Chapter 6

An hour later Madeleine stormed into the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. She startled Glenis, who was draping a fresh tea towel over a pan of hot scones.

“What is it, lass?” Glenis asked, whirling to face her disgruntled mistress. “Though I must tell ye, I canna stand too many more surprises in one day.”

“Have ye seen the dancing room lately?” Madeleine blurted out angrily. She plopped into one of the wooden chairs placed around the table, her gown cascading in rippling folds to the floor. Without waiting for a reply she rushed on, determined to vent her spleen.

“Ye’d never know ‘twas once reserved for our Highland reels and dances and the playing of the pipes. It looks to be a barracks, with twenty bunks lining the walls and men sitting upon them, cleaning their weapons, polishing their boots, laughing and joking and carrying on as if ‘twas a common thing to intrude upon another’s home!”

She drew a deep breath, pushing her hair behind her ear. “The guest rooms have fared no better. Mama would surely be having a fit if she’d lived to see redcoats lying upon her fine needleworked coverlets and satin pillows.”

“Dinna speak so of your mother, Maddie,” Glenis chided, her voice shrill and cracking. “‘Tis bad luck, and well ye know it. Leave her spirit to rest in peace. We dinna need any ghosts summoned forth to add to our troubles.”

“I’m sorry, Glenis,” Madeleine said distractedly. She rubbed her temples; the dull pain was still plaguing her. She was certain it would have been gone by now if not for that infuriating Captain Marshall. He’d given her twice the headache in the span of one short hour!

First he had followed her into the dancing room like a second shadow after she told him she could manage alone. Then he had insisted on introducing her to each of his men, as if she cared to know them: Sergeant Lowell Fletcher, Corporal Denny Sims, the hapless soldier she had shoved in the hall, and so many others whose names had simply flown by her.

To her surprise, the men had been quite respectful and courteous, though a few rough-looking soldiers had eyed her with more than passing interest. At those times Captain Marshall had acted in the most peculiar manner. His expression had darkened, his tone had grown brusque, and he had quickly steered her to the next man.

She would have balked at the possessive pressure of his hand on her elbow if she hadn’t been surrounded by so many soldiers. But his attention gave her an odd sense of security, and she realized grudgingly he was the only buffer between herself and his men. If he appeared protective, so much the better. At least she wouldn’t have to fear any unwelcome advances from them.

That thought reminded Madeleine of a decision she’d made while making her excuses to Captain Marshall and finally fleeing the dancing room. She jumped up from the chair and hurried over to Glenis, who was expertly turning another batch of scones on a buttered griddle set atop the hearth. She kept her voice low in case any soldiers were walking outside near the kitchen windows.

“Glenis, I have something important to discuss with ye.”

“Hold on for a moment, lass, whilst I finish these scones,” Glenis said. She turned the last one, then set down her wooden spatula and wiped her hands on her apron. “All right, what is it ye wish to tell me?”

Madeleine held her finger to her lips, indicating they should speak softly. “In the morning I want ye to tell Meg Blair and Kitty Dods not to come to the house anymore. ‘Tis for their own good whilst the soldiers are here.”

“Who’ll help me with the cleaning and washing then, Maddie?” Glenis protested, raising her voice. At Madeleine’s stern look her tone fell to an agitated whisper. “With my old bones, ‘tis a wonder I can still move about the house at all!”

“I’ll help ye,” Madeleine said. “I’m no stranger to housework, if ye remember.” She smiled faintly. “I can wield a broom and dustcloth just as surely as a pistol, Glenis, though I may not like it as well.”

“Och, but that’s just it, lass. Ye’ve got yer other duties to think about. Ye’ve no time to be helpin’ me. And knowin’ ye to be as stubborn as yer da, I dinna expect ye’ll be ridin’ out any less than before, soldiers or no!”

Madeleine fell silent. To be truthful, she wasn’t quite sure what she and her men were going to do now that the English soldiers had come to Strathherrick. Their situation had become much more precarious. Yet she wouldn’t make any final decision until she spoke with her band later that evening.

That is, if she managed to sneak out without being detected. She had no idea how many guards Captain Marshall was planning to station around the manor house, or where. Their positions would certainly be a crucial factor in any future raids.

