Unwittingly, her eyes darted back. He was still there, the faintest smile on his lips. How strange such a phantom had been sent to her, the image of a man she had thought she would never see again. She glanced back at General Hawley, who was scowling, his face a mottled shade of red.
"Mistress Fraser, I shall be brief," he began, shooting a furious look at Garrett. He took a rolled parchment from the somber-faced judge and held it in his hand, pointing it at her as he spoke. "His Majesty King George has seen fit to take a personal interest in your situation and has offered you the chance of a pardon, upon certain conditions to which you must agree."
Madeleine was not sure she had heard him correctly. For an instant she thought she might be dreaming, and she sank her thumbnail into her palm. She blinked at the stinging pain, but the room did not disappear. It was real, God help her. Then Garrett must be real.
"A-a pardon?" she asked.
"That's exactly what I said, wench," General Hawley spat. He leaned forward, the chair creaking ominously under his weight. "I'll tell you this, Mistress Fraser. Your pardon has come as a total surprise to me, brought forward only within the last hour by Major Marshall here. I would like nothing more than to see you hang, along with your Jacobite friends, but I am compelled to offer you a chance to redeem your miserable life." He sat back, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. "Upon certain conditions, of course."
General Hawley's words were slowly sinking into Madeleine's brain. Garrett had brought a pardon from King George himself. She felt a tiny glimmer of hope flare within her, and she glanced at him, but he was staring at the rolled parchment in the general's hand.
"What conditions?" she inquired, the timbre of her voice gaining strength. Aye, she would gladly agree to give up her raiding, she found herself thinking, if that was the condition. She would swear to it!
"Tell her, Major Marshall," General Hawley demanded heatedly, "as it seems this is your personal quest as well. But pray keep it short."
Madeleine slowly drew in her breath as Garrett took a few steps toward her.
"Madeleine, you must listen carefully," he began, his familiar deep voice sending a shiver coursing through her. "You will only be pardoned from your crime of treason, and the sentence of death, if you agree to a certain proposal."
She nodded her understanding.
"Get on with it, man, we haven't got all afternoon!" General Hawley shouted impatiently. Suddenly he changed his mind. "Back off, major. I'll tell the wench the choice she must make."
Madeleine watched silently as Garrett's jaw tightened, but he nodded, acquiescing to his commander.
"The conditions are these, Mistress Fraser," General Hawley muttered, clutching the document. "To receive his majesty's pardon, you must agree to marry Major Garrett Marshall, who shall then become the sole proprietor of the estate known as Mhor Manor in Strathherrick, Inverness-shire."
Madeleine felt as if she had been struck. She had never expected this! Her mind reeled in a confusing dance of thoughts and racing emotions. She swallowed hard, her gaze meeting Garrett's. "Marry an Englishman?" she asked incredulously.
The question came from her lips so suddenly she was barely aware she had said it. Yet it sprang from a part of her that was so ingrained she could not have responded otherwise, despite everything Angus had told her, despite the secret feelings she held so deeply within her.
Desperate wishes, vain hopes, and dreams were one thing. Reality was quite another. There was only one answer, nurtured by hundreds of years of hatred and mistrust between neighboring peoples, reinforced all the more by the recent brutality she had witnessed, even if she knew Garrett had no part in it.
She looked down at her folded hands. "I canna marry Major Marshall," she stated evenly, knowing she was choosing death. "I'll not be a traitor to my people."
"There. She has made her choice," General Hawley said, a pleased expression on his fleshy face as he sat back in his chair. 'The execution will forward as planned. "
"No!" Garrett shouted vehemently, striding to the table. "You have not given her the full conditions." He glared at the judge. "You know the law. The prisoner must know every condition before the choice can be made."
The judge turned to General Hawley and whispered to him almost apologetically. "The major is correct, general. A king's pardon is not to be taken so lightly." He nodded to Garrett. "You may continue, Major Marshall."
Madeleine gasped as Garrett whirled around, his eyes blazing into her own.
"It's not so simple, Madeleine," he said, advancing on her. "There are other lives involved here besides your own, which the general has neglected to tell you. If you agree to marry me, you will not only save your life but your kinsmen's as well."
