Chapter 33

Almost two hours passed before Garrett’s soldiers thundered up the dirt drive, Sergeant Fletcher in the lead.

Madeleine flew from the drawing room where she’d been anxiously waiting and met them just outside the front door. Her gaze scanned the entire group, her heart lurching in her breast. Garrett was not among them.

“Where’s Major Marshall?” she blurted as Sergeant Fletcher dismounted. He appeared startled by her question.

“The major’s not here?” he asked as she rushed up to him.

“No,” she replied, searching his face. “I’ve been standing by the window, watching, and ye’re the first to come back.”

“That’s odd,” the sergeant said, clearly perplexed. “As soon as we found our missing men, Major Marshall took off across the moor.” He cleared his throat, glancing at her somewhat sheepishly. “Don’t think me too bold, m’lady, but he said his beautiful bride was waiting for him.”

“But if he left before ye, he should have been here by now,” Madeleine insisted, too worried even to smile at the sergeant’s statement. “How far away were ye? Where did ye find yer two soldiers?”

“That’s another strange thing,” Sergeant Fletcher related. “I doubt we’d ever have found them if we hadn’t given chase after a Highlander who fired a pistol at us—”

“Ye were shot at?” she interrupted him, horrified.

“Over our heads, m’lady,” the sergeant continued. “We set off after him and stumbled upon our men, tied and blindfolded beneath a tree along the banks of Loch Mhor, almost four miles directly to the south.” He shook his head. “It was almost as if we were led to that spot, as if this whole escapade was planned, though the major and I had no clue as to why.”

“Did ye catch the man who fired upon ye?”

“No. A few of us went after the bloke, but we lost him in the woods. Major Marshall decided as long as we’d found our men, we should head back. He mentioned that .he was going to discuss it with you later, since you know these people so well. What do you think, m’lady?”

Madeleine didn’t reply, her mind racing. If Garrett and his men had ridden to the south, then they surely would have forded Aberchalder Burn. Was it possible that Garrett might have been apprehended on his way back because he was alone?

Raw fear shot through her. Had she given herself away to Dougald after all? Had he possibly sensed the truth of her feelings for Garrett? Was he planning his own personal revenge rather than waiting for this evening?

She blanched, remembering Dougald’s ominous words. He had said he wanted to strangle Garrett with his bare hands—

“Lady Marshall, are you all right?” Sergeant Fletcher asked, startling her. He took her arm. “You look ill. Let me help you inside.”

“No, I’m fine, Sergeant. But thank ye,” she said, forcing herself to think rationally and calmly. Hysterics would do neither her nor Garrett any good and would only stir the sergeant’s suspicions. She had to act, and quickly, but she couldn’t involve Garrett’s soldiers.

If he had been taken captive by Dougald and his renegade Highlanders, they’d probably kill him at the first sign of any redcoats, if they hadn’t already.

Sickened by the thought, Madeleine banished it from her mind. She would not give up hope so easily. She couldn’t. She began to walk into the house, Sergeant Fletcher at her side, still holding her arm.

“I’m sure my husband will return shortly,” she said to him at the foot of the stairs, affecting a light tone. “Thank ye for yer kind attention, sergeant. In truth, I have been feeling a bit tired of late. I think I’ll go lie down for a while. When Major Marshall arrives, ye might tell him I’m waiting for him in our room.”

Sergeant Fletcher nodded, smiling at her. She had no idea what Garrett might have told him, but obviously it was enough that the sergeant surmised all was well between them. She smiled back at him warmly, then turned and hurried up the stairs.

Once in the hallway, Madeleine rushed right past their bedchamber and into her former room. She dosed the door quietly and hurried over to the armoire, pulling out the bottom drawer. She dug beneath piles of linen bedding to find what she was looking for. She drew out the last set of black clothes she possessed and carried them to the bed.

She changed quickly, grateful she still had a pair of trousers to wear instead of skirts which would only slow her down. Her thoughts turned to what lay ahead.

She had to get to Farraline at once and find Angus. She held no illusions that she would be able to persuade Dougald on her own to spare Garrett’s life. Dougald would laugh in her face. She needed Angus by her side, and as many of her kinsmen as would follow her to Aberchalder Burn. But first she would need to convince them Garrett was not the king’s spy.

