Chapter 7

Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows, blinding Madeleine as she opened her eyes. She pulled the blanket over her face and yawned. She could hear birds chirping outside and squirrels busily chattering along with the gently rustling leaves and creaking branches stirred by a soft breeze. They were such lovely sounds, she thought drowsily. She loved summer mornings…

Summer mornings! Suddenly Madeleine threw back the blanket and sat up, squinting against the brightness.

“God’s wounds, girl, ye’ve slept the whole night away,” she said to herself, exasperated. Obviously yesterday’s excitement had proved too much for her. She cast the blanket aside in disgust and rose from the bed.

She was stiff and sore from sleeping at such an awkward angle, crosswise, with her legs curled up beneath her, and she winced painfully. She stood on tiptoe and stretched her arms high above her head, then dropped them to her sides. She took a few steps, almost tripping because her skirt and her linen petticoat were tangled about her legs.

She shook the material out vigorously. Her gaze darted to the porcelain clock on the mantelpiece, one of her few belongings that had escaped the soldiers. It was quarter past eleven.

Madeleine sighed heavily, furious with herself. So much for giving her kinsmen advance warning and alerting them to their new danger, she thought bitterly. By now they would have heard from someone else that English soldiers were billeted at Mhor Manor. News traveled fast in Strathherrick, especially when it had anything to do with redcoats.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She would have to wait until later that afternoon to tell them her decision. She had a christening to attend first. She had promised Flora she would be there, and she never broke a promise.

She opened her wardrobe, her hand drifting across the small collection of better gowns hanging to the left side of her everyday wear. Her fingers lovingly caressed the three gowns she had inherited from her mother, gowns of silk, point lace, and satin, with quilted brocade underskirts.

Lady Jean Fraser had worn them long ago, during trips with her husband to Edinburgh and Glasgow. She had been a well-educated woman, fond of the theater and opera, and Sir Hugh had lovingly indulged her cultured tastes and love of finery. She had just begun to instill such interests in Madeleine when she died so tragically, bitten by a venomous adder while picking brambles in the woods.

Sir Hugh never went to the theater again, and he traveled very little. When Madeleine asked him once if they could journey to Edinburgh to see a Shakespearean play, he had quietly refused her. Even as a young girl, she sensed such diversions were simply too painful for him, evoking memories of happier days. She had never asked again.

Madeleine absently smoothed a satin flounce. The gowns were still considered fashionable thirteen years later, at least in the Highlands, though she didn’t care one whit about fashion. It merely pleased her that they fit her so well and had belonged to her mother. Occasionally she would try them on in secret and whirl in front of the oval full-length mirror, the shimmering fabrics bringing hazy recollections, of the beautiful, chestnut-haired woman who had once worn them.

Her hand skimmed over her other gowns. Simpler in design and fabric, they had been made especially for her by an accomplished seamstress in the village and were reserved for special occasions. She smiled. Today was such an occasion.

Madeleine chose a gown of printed linen, admiring the delicate pattern as she lifted it from the wardrobe. It was very pretty, with lilac stripes on a cream background and sprigs of rose, lemon-yellow, and green. She laid it out carefully on the bed so as not to wrinkle it, then began to strip off her drab gray dress.

A sharp knock on the door startled her, and she immediately thought of Garrett. Her heart began to pound. If he had come to ask her to have luncheon with him…

“Who’s there?” she called, rushing to the wardrobe. She grabbed a white cambric robe and whirled it around her shoulders.

“Glenis, lass,” her servant called through the door. “Ye’ve slept so late I thought I should wake ye. I dinna want ye to miss the christening.”

Madeleine unlocked the door and pulled it open. She was relieved, yet she felt an odd twinge of disappointment. She shrugged it off. “Ye’re just in time to help me into this gown, Glenis. I fear ‘tis one time I’ll not be able to get by without those blasted stays.”

Glenis’s furrowed face broke into a smile, and she chuckled as she set a tall pitcher filled with warm water on the washstand. She turned to the armoire and pulled out the top drawer. “So ye’ll be dressin’ like the true lady ye are, eh, Maddie?” she teased, filling her arms with linen underclothes and a starched petticoat. She plopped them on the bed. “Well, let’s be at it.”

After Madeleine quickly bathed, she drew on the lace-edged chemise and drawers, then held firmly to the bedpost as Glenis laced her stays with an astounding vigor that belied her advancing age. “Ye’ll strangle me for sure if ye pull any tighter,” she protested. “I can hardly breathe.”

“‘Tis the proper way,” Glenis replied, smiling her approval as she tied the starched petticoat around Madeleine’s narrow waist. “No wider than a man’s two hands may span it.”

