Chapter 25

Edinburgh, Scotland

Madeleine sank into a crouching position against the rough stone wall and pressed her hands over her ears in a futile attempt to drown out the piteous moans of the prisoner in the adjoining cell, a Highlander who had lost his mind after Culloden.

Or so the surly guards had told her. More likely he had gone mad from torture and abuse. She had seen and heard enough misery during the past five days of imprisonment in Edinburgh Castle to last a lifetime, and her life was becoming very short indeed.

Her public execution was slated for tomorrow afternoon, on Castle Hill at the same site where scores of criminals convicted for treason, heresy, and sorcery had met their end. She was almost thankful the wretched ordeal would soon be over.

The trial had come soon after she and her kinsmen arrived in Edinburgh, a hasty affair that had taken no more than an hour from beginning to end. She, Angus Ramsay, Ewen and Duncan Burke, and Allan Fraser had been found guilty of high treason against the Crown and sentenced to be hanged until dead. Their bodies would then be drawn, quartered, and consumed by fire, their heads displayed prominently on iron spikes to the curious citizenry of Edinburgh.

At least Kenneth Fraser would not share their grisly fate, she thought. He had died on the first day of their week-long march to Edinburgh, and his body was quickly buried beneath a cairn of stones along the steep Corrieyairack Pass.

She had shed no tears. They had all been spent. She and her kinsmen were given barely a moment beside the grave before they were shoved back into line, flanked by soldiers on every side who taunted and jeered.

It had been a nightmare. Her only consolation was that she had been spared from rape. It was as if her filthy man’s garb somehow protected her, making her appear less a woman in the eyes of the soldiers.

Madeleine sat cross-legged on the floor, worn smooth by countless prisoners before her. She massaged her bare feet. The painful blisters were almost healed, enabling her to walk with only a slight limp.

The soles of her feet had been bleeding and raw by the time they had reached Edinburgh, her leather boots no match for the long march. She had collapsed on the edge of town and been roughly dumped into a wagon for the last leg of their journey, her eyes staring hopelessly into those of her kinsmen, who had trudged close behind.

Madeleine forced the bitter memory from her mind and rose stiffly, steadying herself against the wall. She had never felt so weak, and she knew it was from lack of nourishing food. The stale bread and tepid tea was hardly the fare she needed to keep up her strength.

She laughed grimly, the sound echoing about the low-ceilinged chamber. Keep up her strength—for what? So she might swing more vigorously from the gallows, fighting for breath even as the noose tightened inexorably around her neck?

Banishing the morbid thought, Madeleine limped to the narrow window and stood up on tiptoe, peering outside.

The stone ledge was slanted upward so sharply she could see nothing but an overcast sky, but she didn’t care. She felt her spirits lighten despite her limited view. She was thankful she had not been thrown into a dark hole without windows. This small patch of sky had been her one link to sanity; an occasional shaft of sunlight was like a welcome friend.

She inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air which did much to diminish the fetid stench of her cell. The steady breeze was scented with rain, and she could hear thunder rumbling in the distance.

Madeleine thought of Strathherrick and the wild thunderstorms that rolled over the mountains from spring until late autumn, when the wind whistled and howled and the rain lashed the earth. She stood before the window with her eyes closed, her hands planted on the ledge, the cool draft blowing through her hair, imagining she was there. She imagined she was a child again, playing in the puddles, giggling happily, evading both her father and Glenis--

A loud, jarring noise startled her, shattering her daydream. She spun around as the heavy iron bar was lifted on the other side of the door, the screeching sound causing her to grit her teeth. The door was pulled back, revealing a group of six armed guards. The closest one ducked his head and entered the small chamber.

Madeleine backed up against the wall, cold fear flooding her body. The guard was so solemn—dear God, had she miscounted the days? Was it Saturday after all, the day of her execution? Her throat was constricted so tightly she could scarcely draw breath.

“Wh-what?” she choked, her eyes wide with fright.

