Chapter 19

Madeleine peered out the kitchen window, taking care to hide well behind the curtain. She watched until the last of Garrett’s soldiers disappeared down the drive, their shapes swallowed up by the deepening dusk.

A jagged streak of lightning suddenly cut across the sky, briefly illuminating the dark world outside. She glimpsed them once more before she turned from the window. Garrett was in the lead on his huge bay, followed by twenty-four mounted soldiers riding in pairs.

Madeleine leaned against the windowsill. She still couldn’t get over the frenzied activity of the past half hour. One moment she and Garrett had been eating supper in the dining room and engaging in light conversation, then she had abruptly mentioned Black Jack and everything had changed.

Garrett had almost dropped his fork when she said she had changed her mind about Black Jack’s men. His eyes had bored into hers, his mouth tightening as she told him she believed he might find the entire band of brigands on the narrow road between Errogie and Inverfarigaig.

That had been the end of supper. Garrett had excused himself immediately, saying that he and his men were setting out at once to position themselves along the road. It might be hours before Black Jack rode by, but at least they would be well hidden and ready.

Within minutes Garrett and his soldiers had assembled in front of the house, Sergeant Fletcher’s sharp commands mingling with the excited buzz of men’s voices and neighing horses. A heavy drizzle had done little to dampen the soldiers’ enthusiasm.

There had been an air of nervous excitement among them that had chilled Madeleine to the marrow. To her, it had seemed like a macabre carnival. She knew within hours many of them would be dead.

Madeleine heaved a ragged sigh and pushed away from the windowsill. She could not think of that right now. She crossed the kitchen and knocked on Glenis’s door.

“Glenis, are ye packed and ready?” she called softly, careful lest she be heard. Garrett had left six soldiers behind to patrol the manor house. She could hear Corporal Sims chatting with several guards stationed just outside the front door. Their jovial laughter carried into the kitchen.

“Glenis!” she hissed, more loudly this time. The soldiers’ high spirits were beginning to grate on her nerves, which were already stretched taut. Did they have to be so brazenly overconfident? Those six men were fortunate they had not ridden out with the others!

The grating sound of the latch lifting interrupted her grim thoughts. She stepped back as Glenis drew open the door.

Madeleine could not help thinking how fragile her servant appeared, how frail and stooped. The furrows in her face were deeper and more pronounced. It looked as if Glenis had aged another ten years since Madeleine had told her tonight would be the final raid. Yet Glenis’s dark brown eyes were glittering brightly, reflecting her plucky temper. Madeleine found solace in that, believing Glenis realized it was best that she leave Mhor Manor.

“Aye, lass, I’m ready,” Glenis muttered, blowing out the solitary candle resting in a wall sconce. She walked slowly into the kitchen, carrying a large basket over each arm.

“Here, let me help ye,” Madeleine offered, but Glenis shook her gray head.

“I can manage these two,” she insisted firmly. “There’s a sack on the floor ye can carry for me.”

Madeleine picked up the bulky sack and hoisted it over her shoulder. “The cart’s just outside the kitchen door, Glenis,” she said. “The redcoats were so busy they dinna notice what I was about.”

Glenis merely nodded and shuffled to the door. She set down one of the baskets for a moment and drew the hood of her thick woolen cloak over her head. She took a last sweeping look at the dimly lit kitchen, then picked up her basket and opened the door.

They stepped outside into a light rain, thunder roaring dully in the distance. The storm that had threatened earlier seemed to have bypassed the valley, though occasional streaks of lightning still flashed across the sky.

Madeleine lifted the sack into the cart, then the baskets, and covered everything with a heavy blanket to protect the meager belongings from the rain.

“There, Glenis,” she said, turning to her servant. “The blanket should hold fine ‘til ye get to Meg’s. ‘Tisn’t raining so hard ye need to worry about yer things.”

“I dinna care if they float away,” Glenis sputtered vehemently, her face suddenly etched with sorrow. “They mean nothing to me, Maddie Fraser. Nothing. Ye’re the only thing on God’s earth I care about. And to think there’s nothing I can do to stop what’s to happen to ye…” Her voice faltered, sobs shaking her hunched shoulders. Her trembling hand gently caressed Madeleine’s wet cheek. She struggled to say something, but no words came.

“Hush with ye now,” Madeleine whispered, folding her beloved servant into her arms. It pained her heart terribly that she had no solace to offer. She hugged Glenis fiercely, the old woman shuddering in her arms, until at last she drew away. “Ye must go, darlin’ Glenis. “

“Aye,” Glenis sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her quavering voice was tinged with sudden resolve. “I must go.” She turned and grasped the edge of the cart. “Help me into the seat, lass.”

