Chapter 3
" 'Tis time to wake, Maddie," Angus Ramsay whispered, shaking Madeleine's shoulder gently. "The moon is up."
Awakened so abruptly, Madeleine did not know where she was for a moment. Gradually the mists of sleep faded from her mind, and reality took its place. The pungent smell of pine, the soft lowing of cattle, and the rushing sound of a nearby river further heightened her awareness.
Remembering suddenly, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. They had made camp here this morning after their successful cattle raid. Now it was dark and time to move on toward Farraline.
Madeleine twisted around and groped along the woolen blanket. She found her black cap and set it atop her head, then stuffed her thick chestnut braid down the high collar of her jacket. Lastly she scooped a handful of peat ash from a pouch hanging at her belt and rubbed the soot on her face and forehead.
"Are the others awake, Angus?" she asked, accepting his hand as he helped her to her feet.
"Aye, we're ready to be off, lass," Angus replied, nodding to the four men who were already astride their horses. "I let ye sleep awhile longer," he added, almost apologetically. "Ye looked so tired when we stopped this morn."
Madeleine smiled. "That was kind of ye, Angus. I'm fine now." She swept up her blanket from the moss-covered ground, ducking the fir branches that had served as a protective bower for her bed. She walked to her mount and crammed the blanket into the leather saddlebag.
She stifled a groan as she lifted her foot to the stirrup and threw a trousered leg over the horse. Her body was stiff and sore from the long journey, though she would never have admitted it to her kinsmen. No doubt they were just as uncomfortable. Driving cattle through the mountains was not an easy task.
Madeleine waited patiently while Angus mounted his horse, her eyes quickly growing accustomed to the darkness of the surrounding forest.
She noted the burly silhouettes of Kenneth and Allan Fraser, two russet-haired brothers who had fought at Culloden and had managed to escape with their lives. They were fugitives who now made their home in a remote cave on Beinn Bhuidhe, a mountain to the east of Farraline, but they had chosen to risk capture and accompany her on her raids against the English.
The Fraser brothers were a tough pair. They were much more inclined to shooting redcoats than stealing from them, yet they had, obeyed her command that there would be no needless killing. She hoped she could continue to hold their thirst for revenge in check. Stealing was one thing, but cold-blooded murder was another.
Then there were Ewen Burke and his seventeen-year-old son, Duncan. They were true clansmen—as was Angus Ramsay—though they did not bear the Fraser surname. Clan Fraser was made up of many such men not related by blood, descendants of those who had sworn their allegiance to successive Lovat chieftains in exchange for a small parcel of rented farmland and the chief's protection.
Ewen, Angus, and Duncan had stayed behind last autumn—along with a small group of tenants from each village—to tend the cattle herds when the Frasers of Strathherrick had marched to war. Now these three men rode beside her, taking great pride in regaining a measure of what had been stolen from their clan.
Madeleine gathered up the reins, breathing a swift prayer of thanks for the five men who had so boldly taken up her cause. She could never have accomplished so much without them.
"Kenneth, ride ahead and keep watch," she directed, her voice low. "Until we reach Loch Mhor we'll be traveling a bit closer to Wade's Road than I'd like. But there's no help for it if we want to make Aberchalder Burn before dawn. Remember, if ye see anything suspicious, give us fair warning."
"Aye, Maddie," Kenneth replied, flicking the reins against his mount's neck. The spirited animal jerked forward, and horse and rider disappeared into the dense pine forest. Only the swaying branches marked their path.
"Allan, take the lead since ye know this land so well. Duncan, Angus, ye take the rear. Ewen and I will keep the cattle moving down the middle."
Without a word the men followed her orders explicitly. It made no difference to them that she was a woman, and barely nineteen. As it had been to her father, their loyalty to her was as natural to them as breathing, and if they had had any question at all about her ability to wage such a campaign against the redcoats, such doubts had long since vanished. She had proved time and again through her courage, daring, and sound judgment that she was born to lead.
