Madeleine's heart jumped to her throat. Suddenly she was dizzy all over again, her body trembling and quaking, held captive by his overwhelming embrace. She did not think fighting him. Sweet, aching sensation drove all thought of escape from her
Fragmented pictures flashed through her awareness: Garrett standing in the middle of the camp, his hair like spun gold in the firelight; Garrett bending over the wash basin, sleek and muscular; Garrett beneath the waterfall, his powerful golden-bronze body wet and gleaming.
The pictures quivered and faded, as all her feelings, and all her perception centered on the wonder of his kiss. His lips were both rough and gentle as his tongue demanded entrance and filled her mouth, relentlessly searching. She felt as if she were drowning, the world falling away beneath her. She wanted more, she wanted . . .
"Madeleine," Garrett whispered huskily, his loins throbbing with desire. He pulled away and kissed her flushed cheeks, her eyelids, and her lustrous sable lashes. His fingers were twined in her hair. "Sweet, beautiful Maddie, lie down with me . . . now, here."
At the sound of her name, Madeleine's eyes snapped open as if a knife had stabbed her flesh. The sunlight blinded her, forcing into full consciousness.
God in heaven, what was she doing? Had she gone mad? He was an Englishman, a redcoat! She shoved him so hard he lost his balance and fell sideways, right into the loch. The cold water splashed her in the face, like a chilling slap. She reached down and grabbed for her dirk, but the leather sheath strapped to her thigh was empty.
"I believe this is what you're looking for," Garrett said wryly, sprawled in the shallow water. He pulled the dirk halfway from his boot, the silver hilt flashing in the sun. "Before I removed your corset, I thought it best to confiscate your weapon." He laughed shortly. "Just in case you might object to my offer of assistance."
"Ye son of a whore!" Madeleine hissed, her eyes narrowed. "Give it to me."
He merely shook his head in answer. He looked at her steadily, his lips drawn into a tight line.
She wiped her mouth, then spat upon the ground. "That's what I think of ye and yer kind assistance. Dinna come near me again, Captain Marshall, or I swear ye'll regret it!"
She wheeled around, nearly stumbling, and hurried over to the boulder, where she quickly donned her petticoat and gown. All the while she kept her eyes on Garrett, who hadn't moved an inch. Finally she grabbed her shoes and stockings, shoving them under one arm, and swept her tattered stays from the ground.
"And I'll tell ye something else, Captain Marshall," she said hotly, stamping a bare foot. "if ye pride yerself on yer kisses, ye might know this: I've had better!"
She held up her skirt and set off running along the shore. Although she did not once look back, she could feel him watching her.
She had lied. Dougald had kissed her before, but it had never been like this. Never. Her skin was still ablaze from his caresses, and her lips were on fire. His heat remained . . . a burning ache, a hint of rapture.
She ran as fast as her legs would carry her back to the manor house, as if she could escape the haunting memory.
***
Madeleine did not see Garrett the rest of the day. When she went to bed that night, she found a bedraggled posy of bluebells and primroses on her pillow, along with a folded note and her dirk.
What manner of man was he? she wondered. She sat on her bed for a long time before she read the note. Her fingers were shaking as she opened it, and her eyes quickly scanned the bold, masculine script:
"Mistress Madeleine Fraser, please accept my humble apologies for my ungentlemanly behavior this afternoon. Respectfully, Garrett."
At the bottom of the crisp paper, a hastily scrawled line was added: "I have never known a kiss such as yours."
Madeleine unconsciously ran her fingertip over the line while she reread it. I have never known a kiss such as yours . . .
Shivering, she crumpled the note and threw it at the wall, climbed into bed, and blew out the candle.
Chapter 9
It was early in the morning and still Garrett could not sleep. Angry at himself, he had been staring at the ceiling for hours, watching the shadows dance on the plaster and listening to the howling wind.
What had come over him at the loch? What had become of his resolve to be patient? The questions echoed over and over in his mind, like a taunt, even as he knew their answers.
