Chapter 27

The cobbled street was awash in bright morning sunlight when Madeleine stepped from the inn and was helped into the carriage by her silent husband. When Garrett closed the door behind her and climbed atop with the driver, she knew she would be riding alone. She was relieved she had been spared his company. His light touch on her arm had flustered her altogether.

“A good journey to ye!” the Merretts cried out as the two shining black coaches jerked forward, the second surrounded by its somber guard.

“God’s blessings to ye and yer husband!” Clara called to her, waving her apron gaily.

Madeleine forced a smile, waving back, then settled against the plush seat as the inn disappeared from view.

She yawned drowsily. She had been awakened so early, just after dawn, that she was still tired. She closed her eyes, her head bumping upon the cushion, but the carriage was swaying so much she knew she would never be able to sleep. Instead, she watched as the cluttered houses and narrow streets of Edinburgh swiftly gave way to rolling hills and trees aflame with vibrant, autumn color.

They had journeyed no more than a quarter hour when the carriage rumbled to a stop.

Madeleine leaned curiously out the window, wondering what had caused their delay. She was stunned to see a long line of loaded wagons waiting beside the road, and even more surprised by the anxious lowing of cattle filling the air.

She shielded her eyes from the sun. There were soldiers everywhere—Hawley’s troops. Garrett had said they would be meeting their escort on the road leading out of the city. But why so many wagons? She counted quickly. There were twenty-six in all and a herd of Highland cattle, including a bull. She had never seen such a cavalcade!

Her attention was diverted as Garrett jumped down from the driver’s seat and mounted a beautiful dappled-gray stallion brought to him by one of the soldiers.

“Garrett, what’s going on?” she asked loudly, raising her voice so she might be heard above the din. “Are all of these wagons bound for Strathherrick?”

He reined in beside her window, an enigmatic smile on his face as he nodded.

“Will ye kindly tell me what’s in them?”

“Supplies for the long winter ahead,” he said, looking at her warmly.

“What kind of supplies? And what of the cattle?”

“A herd for Mhor Manor. If you’ll excuse me, Madeleine, there’s work to be done.”

Before she could reply, he veered the restless stallion sharply around and rode into the midst of the soldiers. She could hear him issuing commands, and the confusion began anew as wagons were brought into line behind the carriages, the cattle bringing up the rear.

Exasperated, Madeleine fell back against the cushion. His short answers had hardly satisfied her curiosity. Surely Garrett realized the stable at Mhor Manor couldn’t possibly hold so many animals. And twenty-six wagons full of supplies? Was he thinking to use part of the manor house for storage? Where would they find room for everything?

She gasped as the carriage suddenly lurched forward, and she had no choice but to resign herself to her questions remaining unanswered, at least for now. If Garrett wouldn’t tell her, she would just have to discover for herself exactly what was in those wagons.

The hours passed slowly as they journeyed through the beautiful Lowland hills. A few times Madeleine managed to doze fitfully, other times she was lost to introspection, but mostly she gave her mind a rest and simply gazed at the passing scenery.

It was near nightfall when the carriage finally drew to a halt outside a rustic country inn. Weary and rumpled from the constant jostling, Madeleine was more than grateful when Garrett lifted her from the carriage and she set her feet upon firm ground.

It was only when he led her through the inn’s front door that her apprehension swelled anew. Would tonight be a repeat of last night? she wondered nervously, not daring to look up at him.

“We’ll need two rooms,” Garrett said to the stooped innkeeper, quickly dispelling her fears. “One for the lady, and one for myself.” He turned to her, his eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. She could not fathom what he was thinking. “I’ll have your supper sent up to you. We’ll be rising at dawn again, so you’d do well to retire early. Sleep well, Madeleine.”

“What of my kinsmen?” she called out to him just before he walked out the door.

“They’ll be camping outside with the soldiers. Don’t worry, Maddie. They’ll be fine.” The door slammed shut, and he was gone.

Madeleine’s knees fairly wobbled with relief as she followed the innkeeper up the stairs to her chamber. She waited while the old man lit several candles and opened the shutters to allow fresh air into the room, then she sank unsteadily against the door when he left her to her privacy.

