, as I’m about to trust you.”

Madeleine stared at him, incredulous. “I trust no Englishmen,” she declared emphatically, setting down her half-empty cup. “Ye’re mad to even think—”

“In this case you must,” he said, cutting her off impatiently. “Please hear me out, Madeleine. That’s all I ask.”

She said nothing, eyeing him sullenly. He interpreted her silence as an assent and rushed on.

“I was sent to Strathherrick to search for a brigand. We call him Black Jack.”

She flinched inwardly. “Black Jack? ‘Tis a clever name.”

“Yes. A clever name for a very dangerous man. He’s been raiding English supply trains for about three months now, from Inverness Firth to Loch Lochy. Several English soldiers have been shot either by him or by his men. One almost died.”

There, he’d said it, she thought with relief. A very dangerous man. He had no idea his notorious Black Jack was sitting right across from him. She wondered fleetingly if he referred to the man she had shot.

“I must find Black Jack within three weeks, Madeleine. I thought you might be able to help me. Do you know anything at all about this brigand? Anything.”

She could not believe her ears. Did he truly think she would help him? He must, or he wouldn’t be looking at her so expectantly. How utterly absurd. Little did he know that if she helped him, she’d be settling a hangman’s noose about her own neck! She shuddered at the dreadful thought, her anger piqued once again by his presumption.

“I know nothing of yer brigand, Garrett, and ye’re a fool if ye think I’d ever help ye, even if I did.”

Suddenly his hands gripped her arms cruelly, and he pulled her against him, his face within inches of her own. She tried to wrench free, but he held her fast. His breath was warm on her skin and fragrant with wine; his eyes had darkened to the color of slate. “Would you say the same thing, Mistress Madeleine Fraser,” he asked, his voice low and intense, “if you knew that within three weeks the Highlanders of Strathherrick would suffer more deeply than ever before?”

Madeleine gasped, her throat tightening painfully. “What do ye mean?” she whispered hoarsely.

“I believe I mentioned my chief commander’s name to you, General Henry Hawley, the Duke of Cumberland’s half brother. The general has a remarkable talent for brutality. I have no doubt you’ve heard of some of his recent exploits.”

She bobbed her head. “Aye.”

“If I cannot find Black Jack within three weeks, General Hawley has sworn to descend on your valley like the angel of death himself. He’ll start by burning every house in Strathherrick, even your own. Only then will he ask questions about Black Jack, and believe me, Hawley won’t rest until he has that brigand in chains. His methods are not pretty, Madeleine, but if you want, I can describe them for you—”

“No!” she cried, her fingers desperately prying at his hands. “Ye’re hurting me!”

“He’ll hurt you, too, Maddie, only far worse.” He released her so suddenly that she toppled back onto the blanket. She scrambled to her feet, rubbing her arms. Her flesh stung where he’d gripped her. Tears smarted her eyes and rolled unchecked down her pale cheeks.

At the sight of her tears Garrett rose beside her, heaving a ragged sigh. His expression was no longer hard. His eyes desperately searched her own.

“I’m sorry, Madeleine,” he apologized. “Forgive me. I only want you to understand the seriousness of General Hawley’s threat.” He reached out to her, but she darted away. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you—”

“Liar!” Madeleine spat, her wet eyes flashing. She panted, straining hard to catch her breath. Was this the danger Garrett had spoken of to Sergeant Fletcher? she wondered crazily. Surely it wasn’t true! The picture he painted was so brutal, so horrible that she could not think rationally.

“What have they promised ye for telling these lies, for threatening me with the lives of my kinsmen, innocent women and children?” she asked challengingly.

“Not lies, Madeleine. It’s the truth, I swear it. You must believe me.”

She glared at him, clenching her fists. “I can see what ye’ve been doing, Captain Garrett Marshall, with yer gentlemanly ways and fine compliments! Ply the Scots wench with wine, give her a kiss or two, and if ye’re lucky, maybe she’ll believe yer flattery and maybe,” she hissed, “the Highland lass will fall into yer arms, perhaps even yer bed, and tell ye anything ye need to know. If that doesna work, threaten the stubborn wench with lies. She’ll surely come ‘round, either way, and ye’ll have yer brigand in a flash!”

She advanced on him, the pent-up fury of the past months overwhelming her completely. “What’s yer reward for such lies and deceit?” she shrieked. “The rank of major? A pot of gold?”