He had wanted Madeleine Fraser more than he had ever wanted any woman. He wanted her even now, and he was astounded by the strength of his feelings. How had this woman so bewitched him in so short a time? It seemed that whenever he thought of her, or was near her, he lost all control.
Garrett felt like laughing out loud at the absurdity and the sheer hopelessness of his rampant desire. She would never have anything to do with him, not after what he had done. She would probably never trust him. He could only hope his short note and the return of her dirk had soothed her temper.
He didn't exactly like the idea that she carried such a weapon, and it violated English law. But when he saw the fine engraving on the hilt, he knew he had to give it back to her. It was a gift from her father. She had lost enough already. He would just have to watch his step in case she chose to reward his generosity by a stab in the back!
Garrett rolled onto his side and tucked the pillow under his head. He wondered what she had thought of the last line of his note, or if she had even read it. He had debated whether to write it, but then had thrown caution to the wind. It was true. He had never known such a kiss . . . It was all sweetness and fire, proving an inner passion as wild and tempestuous as her spirit.
He felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Were her words true as well? He would be a fool to think such a beauty had never been kissed before. Perhaps she already loved a man, had lain with a man . . .
Enough! Garrett thought silently, closing his eyes in frustration. He had to get some sleep! In only a few hours he and his men would resume their search of the valley for any signs of Black Jack.
If they were as unsuccessful as they had been yesterday, he would have to begin questioning the villagers, but without giving away his mission. He held no illusions that the wary Highlanders would offer much information, but perhaps a mistaken word or an expression might give him a clue, something to scent the trail.
Colonel Wolfe had made it clear to him that he didn't have a lot of time before General Hawley would take matters into his own hands. He certainly couldn't afford to wait and risk his entire mission because of one woman. After what had happened at the loch, he doubted Madeleine would give him the time of day, let alone come to his bed and regale him with secrets. He must have been crazy to think it was ever a possibility.
Garrett sighed heavily and tossed onto his other side. It seemed that sleep was determined to elude him tonight. All he could think of was Madeleine. Her lips were so red, so warm, and her breasts were so soft. Her lithe body had felt so good pressed against his own. God, he would surely go mad!
He forced the provocative image from his mind and willed himself to think calmly, rationally. Obviously he wasn't ready to give up on his original plan, no matter how farfetched.
He would proceed with his search of the valley, yet he would also continue to try to win Madeleine's trust. He was certain she might be able to help him. She was mistress of Farraline and a leader to the people of Strathherrick. Surely she knew something that might lead him to Black Jack.
Garrett threw one arm over his head and shut his eyes once more. An unsettling question nagged at him. Did he want to win Madeleine's trust purely for the sake of his mission, or was there another, more selfish reason?
If he knew the answer, he wasn't admitting it even to himself. Not yet.
***
Garrett awoke three hours later to the sun slashing through the windows and across the bed. He groaned, flinging his arm over his eyes. He felt as if he hadn't slept at all.
A firm knock on the door rattled his senses still further.
"W
ho is it?" he shouted irritably.
"Sergeant Fletcher. The men are up and ready to ride, sir," a brisk voice intoned through the door.
"Very good, Fletcher. I'll be right down." Garrett threw back the covers resignedly and rose from the bed.
He rubbed his shoulder, which he had bruised on a jagged rock beneath the waterfall. He should have known better. He dressed quickly, ignoring the persistent ache, his mind already on the day ahead. He left his chamber and walked out into the silent hallway.
His gaze instinctively flew to Madeleine's closed door, but he turned the other way and headed downstairs. He stopped abruptly at the landing when he heard a woman's voice just outside the front door. It sounded like Meg, the young maidservant Glenis had introduced him to yesterday. Surprisingly she was the only other help in this huge house.
"Please let me go, sir. I've told ye, I dinna need yer help with my basket. 'Tis empty, see for yerself. Now I must be on my way. Glenis is expecting me."
