A Hint of Rapture

by Miriam Minger

  Garrett dropped to his knees beside the wounded man. He whipped his cravat from around his neck and used it to staunch the bleeding. "That was a foolhardy thing to do, sergeant," he said sternly, though he could not fault the man for trying.

  "I'd do it again, Captain Marshall," the sergeant grunted, his face ashen. "The wily bastards!"

  Garrett was silent. He, too, had a knife in his boot, as did many of the soldiers. Perhaps if their efforts were somehow coordinated, there still might be a chance—

  The injured Highlander's voice boomed across the clearing, interrupting his thoughts. "While yer captain plays nursemaid, the rest of ye strip off yer boots and yer clothes and throw everything in one pile. Ye winna conceal any more weapons if we can help it. Then lie facedown on the ground. Move!"

  Garrett swore softly. So much for that plan.

  After a few minutes he lifted the soiled from the wound, pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped. Yet the man would need medical attention to remove the bullet, which meant returning to Fort Augustus. He could well imagine Colonel Wolfe's face, not to mention General Hawley's, when they discovered what had happened. Dammit all! His mission had been thwarted before it had really begun, and he had no one to blame but himself.

  "Up with ye, captain, now, and strip off yer fine uniform," the Highlander demanded. "It looks like yer sergeant will live, so he'll not be needing yer care for a while. And we've no more time to spend chatting with ye."

  Garrett rose to his feet, his face darkening with fury as he yanked off his boots and began to undress. His soldiers were already stark naked and lying facedown in the dirt, while two of Black Jack's men tied their hands and feet together.

  The Highlander gave a short laugh when he picked up one of Garrett's boots and a knife fell to the ground with a thud. "It could have been ye with the ball in yer shoulder, eh, captain?"

  Garrett didn't answer but merely shot a glance in Black Jack's direction. To his surprise, the outlaw was nowhere to be seen. He stepped out of his breeches, standing as God had made him in the center of the camp. The indignity of it was almost more than he could stomach.

  "Lie down by yer men."

  Garrett threw his clothes on the pile near the fire and grimly followed the Highlander's order. His hands were tied behind his back, then his feet were bound securely.

  "That should hold ye for a while, lads," a different man said, his deep voice tinged with malice. "Perhaps when the brave sergeant regains consciousness, he'll see fit to let ye go. Hopefully for yer sakes 'twill be before any Highland wildcat roaming these hills picks up yer scent. Ye look to be a fine lot of trussed turkeys from this angle!"

  Furious, Garrett longed to lash out and tell the man his raiding days were numbered, but he held his tongue. If he was given another chance to set out for Strathherrick after this fiasco, he did not want these outlaws to have any advance warning of what was in store for them.

  A sudden whooshing sound startled him, and he began to cough when acrid gray smoke billowed through the camp. With a groan he realized the Highlanders had set fire to their boots and uniforms.

  Just one more humiliation to endure, Garrett raged silently. One more score to settle with Black Jack.

  His eyes stinging from the thick smoke, he turned his head and watched three of the Highlanders move toward the wagons, their arms loaded with confiscated weapons. They disappeared along the path, then he heard the anxious neighing of horses and wooden wheels creaking. They were hitching up the supply wagons.

  Garrett mumbled a swift prayer that the wagon carrying extra clothing would be spared. If not, he doubted the few villages they had passed along Wade's Road could provide them with thirty pairs of boots and breeches. He and his men would become the laughingstock of the entire army if they were forced to retire to Fort Augustus barefoot and naked.

  He blinked several times from the smoke, his watery eyes falling on Black Jack walking along the edge of the camp. The outlaw turned for a moment and looked back in their direction, then was gone, swallowed up by the dark woods.

  "We'll meet again, Black Jack," Garrett vowed, gasping from the smoke. "And next time, I swear it will be to my advantage."

  Chapter 4

  Madeleine felt a warm satisfaction as she lifted the last basket from the cart and hooked it over her arm. "Will ye see to the mare, Neil, whilst I visit yer mama?" she said gently, smiling at the young boy who was hopping excitedly beside the cart.

