A Hint of Rapture

by Miriam Minger

  "Aye, I'll be quiet as a mouse," she replied. She studied him strangely, no doubt wondering where he was off to on his wedding night.

  Garrett suppressed a smile and opened the heavy oak door. "Oh, yes," he added as an afterthought. "Lady Marshall should be awakened at sunrise and her things packed. We'll be departing early, no later than eight o'clock." He ignored her startled look as he walked out into the narrow street.

  "But—but Major Marshall, we lock this door at midnight. Will ye be back by then?" she called after him.

  "Depends if I complete my shopping, Clara. I'll pound on the door if it's locked against me."

  "Shopping?" Garrett heard the young woman mutter incredulously as she closed the door.

  He chuckled under his breath. Yes, shopping.

  Chapter 27

  The cobbled street was awash in bright morning sunlight when Madeleine stepped from the inn and was helped into the carriage by her silent husband. When Garrett closed the door behind her and climbed atop with the driver, she knew she would be riding alone. She was relieved she had been spared his company. His light touch on her arm had flustered her altogether.

  "A good journey to ye!" the Merretts cried out as the two shining black coaches jerked forward, the second surrounded by its somber guard.

  "God's blessings to ye and yer husband!" Clara called to her, waving her apron gaily.

  Madeleine forced a smile, waving back, then settled against the plush seat as the inn disappeared from view.

  She yawned drowsily. She had been awakened so early, just after dawn, that she was still tired. She closed her eyes, her head bumping upon the cushion, but the carriage was swaying so much she knew she would never be able to sleep. Instead, she watched as the cluttered houses and narrow streets of Edinburgh swiftly gave way to rolling hills and trees aflame with vibrant, autumn color.

  They had journeyed no more than a quarter hour when the carriage rumbled to a stop.

  Madeleine leaned curiously out the window, wondering what had caused their delay. She was stunned to see a long line of loaded wagons waiting beside the road, and even more surprised by the anxious lowing of cattle filling the air.

  She shielded her eyes from the sun. There were soldiers everywhere—Hawley's troops. Garrett had said they would be meeting their escort on the road leading out of the city. But why so many wagons? She counted quickly. There were twenty-six in all and a herd of Highland cattle, including a bull. She had never seen such a cavalcade!

  Her attention was diverted as Garrett jumped down from the driver's seat and mounted a beautiful dappled-gray stallion brought to him by one of the soldiers.

  "Garrett, what's going on?" she asked loudly, raising her voice so she might be heard above the din. "Are all of these wagons bound for Strathherrick?"

  He reined in beside her window, an enigmatic smile on his face as he nodded.

  "Will ye kindly tell me what's in them?"

  "Supplies for the long winter ahead," he said, looking at her warmly.

  "What kind of supplies? And what of the cattle?"

  "A herd for Mhor Manor. If you'll excuse me, Madeleine, there's work to be done."

  Before she could reply, he veered the restless stallion sharply around and rode into the midst of the soldiers. She could hear him issuing commands, and the confusion began anew as wagons were brought into line behind the carriages, the cattle bringing up the rear.

  Exasperated, Madeleine fell back against the cushion. His short answers had hardly satisfied her curiosity. Surely Garrett realized the stable at Mhor Manor couldn't possibly hold so many animals. And twenty-six wagons full of supplies? Was he thinking to use part of the manor house for storage? Where would they find room for everything?

  She gasped as the carriage suddenly lurched forward, and she had no choice but to resign herself to her questions remaining unanswered, at least for now. If Garrett wouldn't tell her, she would just have to discover for herself exactly what was in those wagons.

  The hours passed slowly as they journeyed through the beautiful Lowland hills. A few times Madeleine managed to doze fitfully, other times she was lost to introspection, but mostly she gave her mind a rest and simply gazed at the passing scenery.

  It was near nightfall when the carriage finally drew to a halt outside a rustic country inn. Weary and rumpled from the constant jostling, Madeleine was more than grateful when Garrett lifted her from the carriage and she set her feet upon firm ground.