Madeleine shook out the black jacket, her dirk falling onto the floor. She picked it up, testing its familiar weight in her hand. The silver hilt had tarnished since she had seen it last, the night she was captured as Black Jack. How long ago it all seemed.

She hadn’t taken the dirk with her that night but had hidden it instead, not wanting her father’s prized gift to fall into her captors’ hands. She slid it into the leather sheath at her belt, knowing she might very well need a weapon.

After slipping her brogues back on her feet, Madeleine was ready. She left her chamber and sneaked silently down the side stairs, heading for the drawing room. She had never thought she would use the secret tunnel again, until a few moments ago.

If Sergeant Fletcher knew she was going into Farraline, he’d insist she have an escort. That was the last thing she wanted. The only problem was that she wouldn’t have a horse, but that could not be helped. She would never make it to the stable without being seen. ‘Twas almost impossible in the full light of day with so many soldiers around. She would have to borrow a horse in the village.

Madeleine peeked into the drawing room, not surprised to see it was empty. Garrett had insisted that the main part of the house was to be restricted for their private use alone, unless by invitation. Yet she had to be careful nonetheless.

She darted into the closet, fumbling with the newly repaired trap door, which was slightly different than the last. Finally she got it open. She clambered down the ladder, realizing she had forgotten a flint and candle.

There was no time to go back. With her arms held out in front of her, she ran through the pitch-dark tunnel, gasping as invisible spiderwebs swept across her face. Her hands broke her impact as she hit the far wall with a thud.

She cursed loudly, her voice echoing eerily in the dark. She could not scramble up the ladder fast enough. She pushed against the heavy trap door until it gave way, blinking as daylight flooded the tunnel.

In an instant she was out, heaving in great gulps of fresh air. She began to race toward Farraline, hiding behind the trees as long as she could, then broke into a dead run across the rolling moor.

She was astounded when she reached the southern edge of the village, thinking how much it resembled the Farraline that had stood there before Hawley had burned it down. She hadn’t been there since the day she returned from Edinburgh. It was amazing how much had been accomplished in so short a period of time, thanks in large part to the labor of Garrett and his men.

Madeleine slowed her pace only slightly when she came upon the main street. It was freshly swept, neat and deathly quiet. No children shrieked and played in the streets, no feminine laughter filtered from the cottages, no male voices rang out, no horses neighed, nothing. Only silence and the sighing wind.

She rushed up to the nearest cottage and peered inside the door, which had been left standing ajar, but it was empty. So were the next three she visited. She dashed down the street to Angus’s house, built exactly on the spot where his cottage had stood before. She entered only to find that it was empty, too.

Madeleine hastened back into the street and ran up and down its length, calling out to anyone who might be there. Her cries carried back to her, muffled by the brisk wind. She had never encountered a stranger scene. The village was completely deserted.

She stood there a moment, not knowing quite what to do. If she did not find Angus, she would have to face Dougald alone. A daunting thought, but if that was all that was left to her…

A distant rumbling sound suddenly caught her attention, and she stiffened, listening. Had she only imagined it? No, there it was again, louder this time—and it was coming from the direction of Loch Mhor.

Madeleine began to run toward the sound, leaving the village behind her. What had been a rumbling to her ears in Farraline become raised voices, shouting in anger. She could see them now, a large group of people, some on horseback, some standing, all of them gathered around a tall beech tree with thick branches overhanging the dark water.

She ran faster, her breath ripping at her throat, her lungs on fire. She began to make out faces: Allan Fraser; Flora Chrystie holding her wriggling babe in her arms, her three boys at her skirts; Ewen Burke and Agnes, his wife; Meg and her parents; Kitty; and so many others. They were all the villagers of Farraline.

What could they possibly be doing? she wondered, dazed and lightheaded from her exertion. Why were they assembled here, so far from their homes?

Then she saw him, his head towering above the crowd, and she felt as if she were choking, unable to draw breath.

Dougald.

He yelled out something, and the villagers responded by shouting back at him. She caught words, phrases, each one a death knell pounding into her brain.

“Hang the English bastard!”

“We dinna want King Geordie’s spy in our midst. Do away with him now, with our blessing!”

“Ye’ll not torment our Maddie Fraser any longer, ye devil!”

“Aye, hang him and throw his corpse into the loch. ‘Twill appear he drowned, and good riddance!”