  "Oh, aye, Maddie!" he exclaimed, his ruddy cheeks aglow with health and vigor. His hazel eyes, wide as saucers, glanced at the basket. "Have ye anything for me?" he asked hopefully.

  Madeleine feigned a stern expression though her eyes twinkled gaily. "Perhaps I do, Neil, but first ye must answer me this. Have ye been a good boy this week, and helped yer mama with yer two younger brothers now that the babe has come?"

  Neil nodded his head vigorously, his reddish-blond hair glistening in the warm sunshine. "Mama says as the oldest, I make a fine man o' the house!"

  Madeleine felt a rush of pity but gave no note of it in her voice. "And right she is, Neil Chrystie," she agreed heartily as she flipped aside the linen cloth and reached into the basket. She pulled out a white tissue-wrapped packet and handed it to the boy. " 'Tis fresh from Glenis's kitchen. Mind ye, remember to save some for yer brothers."

  Neil hastily tore away the paper, his small face splitting into a wide grin as he revealed the sweet treasures. He bit eagerly into a thick square of tablet candy studded with sugared walnuts. Munching happily, he suddenly remembered his manners. "Thank ye, Maddie," he managed, his mouth full to bursting. Thanks to the English is more the truth of it, Madeleine thought, walking toward the neat stone cottage. She had found the unexpected surprise of a large bag of walnuts in one of the supply wagons stolen earlier in the week.

  Aye, it had been a most successful raid. Almost perfect, except for the shooting. She had never shot a man before. Yet she did not regret her action. She had done what was necessary to protect her kinsman, and she would gladly do it again if she had to.

  Och, dinna think of the blasted redcoats, she scolded herself, or 'twill ruin yer outing for sure. She thought instead of what had transpired that day, and her sense of pleasure swiftly returned.

  She had had a wonderful morning paying calls on the villagers in Farraline, especially the widows of Culloden and their children. The well-fed, contented faces that had greeted her at every turn were a reward more precious than gold. The stocked pantries and bubbling stew pots further gladdened her heart and heightened her belief that she had done the right thing.

  Madeleine stopped and rapped several times at the stout wooden door of the cottage. "Flora? 'Tis Maddie." A lilting voice called out for her to enter. She had to duck her head as she stepped through the low doorway.

  Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light in the one-room cottage, a stark contrast to the bright sunshine outside. The simple cottages of the clansmen were known as black houses because most of them could not afford glass for windows and used sacking instead. The peat fire in the middle of the room cast a welcome glow, its smoke curling through a hole in the thatched roof.

  " 'Tis good of ye to visit, Maddie," Flora said. She began to rise from a chair set beside the cradle, but Madeleine waved her back down.

  "Rest yerself, Flora. Ye dinna have to get up on my account," she said, placing the basket on a table. She walked quietly to the cradle and knelt in front of it, heedless of the dirt floor.

  "Oh, she's a wee darlin'," Madeleine said admiringly, gazing at the cherubic face of the tiny infant who was barely one week old. A tuft of pale hair peeked from beneath a fleecy cap, and she couldn't resist reaching out and stroking the silken strands. Her hand brushed against the smooth magic stone placed beside the babe's pillow to ward off witches. It was a heathen custom in a Christian land, yet no Highland mother would do without it. "Have ye decided upon a name?" she asked.

  "Mary Rose," Flora replied. "After my dead Neil's mother."


  Madeleine glanced up at the young woman and met her sad eyes. " 'Tis a bonnie name for the lass, Flora," she said. "Neil would have been pleased by yer choice."

  "Aye."

  A silence borne of a common sorrow fell between them. Madeleine sighed as she looked down at the sleeping infant. She had always loved children. She marveled at the babe's tightly curled fists and her pink, pouting lips. A trail of milk was dried on her petal-soft cheek.

  She noticed a slight movement in another corner of the room. Twin boys lay napping on a pallet in a tangle of plump limbs and tousled red hair. How fortunate Flora was, she thought, despite the loss of her husband. She had four beautiful children to sustain her, to care for, to give her strength.

  "Would ye like to hold her, Maddie?" Flora asked. Without waiting for an answer, she leaned over and gently scooped the child from the cradle, placing her in Madeleine's open arms.

