He glanced at a group of men gathered up the street. They stared back at him sullenly, then turned and walked into the nearest cottage, but it was not one that he had built. Those cottages were still standing silent and empty, as if they were tainted with the plague. As these two would no doubt stand empty, he thought grimly, their efforts wasted once again.
Garrett was frowning as he sought out Corporal Sims in the gathering dusk.
"Sims, ride over and tell the men clearing the eastern fields that we're finished for the day."
"Yes, sir, Major Marshall."
As the young man rode away, Garrett untethered his dappled stallion. "Let's ride by the church first, Fletcher, then make our way back to Mhor Manor. I want to see if anything's been taken from the wagons today."
He mounted, grimacing at the soreness in his limbs, and noted how Sergeant Fletcher was hauling himself into the saddle. The older man caught his look and grinned tiredly.
"Building that last wall today really took the wind out of me. Those damn stones seem to get heavier all the time."
"I know what you mean," Garrett said dryly, urging his stallion into a trot as the sergeant rode alongside him and the rest of his weary soldiers brought up the rear. "I'm beginning to wonder what the devil we're trying to prove in the first place." He glanced at the grizzled soldier, noting the deep lines in his face. "What I'm trying to prove," he amended, his tone laced with bitterness. "You're just following my orders, and very well, I might add."
"I didn't mean the work was bothering me, major," Sergeant Fletcher replied. "It's just we've been pushing so hard. We've done a lot since we got here, and the men haven't complained, but they need a break. A day's rest would suffice."
Garrett sighed heavily, knowing the sergeant was right. "Granted, Fletcher. Tell them they've earned my highest compliments for their efforts and a well-deserved day off. You might also say they'll receive an extra reward when their pay arrives from Fort Augustus."
"That's not necessary, Major Marshall," the sergeant insisted gruffly. "We're here to follow your orders. You don't need to compensate us for doing our duty, especially from your own pocket."
"Enough said, Fletcher. It's what I want to do. I'm sure the men have wondered often enough why they're building cottages and clearing fields, which is not your typical military duty. Yet they haven't questioned my orders once. I've you to thank for that. Perhaps sometime I'll offer all of you an explanation."
"You don't have to explain your motives to me, sir," Sergeant Fletcher said, lowering his voice. "I can well imagine the task you've set for yourself. I only wish these Highlanders might show some appreciation for what you're doing for them. I get the strong impression they don't want our help. Don't even want us around, for that matter."
"So do I, Fletcher. So do I," Garrett said, watching as suspicious faces appeared behind cracked doors or peered out at them from windows as he and his men rode along the main street.
He drew up on the reins when they reached the reconstructed church, his mood darkening even more. The fully loaded wagons he had left there days ago were still untouched, further proof that his plan was failing miserably.
He shot a glance over at Angus Ramsay's cottage across the street. His worst moment had come yesterday when Angus turned his back on him, refusing even to speak with him. Whatever inroads he thought he had made with the burly Highlander had vanished.
Thoroughly disgruntled, Garrett was about to veer his horse around when he spied movement beneath the protective covering on one of the wagons. He dismounted quickly, leaving Sergeant Fletcher and his soldiers staring after him. He strode over to the wagon and threw back the canvas, starting in surprise when a small red-haired boy jumped up and scrambled over the side.
"Hold on there," Garrett said, catching the boy by the collar of his jacket.
"Let me go!" the boy cried desperately, his short legs pumping uselessly. "Let me go!"
Garrett grabbed the child's narrow shoulders and turned him around gently. "It's all right, boy. I'm not going to hurt you. Tell me your name."
"Neil, Neil Chrystie," the boy stammered, looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes.
"Well, Neil Chrystie, my name is Garrett Marsh—"
"I know who ye are," the youngster blurted with astounding bravado, his fear clearly forgotten. "Ye married our Maddie!"
"So I did," Garrett said, somewhat nonplussed. "Tell me Neil. What were you doing in the wagon? Choosing something for your mother, I hope. Do you need some help?"
