A Hint of Rapture

by Miriam Minger

  Her hand fell away from the seat as the cart picked up speed at the bottom of the drive, the horse veering onto the road to Farraline. "I-I love ye, Glenis," she gasped, not knowing if her old servant had heard her or not. But it didn't matter. Glenis knew.

  Madeleine stood there for a long time in the gentle rain, her eyes fixed on the distant lighted windows of Farraline. At last she turned back to the house and trudged up the drive. She was aware she must look a sight with her hair plastered to her head and her sodden gown dragging in the mud, but she didn't care.

  She ignored the guards' curious stares and walked right through their midst, heading determinedly for the front door. She stepped inside, trailing rivulets of water as she climbed the stairs. Her brogues made squishing noises as she hurried to her room.

  She quickly stripped out of her wet clothes and changed into the black garb she always wore for her raids, the guise that had earned her the name Black Jack. There was no need to use extra caution at this point and wait to change later, as she usually did. When it was time to go, she would simply wrap her brown linen dressing gown around herself until she was safely in the drawing room closet, then she would discard it in the tunnel.

  She peered at the clock on the mantelpiece. The porcelain face was almost impossible to read in the darkness, but she didn't want to light a candle. She looked closer, barely making out the time. It was just past nine o'clock. Two hours yet before she would leave the manor to join her kinsmen at the yew tree.

  She dragged the rocking chair from the far corner of the room and set it in front of the window nearest her bed. She opened the window, the cool breeze catching the curtains and filling the room with sweet, rain-scented air.

  Madeleine sat and began to braid her wet hair. The chair's gentle rocking motion and the sound of rain droplets plunking on the leaves outside soothed her frayed emotions, and gradually she felt some of the tension easing from her body.

  She was weary, but she would not allow herself to rest or even close her eyes. She laid her head back and stared out the window, envisioning the wild tumble of gray mountains soaring beyond the estate. It was a view she had known all her life, a cherished view which she doubted she would ever see again.

  Fleeting memories of happier times crowded her mind. She smiled, remembering when Mhor Manor had resounded with her father's exuberant laughter and the lively voices of his tacksmen and tenants, gathered for a twice-yearly ceilidh around a roaring peat fire on the back lawn.

  Even as a child she had been allowed to join them, listening raptly while the bards spun their fantastic stories and poems of legendary deeds and epic valor. She could almost taste the heady heather ale passed around the fire; she could almost hear the stirring melodies of harp, pipes, and fiddle.

  She fondly recalled the one occasion when her father had allowed her a tiny swallow of "stop-the-breath" whiskey, a dangerously potent brew. It was the only time she had ever heard Glenis reprimand her father in public, her servant's anxious scolding rising shrilly above Madeleine's red-faced coughing and teary gasps for breath.

  Madeleine chuckled to herself and hugged her arms to her chest. She would never forget the plaintive songs sung round the blazing ceilidh fire, laments for heroes long dead, and the rousing recitations of clan battles hard fought and won.

  She shivered suddenly, remembering the poignant songs of love; love's bitter betrayal, love denied and unrequited, love tragically lost.

  How many times had she seen tears glisten in her father's eyes when he listened to the mournful verses? Her throat had always tightened, a sense of helplessness welling up inside her as she longed to comfort him, yet she knew she could not. All she could do was wish for the melancholy songs to end, hoping a smile touched her father's face once more.

  Madeleine sighed. She had never ceased to wonder why no one ever sang of love's joy and devotion, the glorious rapture surrounding two people in love.

  She vividly recalled seeing such happiness when her mother was alive. Her parents had found delight in each other's company and their life together, enjoying joyous embraces and fervent kisses which had made her giggle when she was a child. Love could not possibly be all heartbreak and sorrow.

  Madeleine ceased her gentle rocking, sitting still and silent in the chair.

  She had known such rapture last night with Garrett.

  Aye, she could admit it to herself now. There was no need any longer to repress her emotions or pretend her burgeoning feelings for him did not exist. The truth could no longer be denied, especially in light of her mortal danger. Her love for Garrett burned within her mind like a beacon, pure and blindingly radiant.

  She had never known such joy as she felt in his arms, never known such happiness, such searing fulfillment. If that was what it felt like to love, then she loved Garrett as surely as she lived and breathed.

