A Hint of Rapture

by Miriam Minger

  Her reply did little to satisfy Glenis. "Well, will ye ride with him tomorrow or not? He seems to be a fair man, but I dinna like the thought of ye out alone with him. "

  Madeleine did not answer but only shrugged, a faraway expression in her eyes.

  Garrett Marshall was a most unusual man, for a redcoat. She didn't understand him in the least. Nor did she trust him.

  Perhaps she should go riding with this Englishman and learn more about him, she decided. He was searching for her, wasn't he? Her gut instincts had told her as much.

  If she knew more about him, perhaps she could use such knowledge to her advantage. He might think it strange that she would so readily accept, but he had apologized after all.

  "Maddie?"

  She smiled thoughtfully at her servant. "We'll see, Glenis. We'll see."

  Chapter 10

  It had been dark for several hours when Madeleine crept silently across her chamber to peer at the mantel clock. The porcelain face was just visible by the faint light of the moon shining through her windows.

  It was quarter to eleven. Time to set out through the secret tunnel if she was to meet her kinsmen at the yew tree near the village of Errogie by midnight.

  Dressed in her gray cotton gown and already wearing her sturdy black boots, she wrapped a tartan shawl around her head and shoulders, clutching it with one hand. Under her arm she carried the black clothes she wore during her raids in a tight roll. When she was sure she was ready, she tiptoed to the door and lifted the latch.

  She grimaced as the door creaked ever so slightly. Holding her breath, she peered into the dark hallway and listened. She heard nothing. Garrett and his men had returned to Mhor Manor only two hours ago, but fortunately they had all retired at once.

  At least she thought they had. Now that she was standing in the hallway, she could see a faint light shining under Garrett's door.

  Wasn't it like him to still be awake, no doubt plotting his next move to capture his infamous outlaw. She turned and crossed the hallway, thankful for the carpeting which masked her movement, and stepped gingerly down the side stairs.

  At the bottom she paused as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. A dim light burned in the main hallway, and she heard snores from the guard stationed there. What would Garrett think if he knew his soldier was sleeping at his duty station? she wondered. Well, she didn't care. She had one less guard to worry about.

  She walked cautiously into the drawing room and headed directly to the closet, dodging the small side tables placed near the brocade armchairs. She lifted the latch quietly and stepped inside the narrow enclosure, found the round peg, and pulled the door shut behind her.

  Madeleine drew a deep breath, her heartbeat drumming loudly in her ears. She shivered with nervous excitement. She hadn't been in the tunnel since she was fourteen, when her father had showed it to her for the first time, though she had heard about it since childhood. She dropped to her hands and knees near the back wall and groped along the intricately planked floor.

  Where was that notch? Her fingers ran along the cracks, searching, until she found one that was slightly wider than the others, just large enough for her fingertips. She pushed against the wood, which was springy to the touch.

  Suddenly a thick wedge of planking popped up, leaving a space wide enough for her hands. She gritted her teeth and lifted the trap door until the iron hinges would go no further.

  A wave of dank, musty air assaulted her nostrils, and she barely stopped herself from sneezing. Still in pitch darkness, she crouched and lowered one foot into the gaping hole.

  Her foot caught immediately on a wooden ladder off to one side. She climbed down carefully, her hand grasping the wooden handle on the trap door while she descended into the tunnel. As the trap door settled back into place, years of dirt and dust rained down upon her. She sneezed loudly, once, twice, praying that no one could hear her down there.

  The air was quite chilly, and Madeleine was glad she had worn her shawl. She heard the sound of dripping water and tentatively reached out and touched one earthen wall. It was damp and spongy. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Mold.

  She drew out a candle stub and a small pewter tinderbox from her pocket. Kneeling, she deftly struck the flint and lit the candle. Instantly she was surrounded by soft yellow light, the wick sputtering and hissing. She gasped when she looked up.

  The tunnel loomed ahead of her, melting into a black abyss beyond the flickering light of her candle. The wooden beams supporting the ceiling were draped with spiderwebs, reminding her of a crypt. She stood and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her, glancing up one last time to make sure the trap door was securely sealed.