  It was only when he led her through the inn's front door that her apprehension swelled anew. Would tonight be a repeat of last night? she wondered nervously, not daring to look up at him.

  "We'll need two rooms," Garrett said to the stooped innkeeper, quickly dispelling her fears. "One for the lady, and one for myself." He turned to her, his eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. She could not fathom what he was thinking. "I'll have your supper sent up to you. We'll be rising at dawn again, so you'd do well to retire early. Sleep well, Madeleine."

  "What of my kinsmen?" she called out to him just before he walked out the door.

  "They'll be camping outside with the soldiers. Don't worry, Maddie. They'll be fine." The door slammed shut, and he was gone.

  Madeleine's knees fairly wobbled with the relief as she followed the innkeeper up the stairs to her chamber. She waited while the old man lit several candles and opened the shutters to allow fresh air into the room, then she sank unsteadily against the door when he left her to her privacy.

  Her gaze swept the tidy chamber, falling on the large bed in the corner, a bed she would thankfully sleep in alone. It was clear Garrett realized from their unsettling encounter the night before that she had no wish to share his bed. She frowned as she pulled off her traveling coat. She did feel a bit cheated that she hadn't gotten the chance to tell him so again.

  A sudden rap at the door startled her and made her heart pound furiously. Dear God, had Garrett reconsidered?

  "Who's there?" she said, retreating to the window.

  "I've brought yer supper, m'lady.'

  Madeleine ran back to the door and opened it, but only wide enough to take the tray from the old man.

  "Thank ye," she said as he closed the door for her. She carried the tray to the bedside table, her hands shaking as she made short work of the steaming barley soup and brown bread.

  With her stomach warm and full she felt even wearier. She undressed quickly and climbed into the bed, delighting in the clean linen sheets and down coverlet. She fell asleep immediately. She did not hear the door open quietly, nor the soft footsteps fall across the rug.

  Good night, sweet Madeleine," Garrett whispered, smoothing a silken chestnut curl from her cheek. He thought to climb in beside her, craving the warmth and feel of her lithe body next to his. He could be gone from her room well before she awoke.

  With great reluctance he decided against it. He gazed at her for several long moments, then left as quietly as he had come.

  ***

  A few nights later, Garrett was not feeling so charitable. He threw a stick into the blazing campfire, but his eyes were not on the flames. He was mesmerized by Madeleine's enticing silhouette on the tent wall, her every movement played out for him in the golden radiance of an oil lamp he had lit for her use.

  He was glad he had ordered the soldiers to set up his and Madeleine's tent well away from the rest. He could not bear the thought that someone else might be watching her now, as he was. Madeleine was his wife, and her beauty existed for his eyes alone.

  This was the first time there had been no inn to be found when the cavalcade halted for the night, and it would probably happen again before they reached Strathherrick. As they approached the Highlands, congenial inns were becoming harder to find. The cruel ravages of the past months had stamped out this means of livelihood as well.

  Tonight he was almost grateful for the failure to find an inn. He was growing tired of sleeping in a separate bedchamber, knowing that a few strides, even a splintered door, would ta
ke him to her side.

  Garrett sucked in his breath as Madeleine began to brush her hair, the sight of the languorous strokes fueling the rising heat in his body. He counted the strokes, imagining what that slim hand might do to his flesh in such a slow, languid fashion, and he had to force the compelling thought away as he felt himself grow hard.

  He clenched his jaw, thinking instead of the journey. Each day's routine had been much like that of the last. He had hardly seen Madeleine, except for the times he would ride up beside her carriage and inquire after her well-being. They hadn't even shared a single supper after the first night. Earlier that evening she had claimed she wasn't hungry, despite the meal he had prepared. He could well imagine the reason behind her lack of appetite.

  The only difference in their routine would come tomorrow, when the carriages were abandoned because of the steeper terrain. He would see much of Madeleine then when she would be riding the fine roan mare he had bought for her.