Madeleine obliged her, handing her the reins when Glenis was settled, her cloak drawn tightly around her slight frame. “Godspeed,” she said simply. Without waiting for a reply, she slapped the horse’s rump. The animal jerked forward, the wheels creaking and churning in the mud.

“Hold on, there!” a male voice shouted.

Madeleine spun around just as Corporal Sims rushed up and grabbed the harness, staying the startled animal’s course.

“Where do you think you’re off to?” he blurted, looking from Glenis to Madeleine. “What’s going on here?”

Madeleine’s eyes flashed a quick warning to Glenis, urging her to be silent, then she turned back to the corporal. “Dinna Captain Marshall tell ye Glenis was traveling into Farraline this ev’ning, Corporal Sims?” she asked innocently, smiling at him. “On a special mission.”

“Why, no…uh…he didn’t,” the young soldier stated, clearly distracted by her winsome smile.

“Och, with all the rushing about, he most likely forgot,” she said lightly. She leaned forward, speaking to him in conspiratorial tones. “Can I trust ye to keep a secret, corporal?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the other guards standing by the front door, then looked back at her. He stepped closer, inclining his head. “What secret?”

“Captain Marshall asked Glenis if she wouldna mind fetching a cask of Scots whiskey for him from her cousin in Farraline,” she whispered into his ear. “Her cousin’s one of the finest distillers in Strathherrick.”

“Whiskey?”

“Aye. Captain Marshall wants it for the celebration after, well, ye know. ‘Tis a surprise for ye and the rest of the soldiers. To thank ye for all yer fine efforts, I suppose.”

“Oh,” Corporal Sims breathed, licking his lips.

“I’d go m’self,” Madeleine continued, “and spare Glenis the trouble, but she’d like to visit with her cousin. He’s been sickly of late, and she has some herb medicine for him.” She paused, smiling at him apologetically. “I hope ye dinna mind me spoiling the surprise for ye, corporal, but ye did ask.”

“No, no, I don’t mind,” the soldier stammered. His expression clouded. “It’s a dangerous night to be out, though, Mistress Fraser, for you or your housekeeper. Perhaps I should accompany her—”

“That winna be necessary, Corporal Sims,” Madeleine objected firmly, “but I do thank ye for yer kind offer just the same. I’m sure Captain Marshall would find yer efforts better spent in guarding Mhor Manor.” Her voice fell to an insistent whisper. “Glenis should really be on her way, ye know. I dinna want to think of the captain’s displeasure when he returns to find his whiskey has been delayed.”

Corporal Sims’s eyes widened, and he sharply sucked in his breath. “I’ve held you up too long already,” he said, waving on the cart.

When Glenis clucked her tongue to the horse and flicked the reins, the cart squeaked into motion, and Madeleine caught the corporal’s sleeve. “Ye winna say a word to the others, will ye, Corporal Sims?”

He glanced down at her hand on his arm and swallowed hard. If it hadn’t been so dark she would have seen he was blushing to the roots of his scalp. He met her searching gaze. “Not a word,” he declared emphatically. “I’m in command…uh…while Captain Marshall and Sergeant Fletcher are gone, of course. If I say it’s none of their business, they won’t ask me again.”

“Thank ye, Denny,” Madeleine said warmly. “I’ll be sure to mention yer kind cooperation to the captain.”

He seemed stunned that she’d used his first name, or even remembered it. “My—my pleasure, Mistress Fraser,” he stuttered, smiling sheepishly. He turned around so abruptly that he stubbed a boot on a flagstone and almost tripped. He straightened his shoulders, however, and kept on walking as if nothing had happened.

At any other time, Madeleine might have laughed. On this occasion she felt only relief that another unforeseen obstacle had been overcome. She waited until the corporal had rejoined the other guards, then she caught up with the cart as it rumbled down the drive. She held on to the seat, running alongside. Her other hand clutched her muddied skirt to keep it from tangling in the wooden spokes.

“Who taught ye to tell such stories, Maddie Fraser?” Glenis scolded, feigning a reproachful tone. She glanced tenderly at Madeleine, her eyes awash with tears, then her gaze skipped back to the curved drive.

Madeleine felt hot tears streak her face, mingling with the cool rain. Her lips were quivering as she attempted a smile. “Ye did, Glenis Simpson,” she panted. “Every time…ye caught me in some scrape…ye told me I better have a good story…or else.”

Her hand fell away from the seat as the cart picked up speed at the bottom of the drive, the horse veering onto the road to Farraline. “I-I love ye, Glenis,” she gasped, not knowing if her old servant had heard her or not. But it didn’t matter. Glenis knew.

Madeleine stood there for a long time in the gentle rain, her eyes fixed on the distant lighted windows of Farraline. At last she turned back to the house and trudged up the drive. She was aware she must look a sight with her hair plastered to her head and her sodden gown dragging in the mud, but she didn’t care.