  Madeleine began to walk, slowly at first, but then faster. She had no wish to tarry in this spooky underground passage. She tried to imagine her ancestors rushing through the tunnel, but the countless spiderwebs distracted her. As soon as she swept one aside, another was tangled in her clothes, in her braided hair, even in her mouth.

  She spat distastefully. God's wounds! She couldn't wait until she was free of this place. She began to run, her panting breaths echoing in front of her and behind her. She remembered enjoying this far more at fourteen, but her father had been with her then, holding her hand, talking reassuringly to her, and making her laugh so she wouldn't be frightened.

  Madeleine thought she might scream by the time she reached the end of the tunnel. Disgustedly she swatted a fat brown spider from her shoulder. If it weren't for Garrett and his blasted redcoats, she thought, she would be going about her raids as before without having to resort to such drastic and repulsive measures.

  At the end there was another trap door which was much heavier to lift than the other. She knew it was covered by six inches of sod above ground. She extinguished her candle, plunging the tunnel into darkness, and set it with the tinderbox in one corner. Then she scrambled up the ladder and heaved her shoulder against the trap door with every ounce of her strength.

  Finally the trap door gave way and fell back against a tree trunk. She climbed out, ducking the low branches and swallowing great lungfuls of fresh, night air. She was grateful for the thick cover of fir trees, which hid her from view.

  She glanced behind her at the manor house some forty yards away, glowing a pale white in the moonlight, then back to the yawning trap door. What an ordeal that had been, but she would have to repeat it again and again until the English soldiers left Strathherrick.

  Och, if it benefited her people, then so be it, she consoled herself. That was worth every hardship. She closed the trap door, smoothed the grass-laden sod, and set off at a brisk walk toward Errogie, which was just over two miles away.

  She could have asked her kinsmen to wait for her closer to Mhor Manor, but that would have been far too dangerous with the soldiers billeted there. It was better for her to meet them at the ancient yew tree where her clan had cut their badges for hundreds of years. Such a meeting place would surely bring them good luck.

  Halfway there Madeleine changed clothes, which allowed her to quicken her pace. It was much easier to tramp upon the peaty, heather-strewn moors in trousers than in an unwieldy gown. The nights were cool in the Highlands, no matter how hot the day, and her heavy woolen jacket gave her extra warmth.

  She ran the last distance because she didn't want to be late. She had instructed her kinsmen to wait no longer than fifteen minutes after midnight. If she didn't arrive by then, it meant the raid should be abandoned.

  Night sounds surrounded her as she ran, adding a haunting quality to the starlit night. There wasn't even a hint of quality fog which was so common in the Highlands.

  She started as a hind barked nearby, alerting other red deer to her presence. Small animals—pine marten, voles, rabbits, and field mice—rustled and squeaked in the darkness. A peregrine falcon, startled from its perch, shrieked from a high treetop. She loved these wild sounds, the cries of the night.

  She rounded the northern tip of Loch Mhor, stopping for the
briefest moment to gaze breathlessly at the long stretch of water. A ribbon of moonlight streamed across the placid surface, melting into the inky black depths. It was so beautiful, and she found herself wishing she had someone to share such a bewitching sight with her. Unwittingly, she thought of Garrett . . .

  She shivered, banishing him from her mind. What was coming over her? Her kinsmen were waiting for her and were no doubt wondering what was taking her so long. She set out once again, determined to think of nothing but the impending raid.

  Madeleine raced over the last hill, holding on to her black cap. She spied the towering yew tree, but there was no sign of her kinsmen. Her heart knocked against her breast. She knew she wasn't late. Had something happened? She slowed to a furtive walk as she looked around.

  "Maddie, over here!"

  Relief poured through her at the sound of Ewen's voice. She looked to her right and smiled broadly as five familiar shapes materialized out of the blackness. Six horses followed behind them, the animals nickering softly.