Her gaze swept the tidy chamber, falling on the large bed in the corner, a bed she would thankfully sleep in alone. It was clear Garrett realized from their unsettling encounter the night before that she had no wish to share his bed. She frowned as she pulled off her traveling coat. She did feel a bit cheated that she hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him so again.

A sudden rap at the door startled her and made her heart pound furiously. Dear God, had Garrett reconsidered?

“Who’s there?” she said, retreating to the window.

“I’ve brought yer supper, m’lady.’

Madeleine ran back to the door and opened it, but only wide enough to take the tray from the old man.

“Thank ye,” she said as he closed the door for her. She carried the tray to the bedside table, her hands shaking as she made short work of the steaming barley soup and brown bread.

With her stomach warm and full she felt even wearier. She undressed quickly and climbed into the bed, delighting in the clean linen sheets and down coverlet. She fell asleep immediately. She did not hear the door open quietly, nor the soft footsteps fall across the rug.

Good night, sweet Madeleine,” Garrett whispered, smoothing a silken chestnut curl from her cheek. He thought to climb in beside her, craving the warmth and feel of her lithe body next to his. He could be gone from her room well before she awoke.

With great reluctance he decided against it. He gazed at her for several long moments, then left as quietly as he had come.

***

A few nights later, Garrett was not feeling so charitable. He threw a stick into the blazing campfire, but his eyes were not on the flames. He was mesmerized by Madeleine’s enticing silhouette on the tent wall; her every movement played out for him in the golden radiance of an oil lamp he had lit for her use.

He was glad he had ordered the soldiers to set up his and Madeleine’s tent well away from the rest. He could not bear the thought that someone else might be watching her now, as he was. Madeleine was his wife, and her beauty existed for his eyes alone.

This was the first time there had been no inn to be found when the cavalcade halted for the night, and it would probably happen again before they reached Strathherrick. As they approached the Highlands, congenial inns were becoming harder to find. The cruel ravages of the past months had stamped out this means of livelihood as well.

Tonight he was almost grateful for the failure to find an inn. He was growing tired of sleeping in a separate bedchamber, knowing that a few strides, even a splintered door, would take him to her side.

Garrett sucked in his breath as Madeleine began to brush her hair, the sight of the languorous strokes fueling the rising heat in his body. He counted the strokes, imagining what that slim hand might do to his flesh in such a slow, languid fashion, and he had to force the compelling thought away as he felt himself grow hard.

He clenched his jaw, thinking instead of the journey. Each day’s routine had been much like that of the last. He had hardly seen Madeleine, except for the times he would ride up beside her carriage and inquire after her well-being. They hadn’t even shared a single supper after the first night. Earlier that evening she had claimed she wasn’t hungry, despite the meal he had prepared. He could well imagine the reason behind her lack of appetite.

The only difference in their routine would come tomorrow, when the carriages were abandoned because of the steeper terrain. He would see much of Madeleine then when she would be riding the fine roan mare he had bought for her.

Garrett’s thoughts faded as Madeleine stood up and began to remove her clothing. He could see her fingers unfasten each button on her riding coat, and then she began to pull it from her shoulders. He envisioned the lacy chemise he had bought her, molded to her breasts—

Suddenly she bent and doused the light, as if she sensed he was watching her.

“Damn!” Garrett swore heatedly, rising to his feet. He tossed the last of his brandy into the hissing flames and looked up into the night sky. Stars glittered as far as he could see against a canopy of blue-black emptiness. He stood a moment, drawing deep breaths of the brisk air, then resolutely made his way to the tent.

When he lifted the flap, he was greeted by a tense silence.

“Madeleine?” he said, stepping inside the tent.

He heard only silence at first, then the sound of gentle breathing.

So she was feigning sleep, he thought angrily, moving to the pallet he had set aside for himself. Feigning sleep for fear he would touch her, hold her, make love to her. Dammit, she was his wife!

He shed his clothing in the darkness and lay down on the pallet. He lay perfectly still, listening to her as she breathed in and out, so softly, so convincingly. How he ached to span the small distance between them and feel that warm breath against his skin, his mouth. How he longed to hear her moans, her sighs, her gasps of pleasure.