  Garrett's thoughts faded as Madeleine stood up and began to remove her clothing. He could see her fingers unfasten each button on her riding coat, and then she began to pull it from her shoulders. He envisioned the lacy chemise he had bought her, molded to her breasts—

  Suddenly she bent and doused the light, as if she sensed he was watching her.

  "Damn!" Garrett swore heatedly, rising to his feet. He tossed the last of his brandy into the hissing flames and looked up into the night sky. Stars glittered as far as he could see against a canopy of blue-black emptiness. He stood a moment, drawing deep breaths of the brisk air, then resolutely made his way to the tent.

  When he lifted the flap, he was greeted by a tense silence.

  "Madeleine?" he said, stepping inside the tent.

  He heard only silence at first, then the sound of gentle breathing.

  So she was feigning sleep, he thought angrily, moving to the pallet he had set aside for himself. Feigning sleep for fear he would touch her, hold her, make love to her. Dammit, she was his wife!

  He shed his clothing in the darkness and lay down on the pallet. He lay perfectly still, listening to her as she breathed in and out, so softly, so convincingly. How he ached to span the small distance between them and feel that warm breath against his skin, his mouth. How he longed to hear her moans, her sighs, her gasps of pleasure.

  Garrett threw his arm over his head, imagining her outburst if he so much as made a movement toward her. Her screams would surely bring the rest of the camp to her rescue, thinking the tent they shared was being attacked by fugitive Highlanders.

  He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, to sleep. It seemed impossible!

  He could not hold his desire in check much longer, that much he knew. He had already decided that when they returned to Mhor Manor, Madeleine would share his bed.

  They were husband and wife. He would not suffer being apart from her within their home. And if they slept together, perhaps she might surrender at last to the desire he had drawn from her in Edinburgh, the desire he remembered so vividly from their one night of passion. He could only hope.

  ***

  Madeleine cursed to herself as she strained to catch a glimpse of Mhor Manor in the distance, and beyond that, Farraline. After journeying for ten long days, she could barely contain her excitement. She had thought she would never see her home again. Yet her anticipation was tempered by frustration at the traveling outfit Garrett had given her. Frowning, she gave the riding coat a sharp tug.

  The narrow woolen skirt forced her to ride sidesaddle, a ladylike mode she was not only unaccustomed to but disliked intensely. If she were astride her mount instead of sitting so awkwardly in the saddle, she could be standing in the stirrups, affording her a better view.

  As it was she had to content herself to wait until their long procession drew closer to the estate. They were moving at such a snail's pace that it would be another half hour before they reached Mhor Manor!

  Madeleine flicked the reins impatiently. She yearned to see what condition her home was in after that fat swine's brief stay. She hoped it wasn't a gutted shell like so many of the abandoned manor houses she had seen along the way, the former homes of Jacobites less fortunate than herself. Hawley had told Garrett Mhor Manor was still standing, nothing more.

  She also wanted to see if the villagers had begun to rebuild Farraline, as Angus said they would. She desperately hoped that they had. Already there was a sharp snap in the air. Her people would need snug, sturdy roofs over their heads to keep out the cold winds and damp mists the autumn always brought to the Highlands.

  Madeleine took a deep breath, inhaling the pungent scents of moss and heather. The heather was in full bloom, covering the rolling moor like a purple mantle, and dotted here and there with rare patches of lucky white blossoms. The scattered groves of trees were ablaze with color, especially her favorite, the beech, with its fire-bronze leaves. Another wave of excitement gripped her. She could scarcely believe she was home!

  She glanced over her shoulder at the winding cavalcade stretching behind her, grateful she was not bringing up the rear along with her kinsmen and a dozen mounted soldiers. She would have been doubly frustrated. It was all those lumbering wagons that had slowed their progress in the first place.

  Her forehead puckered in a frown. She still didn't know what was in the wagons. Every time she had ventured to peek beneath the canvas coverings, Garrett had suddenly been behind her, inquiring why she was snooping about where she didn't belong. That accusation had never failed to infuriate her, as did most of what Garrett said to her.