  "Ye had me worried for a moment," she whispered once she was in their midst. "Why dinna ye wait for me by the yew tree?"

  "A small group of soldiers passed by here a half hour ago," Angus said, his gruff voice low and anxious. "Probably a few of the devil's lot searching for our prince. It seemed they were on their way north to Inverness, but we decided not to take any chances. We hid well back in those trees there, just over the rise." He sighed heavily. " 'Tis a good thing ye came no sooner, Maddie."

  "Dinna fret over it," she said. "The danger is past. See, our yew has already brought us luck once this evening."

  "Aye, so it has," Angus agreed as the others nodded their heads. "Here are yer pistols, lass, all primed and ready."

  "Thank ye," she said, taking the two pistols from him and slipping them into her belt, which also held her dirk. She was glad Angus had convinced her to allow him to care for her weapons, especially now that redcoats were quartered in her house. These pistols were the last thing she wanted found in her possession.

  Madeleine sensed her kinsmen's eagerness as they gathered close around her, waiting for her command. It matched her own.

  "We'll ride to Wade's Road, as we planned, and settle in at the pine grove near Inverfarigaig," she said quietly. "Ye'll wait for my signal. If 'tis safe, we'll take the first supply train that comes along. Any questions?'

  There were none.

  "All right, then. We've had a week's rest and a few unwelcome surprises" —she paused, deciding not to mention Garrett's name— "since last we rode together. But we'll not think of that now. We'll think only of the villagers who need fresh meat for their cooking pots."

  They quickly mounted their horses and broke into a gallop along the narrow road to Inverfarigaig. As they passed the ancient yew tree, Madeleine veered her mount toward it. She reached up and yanked off a fresh sprig, sticking it into the pocket of her jacket.

  Aye, now she was well protected. She caught up with her kinsmen and passed them, swiftly taking the lead.

  ***

  Garrett lay staring at the ceiling, his head resting in his hands. It was the second night in a row he couldn't sleep.

  He exhaled slowly. If this kept up, he'd be sleeping during the day when he was supposed to be about his mission, which might not even matter. After the miserable day he'd had, he was no closer to discovering anything about Black Jack than if he and his men hadn't gone out at all. The Highlanders of Strathherrick were as tight-lipped as they come when they were protecting one o their own.

  He rolled over and reached for the gold pocket watch lying atop the bedside table. He held it up and squinted at it in the faint moonlight.

  Damn! It was half past three already. He'd finished writing in his military journal and had gone to bed near midnight. He had spent almost four useless hours tossing and turning, all the while wondering how he was going to accomplish his mission and if he would ever hold Madeleine in his arms again.

  Garrett threw the watch onto the table in disgust and leaned on his elbow. Well, he had a few choices. He could either remain here in bed and chase sleep for another hour, or he could perhaps get something to eat from Glenis's kitchen. He hoped she wouldn't mind his intrusion too much.

  Or maybe he could take a walk outside, he thought. Some fresh air and exercise might help clear his mind and perhaps even make him drowsy.

  He made a quick decision and flung back the covers. It took him only a moment to dress, then he was out the door and walking quietly down the dark hallway.

  Suddenly he stopped and turned around slowly. Good God, what was possessing him? He walked back past his room and toward the other end of the hallway . . . toward Madeleine's room.

  His hand touched the latch. He told himself he merely wanted to see that she was well. Yet he knew it was more than that.

  He had the strongest desire to gaze on her beauty while she slept. He hadn't seen her since the afternoon at the loch, and he felt as if he were starving for a glimpse of her.

  Garrett stepped into her room, leaving the door slightly ajar. It had flashed through his mind that she might awaken and take unkindly to his presence in her bedchamber. And she was armed, he thought dryly. He had seen to that. Better to leave the door open, in case he needed to exit quickly to escape her dirk.

  He moved stealthily toward the bed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could see a slender form outlined beneath the coverlet. He forced himself to breathe slowly and steadily, although his heart was pounding. He reached out and touched his fingers lightly on the folded edge of the coverlet.