Garrett threw his arm over his head, imagining her outburst if he so much as made a movement toward her. Her screams would surely bring the rest of the camp to her rescue, thinking the tent they shared was being attacked by fugitive Highlanders.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, to sleep. It seemed impossible!

He could not hold his desire in check much longer, that much he knew. He had already decided that when they returned to Mhor Manor, Madeleine would share his bed.

They were husband and wife. He would not suffer being apart from her within their home. And if they slept together, perhaps she might surrender at last to the desire he had drawn from her in Edinburgh, the desire he remembered so vividly from their one night of passion. He could only hope.

***

Madeleine cursed to herself as she strained to catch a glimpse of Mhor Manor in the distance, and beyond that, Farraline. After journeying for ten long days, she could barely contain her excitement. She had thought she would never see her home again. Yet her anticipation was tempered by frustration at the traveling outfit Garrett had given her. Frowning, she gave the riding coat a sharp tug.

The narrow woolen skirt forced her to ride sidesaddle, a ladylike mode she was not only unaccustomed to but disliked intensely. If she were astride her mount instead of sitting so awkwardly in the saddle, she could be standing in the stirrups, affording her a better view.

As it was she had to content herself to wait until their long procession drew closer to the estate. They were moving at such a snail’s pace that it would be another half hour before they reached Mhor Manor!

Madeleine flicked the reins impatiently. She yearned to see what condition her home was in after that fat swine’s brief stay. She hoped it wasn’t a gutted shell like so many of the abandoned manor houses she had seen along the way, the former homes of Jacobites less fortunate than herself. Hawley had told Garrett that Mhor Manor was still standing, nothing more.

She also wanted to see if the villagers had begun to rebuild Farraline, as Angus said they would. She desperately hoped that they had. Already there was a sharp snap in the air. Her people would need snug, sturdy roofs over their heads to keep out the cold winds and damp mists the autumn always brought to the Highlands.

Madeleine took a deep breath, inhaling the pungent scents of moss and heather. The heather was in full bloom, covering the rolling moor like a purple mantle, and dotted here and there with rare patches of lucky white blossoms. The scattered groves of trees were ablaze with color, especially her favorite, the beech, with its fire-bronze leaves. Another wave of excitement gripped her. She could scarcely believe she was home!

She glanced over her shoulder at the winding cavalcade stretching behind her, grateful she was not bringing up the rear along with her kinsmen and a dozen mounted soldiers. She would have been doubly frustrated. It was all those lumbering wagons that had slowed their progress in the first place.

Her forehead puckered in a frown. She still didn’t know what was in the wagons. Every time she had ventured to peek beneath the canvas coverings, Garrett had suddenly been behind her, inquiring why she was snooping about where she didn’t belong. That accusation had never failed to infuriate her, as did most of what Garrett said to her.

Even his apology over what had happened to Kenneth had angered her. It was Garrett’s soldier who had shot her kinsman, though deep down she knew she couldn’t really blame him. The surgeon’s cruel treatment, after all, had caused Kenneth’s death.

Madeleine sighed, her eyes unwittingly seeking out Garrett at the front of the cavalcade, riding astride his prancing gray stallion. His broad back was to her, his hair shining like honeyed gold in the sunlight. She could not deny she found him to be the most handsome of men.

Her heart beat a little faster as Garrett turned suddenly to find her studying him. When he flashed a smile, she quickly looked away, flustered, her anger piqued more at herself than at him. It never failed to amaze her how his slightest attention set her pulse racing. It seemed her senses were determined to thwart her best efforts to despise him.

At least Garrett had left her alone through much of the journey, she thought gratefully. Especially the nights they had shared a tent. With him lying so close to her, she had been unable to sleep until sheer exhaustion had swept over her.

She had also seen little of her kinsmen. She simply could not face them. It was enough that they presumed she slept each night with a redcoat. She knew she would have to speak to them eventually, but for now she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Och, Maddie, ye canna run away from them forever,” she chided herself, chagrined by her fears. Maybe her kinsmen didn’t think so badly of her after all, despite what she believed. Garrett had said they were grateful to her.

Aye, then, she decided. After her kinsmen were reunited with their families and friends and things had settled down a bit, she would meet with them and explain everything.