  Madeleine felt a tightness in her breast as she held the infant against her. She would never know what it was to feel a babe grow within her, never experience the throes of childbirth, its agony and joy. Yet this knowledge brought her no great sadness, only a poignant understanding. She would never have a family of her own, but she would always have a larger family around her, consisting of her clan, her people. It was enough.

  "Do ye have everything ye need, Flora?" Madeleine asked softly, her gaze sweeping the modest surroundings. Plain wooden furniture, earthenware pots, and a butter churn were the trappings of their simple life. A cast-iron pot hung above the fire, suspended from an oaken beam by a long hook. Steam was escaping beneath the lid, filling the room with the herbed fragrance of boiled beef.

  "Aye, Maddie, ye mustn't worry for us. We've been well provided for, thanks to the brave soul who defies the English to lay food upon our doorstep. Between that and what ye kindly bring us with yer visits, we'll more than manage."

  Madeleine smiled. "There's wild strawberry jam in the basket, herbs from Glenis's garden, some healing tea for ye, and a christening cake for the minister's visit tomorrow. Neil has no doubt eaten his fill of tablet candy by now, though I did ask him to save some for his brothers."

  Flora laughed, her smile easing the premature lines in her pretty face. "I'm so pleased ye'll be standing up for Mary Rose before the minister, Maddie. It does me proud to think the mistress of Farraline will be my daughter's godmother."

  "I'm honored ye asked," she replied sincerely. Suddenly the baby whimpered, her blue eyes fluttering open as she began to squirm in Madeleine's arms. "I think 'tis time for another feeding, eh, little one? Ye'll have to look to yer fine mother for that."

  As if to confirm her words, the infant let out a lusty wail, her tiny hands grasping at the air. Madeleine handed the child over to Flora, who made soothing sounds to calm her. Neither heard the door swing open as young Neil rushed into the cottage.

  "Maddie, come look! There's soldiers marching through the village, with guns and wagons and everything!"

  Startled, Madeleine was on her feet in a flash. "Neil, stay here with yer mother," she said, rushing to the window.

  "But Maddie—"

  "Hush, child," Flora silenced him sternly. "Go and sit with yer brothers." She lifted a corner of her thin chemise to suckle Mary Rose at her milk-laden breast.

  Neil reluctantly did as he was told, though his eyes followed Madeleine. His brothers had been abruptly awakened by his shouting, and their confused crying added to the discord.

  "Hush with ye now," he said importantly. "There's redcoats creeping about. Ye dinna want to bring them in here, do ye?" When his words showed little effect, he offered them some sticky tablet candy. The twins quieted immediately, brown eyes wide and watchful as they sucked on the sugary squares.

  Madeleine leaned on the stone ledge, her heart thumping hard against her chest. There were at least twenty redcoats marching alongside a long procession of ten wagons driven by more soldiers. God's wounds! What were they doing in Farraline?

  She craned her head to get a better view. She couldn't get a close look at them because Flora's cottage was on a side street, but it was clear that they were merely passing through the village. Their pace did not slacken, and their commanding officer seemed to be waving them onward from atop a great bay horse. Most of the wagons had already turned onto the road leading to the next village, the same road that wound past her estate . . .

  "Flora, 'tis best to keep the bairns inside 'til the soldiers have passed," she said urgently, facing her kinswoman. "I'm going to set out for Mhor Manor. Glenis is alone there, since the two girls have the day free. If she spies the soldiers on the road, she'll think the worst and panic for sure. I hope 'tis not another contingent sent to burn us out."

  "Be careful, Maddie," Flora warned. Concern etched her pale features, and she hugged her infant daughter protectively.

  Madeleine nodded. " 'Twill be faster if I leave the cart here and ride the mare back to the estate."

  She smiled quickly at the three boys as she hurried from the cottage. She deftly unhitched the small cart and jumped on the mare's bare back, her skirt gathered between her legs.

  "Off with ye!" she cried, clucking her tongue and kicking the mare with the heels of her sturdy leather brogues.

  The startled animal lurched forward. They skirted the village along a familiar footpath, well out of view of the soldiers, then set off at a full gallop across the green valley toward Mhor Manor, Madeleine's hair flying behind her.