She ignored the guards’ curious stares and walked right through their midst, heading determinedly for the front door. She stepped inside, trailing rivulets of water as she climbed the stairs. Her brogues made squishing noises as she hurried to her room.

She quickly stripped out of her wet clothes and changed into the black garb she always wore for her raids, the guise that had earned her the name Black Jack. There was no need to use extra caution at this point and wait to change later, as she usually did. When it was time to go, she would simply wrap her brown linen dressing gown around herself until she was safely in the drawing room closet, then she would discard it in the tunnel.

She peered at the clock on the mantelpiece. The porcelain face was almost impossible to read in the darkness, but she didn’t want to light a candle. She looked closer, barely making out the time. It was just past nine o’clock. Two hours yet before she would leave the manor to join her kinsmen at the yew tree.

She dragged the rocking chair from the far corner of the room and set it in front of the window nearest her bed. She opened the window, the cool breeze catching the curtains and filling the room with sweet, rain-scented air.

Madeleine sat and began to braid her wet hair. The chair’s gentle rocking motion and the sound of rain droplets plunking on the leaves outside soothed her frayed emotions, and gradually she felt some of the tension easing from her body.

She was weary, but she would not allow herself to rest or even close her eyes. She laid her head back and stared out the window, envisioning the wild tumble of gray mountains soaring beyond the estate. It was a view she had known all her life, a cherished view which she doubted she would ever see again.

Fleeting memories of happier times crowded her mind. She smiled, remembering when Mhor Manor had resounded with her father’s exuberant laughter and the lively voices of his tacksmen and tenants, gathered for a twice-yearly ceilidh around a roaring peat fire on the back lawn.

Even as a child she had been allowed to join them, listening raptly while the bards spun their fantastic stories and poems of legendary deeds and epic valor. She could almost taste the heady heather ale passed around the fire; she could almost hear the stirring melodies of harp, pipes, and fiddle.

She fondly recalled the one occasion when her father had allowed her a tiny swallow of “stop-the-breath” whiskey, a dangerously potent brew. It was the only time she had ever heard Glenis reprimand her father in public, her servant’s anxious scolding rising shrilly above Madeleine’s red-faced coughing and teary gasps for breath.

Madeleine chuckled to herself and hugged her arms to her chest. She would never forget the plaintive songs sung round the blazing ceilidh fire, laments for heroes long dead, and the rousing recitations of clan battles hard fought and won.

She shivered suddenly, remembering the poignant songs of love; love’s bitter betrayal, love denied and unrequited, love tragically lost.

How many times had she seen tears glisten in her father’s eyes when he listened to the mournful verses? Her throat had always tightened, a sense of helplessness welling up inside her as she longed to comfort him, yet she knew she could not. All she could do was wish for the melancholy songs to end, hoping a smile touched her father’s face once more.

Madeleine sighed. She had never ceased to wonder why no one ever sang of love’s joy and devotion, the glorious rapture surrounding two people in love.

She vividly recalled seeing such happiness when her mother was alive. Her parents had found delight in each other’s company and their life together, enjoying joyous embraces and fervent kisses which had made her giggle when she was a child. Love could not possibly be all heartbreak and sorrow.

Madeleine ceased her gentle rocking, sitting still and silent in the chair.

She had known such rapture last night with Garrett.

Aye, she could admit it to herself now. There was no need any longer to repress her emotions or pretend her burgeoning feelings for him did not exist. The truth could no longer be denied, especially in light of her mortal danger. Her love for Garrett burned within her mind like a beacon, pure and blindingly radiant.

She had never known such joy as she felt in his arms, never known such happiness, such searing fulfillment. If that was what it felt like to love, then she loved Garrett as surely as she lived and breathed.

She had made love to him completely, without question, bestowing upon him everything she had to give, even as he met her with a passionate force that far surpassed anything she had ever dreamed possible.

Madeleine gripped the chair, an impassioned yearning bursting forth from the depths of her soul.

How she wished things were different! How she wished she could know such love forever!

If only she and Garrett had met in another place, another time, when they were not enemies, were not fettered by generations of hatred, mistrust, and cruel bloodshed. A place and time where they could have loved forever.

Madeleine’s shoulders slumped, her hands falling limply into her lap. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, a tear for everything that might have been.

“Och, Maddie, ye’re a fool,” she murmured brokenly, wiping the tear from her face. With great effort, she forced herself to concentrate on what lay ahead.

She was certain of one thing. When they came upon Garrett and his soldiers, she would fire her pistols harmlessly into the air. It would not be her bullets that found him, even if fate decreed he fall wounded, or die.