Her eyes widened, her mind spinning once again. Garrett's voice was harsh, grating into her jumbled thoughts.
"You've always claimed to put your kin before yourself, Madeleine. Will you let them die horribly—Angus, Ewen—knowing you have it in your power to spare their lives? Marriage to an Englishman seems a small Price to pay for those you hold so dear. The estate may no longer be in your name, but you would be living there as before, with your kin around you—"
"That's it, isn't it, Garrett?" Madeleine accused him suddenly, jumping up from her chair. She was shaking from the anger possessing her, shaking from the cruel realization ringing in her mind. "Ye dinna care about me or my kinsmen. 'Tis the land ye want, Mhor Manor, so ye threaten me with my kin as ye've done before to get what ye want. Do ye have lands in England, an estate of yer own?"
Garrett shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "I have nothing in England."
"Aye, so I'm right, then!" Madeleine exclaimed. "Ye're landless, and ye saw yer chance to grab something for yerself when ye discovered I was Black Jack, knowing my lands would be forfeit once I was tried for treason."
"Madeleine," Garrett began, only to be cut off as she rushed on, her voice becoming more shrill.
"Yet ye knew if ye dinna have me by yer side ye'd never be able to make a go of it among the Frasers of Strathherrick. So ye went to London quick as ye could and acquired a pardon for me so ye could do just that!" She drew a ragged breath. "Did ye bribe yer way to the king? Obviously ye convinced him 'twould be worth a pardon and a grant of land to have an Englishman living among the Highlanders. The better to spy on them, aye, Garrett? Keeping the peace for the Crown on yer ill-gotten estate?"
"Enough!" roared General Hawley, heaving his massive bulk up from his chair. "Stand away, Major Marshall!" As Garrett reluctantly obeyed him, the general pointed threateningly at Madeleine.
"State your choice, wench," he ordered, his face bright red and sweating. "I'll not listen to any more of your treasonous talk. Either wed the major or hang with your kin. Now choose!"
Madeleine's chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart pounding furiously against her ribs. Her gaze shifted from the general's enraged face to Garrett. His face was ashen despite his bronzed coloring, and his eyes bored into hers. She heard her own voice as if from far away, answering the general, sealing her fate.
"I will wed Major Marshall, if only to spare my kin."
She heard Garrett's breath escape in a rush, saw the flicker of relief in his eyes. She had never felt such crushing bitterness in her life.
Aye, ye've won yer fine estate, she thought fiercely, and yer Highland bride. But ye'll rue this day, Garrett. I swear it. Ye'll rue this day.
"So be it," the judge proclaimed, rising to stand beside General Hawley. The sheriff quickly followed his lead. "The prisoner has accepted his majesty's benevolent pardon. The sentence of death upon Mistress Madeleine Fraser and her four kinsmen is hereby revoked."
"Four kinsmen?" Garrett queried, glancing at Madeleine. She ignored him, staring stonily at the general.
"One of the bastards saw fit to expire on the way to Edinburgh," General Hawley answered for her. "There is some justice." He turned to the sheriff. "Accompany the major and his lovely bride-to-be" —he spat distastefully, appraising
her dirty feet and bedraggled appearance— "to Saint Margaret's Chapel. When they are properly wed, her four kinsmen may be released."
"Yes, sir," the sheriff said, nodding briskly.
General Hawley leveled his hooded gaze upon Garrett. "See that you're on your way back to the Highlands by tomorrow morning, Major Marshall. If I might remind you, you still have duties to fulfill in Strathherrick. Your commission does not expire until next summer. You will have a full company of my soldiers to assist you until you may summon your own men from Fort Augustus."
With a last surly glance at Madeleine, he stormed from the room, the judge close upon his heels. The door slammed shut behind them.
"Let's go, major," the sheriff said, waving to the guards. They immediately surrounded Madeleine.
"That will not be necessary, sheriff," Garrett said grimly. "Mistress Fraser will not try to escape." He glared at the nearest guard, who quickly moved aside, then he reached out and took Madeleine's arm.