Neil shook his head vigorously, shrugging away from Garrett's loosened grasp. "There's nothing my mama would want from those wagons!" he shouted, clenching his small fists and shaking them at Garrett. "We Frasers dinna want a thing from King Geordie's spy!"
Completely stunned by this belligerent outburst, Garrett caught the boy's sleeve. "Spy? Where did you hear such nonsense, Neil?" he asked tightly, but before the child could answer another voice sounded behind him.
"Let the boy go, if ye will, Major Marshall."
Garrett released him and spun around to find Angus Ramsay staring at him stonily, the man's huge arms crossed over his chest.
"Angus," he said in a greeting as he straightened up, but he received no response.
"Go on home with ye, Neil," Angus commanded the astonished boy, who was looking from Garrett back to his towering kinsman. "Dinna be playing 'round the wagons anymore, do ye hear?"
"Aye!" Neil took off like a frightened rabbit and didn't look back.
"A good ev'ning to ye, then, Major Marshall," Angus muttered with the slightest nod.
Garrett said nothing as Angus turned abruptly and strode back to his cottage, the door held open for him by a strapping dark-haired man Garrett had never seen before. Then the door slammed shut, leaving Garrett to his simmering fury, young Neil Chrystie's words ringing in his ears. Suddenly everything was clear to him, painfully clear.
Spy! So that was it. The villagers truly believed he was a spy for King George. That would explain everything: the spurned cottages, household goods, and cattle, and Angus's surly behavior yesterday and just now. Somehow they must have gotten the word from Madeleine, even though she had never left Mhor Manor since returning from Edinburgh. Somehow . . .
It must have been through Meg and Kitty, Garrett surmised grimly, walking back to his stallion. Madeleine must have filled their ears with every manner of accusation—probably the same farfetched story she had flung at him at Edinburgh Castle—and told them to pass it along to the villagers in Farraline.
Perhaps she had even done so that morning the two young women had come to help her with the cleaning, e thought incredulously, amazed that he hadn't considered the possibility sooner. They had suddenly disappeared to go—bramble picking! On top of her betrayal, Madeleine had lied to him. How many more of her lies had he unwittingly swallowed?
Such anger burned inside him, his hands were shaking as he seized the reins and hoisted himself into the saddle. Yet it was nothing compared to the fierce resolve burning in his heart.
Dammit, he had taken enough abuse! Madeleine had obviously turned her kin against him, so his plan had been doomed from the start. Well, the devil take his plan and the hell with patience!
"I'll see you at the house," he said tersely, veering his stallion sharply around. Sergeant Fletcher's words were lost to him as he set out at a full gallop through the village and onto the road to Mhor Manor. The wind whistled wildly around him, fueling his racing thoughts.
It was time Madeleine knew exactly how he felt about her, whether she wanted to hear it or not. He would not keep his feelings to himself any longer, nor would he tolerate any more of her irrational lies and accusations. She would know the truth behind King George's pardon once and for all!
Vibrant memories crowded in upon him as he sped toward the manor house. He could remember so clearly that sunny afternoon when he first set eyes on the mistress of Farraline, Madeleine Fraser, the fairest woman he had ever seen. It could have
been yesterday, the recollection was so vivid.
Yet it was hard to believe that just over two months had elapsed since that day. It felt as if he had lived a lifetime since then, as if he had exhausted a lifetime of emotion ranging from the sweetest joy to the most heartrending despair. All condensed into nine turbulent weeks.
Garrett scarcely waited for his powerful stallion to come to a stop before he jumped from the saddle and ran to the kitchen door. At this time of night, Madeleine was usually helping Kitty by setting the dining table. He burst in the door, a loud gasp and a crash of china greeting his stormy entrance.
"M-major Marshall!" Kitty cried, a puddle of brown gravy and broken china at her feet.
Garrett glanced into the dining room, but there was no sign of Madeleine. "Where is she?" he asked impatiently.
"Who?"
"Maddie, wench! Who do you think?" he responded angrily, then softened his tone at her stricken look. "I'm sorry, Kitty. Isn't she helping you tonight?"
"No, I believe she's lying down," the maidservant said shakily. "At least she was a while ago. She wasna feeling herself today. She's been working far too hard, we think."
