A Hint of Rapture

by Miriam Minger

"Aye, 'tis a good idea to sit down," Madeleine said cryptically. "Ye'll not like what I have to tell ye, any more than I like saying it."

  Glenis leaned forward in her chair, her dark eyes searching Madeleine's. "Dinna leave me wondering, lass. Out with it now!"

  Madeleine exhaled sharply. "When Garrett and I went for a ride together to Foyer's Falls a few days ago—"

  "What happened?" Glenis gasped, clasping Madeleine's hands tightly. "He dinna touch ye, did he?"

  "No, Glenis, no. Just hear me out." She kept her voice low as she recounted what Garrett had said to her about General Hawley, his plea for her to help him and lastly, her decision. Glenis s hands began to tremble, and Madeleine's heart went out to her old servant, who listened so quietly to her grim news.

  When Madeleine finished, a heavy silence fell over the kitchen. It was finally broken when Glenis rose from her chair and picked up some dishes, her movements slow and wooden as she walked to the wash table. She methodically scraped the plates and dumped them into a large pan of steaming water, but instead of scrubbing them, she just stood there, staring at the wall.

  "Glenis—" When Madeleine received no response she jumped up and rushed over to Glenis's side. There were tears streaking her servant's lined face.

  Madeleine threw her arms around Glenis's shaking shoulders, assailed by guilt. She shouldn't have been so abrupt, she should have prepared her somehow. Worst of all, she didn't know what she could say to comfort her.

  "So ye're going to give yerself up," Glenis said softly, turning her to look at Madeleine. "I always knew 'twould come to this one day. From the first moment ye told me ye were plannin' to raid the English, I knew."

  " 'Tis the only thing I can do," Madeleine replied, swamped by a sense of desperation. "Surely ye can see that, Glenis. I canna risk the lives of our kin on the slim hope that Garrett is lying, or even exaggerating the danger. I'd be a fool to take such a chance. I have to believe the danger is very real. Tell me ye understand!"

  "Aye, I understand," Glenis said softly, wiping her damp eyes with her apron. "Though it doesna make it any easier for me. Have ye said anything to him yet about helpin' him to find his Black Jack?"

  "No, and I winna, not for another week or so."

  "Surely he'll demand an answer from ye, lass. The captain does not appear to be a man to be trifled with, even though he's shown himself to be fairer than most. Ye said he had less than three weeks left."

  "I already gave him my answer yesterday morning. I told him I couldna help him."

  Glenis looked at her sharply. "Ye speak in riddles, lass, and ye're playin' with my poor heart. Which is it to be?"

  "I only told him I knew nothing of his outlaw because I needed to buy m'self more time, Glenis. I'll not help him 'til I've provided enough food for our kin to last the winter. 'Twill take another half dozen good raids to fill the cave on Beinn Dubhcharaidh. Then," she emphasized, "I'll give m'self up, with enough time to spare before that devil Hawley sets foot from Fort Augustus, if he's indeed planning such a move."

  "Do Angus and the rest of yer kinsmen know of yer decision, lass?" Glenis asked quietly.

  "No, not yet," Madeleine replied, a brittle edge to her voice. "First I must think of a way to spare them whatever fate the English have in store for me. I'll not have them suffer for following my cause. And if they wonder why we're raiding so much during the next few days I'll tell them the truth, that we must fill the cave for the winter."

  Glenis sighed raggedly. "Och, lass, 'twill be hard goin' on as before, knowin' what I do now. I'm fearin' for ye, lass." She faltered, fresh tears coursing down her hollow cheeks.

  "Ye must, Glenis," Madeleine insisted softly. "If ye're strong, 'twill help me to be strong. We canna show our fear, especially when I may need ye to cover for me in the days ahead. Ye must keep yer wits about ye more than ever. Are we agreed?"

  "Aye." Glenis grabbed Madeleine's arm, a plea shining in her dark brown eyes. "Ye must let me know when ye tell the captain, Maddie. I dinna want to wake up some morning and find the redcoats have taken ye away . . ."