  ***

  When he reached the outskirts of Farraline, Garrett pulled up on the reins. His massive bay gelding snorted and pawed restlessly at the heath. "Easy, Samson, easy," he murmured, untying his cravat and wiping the dust and sweat from his face.

  He squinted against the midday sunlight, looking down the narrow road that wound ahead of them through the rugged Highland landscape.

  Like the other roads they had traveled since abandoning the paved efficiency of Wade's highway, it was no more than two rutted, dirt tracks with a grassy strip in the center. He and his men had been forced to stop twice already and replace broken wagon wheels.

  At least we're almost there, Garrett thought. In the near distance he could see whitewashed walls and a black slate roof framed by a backdrop of fir trees and jagged gray mountains. The large manor house Colonel Wolfe had suggested to him lay just ahead.

  He twisted in his saddle and surveyed the rumbling line of supply wagons drawn by exhausted horses. Two soldiers marched between each wagon, their loaded muskets held crosswise in front of them. The wagon drivers had loaded weapons beneath their seats as an added security measure.

  The rigorous strain of the long march showed in the soldiers' tired faces. Garrett had pushed them hard. They had not slept since leaving Fort Augustus and had paused only briefly for quick meals of salted beef, hard biscuits, and warm ale. They had followed a different route this time, staying well on Wade's Road until the last possible moment. He had taken every precaution to prevent another encounter with Black Jack.

  He grimaced, recalling the reprimand he had received after his unexpected return to Fort Augustus, thankfully clothed. General Hawley's incensed ranting still rang in his ears. Only Colonel Wolfe's intervention had spared him twenty lashes with the cat-o'-nine-tails, and the colonel's persuasive arguments had convinced Hawley to grant him one more chance to capture the outlaw.

  Yet such a lashing could not have intensified his burning commitment to bring Black Jack to justice. He had a personal score to settle for the humiliation he and his men had suffered, as well as for the injury inflicted on his former sergeant. They had barely reached Fort Augustus in time and the man had nearly died from his wound. Dammit, he would find the bastard!

  "Sergeant Fletcher!" he shouted as he stuffed his soiled cravat in the side pocket of his coat.

  A stout soldier stepped out from the line, slinging his musket over his shoulder. "Captain?"

  "I'm going to ride ahead. See that the men keep moving. The manor house is just beyond tha
t copse of trees."

  "Very good, sir."

  As Garrett dug his boots into the horse's sides and took off at a gallop, the sergeant's terse command cut through the air. "You heard the captain, lads. Keep up the pace. There'll be a swig of brandy awaiting each of you when we get to our new quarters."

  Racing along the road, Garrett reveled in the great strength of the animal beneath him. It was exhilarating to allow the bay such freedom after holding him tightly in check for most of the journey. The landscape they passed blurred, melding into streaks of vibrant color: dark green heather, brown earth, blue sky. The white manor house with its two adjoining wings drew closer and closer . . .

  Suddenly he veered sharply to the right as another horse appeared on the left racing onto the road from a narrow path hidden between two large trees, and bumped into his bay. Garrett swore loudly and firmly grasped the reins, his experience and. the muscled power of his thighs enabling him to stay in the saddle.

  The other rider was not so lucky. He heard a short high-pitched scream and the smaller horse whinnying in fright, then a crash as the rider, a slim young woman, pitched headlong into a row of unkempt box hedges at the foot of the drive leading to the manor house.

  "Whoa, Samson, steady now!" he yelled, pulling the bay hard about. The startled animal reared and bucked, fighting him, but it gradually calmed enough to allow Garrett to jump to the ground. He ran over to the hedges, dreading what he might find. It would be a miracle if the wench survived such a fall.

  Garrett spied a pair of leather shoes, snagged white stockings, and the torn hem of a plain brown skirt poking out from the dense thicket. He leaped over the hedges to the other side and knelt beside the woman. Her face was turned away from him. Relief poured through him when he saw her fingers move and heard a low moan breaking from her throat.

  With great care he took her by the shoulders and pulled her slowly from the bushes, then rolled her onto her back. Her rich chestnut hair, glinting with strands of gold in the bright sunlight, fell across her face and obscured her features.