“Glenis, there’s something else ye must know,” she began. She quickly relayed the details of her encounter with Captain Marshall in the main hallway, and of the last raid. Glenis’s eyes widened as she listened, her forehead furrowing with concern when Madeleine reported her suspicion about the purpose of Captain Marshall’s mission.

“I told ye they’d come lookin’ for ye one day!” Glenis hissed, wringing her hands. “Ye wouldna listen! Och, ‘tis a woeful day, Maddie. What are ye goin’ to do?”

Madeleine shook her head. “I winna know until I speak with Angus Ramsay and the Burkes tonight, in Farraline. They’ll send word to the Fraser brothers. Together we’ll decide if we press on or lay low until the soldiers leave.”

“Dear God, what a choice ye have to make, lass!”

“Aye. Either way, ‘tis risky. If we go on with our raids, we may be found out. If we stop, the villagers will run out of food. We have enough stores hidden in the caves of Beinn Dubhcharaidh to last awhile, but it could be gone before Captain Marshall and his men depart Strathherrick. I, for one, dinna wish to see children starving again. I’ll say as much to Ewen and Angus tonight.”

Glenis grew pensive, then her eyes widened in apprehension. “Are ye mad, lass?” she blurted, as if she had just realized what Madeleine had said. “Ye canna walk out the front door tonight, just as ye please, without the soldiers or Captain Marshall wantin’ to know where ye’re goin’ at such a late hour!”

“Shhh, Glenis,” Madeleine warned, looking fearfully at the window. “Someone will surely hear ye.” She bent her head close to her servant’s ear. “Ye’ve forgotten about great-grandfather’s tunnel.”

Glenis sighed heavily, her shoulders appearing even more stooped than before. “Aye, so I have…” She glanced sternly at Madeleine. “If I wasna already an old woman, ye’d be turnin’ my hair gray, Madeleine Elisabeth Fraser. I told ye before I wouldna burden ye with my fears, and I winna now. I’ll pray for ye, though, good and hard, so ye’ll be certain to journey safely to Farraline and back again, and make the right decision.”

Glenis sniffed suddenly, her nose wrinkling. “Och, the scones, lass, they’re burnin’!” She turned back to the hearth and grabbed the spatula, deftly flipping the scones one by one from the griddle. “Just in time,” she said. “I made yer favorite, cinnamon, nutmeg, and treacle. I thought ‘twould cheer ye after the day ye’ve had… You’ll be needing them now more than ever.”

She took a white china plate from the cupboard, placed two golden-brown scones on it, then handed the plate to Madeleine. “I understand yer worries for Meg and Kitty. Yet I dinna think ye should be botherin’ yerself with house chores. If I know ye as well as I think I do, ye’ll be out on a raid before another week is past.”

Before Madeleine could reply, Glenis gestured to the table. “Go on, lass. I’ll fetch the tea.”

Madeleine obliged her and sat down while Glenis followed with a delicate china teapot. She set it on the embroidered runner and leaned against the table.

“Let Meg stay on, Maddie. She’s a good head on her shoulders and she works hard. Kitty’s impetuous and far too pretty for her own good.” Glenis paused, her gnarled hand smoothing the runner. She sighed sadly. “There’s few young men left in the valley to court her now, and she might easily be swayed by smooth words, even from a redcoat. The girls know nothing of yer raids, to be sure, but I’d trust Meg over Kitty to keep quiet if she saw anything she shouldna.”

Madeleine was silent for several moments, mulling over the request. Glenis was right, she decided. The girls were both sixteen, but Meg was far more mature. She could be trusted. And Glenis could certainly use the help.

“Very well, ye win,” she said at last. “Meg may stay on. But if I see the soldiers giving her a rough time of it, she’ll have to go. Agreed?”

“Aye, ye know best,” Glenis replied. She sat down across from Madeleine and poured them both a cup of hot, strong tea. “I’ve made barley soup for supper, if ye’ve a mind to taste it,” she offered.

“The scones will be enough for me,” Madeleine said, breaking one apart. Steam drifted up from the crumbly surface, melting the sweet butter she had slathered on it. She took a bite, enjoying the melded flavors of spices and molasses.

A companionable silence fell over the kitchen. Madeleine ate quickly while Glenis sipped her tea. She was anxious to retire to her bedchamber.

