"Why, General Hawley," the officer blurted, stunned. "He's personally leading our regiment." He peered at Madeleine's face, streaked with tears and soot. "If I'd known she was a woman, captain, I wouldn't have hit her so hard."
Garrett ignored the man's curious stare, his jaw tightening. He recalled the terse message he had received the day before from Colonel Wolfe and cursed his own carelessness in not taking the warning more seriously.
It was clear General Hawley had made good on his threat to take immediate action, far sooner than Garrett would ever have expected. Colonel Wolfe must have told Hawley that he suspected Black Jack's activities were centered around Farraline. Garrett had told his colonel as much in a message he had sent to Fort Augustus several weeks ago.
"Where's the general?" Garrett asked gruffly
"Right over there, captain, near that stone church," the lieutenant replied, pointing toward the north end of Farraline.
Garrett grimaced. He must have ridden right past Hawley in his haste to overtake Madeleine. He would have caught up with her sooner if not for Hawley's blasted soldiers blocking the road. At least it would have spared her the cruel blow to her head.
He glanced down at Madeleine's face, so pale beneath what little black soot remained. Once again she had thought nothing for her own safety, trying in vain to stop what was happening to Farraline. Garrett had to get to General Hawley at once if he was to save the rest of the village from the torch. He looked steadily at the lieutenant.
"Tell your men, and those of the other officers as well, to stay their torches until further orders are received from General Hawley," he commanded.
"I can't do that, Captain Marshall," the lieutenant objected. "Our orders are to keep going until there's nothing left standing—"
"I said stay your torches," Garrett said ominously. "I've news for the general that will undoubtedly reverse his orders. If one more cottage is burned, lieutenant, I'll hold you personally responsible."
The young officer swallowed hard, clearly daunted by Garrett's murderous expression. He nodded.
"Good. Get on with it." Garrett watched as the lieutenant hurried over to the other mounted officers, who each in turn glanced guardedly at him. They began to call off their men.
Garrett waited no longer. He turned and strode toward the church, hugging Madeleine to his chest.
Each step was excruciating as his mind waged a final battle with his raging emotions, his soul demanding that he find a way to hold on to his dream. How he longed at that moment simply to ride out of Farraline with Madeleine safe in his arms, leaving this horrible dilemma far behind them.
Yet Garrett knew he could not. If there was one thing he understood about Mistress Madeleine Fraser, however painful for him, it was that she would sacrifice everything, even her life, for her kinsmen.
By turning Madeleine over to General Hawley as Black Jack, Garrett would be helping her people. To do otherwise would only earn him her hatred. It was bad enough she already believed he had lied to her. Her screams still echoed in his ears, her words twisted cruelly into his heart . . . I hate ye . . . I hate ye . . .
God, he could not think of it! He had to believe there was another way he could save Madeleine from Hawley's wrath. He had to believe he had not lost his dream forever—
"Welcome, Captain Marshall," a loud voice rang out, shattering his tormented thoughts. "So now I see how you've been wasting your time. A wench in trousers, no less."
Garrett's eyes narrowed at his supreme commander, who was sitting astride a gleaming white stallion that seemed dwarfed by the man's ponderous weight. Illuminated by the towering flames, Hawley's massive bulk cast a grotesque shadow on the church's stone walls.
"General Hawley," Garrett said curtly, stopping in front of the general and his plumed retinue of high-ranking officers.
A quick glance told him his only ally, Colonel Wolfe, was not among them. He would have to fight this out alone. He drew a deep breath and was about to speak when Sergeant Fletcher suddenly rode up to the church, followed by the rest of his soldiers and their sullen prisoners.
Sergeant Fletcher dismounted and rushed over to his side. "You caught her, captain," he blurted with relief.
"Caught whom?" General Hawley inquired, his shrewd, heavy-lidded eyes swiftly assessing the scene before him.
"Black Jack," Garrett stated clearly. He nodded toward the trussed Highlanders flanked by his soldiers. "And the five men who've been riding with her."
