Garrett clenched his fist against the window frame.
However long it took him, Madeleine was worth it. Her rare smiles were worth it, as was her laughter, her kiss, and her love.
***
Late that night, Madeleine crept quietly into the dark bedchamber, her heart fluttering madly within her breast.
Was Garrett asleep? She stopped and listened for a moment, relieved to hear him breathing evenly. Aye.
As she stole across the floor to the screen, she glanced at the hearth. Only faintly glowing embers remained of the fire she had stoked there after supper, hours ago. She had purposely kept herself busy with other household tasks since then, and she wasn't even sure when Garrett had retired for the night.
Madeleine quickly changed into her cambric nightdress, then walked silently toward the bed. She held her breath while she lifted the covers and climbed in next to him, fearful of the rustling sounds she was making. She started when her fingers accidentally brushed against his muscled thigh, her blood thundering through her veins as she realized he was naked.
She began to roll over onto her side, thinking to sleep as far away from him as possible, when his arm caught her around the waist and pulled her back. She gasped, struggling, but he held her so tightly she could not escape him.
"You're not the only one accomplished at feigning sleep," he said, nuzzling her nape. He pushed away her hair and kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. "I've been waiting for you, sweet Madeleine."
She gave a small cry as his hand found her breast, his fingertip stroking her through the thin nightdress. She felt the wildfire ignite within her, melting her resolve in a blaze of heat and desire. He captured her lips, and she was lost . . . .
Chapter 30
Madeleine whisked the crisp linen sheet over the aired mattress, and Meg caught it on the other side.
"So ye're saying Major Marshall and his soldiers finished two more stone cottages yesterday, and none of the villagers will claim them?" she asked as she deftly smoothed and tucked in the clean sheet.
"Aye, Maddie," Meg replied, finishing a corner. Flushed with exertion, the plump maidservant stood upright and caught her end of the thick tartan blanket. "And they'll stay empty, too, along with the other twelve. We'll have nothing to do with the major's handiwork. My da says he'd rather live in a drafty hovel 'til he can finish his own cottage than dwell in one built by King Geordie's spy."
"And what of the wagons Major Marshall left by the church?" Madeleine queried. "Has anyone taken any of the things he brought from Edinburgh yet?"
Meg shook her head. "Not a butter churn, not a spinning wheel, not even a pot. There's even been talk of setting a torch to the wagons. 'Twould make a fine ceilidh fire, dinna ye think?"
"Aye," Madeleine said quietly, though deep down she wasn't sure if she truly agreed.
Why did she feel so guilty at this latest bit of news? she wondered, tucking in the blanket. She should be elated her kin had heeded her warning about Garrett, yet she wasn't.
Instead her emotions were becoming increasingly confused, as if half of her wanted things one way while the other half yearned for something else, something she was afraid even to dwell upon. Frustrated by her thoughts, she tossed two down pillows onto the bed and plumped them vigorously.
She had been so busy she hadn't gone into Farraline yet to see for herself how Garrett was faring, though it made no difference. Kitty and Meg had kept her up on what was happening in the village, especially since Garrett's soldiers had arrived at Mhor Manor over a week ago.
The Frasers of Farraline had confounded Garrett's every effort to gain their favor. They'd even loosed the cattle he'd given them out onto the moor. Garrett and his men had spent a full day searching for the beasts and corralling them at the estate, his plan thwarted again.
No doubt that was why he'd grown so moody and sullen, she thought, pulling the down coverlet over the freshly made bed. Garrett had said little last night when he and his exhausted soldiers had returned for supper, and later she had felt a palpable desperation in his caresses, almost like anger. His fierce passion had left her wholly breathless and spent, and feeling even more guilty than before.
Madeleine sighed heavily. If today went much as she imagined, she could probably expect the same from him this evening. Yet why did it bother her so, like a twisting pain in her heart? He was a spy. He deserved such treatment, didn't he?
"There now, Meg," she said, forcing her mind from such troubling questions. She tucked the coverlet between the mattress and the carved headboard. "We've done a fine job in here."
She stood up, her gaze sweeping the immaculate guest room from the scrubbed floors and clean woolen rugs to the dusted furniture. She had saved the two upstairs guest rooms for last, seeing to the rest of the house first. After this morning's work, everything was finally in order. No trace remained of Hawley's unwelcome visit.