The next thing Madeleine knew she was striking him with her fists, pounding his broad chest as hard as she could. He stood there a moment and allowed her to beat on him, until at last he grabbed her wrists with one hand and yanked her arms behind her back.

She struggled and kicked, but he held her so tightly she could hardly move. Finally she went limp in his arms, exhausted, her tears coming in a fresh flood.

Garrett held her as she wept miserably, her head against his chest, her slim body wracked by a storm of emotion. He tenderly stroked her hair until her sobs quieted. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“My reward is simple, Madeleine. I cannot bear to see Strathherrick become another Culloden. I’ll never forget that day as long as I live, and it is the same for my commander, Colonel Wolfe. It was his idea to send me here, to use peaceful means to find Black Jack. You may find it hard to believe, but there are those of us who abhor what has been done to the Highlands.”

Stunned, she looked up at him through dimmed eyes. “So ye were there, at Culloden.”

“Yes,” he answered quietly, a shadow passing across his face. “All of us aren’t butchers, Maddie, despite what you may think. After the battle some of us tried to stop the slaughter—”

“Ye said so during yer fever,” she interrupted, using her palm to smudge away her tears. “Ye cried out such terrible things. ‘Twas my plan to ask ye about it once ye were on yer feet again.”

He swallowed hard, his voice catching. “Yes, it was terrible, like living through hell on earth. A madness seized our soldiers; it was a bloody frenzy. Cumberland told us he had intercepted a letter from the Jacobites saying they’d offer no quarter to the wounded if they won the battle, so our troops were ordered to do the same.”

“‘Twas a lie! My father would never have done such a thing, nor would my kinsmen!”

“I know, Madeleine. I know. But the damage was done. Once the massacre was started, there was no stopping it. There was nothing I could do.”

She felt his body tremble as he held her, his face etched with pain.

“Just as the battle ended, a Highlander not far from me fell with a gaping stomach wound,” he said tonelessly. “When I heard Cumberland’s order to take no prisoners, I ran to the man, hoping to drag him safely from the field. I wasn’t fast enough. I had barely given him a sip of brandy to ease his pain when another officer shoved me aside and shot the Highlander through the heart.” His voice fell to a hoarse whisper. “My uniform, my hands, were soaked in his blood. Dammit, the man was already dying!”

Madeleine blinked, startled to see unshed tears glistening in Garrett’s eyes. She felt her throat tighten painfully, and she looked away, overwhelmed by his emotion.

She would never have thought to hear such a story from a redcoat. It shook her long-held belief that all Englishmen were murderers and the devil’s spawn. Garrett seemed all too human, with feelings and a deep sense of right and wrong. Perhaps that was even harder for her to bear.

Such knowledge battered the defenses she had built up within herself, the hatred and distrust that had already been weakened by the intimate moments they had shared. Despite her accusations, she could not deny the stirring power Garrett held over her.

“Madeleine.”

She glanced up, meeting his eyes. His gaze was somber, piercing into her own.

“As mistress of Farraline, you can help me,” he said, his voice throbbing with intensity. “I would like nothing more than for the Frasers of Strathherrick to live in peace…for you to live in peace, among your people. I ask only that you consider what I’ve said. Please. Please weigh everything carefully. It’s been a terrible shock for you, but it is God’s truth. Just remember, I’ve only got three weeks.”

Madeleine dropped her gaze as he finally released her. Her mind was spinning and her thoughts and emotions were raging a furious battle. She sensed he was telling the truth, yet she could not bring herself to believe it. She needed time to think.

“I want to go home,” she said, turning away. She heard him sigh heavily. His voice was weary, resigned.

“Very well.”

While Garrett gathered up the refuse from their meal, she walked to her mare and mounted. She did not wait for him. She flicked the reins, and the mare galloped up the hill.

She avoided Wade’s Road altogether and set off at a hard pace northward across the valley. She barely noticed the vibrant purple patches of heather, just beginning to bloom, a sign of the approaching autumn.

It did not take long for Garrett to catch up with her. When he reined in his bay beside her mare, she did not acknowledge his presence. Nor did she answer when he said her name.

Garrett did not speak again. Theirs was a long, silent ride back to Mhor Manor, accompanied only by pounding hooves and the whistling wind around them.