General Hawley quickly masked his astonishment and adopted a look of studied amusement. "Surely, you jest, Captain Marshall." He pointed to Madeleine with the feathered end of his horsewhip. "Are you telling me that this woman is the outlaw who's been attacking my supply trains?"
"Yes, I am, general," Garrett replied evenly. "We captured Black Jack and her kinsmen an hour ago, after discovering the location of their meeting place. They would have been in your custody by tomorrow night.
He paused, glancing pointedly over his shoulder. "This matter could have been resolved peacefully, as we had planned."
"Do I detect a hint of criticism in your tone, captain?" General Hawley asked sharply, anger shaking his voice. "If so, you'd do well to keep it to yourself. Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir," Garrett said.
General Hawley snorted with derision. "Your humanitarian effort has cost the Crown a great deal of money replacing the food supplies continually stolen by this blackguard." He waved his horsewhip toward the burning cottages. "If I'd done this a month ago as I had planned—before Colonel Wolfe interfered, Black Jack and her men" —he spat— "would have hanged by and saved us quite a bit of trouble." He leaned forward in his saddle. "Not to mention the soldiers who've been shot by these six bastards. I should have swept through this valley with fire and bayonet until these Highlanders served up Black Jack on a silver platter!"
Garrett had no response to this long tirade, which seemed to irritate General Hawley all the more.
"Does this woman . . . this Black Jack, have a name?" he asked, staring at Madeleine with evident distaste.
"Madeleine Fraser, mistress of Farraline," he answered. "Her father was a baronet, Sir Hugh Fraser, who died at Culloden."
"How fascinating," General Hawley said. "A baronet's daughter. Then she must have lands, an estate nearby? They will be forfeited to the Crown, of course, for her vicious acts of treason. That should put some gold coin back into the king's coffers."
Garrett bit his tongue. It enraged him to hear General Hawley accuse Madeleine of vicious acts! "Yes," he replied. "She has an estate, Mhor Manor, where my men and I have been billeting since our arrival in Strathherrick."
There was an ominous silence, broken only by the crackling flames in the distance. When General Hawley finally spoke, his fleshy face was bright red with anger.
"Do you mean to say, Captain Marshall, that while you were quartered under her roof, Mistress Fraser continued to carry out her raids with no interference from you or your men?"
Garrett stared back at him stonily. "Certainly we would have captured her sooner, general, if we had detected her activities." He chose his next words with care, aware that Madeleine's kinsmen were within earshot. Madeleine would learn of Glenis's assistance from his lips alone. "I have discovered there is a secret tunnel beneath Mhor Manor. That was how Mistress Fraser was able to pass unnoticed from the house and continue her raids despite our presence."
"A secret tunnel!" General Hawley snorted. "These Highlanders are the craftiest lot." He flicked his horsewhip impatiently. "I would see this Mhor Manor," he stated. "I assume it will adequately accommodate my commanding officers and myself? Most of the manor houses still standing in the Highlands are hollow shells, not fit for beasts."
Garrett felt bile rising in his throat. To think that Hawley might sleep in the bed where only last night he and Madeleine had slept. "The house is well appointed," he heard himself answer woodenly.
"Good. I assume there is a stable where the prisoners m
ay be housed?"
Garrett stared at him incredulously. He glanced at Madeleine, still unconscious in his arms, and back to the general. "Mistress Fraser has been injured," he said. "She needs care, as does one of her kinsmen, who was shot during the ambush. The stable is drafty and it leaks, hardly the place—"
"Captain Marshall!" General Hawley roared, cutting him off. "If I did not know better, I might accuse you of harboring some affection for these Jacobite dogs. Surely you don't expect me to sleep under the same roof with them." He abruptly turned his attention to the stiffly erect soldier at Garrett's side. "Your name, sergeant," he demanded.
"Sergeant Fletcher, sir!" he answered briskly.
"Well, Sergeant Fletcher. Take this prisoner from Captain Marshall and see that she and her surly kinsmen are locked up in the stable under full guard," he commanded, then added dryly, "I'll have one of my surgeons sent over to attend to their wounds. I'd like a full complement of criminals to face the king's justice, if possible." His eyes shifted to Garrett. "Meanwhile, the good captain will kindly accompany my officers and myself to Mhor Manor where we'll discuss his notable accomplishment over a glass of wine or two."