She could only guess what lies Garrett had already told them. Her kinsmen needed to hear from her own lips what had actually happened and the truth behind her pardon. She had to warn them not to be swayed by any attempts Garrett might make to gain their acceptance, either by his words or actions—

“What are you thinking?” a familiar voice asked lightly, startling Madeleine from her determined reverie. She glared at Garrett, who had suddenly ridden up beside her.

“My thoughts are none of yer concern,” she snapped, sweeping a loose chestnut lock from her face. She could see his warm smile tighten, but other than that he appeared unperturbed by her churlish reply.

“Would you like to ride ahead with me?” he offered. “You must be eager to see your home again.”

A tart response flew to Madeleine’s lips, but she bit it back. Garrett knew well enough how she felt when it came to Mhor Manor and his ownership of her land. There was no sense in beating it into the ground.

“Aye, I’d like to see what’s left of it,” she replied evenly, ignoring his look of mild surprise. She followed his lead, urging her roan mare into a gallop beside his powerful stallion. They quickly left the plodding cavalcade far behind them.

Madeleine felt a wild sense of exhilaration as they raced along and gladness that she was still alive. In her heart she was grateful to Garrett for saving her life, regardless of his method. Perhaps one day she might even thank him.

No, ‘twas unlikely, she told herself, dismissing the thought. Her exhilaration swiftly became apprehension as they neared Mhor Manor from the south.

She spied the manor house through the spreading fir trees, standing stark and silent against the backdrop of soaring mountains. Even from this distance she could see several windows had been shattered on the first floor, the empty window frames like black holes gaping from the whitewashed exterior. Yet the house itself appeared intact, with no evidence of fire.

She anxiously flicked the reins across the mare’s rump. The startled animal surged forward, outdistancing Garrett’s stallion and cantering at a breakneck speed down the last stretch of road and into the drive. She drew up the reins sharply and slid off the lathered horse a few feet from the front door.

Without waiting for Garrett, Madeleine rushed inside. She stopped abruptly in the main hallway, her eyes widening, her heart sinking into her boots. She felt as if she was reliving the first time the soldiers had ravaged her home.

She turned around slowly, looking first at the dining room; the polished table was split down the center as if it had been hewn in two, wine stains were splashed on the walls, chairs were overturned. She held her breath as she glanced into the drawing room. The furniture was intact, but the glass from her mother’s cabinet lay shattered on the floor, and the brocade padding on the armchairs was slashed and mutilated.

She walked into the room, staring numbly at the closet door, nearly ripped off its hinges. There was nothing left of the planked floor inside the closet, the entrance to the secret tunnel clearly revealed. Angus had told her that Garrett had said something to General Hawley about the tunnel, yet she couldn’t imagine how he had found it.

“It looks like the celebration continued long after I left Mhor Manor,” Garrett said behind her, cutting into her thoughts.

Madeleine turned to face him. “Celebration?”

He nodded. “Black Jack’s capture.” He quickly changed the subject. “Do you want to look upstairs?”

She shook her head. “No, not yet.” She walked past him and into the dining room, aware that he was following her.

She righted a chair near one of the shattered windows, staring dazedly at the water-damaged sill and the mildewed rug beneath her feet. Rain must have poured in through the empty frames during numerous thunderstorms like the ones she had imagined from her prison cell.

“I’ll board up these windows until we can have new glass brought from Inverness,” Garrett said quietly. “If there’s anything else you want replaced immediately, Madeleine, you must let me know.”

She didn’t answer him but moved toward the door leading into the kitchen. Her nostrils flared, and her stomach flipflopped. There was a putrid stench coming from the kitchen. She paled, afraid to think of what she might find.

“Don’t, Madeleine. Wait here,” Garrett bid her, catching her arm. He pulled his cravat from around his neck and covered his mouth with it, then opened the door and disappeared into the kitchen.

She heard him cough and curse loudly, then listened to the outer kitchen door opening and closing and the long shut windows squeaking in protest as they were hastily raised. Finally Garrett strode back into the dining room and slammed the door behind him.

“You don’t want to go in there for a while, not until the place airs out,” Garrett said, his eyes watering.

“What was it?”