  A strong gust of wind suddenly blew into the room from the open window, billowing the long gauze curtains. They flapped and twisted in the breeze, and Garrett backed away, fearing she would wake and find him there. He glanced at the bed regretfully and quickly left the room, closing the door softly behind him. He did not notice that he had failed to secure the latch, and the door slipped open again.

  Somewhat shaken, he strode down the hallway to the main staircase. Obviously he would have to wait until tomorrow to see her again, which was probably just as well. If she had found him in her room her curses would no doubt have awakened the entire household. Her language seemed to become inspired whenever she saw him.

  Garrett hurried down the steps, his eyes narrowing angrily. Heaven help him, were his men becoming as careless and undisciplined as they seemed? The guard was sleeping so soundly, with his chair tilted against the wall and his mouth gaping open, that he didn't even hear Garrett's approach.

  Garrett kicked one of the chair legs as he walked by, and the chair fell forward. The soldier sprawled onto the floor, groaning and mumbling incoherently.

  "Is this how you hold your position, man?" Garrett asked, his expression hard. He slid the knife from his belt, bent over the gaping soldier and grabbed him by the hair. He rested the sharp blade under the man's right ear.

  "Don't you realize a Highlander could sneak in without a moment's warning and slit your sorry throat?" He traced the cold tip along the soldier's neck from ear to ear to drive home his message. The man was so terrified he couldn't speak. He only nodded, swallowing furiously.

  "Get up," Garrett said sternly, withdrawing his knife and sheathing it. The soldier jumped to his feet, swaying slightly. It was obvious his knees were shaking. "I'm going out for a walk. See that you're awake when I get back."

  "Y-yes, sir. Yes, sir!"

  Garrett opened the door and strode outside. The three soldiers patrolling the drive stopped and snapped to attention. He was glad to see at least they had not deserted their posts.

  "Good evening, Captain Marshall . . . er . . . I mean good morning," one of the soldiers offered.

  Garrett acknowledged the greeting with a short nod. "I take it everything has been quiet tonight."

  "Yes, captain."

  "Good. Carry on." He walked away from them, aware that they were wondering what he was doing up so early in the morning. He shrugged it off. It was good to
keep them on their toes.

  He hiked down the drive and onto the road to Farraline for a good distance, then doubled back the other way. He knew he'd made the right choice. The cool night air was working like a tonic on his senses, drawing everything into sharp focus and clearing his mind.

  Garrett stopped and stared up at the black sky, sprinkled with thousand's of winking stars. The moon hung like a pale white crescent just over the mountains.

  His gaze fell on the great, hulking shadows soaring directly in front of him. Somewhere in those craggy hills and hollows dwelled the man he was seeking, he was sure of it.

  "Where are you, Black Jack?" Garrett said softly, his words lost on the sighing breeze. "Dammit, where are you?"

  He turned and began to walk in a wide arc around the manor house, his boots sinking into the spongy moor. The fir trees were thick here, tall, ancient trees that had withstood many a Highland winter. He rambled on, content to be outside amid such rugged beauty. He drew in great breaths of the bracing air, slapping his arms vigorously. Perhaps he should have worn his coat—

  "What the devil?" he exclaimed suddenly, crouching on his haunches. Had he just imagined it . . . or was someone creeping across the moor?

  Garrett held himself completely still with his senses alert and his body poised for action. He watched and listened.

  Yes, there it was again! His keen eyes followed a lone figure who was stealing like a silent cat across a stretch of barren moor. Then the shadowy form disappeared into a copse of fir trees, the branches swallowing him up and covering his flight.

  Garrett could not believe it. A black-clad figure in the dark night. Could it possibly be . . .

  He didn't dare to hope. There was no time for thought, only action. He sprinted toward the trees, his heart racing, his eyes searching for any sign of movement.

  Garrett fell to the ground as the figure darted out again only thirty feet away from him. His fingers groped for his knife, and he pulled it out, clutching it in one hand. He jumped up and bolted after the fleeing form.