  Even his apology over what had happened to Kenneth had angered her. It was Garrett's soldier who had shot her kinsman, though deep down she knew she couldn't really blame him. The surgeon's cruel treatment, after all, had caused Kenneth's death.

  Madeleine sighed, her eyes unwittingly seeking out Garrett at the front of the cavalcade, riding astride his prancing gray stallion. His broad back was to her, his hair shining like honeyed gold in the sort. She could not deny she found him to be the most handsome of men.

  Her heart beat a little faster as Garrett turned suddenly to find her studying him. When he flashed her a smile, she quickly looked away, flustered, her anger piqued more at herself than at him. It never failed to amaze her how his slightest attention set her pulse racing. It seemed her senses were determined to thwart her best efforts to despise him.

  At least Garrett had left her alone through much of the journey, she thought gratefully. Especially the nights they had shared a tent. With him lying so close to her, she had been unable to sleep until sheer exhaustion had swept over her.

  She had also seen little of her kinsmen. She simply could not face them. It was enough that they presumed she slept each night with a redcoat. She knew she would have to speak to them eventually, but for now she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

  "Och, Maddie, ye canna run away from them forever," she chided herself, chagrined by her fears. Maybe her kinsmen didn't think so badly of her after all, despite what she believed. Garrett had said they were grateful to her.

  Aye, then, she decided. After her kinsmen were reunited with their families and friends and things had settled down a bit, she would meet with them and explain everything.

  She could only guess what lies Garrett had already told them. Her kinsmen needed to hear from her own lips what had actually and the truth behind her pardon. She ha to warn them not to be swayed by any attempts Garrett might make to gain their acceptance, either by his words or actions—

  "What are you thinking?" a familiar voice asked lightly, startling Madeleine from her determined reverie. She glared at Garrett, who had suddenly ridden up beside her.

  "My thoughts are none of yer concern," she snapped, sweeping a loose chestnut lock from her face. She could see his warm smile tighten, but other than that he appeared unperturbed by her churlish reply.

  "Would you like to ride ahead with me?" he offered. "You must be eager to see your home again."

&n
bsp; A tart response flew to Madeleine's lips, but she bit it back. Garrett knew well enough how she felt when it came to Mhor Manor and his ownership of her land. There was no sense in beating it into the ground.

  "Aye, I'd like to see what's left of it," she replied evenly, ignoring his look of mild surprise. She followed his lead, urging her roan mare into a gallop beside his powerful stallion. They quickly left the plodding cavalcade far behind them.

  Madeleine felt a wild sense of exhilaration as they raced along and a gladness that she was still alive. In her heart she was grateful to Garrett for saving her life, regardless of his method. Perhaps one day she might even thank him.

  No, 'twas unlikely, she told herself, dismissing the thought. Her exhilaration swiftly became apprehension as they neared Mhor Manor from the south.

  She spied the manor house through the spreading fir trees, standing stark and silent against the backdrop of soaring mountains. Even from this distance she could see several windows had been shattered on the first floor, the empty window frames like black holes gaping from the whitewashed exterior. Yet the house itself appeared intact, with no evidence of fire.

  She anxiously flicked the reins across the mare's rump. The startled animal surged forward, outdistancing Garrett's stallion and cantering at a breakneck speed down the last stretch of road and into the drive. She drew up the reins sharply and slid off the lathered horse a few feet from the front door.

  Without waiting for Garrett, Madeleine rushed inside. She stopped abruptly in the main hallway, her eyes widening, her heart sinking into her boots. She felt as if she was reliving the first time the soldiers had ravaged her home.

  She turned around slowly, looking first at the dining room; the polished table was split down the center as if it had been hewn in two, wine stains were splashed on the walls, chairs were overturned. She held her breath as she glanced into the drawing room. The furniture was intact, but the glass from her mother's cabinet lay shattered on the floor, and the brocade padding on the armchairs was slashed and mutilated.