  She had made love to him completely, without question, bestowing upon him everything she had to give, even as he met her with a passionate force that far surpassed anything she had ever dreamed possible.

  Madeleine gripped the chair, an impassioned yearning bursting forth from the depths of her soul.

  How she wished things were different! How she wished she could know such love forever!

  If only she and Garrett had met in another place, another time, when they were not enemies, were not fettered by generations of hatred, mistrust, and cruel bloodshed. A place and time where they could have loved forever.

  Madeleine's shoulders slumped, her hands falling limply into her lap. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, a tear for everything that might have been.

  "Och, Maddie, ye're a fool," she murmured brokenly, wiping the tear from her face. With great effort, she forced herself to concentrate on what lay ahead.

  She was certain of one thing. When they came upon Garrett and his soldiers, she would fire her pistols harmlessly into the air. It would not be her bullets that found him, even if fate decreed he fall wounded, or die.

  Chapter 20

  Garrett glanced up at the moon, a white, luminescent disc hanging like a shining medallion in the night sky. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the rain had stopped over an hour ago, the thick clouds giving way to long swaths of misty vapor that did little to obscure the moon's brightness.

  He and his men now had a better view of their surroundings, even though a swirling fog shrouded the ground. It lent an eerie quality to the night, sharpening their already finely honed nerves and heightening their senses.

  They had been waiting by this slight turn in the road for several hours, a site Garrett had carefully chosen because of the wide stream just behind them. The rushing water would mask their movements, a crucial consideration if they were to maintain their element of surprise.

  He was especially grateful for it now. The dozen soldiers still mounted were shifting constantly in their saddles to ease cramped muscles while their horses snorted beneath them and pawed the damp earth. The other twelve men were leaning on trees or pacing, their mounts tethered nearby. The long wait was growing more interminable with each passing moment, and there was still no sign of Black Jack.

  Garrett drew out his gold pocket watch and pushed the tiny spring releasing the ornate lid. Eleven o'clock. He slipped the watch back into his pocket, his expression tightening. God only knew how much longer they would have to remain hidden behind these fir trees—

  A sudden movement farther up the road caught his attention, the hair prickling on the back of his neck. He motioned to Sergeant Fletcher.

  "Aim your weapons, men, and hold fast!" the sergeant hissed. "Don't dare move a whisker until I tell you!"

  The soldiers obeyed instantly. Those standing shouldered their muskets and took cover behind the trees. The mounted soldiers sat rigidly in their saddles, one hand gripping the reins while the other held a cocked pistol. They waited tensely for the sergeant's signal.

  Garrett stared intently between the branches, scarcely breathing as a dark shape moved closer an
d closer. He could make out a horse, its head bobbing as it plodded along, and what appeared to be some sort of small wagon with a lone, huddled figure upon the seat.

  Not even a wagon at that, he amended, but a cart. It was hardly the mode of transportation he would have expected from Black Jack, but perhaps several of his men were hiding beneath that blanket, and the others were following on horseback.

  "Easy," Garrett whispered, the cart almost in front of him. "Easy. Now, Fletcher!"

  "Halt where you are!" Sergeant Fletcher roared, his pistol firing into the sky. The deafening report echoed above them as Garrett and his mounted soldiers swooped onto the road and surrounded the wagon. A woman's piercing scream ripped through the air.

  "Please dinna shoot, Captain Marshall . . . Dear God, dinna shoot me!" a quavering voice wailed. " 'Tis me, Glenis! Glenis Simpson!"

  "What the devil?" Garrett cried, wheeling his bay around sharply. He rode up alongside the wagon and yanked the hood off the cowering figure. His eyes widened. "Down with your weapons, men!" he commanded, holstering his pistol and jumping to the ground. He lifted the sobbing woman from the seat and cradled her in his arms. "Glenis, what are you doing here?" he said in stunned disbelief.

  "Och, it's taken me so long to find ye, Garrett," she choked through her tears, shuddering against his chest. She pointed accusingly at the cart. "That blasted animal wouldna go faster than a slug." Suddenly she clutched his coat, her wet eyes wide with terror. " 'Tis not midnight yet?"