The Highland cattle, with their shaggy, reddish-brown coats and long, curved horns, plodded along the narrow drover's path, tied to one another by a thick length of rope. Madeleine was still amazed by the smoothness of last night's raid, in which they hadn't encountered a single English soldier. The redcoats were most likely too comfortable lying next to their fires to guard the cattle, she thought scornfully as she recalled the distant orange glow of campfires at the mouth of Glen Doe near Wade's Road.
Tension gripped her body as a commotion at the front of the line ground the procession to an abrupt halt. She dug her heels into the horse's sides and raced along the winding path, Ewen not far behind her.
"Allan, what's going on? Why have we stopped?" she hissed, suddenly spying Kenneth alongside him. Her heart leaped in her throat. If Kenneth had ridden back to them so soon, that could only mean trouble.
"There's redcoats up ahead, Maddie!" Kenneth blurted out in a loud whisper before his brother could answer. "They're camped just over the rise, less than a quarter mile from here."
"How many?" she asked tightly.
"Twenty-five, thirty. Most are bedded down near the fire, but a few are standing guard around the camp."
Madeleine sucked in her breath. A small troop of English soldiers right in their path. Damn! If there weren't so many of them, she might consider a skirmish. But thirty soldiers to her band of six did not make for good odds. Now they would have to cut farther east into the mountains, causing a full day's delay because they wouldn't make it to Aberchalder Burn before sunrise. A pox and the devil take them all!
"It looks as if we'll have to double back—" she began resignedly, only to be cut off by Kenneth's excited voice.
"Before we do that, Maddie, I think ye should know they have at least ten supply wagons loaded to the top with every manner of stuff. Sacks of grain, crates of chickens and pigs. Why, if we could only make off with two of those wagons we'd do well!"
"Did ye say ten, Kenneth?" she asked, her thoughts taking a decidedly different turn.
"Aye. What do ye think?"
By now Angus and Duncan had joined their little group, quickly learning the details. Madeleine carefully weighed the situation. Why would so few soldiers require such a quantity of supplies? she wondered. They were camped a good distance from Wade's Road on terrain that was easily traversed by wagons, yet they couldn't be a regular supply train. Supply trains never strayed from the road for fear of marauders like herself.
Perhaps they were raw recruits from Fort Augustus or Ruthven Barracks, sent out on some sort of training exercise to better acquaint themselves with the Highlands, she thought dryly. Spending a week or so away from an established military post could warrant the need for a good stock of supplies.
Well, whatever the reason, ten supply wagons was a strong temptation. Yet a raid on the camp was a highly dangerous proposition. She and her men were outnumbered by perhaps five to one.
Glenis's words of caution ripped through Madeleine's mind, along with her own promise not to take any heedless chances. In this instance it was best to seek the counsel of all involved, she decided.
"We have a choice to make," Madeleine said evenly, looking from one somber face to the next. "We can either make our way to Aberchalder Burn by another route, or we can take these cursed redcoats by surprise and add a few well-loaded supply wagons to out bounty. What do ye say?"
"I'm for raiding the bastards!" Allan spoke up first, with Kenneth not long behind him.
"Aye, and me, too!"
Madeleine had expected as much from the hotheaded Fraser brot
hers. They were always spoiling for a fight.
"What say ye, Angus?" she asked. Of all her kinsmen, she trusted Angus Ramsay's opinion the most. He was steady and cautious, and his thoughtful wisdom reminded her of her father.
"Given the number of soldiers, 'tis perilous at best, Maddie. But we've seen worse scraps before. I think if 'tis well planned, we have a good chance of capturing three wagons, but no more. With the cattle, 'twould be the most we could manage."
Madeleine nodded. "So ye'd support a raid then, Angus?"
"Aye."
"How about ye, Ewen?"
"If Angus believes 'tis possible, then I'm with ye."
"Duncan?"
"Aye, Maddie."
"Then it's decided," she said, smiling faintly. "After this raid we'll have so much food we'll have earned a week's rest." She leaned forward in her saddle, tense excitement bubbling within her. She loved a good challenge. "Now, Kenneth, if ye'll tell us the layout of the camp, we'll plan our next move."