General Hawley kicked his horse with his brightly polished boots. The animal was clearly straining as it walked past them, then stopped once again in the road. "Captain Marshall?" the general said without turning his head.
Sergeant Fletcher turned to Garrett. "I should take her, captain," he said anxiously. "I'll see to it that she's well tended, with warm blankets and the like. She did the same for you once . . ." His voice trailed off, and he looked momentarily flustered.
Garrett could empathize with his sergeant's confusion. He reluctantly handed Madeleine over to him, his hand brushing against her cheek. "Thank you, Fletcher."
He turned and mounted his bay, which had been brought to him by one of his soldiers. He drew up alongside General Hawley, who was staring toward the south end of the village, glints of fire reflected in his hooded eyes.
Garrett felt a chill cut through him at the pleased smile on the general's face. "General Hawley, I took the liberty of ordering your men to stay their torches, seeing that I've captured Black Jack—"
"So I've just been informed," General Hawley interrupted bluntly, without taking his gaze from the burning cottages. A long, uncomfortable silence settled between them until the general spoke up excitedly. "Look there." He pointed with his horsewhip. "What a magnificent sight."
Garrett followed his gaze to a cottage only fifty feet away, one of the last to have been torched before he called a halt to the destruction. A ball of flame shot up high into the inky black sky as the roof suddenly gave way, crashing into the fire-gutted interior with a roaring whoosh.
"I would like to see that happen to every cottage in the Highlands," General Hawley said acidly. "These Jacobite bastards will never survive the winter without roofs over their treasonous heads. When they're freezing and starving to death, they'll wish a thousand times I hadn't spared their miserable lives tonight." He looked sharply at Garrett. "My order stands, Captain Marshall. Farraline is to be burned to the ground as a warning to any other villages in Strathherrick who might harbor an enemy of the Crown." He dug his boots into his stallion's flanks. "I've acquired quite a thirst from this night's work, captain. Lead on."
Garrett felt as if he had been slammed violently in the chest. He could scarcely breathe, and he could not think. He could only act.
Gripped by stark despair he urged his bay into a trot, riding side by side with a man from whom he could expect no pity.
Behind them the night once again resounded with screams as General Hawley's soldiers set about their task with renewed vengeance, cottage after cottage falling to the twisting flames.
Chapter 23
It was almost noon the next day when Garrett and his soldiers prepared to leave Mhor Manor, ordered by General Hawley to rejoin Colonel Wolfe's regiment at Fort Augustus.
"Your mission is completed to the satisfaction of your superiors. You are dismissed, Major Marshall!" General Hawley's second-in-command shouted, with a final salute after the brief promotion ceremony.
Garrett stonily acknowledged the officer, then turned to Sergeant Fletcher. "Give the order, sergeant," he said tersely.
"Step lively, men. We're on to Fort Augustus!"
Garrett was consumed by fury as his men began to march in solemn double lines down the dirt drive, his prancing bay bringing up the rear. He felt as if he were living a nightmare. The events of the past hours played relentlessly in his mind . . .
Last night after a few brimming goblets of wine, General Hawley had soon tired of asking questions about Black Jack and had insisted upon viewing the secret tunnel. Axes had made short work of the planked floor in the drawing room closet, exposing the gaping black hole.
It had been a terrible revelation, and had confirmed everything Glenis had told him. Yet it was no more terrible than the general's disclosure of his plans for Madeleine and her kinsmen amid a celebration which was fueled by copious quantities of red wine.
"First we'll have a day's respite after the rigors of this evening," General Hawley had stated drunkenly, his strident laughter echoing about the room, "then we're off to my new headquarters in Edinburgh and the triumphant task of delivering our Jacobite dogs to the castle gaol. Within a fortnight, the wench and her traitor friends will be tried for treason and hanged!"