Even the ruined furnishings and shattered windows had been replaced, Madeleine mused, raising another window to further air out the room.
Garrett had wasted no time in sending several of his men to Inverness with a long list of things to buy. They had returned with more wagons carrying a mahogany dining table, armchairs, a china cabinet, a gleaming silver service, bottles of fine brandy, a mantel clock, and many other items too numerous to contemplate. It was hard for her to admit, but Garrett had made Mhor Manor feel like a real home again.
"Are ye ready for some lunch, Maddie?" Meg asked, startling her from her reverie. "I know I am." The maidservant giggled when her stomach growled loudly, but she didn't seem embarrassed in the least. "Kitty said she was preparing a steak and game pie for us and apple fool for dessert."
"Aye, I suppose," Madeleine said. She smiled weakly, though not at the thought of Kitty's cooking.
Kitty possessed quite a flair in the kitchen, surprising in one so young. Then again, her mother was a renowned cook and had obviously taught her daughter well. Kitty had gone out of her way to prepare tempting meals since she'd taken over the kitchen. Yet Kitty's recent efforts had been lost on Madeleine. She hadn't had much of an appetite lately. She knew she wasn't pregnant. Her monthly flow had come while she was in prison. And it was much too soon yet to feel any ill effects if she had been with child. At the rate she and Garrett were going, however, she would be pregnant in no time at all!
A bairn. She flushed warmly at the unsettling notion. If it happened, they would become a family, with a new life between them. It struck her that she would not love their child any less, despite what she thought about its father.
Och, 'tis exhaustion ye suffer, she told herself, following Meg from the room. She had been working very hard. Perhaps now that she had finished the bulk of the cleaning, she could afford some extra rest. Madeleine paused briefly to pick up a small embroidered pillow that the maidservant had unknowingly knocked from a chair near the foot of the bed. She straightened, almost collapsing to the floor as a sudden wave of dizziness gripped her.
"Meg," she called weakly, hanging on desperately to the chair.
"What's wrong?" Meg cried, rushing back into the room. She took one look at Madeleine's ashen pallor and immediately helped her sit down. "Och, ye're ill, Maddie. What can I bring ye? What should I do?"
Madeleine waved away Meg's frantic barrage of questions, feeling her sense of equilibrium gradually returning. "I'm fine," she insisted, though she could tell by Meg's worried expression that her young kinswoman was not convinced. "I'll just sit here for a moment. I'm sure the faintness will soon pass. Do ye think ye might fetch me a glass of water?"
"Ye've been working far too hard, Maddie," Meg chided, wringing her apron. "I hope ye're not coming down with a sickness from pushing yerself so. Now dinna move from the chair, ye hear? I'll be right back."
Madeleine leaned her head back and closed her eyes as Meg bustled from the room. She forced herself to breathe slowly and steadily, despite the rapid beating of her heart. She licked her lips, hoping Meg was hurrying ba
ck with her water.
At last she heard footsteps in the hall, though they sounded oddly different than Meg's. She shrugged, thinking perhaps she only imagined it. She opened her eyes, gasping when Glenis suddenly walked through the door.
"Glenis! What are ye doing here?"
"I came for a wee visit," the old woman stated matter-of-factly. "I only got here a few minutes ago. I was on my way up from the kitchen when I ran into Meg. She says ye're not feelin' well." She pulled up a stool beside Madeleine's chair and sat down. "Here's yer water, lass, but dinna take more than a sip at a time."
Madeleine gaped at Glenis, so stunned she couldn't speak. The glass shook in her hand, water sloshing rough her fingers and into her lap. She barely noticed when Glenis took the glass and held it to her lips.
"Drink, Maddie," she commanded briskly, smiling faintly when Madeleine did as she bade her. "Kitty tells me ye've been pickin' at yer food like a bird, despite her fine cooking," she continued. " 'Tisn't like ye, Maddie. Ye've ne'er lacked for a good appetite. Then Meg rushes in, sayin' ye look as white as a sheet and that ye're feelin' faint." She paused, sighing. "What's ailin' ye, lass? Is there a chance ye're carryin' a bairn?"
"No, I dinna think so," Madeleine replied, pushing away the half-empty glass. "Not yet, anyway." At Glenis's shrewd look, she added uncomfortably, "I'm tired, that's all."