That news gave Garrett pause, but he quickly shrugged it off. Exhausted from the web of lies she's spun around herself, he thought darkly, rushing through the dining room. He took the stairs three at a time and strode to their room, his blood roaring in his ears.
He pushed open the door, stunned to find the bedchamber dark and silent, without even a low fire burning in the hearth. He moved toward her side of the bed, his heart beating fiercely against his chest. He reached out his hand and found nothing. The bed was empty, the covers drawn, as if no one had slept there for hours.
His startled gaze swept the shadowed corners. He even went so far as to check behind the screen, but to no avail. Madeleine was not there. He strode from the room, angrily slamming the door.
Myriad unpleasant possibilities flashed through his mind as he checked every room on the second floor, only to find them all empty. Dammit, where could she be? he wondered wildly. Where could she have gone? Farraline? Surely she hadn't ventured out on another raid . . .
That unsettling thought filled him with cold fury. As soon as he grabbed his heavy coat from the drawing room closet, he would set out to look for her and not rest until he found her. Enough was enough!
Garrett ran down the stairs, almost bumping into Madeleine as she rounded the corner from the dining room.
"Madeleine!"
"G-Garrett," she stammered, spots of high color appearing on her cheeks. "Kitty just told me ye were looking for me upstairs. I was on my way to find ye. I must have been in the dancing room when ye came in. I put some extra blankets in there for yer men. 'Twill be a cold night, I think."
Garrett pulled her into the drawing room, his gaze swiftly raking over her. She was wearing the wrapping gown he had given her in Edinburgh, the shimmering blue silk matching the vivid azure of her eyes. Her chestnut hair flowed freely down her back and softly framed her lovely features, the thick tresses gleaming with gold in the firelight.
He found himself thinking he had never seen her so bewitchingly beautiful. But why was she looking at him so strangely, as if she were seeing him for the first time?
"I was just coming in here to get my coat," he said distractedly, glancing at the closet door.
"Are ye going out again? I've been waiting for ye, hoping we might talk. Could we—before ye go?"
Garrett stared at her, confused. "I'm not going anywhere. I was setting out to look for you. You weren't in our room, you weren't in any of the rooms, and I thought . . ." His voice trailed off, and he sighed heavily, looking down at his dusty boots. "Who the hell cares what I thought," he said to himself, running his fingers through his hair. "It seems I was wrong."
"I dinna understand," Madeleine said softly.
Garrett met her eyes. "It was nothing, Maddie." He exhaled sharply. "I want to talk to you—" His words died on his lips, suddenly realizing what she had just said. "You want to talk with me?"
"Aye," she said, shifting nervously. "But if ye have something to say first, Garrett . . ."
"No, you go ahead," he replied evenly, belying his own fierce impatience. He drew her further into the room to afford them some privacy, then abruptly changed his mind just as she opened her mouth. Dammit all, what he had to say wouldn't wait!
"Glenis was here today, Garrett," she blurted. "She claims—she claims ye love me."
"I've had enough, Maddie!" he exclaimed at the same time. "When are you going to realize that I love you?"
The room echoed with their voices, followed by a stunned silence.
Madeleine's knees felt so weak she thought for sure they would buckle beneath her. God's wounds, he had said it. 'Twas true. She stared at Garrett, her heart in her throat. His eyes were boring into hers. He had never looked so shaken.
"Glenis told you what?" he asked at last, his voice low and intense.
"She said ye admitted ye loved me when she found ye on the road to Inverfarigaig the night I was captured."
"When was she here?"
"This morning," Madeleine answered softly, trembling from head to foot. "But she's gone back to Tullich. She only came to tell me I was a fool." She saw the barest trace of a smile touch Garrett's mouth, and she rushed on. "That's why I wanted to talk with ye. I want ye to tell me for yerself how ye gained King Geordie's pardon." She paused, blushing warmly. Her voice fell to a whisper. "Glenis claimed if I knew yer side of the story, I'd understand how much ye care."