“You must come with me, Mistress Fraser,” the guard muttered, grabbing her arm. When she recoiled, he gave her a hard push and she stumbled forward, almost falling. He caught her in time, but she yanked away from him.

“Where—where are ye taking me?” she stammered, seeking refuge in a corner. She gasped when another guard entered the cell. Her eyes darted desperately from one man to the other. She felt trapped, like a hunted animal, as they advanced upon her, seizing her arms. “No!” she cried, her feet slipping on the stone floor as they propelled her toward the door. “No!”

Outside in the dim corridor, she found herself surrounded by guards, two in front and two in back of her, besides the soldiers gripping her arms. The presence of so many guards checked her futile cries, and she fell silent, overcome with dread.

This was not how she had planned to act at all, Madeleine thought wildly, limping between her captors as they hurried her along the corridor and up a long flight of winding stairs. Where had her courage flown? Her resolve to face her death bravely? She was so frightened she feared she might wet her clothes and humiliate herself before these English soldiers. She could never have anticipated the stark terror gripping her now.

Madeleine panted, fast losing her battle to retain any semblance of reason and her ability to place one foot before the other. If not for the guards supporting her arms and forcing her along, she would have collapsed altogether. They walked through an empty room, then a wide studded door swung open and they were outside in a square courtyard flanked on all sides by two-story buildings.

Madeleine blinked, shielding her eyes. Despite the dense clouds, the daylight was much more intense than anything she had experienced for five days. She hazarded a glance around her, fearing to find a wagon which would carry her to the execution site.

There was no wagon, and as the guards marched across the courtyard, she thought fleetingly that they were going to make her walk the entire way. She could not have been more stunned when they entered another building and proceeded down a wide hallway, stopping abruptly before an ornately carved door. The guard on her left knocked loudly, then lifted the brass latch and pushed open the door.

Madeleine was ushered into a large room spartanly furnished with a long, polished table at one end and a single upholstered chair in the center of the floor. While the four guards who had flanked her waited by the door, the two men holding her arms pushed her forward and shoved her into the chair, snapping to attention as a side door creaked open.

Breathless and totally bewildered, Madeleine gasped as General Hawley lumbered into the room, scarcely acknowledging her presence. He was followed by the prison sheriff and the judge who had tried and pronounced sentence on her and her kinsmen the day after they had arrived at Edinburgh Castle.

What was going on? she wondered crazily, not even venturing to guess why she had been brought to this room. She was so intent on watching them take their places at the table that she did not notice the last man enter and remain standing near the wall. She only glanced at him when she heard his boots scraping on the wooden floor. Her heart stopped.

Garrett.

She was so stunned that the earth could have dropped from beneath her and she would never have known it. She stared at him and he stared back, his eyes filled with familiar warmth.

All she could think was that he was surely a phantom; her mind must be playing tricks. She had gone mad; the terrible strain had broken her at last. She probably would have fainted if General Hawley’s booming voice had not shattered the room’s silence. Blood rushed to her face as he addressed her.

“Mistress Madeleine Fraser, if you would kindly direct your attention this way,” he commanded, pounding his huge fist on the table.

She jumped, her gaze riveted on the corpulent general, certain if she looked back at the wall, Garrett would be gone.

Unwittingly, her eyes darted back. He was still there, the faintest smile on his lips. How strange such a phantom had been sent to her, the image of a man she had thought she would never see again. She glanced back at General Hawley, who was scowling, his face a mottled shade of red.

“Mistress Fraser, I shall be brief,” he began, shooting a furious look at Garrett. He took a rolled parchment from the somber-faced judge and held it in his hand, pointing it at her as he spoke. “His Majesty King George has seen fit to take a personal interest in your situation and has offered you the chance of a pardon, upon certain conditions to which you must agree.”

Madeleine was not sure she had heard him correctly. For an instant she thought she might be dreaming, and she sank her thumbnail into her palm. She blinked at the stinging pain, but the room did not disappear. It was real, God help her. Then Garrett must be real.

“A-a pardon?” she asked.