***
Madeleine lay flat on her stomach with her elbows drawn up beneath her chest, scarcely breathing. She gazed intently at the English camp just ten yards away and down a slight decline, irritation gripping her.
Eyeing the blond officer seated by the fire with his broad back to her, she thought, if that bastard doesn't settle in soon, we'll have to abandon the raid.
A precious hour had passed since she and her kinsmen had tethered the cattle and crept up on the camp. They could have completed their business and been well on their way to Aberchalder Burn by now if not for that captain. He was the only man left awake in the camp, other than the three guards standing watch.
"Patience, lass," Angus whispered as if he sensed her thoughts.
Madeleine glanced over her shoulder at him, somewhat chagrined. He and Ewen Burke flanked her, their faces and hair also blackened with peat ash, caps pulled down well over their heads, and dark brown kerchiefs covering the lower halves of their faces.
They were waiting for her signal, as were Duncan and the Fraser brothers, who were hiding near the three guards positioned at cross angles about the camp. That signal could not come until that English officer settled in for the night.
A snapping branch startled her, and she turned back to the camp. The captain had risen to his feet and was walking around the perimeter of the clearing. He seemed to be searching the darkness beyond the glow of the fire, and they ducked their heads as he passed within ten feet of them.
Madeleine held her breath, the moist ground cold against her cheek. She waited, listening, until his footsteps moved away. When she looked up he was back by the fire and shaking out a blanket, his face to her.
Unwittingly she found herself thinking he was a very handsome man. He was tall and powerfully built, his hair a burnished gold in the firelight . . .
She bit her lip angrily. Fool! What was coming over her? How could she consider an English soldier handsome? He was a murderer, a beast. He might even be the man who had killed her father!
Madeleine kept that thought in her mind as she watched the officer lie down on the ground, wrap himself in the blanket, and roll onto his back. She decided grimly that it would become his death shroud if he made even the slightest motion to rise.
He did not. After another ten minutes, Madeleine decided the time had come. It was finally quiet in the clearing, and the only sounds were an occasional snore, the wind whooshing through the Caledonian pines and tall oaks, and the flames crackling and hissing. She took a deep breath and raised her arm above her head.
Her eyes widened as the three guards suddenly disappeared from their posts without even a struggle, attesting to the strength and skill of her kinsmen. She only hoped the Fraser brothers had knocked their opponents unconscious instead of slitting their throats.
She rose stealthily to her feet. The two men beside her followed her cue and fanned out among the trees, circling the camp in an effort to give the impression of far greater numbers.
When she was sure all pistols were drawn and flashing dirks were at the ready, she slowly nodded her head. Treading carefully and silently over clumps of moss, damp leaves, and pine needles, they advanced upon the camp until they were almost on top of the sleeping soldiers.
Waving the others on, Madeleine halted beside a stout oak, hiding in the shadow of its lower branches. She could not afford to be recognized as a woman.
Despite her efforts to disguise her sex, her black garb could not completely hide her feminine curves. Luckily she was tall for a woman and could be mistaken for a man of slight build. Her blackened face and low-slung cap hid the softness of her facial features well.
She leveled her pistols at the prone officer, noting the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket. Her expression was grim as she and her kinsmen cocked their weapons. The staccato clicks echoed about the clearing.
***
Barely asleep, Garrett awakened abruptly at the ominous sound. In one swift movement he rolled onto his side and lunged for his sword, the hair rising on the back of his neck as he heard orders barked in the King's English with a thick Highland burr.
"Stay where ye are lads, or win a bullet between yer eyes for yer efforts!"
Garrett froze, gritting his teeth. His hand was barely on the hilt of his sword. He dared to lift his head a fraction and look wildly across the clearing. Spying at least four unrecognizable armed men in the dim light, he quickly laid his head back down and clenched his fists in frustration.