“No! Garrett,” she gasped in disbelief, fearing she might collapse at any moment. She no longer felt her legs pumping beneath her, and she was terrified she might lose consciousness before she reached them. “Please, God, dinna let me faint,” she prayed breathlessly. She was almost there. “He needs me…he needs me…grant me courage—”

Madeleine burst upon them so suddenly the villagers jumped back in surprise. She stumbled, but no one was close enough to break her fall. She sprawled facedown in the heather, the wind knocked out of her, too exhausted even to lift her head.

“‘Tis Maddie!” the villagers echoed throughout their ranks, astonished.

In the next instant she was dragged to her feet, a strong arm supporting her around the waist. She looked up, meeting Angus’s concerned gaze.

“Ye must stop this,” she rasped, fighting to catch her breath, fighting the numbness in her limbs. “‘Tis not right! I love him—I love him.”

“Hush, lass. Be careful what ye’re saying,” Angus warned, keeping his voice low, aware that everyone was staring at them.

Madeleine did not answer, her gaze falling on the man lying crumpled at the base of the tree. His dark blond hair was matted with blood.

“Garrett,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.

His face was turned toward her, battered and bruised, one eye swollen shut. She could tell he had been severely beaten. He was stripped to the waist, his broad back marred by bloodied strap marks. His breathing was shallow, precious evidence that he was alive. Then she saw the noose dangling six feet above him. It was hovering, waiting.

Madeleine pushed away from Angus and staggered toward Garrett, her legs wooden yet gradually regaining strength. She was stayed suddenly by a massive hand on her elbow. She wheeled on her huge captor, her blue eyes ablaze.

“Take yer hands from me!” she railed at Dougald, who towered above her. “Ye’ve done this deed, haven’t ye?”

“Someone take her. Let’s be on with this hanging,” he said, shoving her back into Angus’s outstretched arms. “She’s been so bewitched by this bastard she no longer knows what she says.”

“Be still, lass, there’s nothing ye can do,” Angus whispered in her ear. “‘Tis been decided by one and all. Yer love winna save a king’s spy, Maddie.”

“He’s not a spy, Angus, ye must believe me!” she said frantically. Her words spilled forth in a wild torrent, loud enough so everyone could hear. “I asked Meg and Kitty to fill yer heads with false accusations, thinking ‘twas the truth. But I was wrong, just as ye’re wrong now. ‘Twas Glenis who set me to rights yesterday, when she came to Mhor Manor. She swore Garrett loved me. ‘Twas so plain, but I couldna see it m’self. ‘Tis why he won a pardon for me. He bargained away his estate in England for it! ‘Tis why he saved my life and yers as well! ‘Tis why he’s been trying to help us. He loves me, Angus, as I love him. I tell ye he’s not a spy!”

Angus’s hands gripped her arms tightly, his expression grim. “Ye would swear to this, Maddie?”

“Aye, on my life. I swear it. ‘Tis the truth, and I’ve never lied to ye, Angus,” she declared vehemently. “Ye once told me ye’d misjudged him. Ye saw for yerself what Garrett did to help our kin. He’s been trying to help us since we got back from Edinburgh, but I turned against him with my foolish charges.”

Madeleine wrenched free my grasp, her gaze settling on one somber-faced villager after the other. “Major Marshall’s a good man,” she said, her voice pleading for reason. “A man ye can trust, no matter that he’s English and a redcoat. None of ye would be alive today if not for him! He wants to live among us in peace, as I want to live in peace. I canna bear any more senseless bloodshed and warring.”

“Aye, he wants his peace so badly he took my brother’s life to have it!” Allan Fraser exclaimed, pushing forward from the crowd.

“Ye know ‘twas Hawley’s surgeon who caused Kenneth’s death,” Madeleine objected. “Ye canna blame Major Marshall for that.”

“Aye, ‘tis true,” Angus added, silencing him. “Kenneth was felled by the surgeon’s knife, and well ye know it, Allan.”

“Dinna ye see?” Madeleine continued desperately, lancing gratefully at Angus and then back to the villagers. “If ye hang him, or go through with yer barbaric plan to burn Mhor Manor, ‘twill only bring more horrors down upon us. Ye’re fools if ye think the Crown authorities will believe ‘twas an accident! And Dougald here,” she flung at her scowling kinsman, “will be safe in France where the redcoats canna find him. Ye’ll be suffering while he enjoys his freedom and dreams of a Stuart conquest that might never come.”