"Dinna touch me!" Madeleine blurted in a vehement whisper, jerking her arm away. "I'll walk with the guards, if ye dinna mind. They're far better company." She heard Garrett sigh heavily, but he gave no reply as he stepped back.
Madeleine walked from the room surrounded by her silent escort. She could sense Garrett's gaze on her as they stepped out into the courtyard, could feel it searing into her all the way to the stone chapel.
She entered the dim interior, knowing that when she next saw the light of day she would be wife to an Englishman, wife to Major Garrett Marshall. Her life had been spared, yet it would never, never be the same.
Chapter 26
Madeleine laid her head back against the copper tub, luxuriating in the delicious warmth of her bath.
She hadn't known what she wanted to do first when she entered the well-appointed suite on the second story of this comfortable inn, eat or bathe. Now she was glad she had opted for the tub, despite her gnawing hunger. It felt so wonderful to be clean again!
She sighed, breathing in the heady fragrance of the rose-scented bath oil the maidservant had poured into the water. She had never smelled such sweetness. She began to work her fingers through her wet, tangled hair, smiling in spite of herself.
When the innkeeper's stout wife had showed her to these rooms less than an hour ago, it had been like walking into a vision of unexpected luxury, especially after the days Madeleine had spent in her bleak prison cell.
A fire burned cheerily in the sitting room hearth, and thick tallow candles were aglow on the mantelpiece and in ornate wall sconces. A cloth-covered table, laden with all manner of savory dishes beneath domed silver lids, was set near the latticed windows and flanked by two stuffed armchairs. In the large bedchamber, a gleaming copper tub was placed near the fireplace, already filled with steaming hot water, as if they had known she was coming.
She remembered gasping in surprise, and the friendly Lowland Scotswoman had laughed heartily, urging her to make herself at home. The woman's last words before she closed the door had stunned Madeleine and still echoed in her mind.
"If there is anything else ye need, Lady Marshall, ye have only to ask my daughter, Clara. She'll be serving as yer maid during yer stay with us tonight. Yer fine husband said ye must have whatever yer heart desires."
Madeleine frowned. Lady Marshall. It felt so strange to be called by that name. And as far as having whatever her heart desired, she could see very well through Garrett's ploy. Already he was trying to curry favor with her to mask his treachery. Well, she would have none of it, and she would tell him as much when next she saw him.
Which she hoped wouldn't be tonight, she thought nervously, hugging her knees to her chest. She hadn't seen Garrett since they had arrived at the inn on the outskirts of Edinburgh. He'd ushered her in the front door and handed her over with a few short words to the innkeeper's wife, who had then whisked her up the stairs.
She was grateful the kindly woman had said nothing about her bare feet and disheveled appearance, covered somewhat by the heavy riding coat Garrett had insisted she wear. Nor had Clara, who had gathered the soiled clothes with only the faintest look of disgust and quickly left the room with them while Madeleine stepped gingerly into the tub.
Perhaps Garrett was seeing after her kinsmen, Madeleine considered, her mood darkening.
She had already been seated in the carriage when they were brought stumbling and limping from the prison, their whiskered faces haggard and pale in the gathering dusk. She had shrunk back from the window, hiding behind the velvet curtains, afraid even to face them, ashamed for what Garrett must already have told them.
Her kinsmen had been assisted into the black coach directly behind hers, a half dozen mounted soldiers flanking the doors. Garrett had then climbed into the carriage with her and told her that the remainder of Hawley's soldiers would meet them in the morning before they set out for Strathherrick.
Those had been his only words during the entire journey to the inn. He had sat directly across from her, his handsome face cloaked in shadow, a tense silence filling the dark interior of the swaying carriage. She had held on tightly to the leather strap, pretending interest in the sights as the coach rumbled through the forbidding gatehouse of Edinburgh Castle and down the steep hill into the city.
Actually she remembered little of the journey. The countless cobbled squares and narrow wynds, Edinburgh's famed alleyways, were all a blur. Only the memory of Garrett's leg occasionally brushing against hers whenever they hit a bump stood out in her mind, unnerving her all the more.
She had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. The day's unsettling events were still difficult to comprehend, and the brief wedding ceremony was something she did not want to contemplate. It had been the greatest relief to arrive at the inn, the greatest relief to find herself alone in these rooms, at least so far.