Madeleine rolled her eyes at that statement but said nothing. She would not spoil Glenis’s enjoyment. She slipped into the gown, adjusted the square-cut bodice which was a bit low for her taste, then finally drew on her best pair of brogues. She quickly undid her braid, brushing her hair until it shone, and secured it with two silver combs.

“Ye look lovely, Maddie!” Glenis exclaimed. “I wish I could see ye like this more often. Ye’re as pretty as a picture.”

“‘Tis not practical, and ye well know it,” Madeleine objected mildly. “Not with what I’m about.”

Glenis’s smile faded. Her voice fell to a whisper. “How did it go last night, lass? What have ye and yer men decided?”

“I dinna make it to Farraline,” she said dryly. “I fell asleep, and only awoke a short while ago.” She ignored Glenis’s pleased expression. “I’ll be seeing the men later.”

“‘Tis just as well, lass,” Glenis said. “Ye needed the rest. And there was a fierce storm last night, with the wildest thunder and lightning.”

“I dinna hear it,” Madeleine said. It seemed the house could have come down about her ears and she wouldn’t have known it, she thought with annoyance.

“Och, ‘twas bad. I couldna sleep for the racket. ‘Tis glad I am ye were safe in yer bed, though I wished I’d known it at the time. I wouldna have prayed so hard!”

Madeleine could not help laughing. “Come on, Glenis, let’s go downstairs. I’ll have to grab a wee bite of something, then be on my way if I’m to make it to the church by one o’clock. I left the cart at Flora’s, and I canna ride in this dress, so I’ll have to walk.”

She stopped midway to the door and glanced at Glenis. “Are the soldiers about this morning?” she asked. She had no wish to run into Garrett. If he was somewhere in the house, she would attempt to avoid him altogether.

“Only a few,” Glenis replied, frowning. “The rest set out for God knows where just after dawn. One of the sly foxes must have stolen the scones I baked. They were gone from the table when I went into my kitchen.”

Madeleine cursed under her breath, but not for the missing scones. She had a strong suspicion Garrett and his men had set out to survey the valley, perhaps searching for any clues as to the whereabouts of the brigand he was seeking.

It was just as well, she decided. If he was snooping about the valley, then he wouldn’t be minding what she was doing. That was fine with her!

***

The sun was blazing high in the sky when Madeleine stepped from the small stone church, cradling the sleeping infant in her arms. She held up her hand, shielding the tiny, pink face from the warm sunshine while Flora put a frilly lace cap over her daughter’s head.

“Well, Mary Rose Chrystie, ye’re baptized fine and proper now,” Madeleine said and tenderly kissed the babe’s cheek.

“Aye, she did well,” Flora said with a smile. “Not a peep out of her, not even a burp to startle the minister.”

Madeleine smiled as she gently handed the child to Flora. She looked down the narrow street to where Flora’s three boys were playing with several other children. Their shrieks of laughter and boisterous shouting rent the air.

“Mary Rose winna sleep for long with that din,” she said, chuckling, “but I wouldna think of quieting them. ‘Tis like music to hear them laugh so.”

Flora nodded, rocking the baby in her arms. “Would ye join us for luncheon, Maddie? I’ve made a fine roast.”

Madeleine shook her head, her expression apologetic. “I canna, Flora, but thank ye for asking. I must see to some business with Angus Ramsay. With those redcoats stationed at Mhor Manor, the men in the village must know what I’ve been able to glean from the captain.”

“I understand,” Flora said softly. “Ye dinna have to explain.” She looked at Madeleine with concern. “I’m afraid for ye, Maddie. I talked to Kitty this morning, and she’s grateful ye thought of her welfare. But I have the same fears for ye. All those soldiers sleeping under yer roof. I’ve heard such terrible stories about what’s happened to so many women…” She shuddered.

“Dinna worry, Flora,” Madeleine tried to soothe her. “Captain Marshall seems to be an honorable man, more so than any other redcoat I’ve seen. He’ll keep his soldiers in line.”

She nearly bit her tongue in surprise. She’d never said a kind word about any English soldier before. It felt strange, but it was the truth. At least from what she had seen of Garrett’s manners so far. He had been quite the gentleman since his arrival at Mhor Manor, except for the incident in her father’s room.

She flushed hotly, remembering the exciting feel of his arms around her. She could not blame him entirely for what had happened between them. It was her own foolish curiosity that had brought her into the room in the first place…stumbling into his arms as she did.

Flora looked startled, her cheeks spotting with vivid color. Her tone grew harsh. “I dinna know there was such a thing as an honorable redcoat, Maddie. If so, where were they at Culloden when my Neil fell wounded?”

Embarrassed, Madeleine was unable to answer. She had not meant to give the impression she was commending Garrett.