  "No, Glenis, not even quarter past eleven," Garrett soothed her, though he had no idea why she would ask him such a question.

  "There's still time, then," she replied, her sobs quieting. "Still time . . ." Her voice cracked and faded as she drew a labored breath.

  Garrett knelt on one knee and set her upon the ground, supporting her in the crook of his arm. "Still time for what, Glenis?" he asked impatiently. "Tell me why you've come this far—"

  " 'Tis Madeleine, Garrett!" Glenis blurted. "Ye must help her. Ye must!"

  "What has happened?" he demanded, an icy chill running down his spine. "Has she been hurt?"

  "No, not hurt. Ye must listen to me, Garrett," Glenis pleaded, twisting to face him. Her dark eyes glistened in the moonlight, burning with a strange fire. "Ye care for my Maddie, dinna ye? I know ye took her to yer bed last night."

  Garrett flushed warmly beneath her intense scrutiny. He heard an embarrassed cough and glanced up to find his men had dismounted and were gathered in a loose circle around him, listening intently. "Go on with you!" he shouted angrily. "Fletcher, get the men back to their positions. Now!"

  "Yes, sir!" Sergeant Fletcher snapped briskly. "You heard the captain. Back on your horses. Move!"

  Garrett waited until they had swiftly dispersed, then he met Glenis's searching gaze.

  "This is madness, Glenis," he said with exasperation. "Surely Madeleine told you what was afoot this evening—"

  "Aye, she did," Glenis retorted heatedly, "and I'll not say anything further 'til ye answer me."

  Garrett sighed in frustration. "Of course I care for her, Glenis," he stated in a rush. "I love her." He snapped his mouth shut, realizing what he had just said. He had never voiced those words aloud to anyone before, and he felt naked, as if he had revealed a part of his soul.

  Glenis's eyes seemed to drill into him all the more. "So ye love her, then," she said under her breath. " 'Tis more than I could have hoped."

  "Glenis, you must tell me what this is all about," Garrett demanded, glancing beyond the cart and back again. "Yes, I love Maddie. But what has that got to do with your being here, at this time of night, and especially since you're aware of the danger?"

  "Ye're the one in danger, Garrett," Glenis shot back, her dark eyes ablaze. "Ye and yer men. Black Jack knows ye're waiting here! They're going to fight ye, Garrett. Fight ye to the death, unless ye stop them in time."

  Garrett stared at her, his mind racing. Had Madeleine betrayed him to Black Jack? Had she deliberately set up some sort of trap? No, it couldn't be, not after . . .

  "Glenis, what the hell is going on?" he yelled, shocking himself at the loudness of his voice.

  She struggled to her feet, her narrow chest heaving with exertion. "I'll tell ye what's goin' on, Garrett Marshall. Black Jack knows ye're here—because my Maddie is Black Jack!"

  Garrett gaped at her, certain she had gone mad. He stood up suddenly, towering above her. "What did you say?" he asked harshly, as if daring her to repeat herself.

  "Madeleine Fraser, the mistress of Farraline, is yer outlaw, Garrett," Glenis said steadily, undaunted by his thunderous look. "She's yer Black Jack. She's been raidin' ye English since a month after her father was killed at Culloden—raidin' to put food in her people's bellies."

  Garrett shook his head in disbelief. "While my soldiers and I have been stationed at Mhor Manor? That's not possible, Glenis."

  "Aye, 'tis more than possible," she objected. "There's a tunnel beneath the house rennin' some forty yards beyond its walls. Ye'll find it in the drawing room closet. 'Tis the perfect way to sneak in and out without anyone takin' any notice at all." She stepped toward him and lowered her voice. " 'Twas how ye got that nasty knot on yer head, Garrett. Ye surprised her coming home from a raid. Ye nearly caught her that night."

  Astounded, Garrett rubbed his forehead. "That was Madeleine?"

  "Aye," Glenis said, nodding. She fluttered her hand impatiently. "Och, Garrett, I could tell ye so much more, but there's no time for it. Maddie's kin have convinced her 'tis best to fight ye, otherwise ye wouldna believe she was Black Jack if she surrendered to ye easily." She drew a ragged breath and rushed on. "There'll be a terrible spillin' of blood, maybe Maddie's, maybe yer own, unless ye stop it. I'd rather see my Maddie in prison than dead on the ground. If ye truly love her, Garrett, as ye say ye do, ye'll capture her and her kin before a single shot is fired!"