"Aye, ye've done wonders with the house," Glenis remarked, glancing around the room. She turned back to Madeleine, studying her face. "What's truly ailin' ye, Maddie? A heartache, perhaps? Tell yer Glenis."
"Ye're not my Glenis!" Madeleine snapped indignantly, her light-headedness swept away by Glenis's words. "Not anymore! Surely ye must know I've long since heard of yer deceit from Major Marshall."
"Major Marshall, is it?" the old woman commented with unusual sarcasm. "Is that how ye refer to yer husband, Maddie, or do ye deign to call him by his first name when it suits ye? Perhaps when he takes ye in his arms?"
Madeleine felt a surge of outrage that Glenis was asking her such questions, or even sitting here in her house for that matter!
"I dinna know why ye took it into yer mind to visit Mhor Manor," she said unkindly. "Ye must know ye're no longer welcome here."
Glenis rose from the stool so abruptly it toppled over, hitting the floor with a thud. Her dark eyes flashed with temper, the expression on her wrinkled face sterner than Madeleine had ever seen it before. For a moment she feared Glenis would slap her, but instead the stooped woman drew herself up and rested her hands on her narrow hips.
"I'll tell ye why I've come back to Mhor Manor Madeleine Elisabeth Fraser," Glenis said, her voice crackling with anger. "To set ye straight! Ye're makin' a fool of yerself and ye dinna even know it!"
"What do ye mean?" Madeleine sputtered, her hands tightly gripping the chair.
"Garrett Marshall loves ye, ye foolish lass! Loves ye! He told me so when I found him on the road to Inverfarigaig, and thank God I got there when I did. If I hadna, ye would likely have been killed along with yer kin. Ye went to prison instead, Maddie, buying Garrett some time so he might help ye—"
"Ye're mad, Glenis," Madeleine accused vehemently, cutting her off. She rose shakily from her chair. "Ye dinna know what ye're saying."
"Aye, I know exactly what I'm sayin'," Glenis countered, staring up at her boldly. "Ye're so ready to think the worst, Maddie, just because Garrett's an Englishman. A redcoat. Ye havna given him a chance to explain, have ye? Did ye ne'er think to ask him how he was granted a king's pardon for ye, before ye came to yer own conclusions? Ye've always been a good storyteller, lass, and I swear ye've outdone yerself this time!"
Madeleine found that she could barely swallow, her throat was constricted so tightly. Her head was beginning to pound. "No, I dinna ask him," she said through clenched teeth. "I dinna have to ask him."
"Well, ye might!" Glenis said heatedly. "Ye might be surprised to find his answer is far different than yer own fanciful version. Such nonsense about spies and Garrett wantin' yer land, and him usin' ye to ease his way with Clan Fraser."
"How have ye heard all this?" Madeleine demanded shakily.
"The story has traveled up to Tullich, and well beyond Strathherrick, I'll warrant. 'Tisn't ev'ryday an Englishman takes a Highland lass for a bride to save her from a hangman's rope. Yer warning has traveled as well, which is why I decided to come here and risk yer fond greeting. Ye've done a terrible thing, Maddie. Ye've set yer kin against Garrett before ye even knew the truth."
"I dinna want to hear any more of yer wild talk, Glenis," Madeleine said angrily, brushing past her to the door. She was stunned when Glenis caught her arm, the old woman's gnarled fingers gripping her like talons.
"Aye, then, if ye tell me ye have no feelings for Garrett, none at all, I'll ne'er say another word!" Glenis challenged her. "I believe 'tis a heartache that's been plaguin' ye, Maddie, because ye know deep in yer heart what I'm tellin' ye is true. Ye're lovesick, and ye winna admit it, not even to yerself! Well, if ye swear to me now I dinna know what I'm sayin', I'll leave this house and ye'll have seen the last of yer Glenis Simpson."
Madeleine stared at her, a fierce denial on the tip of her tongue. Strangely, she could not say it, nor could she find it within herself to lie. She heaved a ragged sigh, her tormented expression revealing to Glenis more than words could have ever expressed.