  "Dinna fear," Madeleine soothed her, a hard lump in her throat. "And we'll work something out fore when I do, for I'll not have ye bearing any of blame." She gave Glenis a fierce hug, then released her. She glanced over her shoulder at the half-cleared table. "Let me help ye with the dishes, Glenis," she offered.

  "No, hinny, I'll manage," Glenis objected with a weak smile. "I think I'd like to be alone for a while . . . if ye dinna mind."

  Madeleine nodded and quickly left the kitchen, un- able to bear the pain she saw etched in Glenis's eyes. All she could think of was seeking the solace of her bedchamber.

  She had wrestled with confiding in Glenis since she returned from Foyer's Falls, and now that she had, her emotions were spent. She ignored the soldier standing guard in the dimly lit hall and reached for the banister.

  "Damn!"

  She started at the softly uttered curse, recognizing Garrett's voice. It had come from the drawing room. She immediately thought to run up the stairs and avoid him once again, as she had done so well since their encounter yesterday.

  It had been a brief but unpleasant scene. Garrett had said little when she told him she couldn't help him; only his eyes had registered his shock and dismay. There was also a trace of suspicion, as if he did not quite believe her. His frustration was evident when he abruptly left her and joined his men, who were waiting for him in front of the manor house. She had never seen him lash his bay so harshly as when they rode out to spend another long day searching the valley.

  Madeleine hesitated at the landing, unsure what she should do. If she continued to purposefully avoid him, he might suspect her all the more. Perhaps it was better to seek out his company and act as if she had nothing to hide. Her heart began to pound at the thought, and she walked nervously toward the drawing room.

  She paused in the archway, her eyes widening at the comfortable scene. Garrett was seated before the hearth, his legs stretched out in front of him, an opened book in his lap. He appeared so at home, except for the fact that he was not reading but instead was staring into the leaping flames with a troubled look on his handsome face. She could well imagine what he was thinking and quickly determined she would leave at once if he pressed her further about Black Jack.

  "Good evening to ye, Garrett."

  Garrett rose suddenly from the chair, the book falling to the floor with a thud.

  "Madeleine," he said, stunned by her unexpected appearance. Her unadorned beauty never failed to astound him. She could be dressed in rags and covered with filth but still she would outshine any woman he had ever known. "I thought you had long since retired for the evening."

  "Glenis and I just finished a late supper," she replied. Her gaze moved to the armchair across from his. "May I join ye? The fire looks so welcome."

  "Yes, of course," Garrett said. "You don't have to ask me if you might sit in your own drawing room, Madeleine."

  She made no comment as she stepped into the room. He caught a whiff of her scent as she walked past him. It was sweet and clean, like sunshine, fresh air, and heather. To him it was a fragrance more heady than the most expensive perfume. It aroused his senses, making him all the more aware of the startling effect she had on him.

  Drawing a deep breath, he picked up the book and sat down, watching quietly as she settled herself. He could not help but wonder why she was joining him when she had gone out of her way to avoid him these past few days.

  Except for yesterday, he thought dryly. He found his mood darkening once more, despite Madeleine's stirring presence. Should he ask her again? Her adamant denial had not totally convinced him she knew nothing about Black Jack. And after today's fruitless search for leads, he was still no closer—

  "What are ye reading?" she asked, her soft, melodic voice lulling his anxious thoughts.

  Garrett held up the small, feather-bound book. "As You Like It, by William Shakespeare." He glanced over at the narrow bookcase,
lined with well-dusted volumes. "You have quite a nice collection of his works. I'm glad they survived the soldiers who came here in May."

  "Aye," she said simply, quickly skipping over the disagreeable topic. "My mother was very fond of Shakespeare. She and my father would travel as far away as Edinburgh to see one of his plays, though I've not seen any yet." She smiled wistfully. "I would love to see As You Like It performed on the stage. 'Tis my favorite comedy."

  "Mine also," Garrett said with a wry note in his voice. "That's why I picked it out. I thought a comedy might ease my mind."

  As the smile faded from Madeleine's lips, he felt like kicking himself. It was a wondrous thing when she smiled, and talking to her like this was a rare gift. He decided it was worth it to avoid any mention of Black Jack, just to see her smile again.