This declaration elicited a low buzz of discussion among the villagers, some casting suspicious looks at Dougald.

Madeleine approached him, her eyes flashing angrily. “Ye’ve not given much thought to what will surely happen to yer kinsmen, have ye, Dougald? All ye care about is venting yer rage and yer hatred on this one man because he has been given what fate decreed ye’ll never have. Ye’re only concerned for yer own selfish desires!”

“I will have ye for my wife by sunset, Maddie,” Dougald growled, “and yer land one day.”

“Never,” she said fiercely. “I’ll never be yers, Dougald. I’d die first.”

“Enough with such talk!” he roared, striding over to Garrett and roughly pulling him to his feet. “‘Twas decided this redcoat should hang, and by God, he will!” Two of the other renegade Highlanders grabbed Garrett by the shoulders while Dougald began to settle the noose around his neck.

“No!” Madeleine screamed, rushing forward. She pulled her dirk from its sheath and brandished it at Dougald. “Ye’ll have to kill me first, Dougald Fraser. I’ll die before I see my husband hang!”

A stunned silence fell over the villagers, broken suddenly by Dougald’s uproarious laughter.

“Ye threaten me, ye slip of a lass?” he mocked her, baring his wide chest to her dirk and advancing on her. “Go on with ye, then. See what damage ye can do before I wrest yer knife away and stick it between yer fine husband’s ribs,” he spat derisively. “When he’s dead and ye’re my wife, ye’ll ne’er raise yer voice to me again, Maddie. That I promise ye.”

“Garrett Marshall is the only husband I will ever know,” she countered defiantly, shifting her feet to better her stance.

“Aye, and ye’ll have to fight me, too,” Angus said suddenly, walking up beside her. “Next to ye, Dougald, I’m an old man, but I’ll fight ye to the death for my Maddie Fraser. We’ll have no more bloodshed in this valley, not if I can help it—unless ‘tis yer own that is spilled.”

Madeleine glanced at him, tears brimming in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away and faced Dougald once more.

“And me, Dougald,” Ewen Burke said quietly, flanking her other side. “Ye must fight me as well. I stand with the mistress of Farraline, and her husband.”

“Aye, and me!” Duncan cried, joining them. He was followed by more villagers, men, women, and wide-eyed children, until there was no one left standing behind them but Allan Fraser.

“I’ll not join with ye, Maddie,” he said, walking over to Dougald’s side. “But I’ll not fight against ye.”

“‘Tis been decided, Dougald, and well ye can see it,” Angus stated clearly. “Garrett Marshall shall go free. Take yer hands from him now—or forever know the scorn of yer clan.”

Madeleine held her breath as Dougald stared at them for a long, long moment. His eyes were full of fury, the battle he was waging between his own will and the stronger will of the clan evident in his face. Finally he stepped back, gesturing to the two men who were holding Garrett.

“Release him,” he said.

As the noose was lifted over Garrett’s head, Madeleine sheathed her knife and ran to catch him, shouldering his weight while Ewen rushed over to support his other side.

“Stand away, Dougald,” Angus commanded. “If there comes a time when all fugitives are pardoned and ye may return to the Highlands, ye’ll come in peace or else ne’er set foot in Strathherrick again. Do ye swear on yer fealty to Clan Fraser?”

“Aye.”

“Allan Fraser?”

“Aye, I swear.”

“Men of Clan Cameron and Clan Macdonald. Do ye swear as brothers of our clan?”

“Aye,” they said.

“So be it,” Angus said evenly. “‘Tis witnessed. Godspeed to all of ye on yer way to France.”

Dougald said no more as he mounted his horse, followed by the seven Highlanders and Allan Fraser. They set out at a gallop across the rugged, heather-clad moor, never once looking back.

“Garrett,” Madeleine said, stroking his bloodied hair and bruised face with tender, trembling fingers. “Ye’re safe, my love. We’re taking ye home, to Mhor Manor.”

Garrett smiled faintly, hearing her words through the swamping pain that gripped him.

“Yes, take me home, Maddie,” he whispered weakly, feeling her lips lightly brush his mouth. It was the sweetest kiss he had ever known.