Garrett grimaced at the awful memory, his knuckles white as he clutched the reins. He had known at that moment there was no use in making a plea for Madeleine's life and the lives of her kinsmen. After what he had witnessed in Farraline he could expect no mercy from General Henry Hawley.
No, he had decided to wait. Another idea was forming in his mind. It was a desperate plan, but it was his only hope.
Garrett turned in his saddle, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Mhor Manor and the stable just beyond the house. His heart thudded dully. But it was too late. The buildings were already hidden behind a thick copse of fir trees.
He twisted back around, wondering how Madeleine was faring that morning, wondering if she was well. Thanks to Hawley, he had not seen her since he had handed her over to Sergeant Fletcher last night. The general had forbidden any access to the prisoners because he feared an escape attempt.
At first Garrett thought he could get around the order because his men were serving as guards. He had gone to the stable after Hawley and his commanders had finally retired to their rooms, only to discover that Sergeant Fletcher and his men had been replaced by some of General Hawley's own troops.
His request to enter had been denied. Frustrated and angered, he had returned to Glenis's room, his assigned sleeping quarters since the rooms upstairs were occupied by Hawley's officers. There he had spent a sleepless night, his mind in anguish.
The worst part of this endless nightmare was the sickening feeling that he might never see Madeleine again.
"Dammit, man, you will see her again!" Garrett whispered fiercely to himself.
"What was that, Captain Marshall . . . uh . . . I mean Major Marshall?" Sergeant Fletcher asked, dropping his position at the back of the line to walk beside Garrett's horse.
Garrett sighed. "Nothing, Fletcher. I was merely.
He paused, struck by a sudden idea. "I've decided to ride on ahead, sergeant," he continued evenly, masking his impatience. "Colonel Wolfe should be informed of our successful mission and Black Jack's capture as soon as possible. I'd like you to take charge of the men and see them to Fort Augustus in my stead."
"No trouble at all, major," Sergeant Fletcher replied, slinging his musket more comfortably over his shoulder. "You're right about Colonel Wolfe. He'd be more than interested in the news."
"Good," Garrett responded, scarcely hearing him. "I'll expect you and the men sometime later this evening. It shouldn't be too hard a march without the wagons."
He didn't wait for a reply but spurred the bay into a fast gallop. The massive animal seemed to sens
e his urgency, and his forceful strides rapidly lengthened the distance between Garrett and his startled soldiers.
Garrett's thoughts whirled as he sped along, the wild scenery around him fading into a blur of color.
As soon as he reached Fort Augustus, he would explain everything to Colonel Wolfe. He could trust the colonel to understand. He would ask for immediate leave, then set out at once for London.
His brother Gordon was his only chance. As a respected court minister, he had the ear of King George. Nothing less than a king's pardon would rescue Madeleine from the gallows, and Garrett must somehow persuade Gordon to request one—in time to save her.
Garrett clenched this teeth as a wave of bitterness gripped him. How humiliating that he should have to entrust his fragile dream, his very soul, to a brother who had always hated him.
He only hoped Gordon still wanted to possess Rosemoor. It was his only means of bargaining for Madeleine's life.
Biting tears suddenly clouded his vision, choking off his last thought. He was shaken by the intensity of his emotion.
"No, this fight isn't over yet," Garrett vowed defiantly.
He thought of Madeleine's wild beauty, her kiss, her laughter, her smiles, and her touch. The vivid memories spurred him on and he raced across the purple heather, thinking only of when he would see her again.
***
"They're gone, Maddie," Angus reported. "Major Marshall and his soldiers are gone."
He turned stiffly from the high stable window where he had watched the past half hour's proceedings: the promotion ceremony, the curt farewells, the march from Mhor Manor. His gaze met Madeleine's. "They must be on their way back to Fort Augustus. They dinna take the road into Farraline but turned south toward Aberchalder."
"Aye, 'tis probably so," Madeleine said tonelessly. She looked away, leaning her head against the stall. She winced from a sudden, throbbing ache but chose to ignore it. At least it had dulled from the piercing pain that had plagued her until a few hours ago.
A Hint of Rapture Page 24