Garrett sobered, his expression deadly serious. "This is quite a turnaround, Madeleine. Does it matter that much to you to hear the truth?" he asked, studying her face intently.
"Aye, it matters, Garrett," she breathed. "I must know."
"Very well," he replied, moving closer to her. He stopped within arm's reach, though he did not touch her. "You accused me of being landless," he began, "which was true when I came to get you out of prison. I bargained away my estate in Sussex, Rosemoor, to obtain your pardon, Madeleine."
"Yer estate?" she said incredulously. "But ye're a second son. I assumed ye dinna have She faltered, at a loss.
"Rosemoor first belonged to my grandmother, a gift from her English husband," Garrett explained, "then it was my mother's, and she left it to me. Fortunately my brother, Gordon, wanted Rosemoor so badly he was willing to do almost anything for it," he continued, "and fortunately he was in a position to help me."
Madeleine listened breathlessly as he recounted his story, his words confirming what Glenis had told her and more.
How cruelly she had misjudged him, she thought dazedly, believing only the worst of everything he had done for her and her people. The truth had been plainly before her, yet she had refused to see it. She had been blinded by her prejudice and fears, instead of trusting her deepest feelings. She had sensed all along he cared, just as she did.
"I'm not the king's spy," Garrett finished, his eyes darkened to slate as he stared into hers. "I gained your pardon for only one reason. I love you, Maddie. You're everything to me. I would have given my life to save you."
Madeleine gasped softly but kept silent, overwhelmed. Her mind spun; her blood raced in her veins. He reached out and gently caressed her cheek, sending shivers streaking along her spine.
"You said it mattered," he said, his voice dropping to an insistent whisper. His gaze was desperate, searching, as if he could divine the hidden secrets of her soul. "Why? Is there a chance you might care, Madeleine?"
All was suddenly still within her, a joy like none she had ever known unfolding. She trembled from its awakened power. It surged and swelled, sweeping away all fears, all mistrust, leaving nothing behind but the secret she had held for so long in her heart. Aye, she loved him! How she loved him!
Madeleine gazed at Garrett, so overcome she could not speak. There were no words to express the wonder she felt, no words to describe the tumult of emotion that enveloped her so completely.
She flew to him suddenly, and he opened his arms to her, shattering forever the bitter void that had separated them. She had made her choice. She would never turn back.
"Maddie," Garrett whispered hoarsely against her hair, hugging her as fiercely as she embraced him. Time was lost while they held each other, sharing an infinite moment of radiant happiness.
It was Garrett who pulled away at last, smiling through the tears in his eyes. He tenderly kissed her face, her throat, her eyelids. His lips brushed against her damp lashes, then sought her mouth. She tasted the salt of her own tears as he kissed her until she was breathless.
"To think I had stormed around looking for you, and you were waiting for me all along," Garrett said, holding her close once more. "Waiting with such news." He swept back her hair and nuzzled her neck, kissing a delicate earlobe. "I owe everything to Glenis. Everything. Without her I might never have fulfilled my dream."
"Yer dream?" Madeleine asked softly, delighting in the delicious sensations his touch aroused in her.
"You are my dream, Maddie," he replied, his words punctuated by fervent kisses. "My wife—my love—my life." He abruptly drew away from her, searching her face, his eyes full of concern. "Kitty said you weren't feeling well today—"
"I'm fine," Madeleine insisted gently, smiling up at him. "Glenis was right. 'Twas a malady easily cured, by a kiss." As she stood on tiptoe and did just that, a small, embarrassed cough sounded from the archway. They both turned to find Kitty standing there, looking at them strangely.
"Supper is ready, Maddie," she said. "Major Marshall."
"Ye must be famished," Madeleine said as Kitty turned and walked back into the dining room.
"Yes, I am," Garrett answered, a rakish smile lighting his handsome face. "Ravenous." He swept her so suddenly in his arms she gasped aloud.
"Garrett!"
He chuckled deeply, raising his voice as he carried her up the stairs. "We'll dine later, Kitty. Have Sergeant Fletcher escort you home. Oh, yes, and tell him everything is fine! Couldn't be better!"
A Hint of Rapture Page 34