" 'Tis so plain, Maddie, ye havna been able to see it," Glenis said fervently. "Garrett told me he loved e and I believe him. He promised me he'd help ye, ye, and not let anything happen to ye." She released Madeleine's arm, her tone almost pleading. "Garrett saved yer life because he loves ye. He helped yer kin before, and he's tryin' to help them now because he loves ye. However it came to pass, Maddie, he's yer husband. Someday ye'll carry his bairn. Ye must ask him for yerself if my words are true."
"If 'tis so, why hasn't he said something to me already?" Madeleine asked quietly, tears glistening in her eyes.
"Ye're one to ask me that?" Glenis scoffed lightly. "Ye've made no secret of yer hatred for the English. Garrett might be afraid ye'll spit in his face, seein' as ye believe he forced ye into a marriage to suit his own ends. Perhaps he's tryin' to show ye by his actions how much he cares for ye, hopin' 'twill soften yer heart a bit so he might tell ye, except ye're thwartin' him ev'ry step of the way."
When Madeleine did not reply, Glenis sighed wearily. The strain of their encounter was clearly etched on her wizened face.
"I'll leave ye now, Maddie," she said. "Ye must decide for yerself if ye'll accept what I've told ye. If ye love him, as I believe ye do, ye'll ask Garrett if 'tis the truth. Then ye'd best undo the damage ye've caused between him and yer kin. No good will come of things as they are, Maddie. I only hope 'tis not too late."
"Too late?" Madeleine breathed, searching Glenis's eyes.
"Aye," she replied gravely. "Yer kin believe ye're unhappy, married to an Englishman ye've branded as a spy. Did ye ne'er think they might somehow rid ye of yer husband, believin' 'tis what ye want? Or did ye think Garrett would simply become discouraged and leave for England?" Glenis shook her head slowly. "'Tis more likely yer kinsmen will seek to end yer problems long before Garrett would ever leave ye, lass."
Madeleine sank into the chair, completely overwhelmed.
Garrett loved her. Could it really be true? So many thoughts, so many sensuous memories, so many things Garrett had said to her swirled in her mind that she scarcely noticed Glenis quietly leaving the room. It was the door clicking shut that pierced her unsettling reverie.
"Glenis!" Madeleine jumped up and raced to the door, flinging it open. She dashed into the hall. "Glenis! Wait!"
Glenis turned around, her face cloaked in shadow. "What is it, hinny?" she asked gently.
"When I said ye were no longer welcome here," Madeleine began, her voice catching, "I dinna mean it, Glenis. 'Twas the hurt in me, after what ye did."
"I know. Ye thought I betrayed ye, and in a sense I did. 'Twas the only thing I could think o
f to save ye, lass. I took a chance Garrett might care about ye, even as I care about ye. 'Twas worth it to me, though I knew ye'd hate me for it—"
"I dinna hate ye," Madeleine interjected fiercely, tears tightening her throat. "I want ye to stay here, Glenis. Ye belong at Mhor Manor. 'Tis not the same without ye."
Glenis did not answer for a long moment, a weighty silence filling the hall. At last she spoke, her voice breaking with emotion.
"No, Maddie, I canna. Ye've much to sort out for yerself. Ye dinna need me here right now. I'll know when 'tis the right time to return again to Mhor Manor."
Madeleine didn't know what to say. Tears filled her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks as Glenis turned and walked down the stairs, leaving her alone in the hall.
She stood there a long time, dazed and uncertain while one thought rang in her mind.
Tonight, when Garrett returned from Farraline, she would ask him if what Glenis had told her was true. She had to know. Until then she would not even dare to hope.
Chapter 31
It was near nightfall when Garrett settled one of the last stones on the newly thatched roof, then climbed down the rough-hewn ladder.
"That's it, Fletcher," he shouted, rubbing his chafed hands together as he surveyed the two cottages they had finished that day. "Call off the men. It's growing too dark to continue, and too cold, for that matter."
"I'll agree with you there, major," Sergeant Fletcher replied heartily from the other roof, his breath hanging like a mist upon the brisk air. "I hope Jeremy has a nice hot supper waiting for us."
"I'm sure he does," Garrett said, thinking about his own supper. He only hoped some of Kitty's wonderful cooking would soothe his foul mood, along with a snifter of good brandy and Madeleine's company. During the past few days her behavior had somehow softened toward him, which was more than he could say for these stubborn villagers.
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