It was her plan to wait until the house grew quiet, then creep down the side stairs and into the drawing room. If she could make it that far without being detected by any guards, she could surely make it to Farraline. The trap door leading to the secret tunnel was hidden in the drawing room closet.

When her great-grandfather had built Mhor Manor a hundred years ago, he had dug a tunnel beneath it in case the family should ever need an escape route in time of war. It ran from the closet, the trap door concealed in the intricate floor planking, to a copse of ancient fir trees some forty yards beyond the house. As far as Madeleine knew, the tunnel had only been used once for its intended purpose.

Madeleine finished the last of her tea and set the cup down with a clatter. “Ye make the best scones, Glenis,” she said, rising from her chair and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Are ye sure ‘tis enough to hold ye, lass?”

“Aye, ‘tis plenty. Sleep well tonight, and dinna worry for me.” She opened the kitchen door. “Och, I almost forgot. If Captain Marshall should come looking for me, tell him I’ve retired early. He mentioned some nonsense about one of his soldiers being a fair cook and asked that I join him for supper. Can ye imagine? I told him the food would grow cold and rot before I’d ever sup with him.”

She began to close the door, then glanced back over her shoulder, smiling wickedly. “Better still, I know what ye can say, Glenis. Tell him I’m a delicate lass. The excitement of the day was simply too much for me.”

“A delicate lass indeed,” she heard Glenis mutter as she shut the door. “As daring as any man, she is, and with enough spirit to prove it!”

Madeleine walked through the dining room and up the stairs. The hall was nearly pitch dark, but she could see well enough. She strolled toward her room, humming a lilting Scottish air.

She stopped suddenly, her blood pounding loudly in her ears. She stared wide-eyed at the faint sliver of light shining from beneath the door to her father’s bedchamber. Visions of phantoms and ghosts leaped in her mind. Could it be that her father’s restless spirit had come to haunt Mhor Manor?

She quickly dispelled the thought, scolding herself for her fears. It was obvious she had been listening far too much to Glenis’s superstitious rambling. There was a logical explanation for the light. There had to be. Glenis or one of the girls had left a lamp burning while cleaning the room, or someone else was in there…

She tested the latch. The door was unlocked. She leaned against it, tripping inside the dimly lit room as the door was abruptly pulled open from the inside.

“Oh!” Madeleine exclaimed, knocking into something broad and hard. A strong arm circled her waist and prevented her from falling. Crisp curls brushed her cheek. She began to scream, but she was silenced by a large hand pressed over her mouth. Panic rose in her throat, and she twisted frantically, trying to free herself.

“Easy, Mistress Fraser, easy. I’d rather you not bring my entire corps to your rescue, so if you’ll kindly refrain from screaming, I’ll remove my hand.”

Captain Marshall! Madeleine tensed at the familiar voice, but she was grateful her captor wasn’t one of those rough-looking soldiers. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and nodded.

She inhaled sharply as he dropped his hand, but instead of releasing her, he drew her closer. Her breasts were pressed tightly against him, and the warmth of his skin seemed to burn through her gown. His warm, male scent swamped her racing senses, and a soft, startled gasp broke from her throat as his fingers gently caressed the small of her back.

A bewildering current of excitement shot through her, and she flushed with embarrassment as she felt her nipples grow taut and rigid, thrusting against her bodice. Her eyes fell to his rugged chest, sprinkled with dark blond curls, and with a start she realized he was naked from the waist up. Anger bubbled within her at his bold presumption, rescuing her from the traitorous sensations flooding her body.

“Release me at once, ye filthy—”

“Redcoat, swine, bastard?” Garrett finished for her, painfully aware of the hardness swelling under his breeches. He regretfully willed away his growing ardor, smiling as Madeleine clamped her mouth shut and glared at him. “You seem to have a limited vocabulary when it comes to English soldiers, Mistress Fraser. Perhaps you might try calling me by my Christian name.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind,” she snapped. She braced her hands against his bare chest and pushed, but her efforts were futile. He held her too tightly, his arms as powerfully muscled as his chest…a fact which strangely excited her once more. Infuriated by her errant feelings, she threw her head back, her eyes crackling with fire. “Let me go!”