Garrett grimaced, slightly pale himself. “Hawley’s cooks left a sheep’s carcass to rot on the kitchen table. I’ll have it buried right away and the kitchen scrubbed down.” He shuddered visibly. “I think it will be a long time before I’m able to eat lamb again.” He took her arm and escorted her back toward the main hallway. “The upstairs is probably much the same as down here. Would you rather we ride into Farraline?”

Madeleine started, his question piercing the dazed fog that had settled over her. “Why do ye want to go into Farraline?” she asked suspiciously, jerking her arm away.

Garrett sighed heavily. “I’d like to see the extent of the damage, if you don’t mind, Madeleine. As soon as my own soldiers arrive from Fort Augustus, we’re going to help rebuild the village. We’ll have to work fast if we’re to beat the snow.”

Stunned, Madeleine turned on him, his words confirming what she had thought all along. “Part of yer grand plan, aye, Garrett?” she accused loudly, her voice reverberating throughout the silent house. “Well, I’ll tell ye this. I’ll not be a part of it!”

“Maddie—”

“No, ye’ll hear me out,” she silenced him. “If ye think to use me to sway my kin to yer favor, or to influence them in any way, perhaps to accept the tyranny of King Geordie, ye’re wrong. I’m yer wife by law, I canna deny it. But I winna play the wife, Garrett, nor support yer actions. Ye’ll soon find out the Frasers of Strathherrick want none of yer help, nor will they want an English spy in their midst, once they discover yer true purpose.”

Garrett stared at her, his eyes darkening though his expression was inscrutable. “It’s not my plan to use you, Madeleine, as you so put it,” he said grimly, “or to act as a spy, as you so firmly believe. I only seek to right some of the damage done.” He strode to the door, calling out over his shoulder. “Either come with me or stay here. It’s up to you.”

Madeleine was tempted to tell him exactly where he should go and slam the door in his face, but she wanted desperately to see for herself how the villagers were faring. She swallowed a good part of her ire, knowing she didn’t want to wait and hear the news secondhand from Garrett. She ran out the door and quickly mounted her mare, cursing again the skirt that so constricted her movement.

Neither of them spoke as they rode toward Farraline, the strained silence that was becoming so familiar settling between them once more.

Madeleine felt her throat tighten as they drew closer, fearing the worst, yet she could already see white smoke curling into the air just beyond the low rise, a very good sign. She nearly shouted for joy as the entire village came into view.

Many of the cottages had already been rebuilt on the scorched earth where they had stood before, the same stones, now blackened with soot, forming the low walls. She was pleased to see even their small church had been rebuilt.

Yet it was clear there was still much work to be done. Nothing was left of those poorer cottages built entirely of turf walls and thatched heather roofs. Makeshift hovels abounded where the cottages had once stood, some propped up by charred tree trunks while others leaned against the sturdier stone cottages.

Madeleine took heart in the amount of activity in the village—children were playing, men were clambering atop newly thatched roofs and weighting them with stones to fend off the wind, women were busily sweeping streets or laboring over communal black pots set upon tripods.

She inhaled deeply of the aroma of food cooking in the air. She heard laughter and friendly shouting, calls for more stones to finish a wall or more turnips for the stew. She even heard Flora Chrystie calling for her boy Neil somewhere in the village. Her kinswoman’s voice carried to her like the sweetest music.

Angus had been right, Madeleine thought, smiling as she remembered his words of comfort the morning after their capture. Her people’s hope had not died that horrible night. She had accomplished what she’d set out to do.

Thanks to Garrett Marshall, she found herself thinking.

Aye, she could admit it. Garrett had played a part in this as much as she. This scene would have been far different if it hadn’t been for his warning about Hawley’s impending threat. She could at least thank him for forcing her into a decision that had spared her people’s lives.

Madeleine turned to him, words of gratitude upon her lips, only to discover he was no longer at her side. She twisted around in the saddle, looking for him. He was riding back toward Mhor Manor. She could barely hear him calling out to the driver of the first wagon just now turning into the estate.

The moment was gone. Once again she felt her anger swiftly returning as she finally guessed what was in those wagons.

This was all part of Garrett’s plan.

It had become very plain that he possessed a sizable income, no doubt his inheritance. The extravagant night at the Edinburgh inn attested to that, along with the beautiful clothes he had bought her, the finely bred mare, and even the herd of cattle.