“That’s exactly what I said, wench,” General Hawley spat. He leaned forward, the chair creaking ominously under his weight. “I’ll tell you this, Mistress Fraser. Your pardon has come as a total surprise to me, brought forward only within the last hour by Major Marshall here. I would like nothing more than to see you hang, along with your Jacobite friends, but I am compelled to offer you a chance to redeem your miserable life.” He sat back, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. “Upon certain conditions, of course.”

General Hawley’s words were slowly sinking into Madeleine’s brain. Garrett had brought a pardon from King George himself. She felt a tiny glimmer of hope flare within her, and she glanced at him, but he was staring at the rolled parchment in the general’s hand.

“What conditions?” she inquired, the timbre of her voice gaining strength. Aye, she would gladly agree to give up her raiding, she found herself thinking, if that was the condition. She would swear to it!

“Tell her, Major Marshall,” General Hawley demanded heatedly, “as it seems this is your personal quest as well. But pray keep it short.”

Madeleine slowly drew in her breath as Garrett took a few steps toward her.

“Madeleine, you must listen carefully,” he began, his familiar deep voice sending a shiver coursing through her. “You will only be pardoned from your crime of treason, and the sentence of death, if you agree to a certain proposal.”

She nodded her understanding.

“Get on with it, man, we haven’t got all afternoon!” General Hawley shouted impatiently. Suddenly he changed his mind. “Back off, major. I’ll tell the wench the choice she must make.”

Madeleine watched silently as Garrett’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, acquiescing to his commander.

“The conditions are these, Mistress Fraser,” General Hawley muttered, clutching the document. “To receive his majesty’s pardon, you must agree to marry Major Garrett Marshall, who shall then become the sole proprietor of the estate known as Mhor Manor in Strathherrick, Inverness-shire.”

Madeleine felt as if she had been struck. She had never expected this! Her mind reeled in a confusing dance of thoughts and racing emotions. She swallowed hard, her gaze meeting Garrett’s. “Marry an Englishman?” she asked incredulously.

The question came from her lips so suddenly she was barely aware she had said it. Yet it sprang from a part of her that was so ingrained she could not have responded otherwise, despite everything Angus had told her, despite the secret feelings she held so deeply within her.

Desperate wishes, vain hopes, and dreams were one thing. Reality was quite another. There was only one answer, nurtured by hundreds of years of hatred and mistrust between neighboring peoples, reinforced all the more by the recent brutality she had witnessed, even if she knew Garrett had no part in it.

She looked down at her folded hands. “I canna marry Major Marshall,” she stated evenly, knowing she was choosing death. “I’ll not be a traitor to my people.”

“There. She has made her choice,” General Hawley said, a pleased expression on his fleshy face as he sat back in his chair. ‘The execution will forward as planned. “

“No!” Garrett shouted vehemently, striding to the table. “You have not given her the full conditions.” He glared at the judge. “You know the law. The prisoner must know every condition before the choice can be made.”

The judge turned to General Hawley and whispered to him almost apologetically. “The major is correct, general. A king’s pardon is not to be taken so lightly.” He nodded to Garrett. “You may continue, Major Marshall.”

Madeleine gasped as Garrett whirled around, his eyes blazing into her own.

“It’s not so simple, Madeleine,” he said, advancing on her. “There are other lives involved here besides your own, which the general has neglected to tell you. If you agree to marry me, you will not only save your life but your kinsmen’s as well.”

Her eyes widened, her mind spinning once again. Garrett’s voice was harsh, grating into her jumbled thoughts.

“You’ve always claimed to put your kin before yourself, Madeleine. Will you let them die horribly—Angus, Ewen—knowing you have it in your power to spare their lives? Marriage to an Englishman seems a small price to pay for those you hold so dear. The estate may no longer be in your name, but you would be living there as before, with your kin around you—”

“That’s it, isn’t it, Garrett?” Madeleine accused him suddenly, jumping up from her chair. She was shaking from the anger possessing her, shaking from the cruel realization ringing in her mind. “Ye dinna care about me or my kinsmen. ‘Tis the land ye want, Mhor Manor, so ye threaten me with my kin as ye’ve done before to get what ye want. Do ye have lands in England, an estate of yer own?”