"What's your hurry, chit?" a deep male voice groused unpleasantly. "That old goose can wait. Walk with me into the orchard, like I've asked you, nice and proper. We'll pick some apples, eh, what do you think about that? Then we'll spread your apron on the ground and sample a few."
Garrett bristled as he recognizing the soldier's voice. Damn that Rob Tyler! If there was any man in his company born to make trouble, it was that one. He'd been a thief before buying a commission in the army to save his neck from the hangman's noose. Garrett had only brought him along because Tyler was an expert marksman. He strode to the door.
"I winna ask ye again, sir . . . Och, what do ye think ye're doing?" There were sounds of a scuffle, a frightened gasp as something ripped, then a resounding slap.
"Don't think to cuff me again, wench, or I'll—"
"You'll what, soldier?" Garrett exploded, wrenching the door open so fiercely it slammed against the wall and nearly fell from its hinges.
"Captain Marshall!" Rob blurted out. He jumped away from a sobbing Meg, who was clutching her torn bodice.
The plump blond maidservant tried to skitter through the door, but Garrett gently caught her arm. She looked up at him in complete terror, tears staining her reddened face.
"I heard everything, Meg," Garrett said quietly, hurt by her expression. "You needn't worry. The man will be punished, and he won't bother you again. You have my word."
She looked startled, then nodded gratefully and disappeared through the door.
"Wh-what do you mean, captain?" Rob stammered, backing up a few steps. He was large man, nearly as tall as Garrett, but his stance revealed his apprehension. "I didn't do anything." He shoved his hand into his scarlet coat and pulled out a tarnished pocket watch. "See this? She tried to steal it from me. Had it in her basket. When I tried to grab it from her, the basket caught on her dress—"
"Shut up," Garrett cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think I'm blind, man? Or stupid?" He scarcely turned his head as Sergeant Fletcher rushed up beside him.
"Is anything amiss, captain?"
"See that this man is given ten lashes, sergeant, then set him on his horse. When we return this evening, shackle him and put him under guard. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"And warn the other men as well. If any of them so much as looks cross-eyed at the women of this house, or any women in this valley for that matter, they'll suffer the same fate and worse."
'But—but Captain Marshall, they're only stinkin', whorin' Highlanders," Rob pleaded, sweat running down his unshaven face.
"Get this scum out of my sight," Garrett said, his fists clenching. One more word out of the lying bastard, he thought furiously, and he'd strike him down. He should have done so already.
Sergeant Fletcher obeyed him at once. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the offender's chest. "Move, soldier. Now."
Rob shot a surly glance at Garrett and began to saunter down the flagged path with Sergeant Fletcher at his heels. He walked faster when the sergeant roughly stuck the butt of the pistol in his back.
Garrett's face was grim as he stepped back into the house and headed directly for the kitchen. He found Meg sitting at the table, still sobbing while Glenis patted her shoulder.
If they heard him come in, they did not turn around. He stood there uncomfortably. Women's tears had always confounded him. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, feeling awkward. Both women were staring at him now.
"I want to apologize, Meg, for my soldier's behavior," he said, glancing out the window as a man's loud scream sounded from somewhere near the cooking tent.
He heard the zinging of the lash, followed by another cry, a wail of pain that reminded him of a wounded animal. He raised his voice. "You needn't fear it will happen again. I've seen to that."
Meg flinched in her chair as another scream rang through the air. Her face was ashen. "Th—thank ye, sir," she barely managed, covering her ears.
Glenis moved toward him. "Aye, thank ye, Captain Marshall. I'm well past my prime, as ye can plainly see, and I need Meg's help here. I dinna want to worry for her every time my back is turned, what with yer soldiers about the house."
Garrett nodded. For Meg's sake, he was thankful that the screams had finally stopped. It was a wretched thing to hear such misery, however well deserved. "Meg will be safe, Glenis. I promise."
"I believe ye, captain," Glenis said, then asked, "May I call ye Garrett?"
He smiled at her request and the unexpected warmth in her dark eyes. "Of course. I'd like that."