  Glenis's impassioned words drove into Garrett's mind with resounding force. Madeleine was Black Jack. It was so farfetched he was inclined to believe it. The woman he loved was an outlaw, a thief!

  Good God, she was the bloodthirsty bastard who had shot his sergeant. His sweet, tempestuous Madeleine!

  He gripped Glenis's spindly arms. "I believe you, Glenis," he said grimly. "Tell me what I must do to avoid this fight." He felt her knees buckle beneath her, and he quickly grabbed her by the waist.

  "God love ye, Garrett. Thank ye," she said gratefully, her eyes flooding with fresh tears, her rasping voice quivering with emotion. "Thank ye—"

  "Glenis!" Garrett interrupted urgently. "You can thank me later if you wish. Tell me what I must do!"

  "Aye, ye're right." Glenis hiccoughed. She drew herself up, standing steadily on her feet though she was visibly trembling. "There's an ancient yew tree just north of Errogie on the left side of the road, but before ye round the north tip of Loch Mhor. Ye winna miss it, Garrett. 'Tis the tallest tree ye'll see, with a huge, twisted trunk. The leaves will appear dark to ye, like black velvet—"

  "I've seen that tree before," Garrett interjected. "I remember noting it because the yew sprig is the Fraser badge."

  "Aye, that's the one," Glenis confirmed. "Maddie will meet her kinsmen there at midnight, then they'll set out for Inverfarigaig knowin' ye're waitin' somewhere along the way. Ye must ride like the wind, Garrett, and surprise them at the yew tree. They winna expect ye there. I only hope ye've enough time to make it now."

  Garrett pulled out his watch, his breath escaping in a rush of relief. "We've more than a half hour, Glenis. Plenty of time to get there and hide, unless Maddie's kinsmen are already there waiting for her." He grimaced. He didn't even want to consider that bleak possibility or its consequences.

  His commanding voice roared above the sound of the rushing stream. "Mount up, men, and secure your weapons. Prepare to ride like you've never ridden before. You'll never call yourselves foot soldiers again if we manage this stunt."

  He turned back to Glenis. "I'll have two of
my men escort you back to Mhor Manor."

  "No, Garrett, I'll not be returnin'," she said resignedly. " 'Tis a traitor I am now to Maddie and her kinsmen. I've betrayed her trust. She'll not want the likes of me around her home." She glanced at the cart. "I'll be goin' on to my sister's in Tullich."

  Garrett wanted to argue with her, but there was no time. "My men will escort you safely to Tullich, then." He bent and kissed her damp cheek. "You're no traitor in my eyes, Glenis. I only hope one day I may thank you for what you've done." He walked her to the cart and lifted her onto the seat.

  "Take care of my Maddie," Glenis said, clasping his hand tightly. "Dinna let anything happen to her."

  If God wills it, he thought grimly, and the English courts. What the next hour would bring was uncertain at best, the future a yawning black hollow he did not want to contemplate.

  "I'll do everything in my power to help her," Garrett said with quiet intensity. "That I promise you, Glenis." He squeezed her hand, then stepped away from the cart. "Sergeant Fletcher, I need two men to accompany Glenis Simpson to Tullich."

  "Very good, captain."

  Within minutes the cart was creaking down the road toward Inverfarigaig, a well-armed soldier flanking each side. Garrett knew it was a circuitous route to Tullich, but better that than steer Glenis back toward Errogie and the skirmish that would shortly ensue.

  He mounted his powerful bay, the animal snorting restlessly beneath him.

  "What's our destination, captain?" Sergeant Fletcher asked, reining in his horse beside Garrett's.

  "The ancient yew of Clan Fraser," Garrett replied cryptically. At the sergeant's confused expression, his tone grew even darker. "I'll explain along the way, Fletcher."

  Garrett dug his heels into the bay, leaning into the saddle as the horse lunged forward in a spray of wet dirt. Sergeant Fletcher quickly followed suit, catching up with him as their horses galloped neck-and-neck along the road, the soldiers thundering not far behind them.