“Garrett.”

Madeleine could see she had no choice in this verbal tug-of-war. “Garrett,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Suddenly he released her, and she felt strangely bereft, but only for an instant. She stepped back, her temper flaring anew as her gaze swept the large room. Garrett’s personal belongings were everywhere, his scarlet coat draped over the chair by the mahogany desk, his waistcoat and white shirt lying on the tartan bedspread, a massive, brass-bound trunk at the foot of the canopied bed…

“What do ye think ye’re doing in my father’s room?” she demanded, her fists clenched.

Garrett sobered, the smile fading from his lips. Her late father’s room. He had guessed as much, from the masculine decor and heavy furnishings. He had also anticipated her response to this new intrusion, but there was no help for it. He needed the space and the privacy.

“I have decided to use this room during my stay,” he explained. “We’ve run short of space for an extra bunk in the dancing room, and the guest rooms are full.”

“Ye should have tried the stable first,” Madeleine said bitterly. “Ye’d fit in nicely. There’s plenty of room, now that most of the stalls are empty. Yer countrymen stole our finest horses, as well as our cattle and sheep.”

Garrett was cut by her insult, though he did not show it. He knew there was great pain fueling her words, a sorrow that only time would heal.

Until trust grew between them, if it did at all, she would likely continue to hurl such insults at him. He would simply have to deflect them and keep his temper firmly in check. It would not further his plan to lash out at her, or to demand her compliance as one of the conquered.

If he stayed his course, perhaps he could crack her defiant exterior and expose the passionate woman beneath, a woman who might be willing to help him…and thereby help her people. These past few moments had already granted him a fleeting glimpse of desire burning in those incredible blue eyes. It seemed his effect on her was much the same as hers on him—a most intriguing discovery.

“I’m sure you can understand the stable would not be suitable,” Garrett said, smiling faintly. “If there was another acceptable chamber on this floor, I would certainly—”

“There is, just down the hall,” Madeleine interjected. “It’s next to mine…” Her voice trailed off, and she flushed warmly, which only unnerved her further. She had never blushed so much before this man had entered her life.

She didn’t want him to think she was suggesting anything, she thought, chagrined. She only wanted him to leave this room for another.

“What I meant to say,” she began, groping for words, “is that there’s a room…on the same side of the hall as my own.”

“I know what you meant, and I already considered it,” Garrett said gently, touched by her obvious embarrassment. “Unfortunately, that room faces the mountains,” he continued. “Though it is a magnificent view, I prefer to stay here. These windows face the road and Farraline. As a commander, I must consider the safety of my men and our position. I’m sure you understand.”

“Aye, I understand,” Madeleine said hotly, “and I’ll have ye understand this, Captain Marshall. Yer being in this room is an affront to my father’s memory. Ye disgrace it with yer presence.”

Garrett remained unperturbed. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “I consider it an honor. Your father must have been a very brave and good man to earn such loyalty from his daughter.” His voice fell. “I envy you. My late father and I were never very close.”

Sudden tears glistened in Madeleine’s eyes. “Aye, my da was a fine man,” she barely managed, her throat tightening, “and I’d rather ye not speak of him. ‘Tis an insult as well. He might still be alive if not for the treachery of yer kind.”

Her words stung, and Garrett flinched imperceptibly. How he longed to take her in his arms again, to smooth back her hair and stroke her cheek and tell her that he deeply regretted the massacre at Culloden…that he had had no part in it.

The senseless slaughter was an act of inhumanity he would relive until his dying day. He carried a deep sense of shame within him, not only for the men who had committed the atrocities, but because he and a few other officers who felt the same had been powerless to stop it.

He took a step toward her, then restrained himself. No, this was not the time. She would spit the words back in his face and call him a liar. How could he blame her? She had never seen English soldiers behave in any manner other than abhorrently, like maddened beasts.

Have patience, man, he warned himself. You might have a chance with her, but only if you’re patient. He turned and walked over to the washstand, where he picked up a thick bar of soap.

“I was just about to wash up for dinner,” he said, changing the painful subject. “My cook, Jeremy Witt, has concocted a decent chicken stew in the kitchen tent he set up behind the house. He has also baked some of his famous pan bread. I’d be honored if you would reconsider my offer and join me. Perhaps we could eat in the dining room. My men won’t bother us there. They seem to prefer eating under the stars, swapping stories in front of a blazing fire.”