“Forgive me,” Flora said, seeing her discomfort. Her voice softened, and she clasped Madeleine’s arm. “Sometimes the bitterness in me grows so strong, I canna fight it down.”

“‘Tis no matter,” Madeleine said quietly. “Come. I’ll walk with ye to yer house.”

She and Flora strolled down the main street, avoiding the puddles still remaining from last night’s storm. Their conversation was purposely light; they chatted and laughed about the boys’ latest antics. No more was said about English soldiers. Finally they reached Flora’s front door.

“Into the house with ye, lads. ‘Tis time for dinner,” Flora called, laughing as her hungry brood brushed past her. She smiled warmly. “Thank ye for standing up for Mary Rose, Maddie. Having ye for her godmother means a great deal to me.” She stepped over the threshold, then added gently, “I hope ye’re right about the captain. If ‘twas me, I wouldna trust him as far as I could see.”

“Ye need have no fear of that,” Madeleine replied. “It’ll never be said in Strathherrick that I trust an Englishman.”

She waved goodbye and walked briskly down the side street, holding her skirt high above the mud. In a few moments she was standing in front of Angus Ramsay’s cottage, which sat at the north end of the village back near the church. She rapped firmly on the door.

“‘Tis Maddie,” she said as the door swung open. To her surprise Angus took her arm and roughly yanked her inside.

“What are ye doing?” she cried, rubbing her elbow.

Angus merely pointed out the window, his thick graying brows knit anxiously. She followed his gaze to a large group of redcoats on horseback, just now turning onto the main street.

Her eyes widened as she spied Garrett at the lead on his massive bay. He looked so at ease and sure of himself in the saddle. She felt an inexplicable rush in her stomach, but quickly attributed it to hunger pains.

“Och, lass, I’m sorry if I hurt ye,” Angus apologized. “I dinna think ‘twould be a good idea for ye to be seen by them, that’s all.”

Madeleine almost laughed out loud. “Angus, they’re living in my house! ‘Tis why I’ve come to talk to ye. Dinna ye suppose they already know who I am?”

“I meant yer coming in here, Maddie. Captain Marshall—”

“How do ye know his name?” Madeleine asked, sobering.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell ye. He was in the village earlier this morning and stopped to wish me a good day, of all things! I recognized him from the raid last week. He said I had a fine Scottish burr…the devil take him! I think he recognized my voice!”

Madeleine paled, though she tried to think rationally. “No, ‘tis not possible, Angus. Ye’re jumping to conclusions. Ye hardly spoke a word that night, except for a few short commands. ‘Twas Kenneth who did most of the talking, as always. Besides, I’m the mistress of Farraline, and well Captain Marshall knows it. ‘Tis my right to visit anyone I please.”

Angus seemed not to have heard her. He moved from window to window, not taking his eyes from the soldiers until they had ridden through the village. When they were gone, he turned to her at last, his usually ruddy face ashen and his features drawn.

“I dinna like the looks of this, Maddie,” he said, sinking into a chair.

Madeleine sat down beside him. “If ye dinna like the looks of the soldiers, ye winna like what I have to tell ye, either.”

Angus shot her a puzzled glance. “What do ye mean?”

She shook her head firmly. “Ewen and Duncan must be here, too. This is a decision we must make together.” She felt a rush of pity. She had never seen the stoic widower so shaken. “Perhaps ye’d feel better after a dram of whiskey, Angus.”

“Aye, now there’s a good idea,” he agreed, brightening somewhat, his normal color gradually returning. “A wee dram of the water of life to help an old Scotsman think more clearly.” He reached behind him and took a tall glass decanter from the rough-hewn cupboard. “Would ye like a half?”

“Aye.”

Angus poured them both a small glass of the clear, amber liquid, then set the decanter down in front of him. “To our Bonnie Prince Charlie!” he toasted, raising his glass.

“Prince Charlie!” Madeleine echoed. She followed Angus’s suit and drained her glass in one swallow. It would have curled her toes if she had not been brought up on the stuff since childhood. The liquid still burned her throat like wildfire.

“Better?” she said, trying not to gasp.

“Aye.” Angus poured himself another, downed it, then rose to his feet. “I’ll fetch Ewen and Duncan.” He put on his cap, then strode through the door, slamming it behind him.

The silence in the large, shadowed room was overwhelming. Madeleine fingered her glass while she waited, turning it around and around, rehearsing her words in her mind. She would have to be doubly persuasive because of what Angus had told her. She hoped her kinsmen would agree to continue their raids, whether Garrett had recognized Angus’s voice or not.

Either that, she considered grimly, or she would have to go it alone. And she would, too! No one would recognize her voice. She had never said a word on any of their raids. She had nothing to fear.