Damn! He should have known better than to camp here for the night, becoming prey to any fugitive Highlanders. Despite the complaints of his men, they should have marched on to Farraline. He had sensed something in the air, a palpable tension which had made it difficult for him to sleep, but he had shrugged it off. Why the devil hadn't he trusted his gut instincts?
"Now ye'll do us a favor and lie still whilst we gather yer weapons," the menacing voice continued, cutting into his thoughts. "Remember, lads, make nary a move or ye'll be dead before ye draw yer next breath."
Garrett listened to the footfalls moving swiftly about the camp and the chink of weapons being thrown into a distant pile. Suddenly his blanket was wrenched from beneath him, and a pistol was held six inches from his face as his own weapons were gathered up by a masked Highlander.
"Good ev'ning to ye, captain," said the gruff voice of an older man. " 'Twas good of ye to finally lay yerself to sleep." He picked up Garrett's sword. "I hope ye dinna mind if I take this. Ye'll not be needing it tonight."
The Highlander's words confirmed Garrett's earlier intuition. They must have been in the woods all along, waiting for the right moment to spring their surprise attack. God, he hated feeling so helpless! There had to be something he could do.
"Now don't be issuing any orders ye might regret," the man added with a low laugh, sensing his discomfort. "Just stay put along with yer soldiers, and ye'll live to see another day."
Garrett made no reply as the man withdrew his pistol and moved on to the next soldier. He stared up into the inky blackness overhead, dotted with glittering stars, and wondered what these Highlanders might have in store for them. Revenge for Culloden, perhaps?
A heavy silence hung over the clearing after the last of the weapons was thrown onto the pile.
"All right, lads, ye can stand up now," the same voice commanded. "Slowly does it. Keep yer hands out where we can see them."
Garrett sat up and twisted around, attempting to take a more complete count of the enemy. As far as he could tell, there were five altogether, including the four he had seen earlier and one other, unless there were more Highlanders lurking in the woods . . .
A sudden movement a short distance from the clearing caught his attention. His eyes widened in amazement at the slight figure standing well back in the shadows, dressed from head to toe in black, the firelight glinting off two leveled pistols. The scene fit Colonel Wolfe's description exactly. Black Jack!
The irony of the situation hit Garrett h
ard. He had been sent out expressly to capture this elusive outlaw, and now he and his soldiers had become the man's captives.
He glanced at the line of wagons winding back along the wide path they had taken from Wade's Road, with the horses tethered nearby. If what he had heard about Black Jack was true, these outlaws were more interested in the supply wagons than in revenge. If no one provoked them, that was. They had shot men before.
"On yer feet, captain," the nearest Highlander growled, aiming his pistol threateningly at Garrett's chest.
Garrett stood up, catching out of the corner of his eye the covert movement of the burly sergeant standing to his right. He whirled, but it was too late to stop him.
Pulling a knife from his boot, the sergeant flung it at the Highlander, who attempted to dodge the lethal missile. He wasn't quick enough. The blade sank into his upper arm, and he cursed loudly. At the same time a shot rang out in the clearing, and the sergeant sank heavily to the ground.
"I'm hit, captain!" the sergeant gasped as if he could not quite believe it. An ugly red stain widened around the singed hole just below his left shoulder, blood streaming through his splayed fingers.
Stunned, Garrett looked from the black-clad figure in the shadows who was holding a smoking pistol, to the soldier sprawled at his feet. He took a step toward the wounded man.
"Stop where ye are," the nearby Highlander grated. His pistol was still trained on Garrett though blood seeped from inside his sleeve and streaked his trembling hand. Without a sound, he pulled the knife from his flesh and hurled it to the ground.
Garrett's eyes narrowed angrily. "My sergeant needs help. Shoot me if you will, but I'm not going to stand here while he bleeds to death."
For a moment the Highlander simply stared at him as if defying him to make another move. Then he seemed to waver. He glanced at Black Jack in the shadows, who nodded curtly, and back to Garrett. "Go on with ye then," he muttered, rubbing his arm.
A Hint of Rapture Page 4