  He would just have to find the cursed outlaw on his own, he thought resolutely. Right now, he just wanted to concentrate on Madeleine, to sit with her and savor her enjoyable company.

  "Tell me what you like best about the play," he asked, encouraged when he saw her expression brighten.

  "Och, so many things, really," she began, " 'Tis a love story. She hesitated, her pretty blush eliciting a surge of warmth in Garrett. "But most of all, I like the character of Rosalind. She knows her own mind, and she's not afraid to speak it."

  Garrett chuckled as he thumbed through the book, looking for a certain passage. He found it and began to read, his voice soft and resonant: " 'From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lin'd Are but black to Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind, But the fair of Madeleine."

  "Ye mean Rosalind," Madeleine corrected, smiling self-consciously.

  "Ah, so I do," Garrett said softly, studying her intently. "Rosalind." When she turned and gazed into the fire, he quickly found another page, sensing he had embarrassed her. "Here's a line of fair Rosalind's wit. I've always pitied poor Orlando when he swears he will die of love if he cannot have her, and she tartly answers: 'Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.'" He feigned a woeful sigh. "Such feminine cruelty."

  " 'Tisn't cruelty," she responded with a small laugh, glancing back at him, "but sheer common sense. Orlando is so besotted he's become absurd in his praise. Rosalind is merely saying if he canna have her, he would find another reason to live."

  "I don't know, Madeleine," Garrett countered, staring at her thoughtfully. "If I loved as deeply as Orlando, I would find it difficult to agree with your argument."

  Distracted by the intensity of his gaze, Madeleine shifted in her seat, then suddenly stood up. "The fire is very warm," she muttered, proceeding to shove the armchair away from the hearth.

  "Let me help you," Garrett offered. He rose and lifted the chair easily, setting it back a few feet. "How's that?"

  "That's fine, thank ye," she said, sitting down. She watched him as he pushed his chair a bit closer to hers, thinking how beautiful his hair was in the firelight. Not fully blond nor brown, but a golden shade in between. She wondered what its texture might feel like if she were to run her fingers through it . . .

  "I'll tell you what I like about this comedy," he said, his voice breaking into her errant thoughts. "Rosalind disguising herself a man." He laughed, a rich, rumbling sound. "What an intriguing double identity. She can make fun of love and yet be a lover."

  Madeleine nearly choked. Was he baiting her? she wondered, looking at him sharply. His open smile revealed no trickery, but it did not still her thundering heart. She quickly sought to change the disturbing subject.

  "Do you have other favorites among Shakespeare's plays?" she asked lightly.

  "A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest," he replied. "And you?"

  "Aye, The Tempest is a fine play," Madeleine agreed in a rush, "but I've always liked Romeo and Juliet the best." The minute she said it, she wished she hadn't. The way he was looking at her made her feel quite dizzy.

  "Then you are a true romantic at heart," Garrett said softly. "Not a pragmatist, like Rosalind." He leaned forward in his chair. "Tell me more about yourself, Maddie."

  Garrett's use of her nickname did not unnerve her as much as his unexpected request. She had the feeling she'd revealed quite enough about herself for one night. She rose abruptly, her gaze shifting from him to the yawning archway, her means of escape, and back again.

  "Ye must be tired, Garrett," she began somewhat lamely.

  "Not at all."

  "I mean it's been a very long day. Perhaps we can talk again—"

  "Tomorrow night, then," he replied easily. "I'm looking forward to it already." He stood and gallantly took her arm, smiling at her. "Allow me to escort you."

  Before she could think to refuse him, they were walking together from the drawing room and up the main stairs. She caught a glimpse of the guard staring after them, and she flushed to her toes. Between his bemused expression and the tingling pressure of Garrett's hand on her arm, she felt as if she were in a daze. Before she knew it they had reached her door, and Garrett had opened it for her.

  "Your charming company has been most appreciated," he said huskily, standing so close to her that she could sense the heat emanating from his powerful body. "Good night, sweet Madeleine." He bent and lightly kissed her cheek, then he turned and strode down the hall to his room, disappearing inside.