Madeleine's gaze darted over to the canopied bed, apprehension filling her. It was so huge, so empty. Would Garrett demand to share it with her? Would he claim his rights as her husband? Surely he wouldn't force her—
A soft knock at the bedchamber door startled Madeleine, intruding into her uneasy thoughts. She sank lower in the tub and crossed her arms over her breasts, which were barely submerged beneath the water's surface.
"Who is it?" she called out, her gaze darting frantically about the candelit room. Three thick towels were draped over a low sitting stool, well out of arm's reach. She would never make it to them in time to cover herself.
" 'Tis Clara," a cheerful voice replied. The door opened wide to reveal a trim, dark-haired young woman who was deftly balancing an odd assortment of wrapped packages and boxes in her arms.
Clara smiled brightly as she bumped the door with her hip, closing it. "Sorry for the draft, m'lady," she apologized, setting her bundles on a table placed against the wall. "How's yer bath? Still warm?" Without waiting for an answer she hurried over and dipped her fingers into the tub. "Och, 'tis grown a bit tepid, m'lady. Would ye like some more hot water?"
"No, thank ye, Clara," Madeleine said, feeling the tension ease from her body. "I've soaked enough for one night."
"Very well, m'lady," Clara replied briskly, wrapping a huge towel around Madeleine's shoulders as she rose wet and dripping from the tub. Clara flung another towel on the rug, waiting patiently with the last towel in her hands while Madeleine stepped over the rim.
Madeleine's eyes widened as Clara sank to her knees and toweling her legs. "Clara, 'tisn't necessary," she said with embarrassment, wholly unused to such attention. "I'm able to dry m'self." She gently took the towel from the startled maidservant. "Perhaps ye've a robe I might wear when I'm finished? I dinna have any other clothes with me."
Clara quickly recovered herself, a wide grin breaking across her pert features. "Aye, there's probably a robe, m'lady, and more," she said mysteriously, at the packages on the table. "May I open them for ye?"
Madeleine nodded, quickly buffing herself dry. She wrapped the towel snugly around herself, watching cu
riously as Clara tore through the pretty floral wrappings on the largest package, string and tissue paper fluttering to the floor. She gasped as the maidservant whirled around, shaking out a lustrous blue silk wrapping gown.
"Isn't it lovely?" Clara breathed, laying it out on the bed. Soon the bedspread was covered with delicate lace undergarments, a quilted robe in apricot satin, several sets of silk slippers, a pair of shoes with elegantly curved heels, two light woolen traveling gowns, soft leather riding boots, even a silver hairbrush, as box after box was unwrapped.
Madeleine could only stare at all the finery, her ire rising. Was Garrett attempting to bribe her with these gifts? she wondered heatedly. He would find himself sadly mistaken if he thought he could soften the edges of his selfish deceit and make her more amenable to his marriage of convenience with such a ruse.
She shivered suddenly, feeling a chill despite the warm fire at her back. Her skin rippled with goosebumps. She couldn't remain wrapped in this damp towel forever.
Clara must have read her mind, for she quickly scurried toward her with the quilted robe. "Och, I'm sorry, m'lady. I was so busy unwrapping the packages I almost forgot ye were waiting for yer robe."
" 'Tis no matter, Clara," Madeleine said, dropping the towel and easing into the satin garment. At once she was warmed, the light padding chasing away her goosebumps. She walked over to the bed and chose a pair of slippers lined with down, sliding them onto her feet. They fit perfectly.
"Would ye like me to comb out yer hair, m'lady?" Clara asked. " 'Tis such a pretty color, now that the dirt's been washed away—" She clapped her hand over her mouth.
Madeleine could not help laughing. "Aye, I suppose I was a fine sight to behold," she admitted lightly. She crossed to the dressing table and sat on the brocade stool. "Ye may try to tackle this mess if ye wish, Clara. Ye might find it more trouble than it's worth."
As Clara picked up a comb and began working expertly through the wet, tangled snarls, Madeleine stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was shocked by the dark circles beneath her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks, her image a weary shadow of her former self.
A Hint of Rapture Page 27