"Good. Well now, Garrett. I've baked some scones. Would ye like one or two for yer breakfast?" She rushed on before Garrett could reply. "Och, that reminds me. Did ye happen to sample some yesterday morn by chance"
"Yes, now that I think of it. Rob Tyler . . . the man who's just been punished," he said dryly, "had a dozen or so and gave one to me. He said my cook had baked them special. They were quite good, actually, the best I've ever tasted. Cinnamon and—
"Treacle," she finished for him matter-of-factly. "Aye, that's the ones. Then ye've tasted my cookin', Garrett. Yer soldier helped himself to my kitchen before ye rode out. Stole every last one of them, he did. Shall agree one of the lashes was for the scones?"
Garrett wanted to throw back his head and laugh, but instead he shook his head solemnly. "Yes, I think that's fair. And I'd love to try a few more."
The old servant smiled faintly and moved to the hearth. "Meg, will ye pour the captain a cup of tea?"
"No, thank you, Glenis," Garrett said with regret. "I'll have to eat my breakfast in the saddle. Perhaps another morning."
She wrapped two fat scones in a white linen napkin. "Will ye be goin' far? I could pack ye a few extra."
Garrett wasn't fooled by her seemingly innocent question, a clever way of asking after his plans. It didn't bother him. His Scots grandmother had told him the Highlanders were a curious people by nature.
In fact, Glenis reminded him of his grandmother. Maybe that's why he felt such a fondness for this spry old woman, as if he had known her far longer than a few days.
"No, Glenis, not far," he replied. "Though I can't say when we'll be back." He smiled as he took the linen packet from her outstretched hand. "Could I ask a favor of you?"
Her expression became guarded, but her eyes remained kind. "Aye."
"Would you ask Madeleine—Mistress Fraser—if she might care to go for a ride with me tomorrow? I'd ask her myself, but as I said, I don't know when I'll be back today, and it might be late. There are some places I'd like to ask her about. She knows the valley so well, and its lore and history. Perhaps she might consider . . ." He stopped, feeling awkward again, almost like a schoolboy.
"Aye, I'll ask her for ye," Glenis said simply.
If she sensed his discomfort, she gave no notice of it. Meg was studying him strangely, though, and he decided it was time to take his leave.
"Thank you for the scones, Glenis," he said. He left through the kitchen door and wa
lked to the front of the manor house, where his men were waiting for him. He mounted his bay gelding and glanced over at Rob Tyler.
The soldier was glaring at him, with his back hunched over and his coat thrown carefully over his shoulders. He lowered his head at Garrett's grim expression.
"Ride," Garrett ordered tersely. He and his men set out, leaving only a few soldiers behind to guard their supplies. Their horses' hooves kicked up a thick cloud of dust as they galloped down the drive and onto the road to Farraline.
***
Madeleine watched from the kitchen window until they had disappeared. She straightened and looked directly at Glenis.
"Since when have ye taken such a liking to the captain?" she asked. She had heard their exchange from the dining room where she had hidden, waiting for Garrett to leave. She had heard everything from the moment the front door had slammed against the wall, rudely waking her from her sleep. The entire scene between Garrett and his soldier had been played out as she stood at the top of the stairs, still wearing her nightdress.
" 'Tis not a liking, hinny," Glenis objected quietly. "A kindness, that was all. The captain stood up for Meg here. I'm grateful to him, and so ye should be."
"Aye, if he hadn't come along, Maddie," Meg agreed, her voice quivering, "I dinna like to think what might have happened to me." She shuddered visibly.
Madeleine fell silent and looked out the window. Aye, 'twas true, she thought. He had had one of his own men beaten for accosting Meg.
She had witnessed the punishment from her room, counting each stroke, wishing she were the one wielding the biting lash. She hadn't even blinked when the soldier was cut down from the post, his back striped and bleeding.
"Maddie, did ye hear what Garrett asked of me?" Glenis asked softly.
She did not turn from the window. "Aye."
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