  Madeleine stood there a long moment, not quite sure what had just transpired between them, or how she felt about it. Bewildered, she closed the door and leaned on it, caressing her cheek. Her skin seemed to burn where he had kissed her.

  "Good night, Garrett," she whispered in the dark.

  ***

  One evening a week later, Madeleine sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the window as the mountains towering behind Mhor Manor became stark silhouettes in the gathering dusk.

  "So much for taking a nap," she muttered resignedly. She could have used it. Tonight she planned another raid, her fifth since Garrett had told her about Hawley. Only a few more and the cave would be full.

  She struck a flint and lit the thick candles on her bedside table. Once again, her restless thoughts had not allowed her to sleep. Never would she have imagined the perplexing double life she had come to lead. It was like an intricate web spun with the finest gossamer, easily torn by one misplaced emotion.

  The past week had flown by in a blur. During the day she had seen little of Garrett as they went their separate ways, he and his men to search the valley and question villagers, while she either rested after a raid or planned the next one with her kinsmen. Those were the times when it was easy to keep her emotions firmly in check and her mission clearly before her.

  It was in the evenings that her emotions ran rampant, making her forget all else but the pleasure she found in Garrett's company. She did not know at what point her conscious decision to seek him out had transformed itself into an inexplicable desire to be with him, but it had happened.

  She was drawn to him despite herself, and despite the nagging voice which forever warned her she was acting like a fool. Knowing the dark days which lay ahead of her, perhaps she craved some happiness, and she found it with Garrett.

  The light conversations they shared—discussing music, art, and literature, funny childhood stories, even hunting—somehow lessened the chilling fear she always carried with her. Thankfully he had made no mention of Black Jack, or of Hawley's threat; she surmised he needed some respite, too, from the troubles which weighed heavily on his mind. The delight she had found in his wit and intelligence, his humor, and his warm laughter made it easy to forget she would soon become his prisoner, destined to be executed for high treason.

  "Och, dinna think of what's to come or ye'll surely go mad," Madeleine whispered under her breath, shuddering as she forced the bleak picture from her mind. She walked to the window and drew aside the curtain, her breath fogging the cool glass. She traced a name upon the pane
. Garrett.

  She sighed with longing. He was waiting for her in the drawing room. She could sense it. She had agreed to meet him downstairs by seven o'clock and have supper him. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was as a quarter past. Perhaps he had already realized she wasn't coming. She would simply have to tell him tomorrow she had changed her mind.

  She could not go to him. She wanted to, badly, but she could no longer allow herself to share his company. Not tonight, and not tomorrow night, if she hoped to fight the forbidden desire growing ever stronger within her.

  Aye, she knew now that the strange yearning that had plagued her was a desire which would surely make her a traitor to her people if she gave it free rein.

  When she was around Garrett, nothing made sense anymore. It was so easy to forget that she was an outlaw and to forget why she had become one, to forget the raids and her waiting kinsmen. She forgot Garrett was an Englishman, a redcoat, and therefore her sworn enemy. And that she could not afford to do. She needed a clear mind to continue her raids and to face what lay ahead.

  "No more, Maddie," she murmured to her reflection in the glass. "Ye canna fail yer people. They need yer full attention, now more than ever before."

  Tonight there would be no lighthearted discourse with Garrett, no shared laughter, and no conflicting emotions as he walked her upstairs. She would stay in her room until it was time to sneak out through the tunnel. By then, she hoped, he would have retired for the night. She would simply have to find some other way to pass the time.

  Madeleine's gaze swept her chamber, awash in soft candlelight, and settled on her open wardrobe. She caught an enticing glimmer of sapphire-blue satin and knew exactly how she would while away the hours. She would try on her mother's gowns for one last time. It was a girlish fancy, perhaps, but she did not know when, or if, she might have another chance.

  She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out the blue satin gown with its silver brocade bodice and underskirt, then ran to her bed. She was overcome with nostalgia as she changed, her troubled emotions forgotten for the moment. The fabric glided like cool water over her skin and pooled at her bare feet.