Madeleine stared at him as if he were insane. She blinked back her tears, her ire surging once more. “I dinna care about yer cook’s chicken stew, nor his pan bread, and I hope yer men choke on their food! I told ye before, I’ll never sup with the likes of ye.”

Garrett smiled as he dipped the rough cloth into the basin of sudsy water. “You don’t have to eat, then. Just sit with me,” he said, scrubbing his face. “My Scots grandmother told me many stories about the Highlands, and I’m curious to hear more.”

Madeleine gaped at him. If he’d suddenly grown horns and a forked tail, she couldn’t have been more stunned. “Yer grandmother was a Highlander?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “Ye’ve Scots blood in ye?”

“Aye, that I do,” Garrett said playfully, attempting a Scottish burr. He toweled himself dry. “She grew up in Edinburgh, but her people were one of the clans in the north.’

Now you’ve done it, he thought, watching her expression cloud and darken. It was obvious his rash tongue had only made things worse.

“What clan might that be?” Madeleine asked, though she already sensed his answer. Many of the clans in the northern Highlands had fought under King George’s banners at Culloden, traitors against their own people.

Garrett threw the towel on the stand. He sighed heavily. “Clan Sutherland.”

Madeleine’s tone was scathing. “So, now I not only have a horde of redcoats under my roof, but their fine commander’s Scots blood is traitorous to boot. To think ye’ll be sleeping in my father’s bed. I hope he comes back to haunt Mhor Manor, and I hope he runs his sword right through yer black traitor’s heart!”

“Madeleine…”

“Dinna Madeleine me. Ye’ve no right, same as ye’ve no right to be staying in this room and no right to be here in my house!”

She turned and fled down the hallway, ignoring his calls for her to stop. Once in her room, she slammed the door shut behind her and locked it. She heard his footsteps approaching and her breath caught in her throat.

“Ye better not think to enter my room by force, ye devil,” Madeleine mumbled, her back to the door. She pulled up her skirt and reached for the dirk she always wore strapped to her right thigh, ever since the day the soldiers had plundered her home.

It was the last gift her father had given her, smaller than most such weapons, with a silver hilt especially made to fit her hand. She held the razor-sharp blade against her breast and waited in the darkness of her room, listening.

She exhaled as his footsteps stopped abruptly and retreated back down the hallway. She waited a short while longer, then sheathed the dirk. She walked over to the bedside table, struck a flint, and lit a thick, tallow candle. As golden light filled the room, she noticed her fingers were shaking.

Bastard! she fumed, moving to her wardrobe. She changed quickly into a dark gray gown of coarse wool, suitable for her furtive outing. Then she sat on the bed and deftly braided her hair, securing it with a black ribbon. She flung the braid over her shoulder and fell back on the mattress, pounding it in annoyance.

If only she could leave for Farraline now! She couldn’t wait to talk to her kinsmen, and she knew exactly what she was going to say. No more indecision wracked her.

She would do everything in her power to persuade them to continue the raids, whatever the danger. She was not going to allow this English dog, this…this Captain Garrett Marshall, to deter her from aiding her people.

Madeleine sat up and blew out the candle, then settled herself on the mattress again. She reached over and pulled a soft pillow under her head, closing her eyes.

A vision of Garrett appeared unbidden before her, just as she had seen him only moments before: his long, lean form bent over the washstand, his strong profile etched in the lamplight, water dripping from his tanned face and down his broad chest, over glistening blond curls. She saw his flashing smile, his startling gray-green eyes studying her, unnerving her, as if he could guess what she was thinking and feeling…

Madeleine punched her pillow angrily, forcing the disturbing image from her mind. It was not so easy to dispel the memory of his powerful embrace. Wholly frustrated, she grabbed the tartan blanket folded neatly at the end of the bed and covered herself, then rolled over onto her side.

Aye, she would go on with her raids right under his nose, she thought defiantly, tucking her legs beneath her. And she would relish every minute of it!

She yawned, growing drowsy. After a short nap she would set out through that secret tunnel, her mission clearly before her. Her decision had been made. There would be no turning back.