Garrett shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “I have nothing in England.”

“Aye, so I’m right, then!” Madeleine exclaimed. “Ye’re landless, and ye saw yer chance to grab something for yerself when ye discovered I was Black Jack, knowing my lands would be forfeit once I was tried for treason.”

“Madeleine,” Garrett began, only to be cut off as she rushed on, her voice becoming more shrill.

“Yet ye knew if ye dinna have me by yer side ye’d never be able to make a go of it among the Frasers of Strathherrick. So ye went to London quick as ye could and acquired a pardon for me so ye could do just that!” She drew a ragged breath. “Did ye bribe yer way to the king? Obviously ye convinced him ‘twould be worth a pardon and a grant of land to have an Englishman living among the Highlanders. The better to spy on them, aye, Garrett? Keeping the peace for the Crown on yer ill-gotten estate?”

“Enough!” roared General Hawley, heaving his massive bulk up from his chair. “Stand away, Major Marshall!” As Garrett reluctantly obeyed him, the general pointed threateningly at Madeleine.

“State your choice, wench,” he ordered, his face bright red and sweating. “I’ll not listen to any more of your treasonous talk. Either wed the major or hang with your kin. Now choose!”

Madeleine’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart pounding furiously against her ribs. Her gaze shifted from the general’s enraged face to Garrett. His face was ashen despite his bronzed coloring, and his eyes bored into hers. She heard her own voice as if from far away, answering the general, sealing her fate.

“I will wed Major Marshall, if only to spare my kin.”

She heard Garrett’s breath escape in a rush, saw the flicker of relief in his eyes. She had never felt such crushing bitterness in her life.

Aye, ye’ve won yer fine estate, she thought fiercely, and yer Highland bride. But ye’ll rue this day, Garrett. I swear it. Ye’ll rue this day.

“So be it,” the judge proclaimed, rising to stand beside General Hawley. The sheriff quickly followed his lead. “The prisoner has accepted his majesty’s benevolent pardon. The sentence of death upon Mistress Madeleine Fraser and her four kinsmen is hereby revoked.”

“Four kinsmen?” Garrett queried, glancing at Madeleine. She ignored him, staring stonily at the general.

“One of the bastards saw fit to expire on the way to Edinburgh,” General Hawley answered for her. “There is some justice.” He turned to the sheriff. “Accompany the major and his lovely bride-to-be” —he spat distastefully, appraising her dirty feet and bedraggled appearance— “to Saint Margaret’s Chapel. When they are properly wed, her four kinsmen may be released.”

“Yes, sir,” the sheriff said, nodding briskly.

General Hawley leveled his hooded gaze upon Garrett. “See that you’re on your way back to the Highlands by tomorrow morning, Major Marshall. If I might remind you, you still have duties to fulfill in Strathherrick. Your commission does not expire until next summer. You will have a full company of my soldiers to assist you until you may summon your own men from Fort Augustus.”

With a last surly glance at Madeleine, he stormed from the room, the judge close upon his heels. The door slammed shut behind them.

“Let’s go, major,” the sheriff said, waving to the guards. They immediately surrounded Madeleine.

“That will not be necessary, sheriff,” Garrett said grimly. “Mistress Fraser will not try to escape.” He glared at the nearest guard, who quickly moved aside, then he reached out and took Madeleine’s arm.

“Dinna touch me!” Madeleine blurted in a vehement whisper, jerking her arm away. “I’ll walk with the guards, if ye dinna mind. They’re far better company.” She heard Garrett sigh heavily, but he gave no reply as he stepped back.

Madeleine walked from the room surrounded by her silent escort. She could sense Garrett’s gaze on her as they stepped out into the courtyard, could feel it searing into her all the way to the stone chapel.

She entered the dim interior, knowing that when she next saw the light of day she would be wife to an Englishman, wife to Major Garrett Marshall. Her life had been spared, yet it would never, never be the same.