The wagons were probably filled with things he knew her people needed, things they had lost in the flames that could not be made easily or replaced without money. Precious items he could use to win their favor and acceptance and make his task of keeping the peace for King George all the easier.

Yet if Garrett had such an inheritance, why hadn’t he simply bought himself an estate in England? she wondered, perplexed. Why had he chosen her land instead, forcing her to become his bride so he might live among Highlanders who were hostile at best to any English presence?

It was beyond reasoning, unless…

No, she hadn’t misjudged him, Madeleine decided heatedly, forcing the disturbing thought from her mind. ‘Twas easy enough to explain. Whatever Garrett’s inheritance, it was probably not enough to buy himself an English estate as fine as Mhor Manor, yet it was sufficient to cover his bribes and afford him a comfortable living on Fraser lands. Bastard!

Madeleine tugged sharply on the reins, veering the mare hard about. Aye, she would personally see that her kin had nothing to do with Garrett and his wagons full of winter supplies!

“Maddie Fraser!”

Startled, she spun the horse back around to find Meg Blair running toward her, waving her hand frantically.

“Maddie, I canna believe ‘tis ye!” the plump young woman cried, tears swimming in her eyes. “I thought for a moment I might be seeing a ghost.”

Madeleine cringed inside. She wasn’t prepared to greet anyone yet, especially not Meg, whose tongue was apparently looser than Madeleine had thought. It was Meg, after all, who had spread the news about Glenis and herself tending to Garrett after he had been injured. She watched as the young woman slowed her pace and stopped, her chest heaving.

“We’ve been so worried about ye, Maddie,” Meg gasped, her chubby face flushed pink with exertion. “Ever since we saw the redcoats taking ye and Angus and the others away that night.”

She drew a ragged breath. “They told us ye were the brigand who’d been raiding the English. Is that true, Maddie? They said ye were going to hang, but here ye are!”

Madeleine quickly thought of a way to dodge Meg’s breathless questions. “‘Tis I, safe and sound,” she replied, forcing a smile, “but we’ll have to talk later, Meg. First, ye must go and tell Agnes Burke that Ewen and Duncan are well and coming home, as are Angus and Allan Fraser.”

Meg’s eyes grew round. “But how, Maddie? ‘Tis a miracle, to be sure—”

“Later, Meg,” she repeated firmly. “Go on with ye now, and hurry. Ye mustna keep such good news to yerself.”

As the young woman nodded excitedly, Madeleine suddenly remembered something. “Meg, did Glenis get off all right to Tullich?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Meg’s smile faded, and she looked at Madeleine blankly. “Glenis?”

“Aye, dinna she tell ye that’s where she was heading after staying with ye? I’ve been so worried about her. What did she do after the soldiers came? Was she able to save the cart?”

Meg seemed totally confused. “Maddie, I dinna know what ye’re talking about.”

Madeleine felt a twinge of fear. “I sent Glenis to yer house hours before the soldiers—”

“Glenis ne’er came to our house,” Meg interrupted quietly. “I ne’er saw her that night, Maddie. We’ve been wondering what became of her, and we checked yer house as soon as the soldiers left, but ‘twas empty.”

Madeleine’s throat tightened painfully, her hands twisting the reins. “Are ye sure? No one’s seen her?”

Meg studied her helplessly. “Aye, she’s not been heard of since that night.”

“Dear God,” Madeleine said, her mind racing.

No, dinna think the worse ‘til ye know for sure, she told herself. Glenis might have gone directly to Tullich. Aye, that made sense.

“Maddie, are ye all right?”

Madeleine blinked, meeting Meg’s worried gaze. “Aye, I’ll be fine,” she said faintly. “Go on now, Meg. I have to get back.”

“If ye’d like, Maddie, I’ll come to the house in the morning and help ye clean up,” Meg offered. “Those redcoats left the place in a fine mess. Shall I bring Kitty Dods with me? ‘Twould be a lot of work for just the two of us, now that Glenis is g—” She bit her lip as if she just realized what she was saying.

Madeleine nodded numbly. “Aye, ye may bring Kitty.”

Meg said no more but turned and scurried away as Madeleine wheeled her horse around and set off at a wild gallop toward Mhor Manor.