A Hint of Rapture

by Miriam Minger

  "Ye're sailing to France?" she said numbly, her mind barely registering his words. " 'Tis where our Lord Lovat was bound, or so I believed 'til today. The note from Angus said an old friend was waiting here. I thought perhaps 'twas Simon Fraser having changed his mind to stay in the Highlands."

  Dougald's expression was grim. "Lord Lovat was captured by the redcoats almost a month ago, Maddie."

  "No!"

  "Aye, I only heard it m'self the day before we broke from the gaol. They found him hiding in a hollow tree trunk on an isle in the middle of Loch Morar." He clenched his teeth, his tone dripping with bitterness. "Lord Lovat was almost to the sea and they caught him, the bastards. He's in the Tower of London, lass, awaiting trial for high treason."

  "God save him," Madeleine whispered, completely stunned. Lord Lovat was in the infamous Tower! He would not be able to help her now. She would have to plead for Garrett alone.

  "I've come to take ye away with me, Maddie, to take ye to France," Dougald said in a rush, shattering her dark reverie. His tone grew harsh, his eyes burning into hers. "Ye'll be glad to know ye'll not have to spend another night with that English swine ye wed to save yer kin. Nor will ye have a lawful husband when the sun rises in the morn. Ye'll be free to wed yer Dougald Fraser."

  She gasped as he reached out suddenly and enfolded her in his brawny arms, a huge hand stroking her hair.

  "I've more good news for ye, love. Our bonnie prince escaped to France a few weeks ago, and we're following him there. He'll soon make another bid for the throne of Britain, and this time we'll prove the victors. Ye'll have yer lands restored, Maddie, and I'll be the master of Farraline, just as yer father intended."

  Madeleine could scarcely breathe for the icy fear gripping her heart, a sense of foreboding striking into the depths of her soul. At that moment she did not care about the prince. She could only think of Garrett.

  Dear God, what were her kinsmen plotting to do with him? she wondered desperately. She had to know before she could even begin to plan how to protect him.

  She wrenched away from Dougald, ignoring his startled look. "What do ye mean?" she rasped in disbelief. "Stop talking to me as if I were a child! Ye speak as if I'll be a widow by morning."

  "So ye will, my darlin' Maddie," Dougald said soothingly. " 'Tis all arranged. Our kinsmen were having the devil of a time trying to decide how to rid ye of the major 'til I came along unexpectedly. Back from the dead, ye might say."

  Madeleine winced as he laughed hollowly, a dry echo of the hearty laugh he had once possessed. It chilled her to the bone.

  "Angus and I spent last night devising our plan, so 'twill appear to be an accident," he continued, sobering. "We canna risk the redcoats venting their wrath on Farraline once more. But we'll need yer help."

  Madeleine tried to speak steadily though she felt her world was crumbling around her. "What plan, Dougald?" she asked, glimpsing the flare of intense hatred in his eyes.

  "Once the redcoats have bedded down for the night, ye're to give us a signal. We'll creep in and capture them, tie them up, then burn Mhor Manor down about their heads. 'Twill be a ceilidh fire like none other, Maddie! And the English authorities will ne'er question what happened, since ye'll supposedly have perished, too. 'Twill seem an unfortunate accident, and there'll be nothing left to prove otherwise—"

  "Ye would burn them alive?" Madeleine cut him off, gaping at him in horror.

  "Aye, and gladly!" Dougald spat, his ruddy skin flushed with fury. "They did the same to us at Culloden. Surely ye heard that story from the hunted clansmen passing through Farraline. I was hiding in a ditch and heard the terrible screams when the redcoats set the barn afire, with the wounded Highlanders inside."

  He paused, his face twisting in torment at the awful memory, then continued, eyeing her grimly. "If 'tis yer house ye're worried after, Maddie, I'll build ye a far grander one when we return with our prince to claim Britain's throne for the Stuarts. But dinna let me think ye're balking because ye might harbor some bit of affection for these bastards, or yer English husband, I should say."

  Madeleine backed away from him, terrified by the dark threat in his voice, terrified by the change the ill-fated rebellion had wrought in him. The Dougald she had known since childhood was gone, the same as if he had died. This cruel man was a stranger to her, hardened by all the brutality he had witnessed, embittered and hell-bent on revenge.

  Only such a man could have conceived this gruesome plan, and her kinsmen were influenced enough by her false accusations and the thought of her unhappiness to go along with it. She doubted Dougald would let her leave the glen if he knew where her true feelings lay. She would be a fool if she made even the slightest mention of it.

  She forced a smile. "Of course I'll help ye with yer plan," she said, hoping her trembling would not give her away. "I hate these redcoats as much as ye. What signal shall I use?"

  "When all is quiet, wave an oil lamp in the kitchen window," Dougald replied, studying her strangely. He moved toward her. His voice was eerily quiet. "Ye're shaking so, Maddie? Why?"

  " 'Tis—'tis such a shock to see ye again, Dougald," she said truthfully, staring into his eyes. "I'm so happy, that's all. So glad that ye're alive."

  Madeleine swallowed hard, hoping her last words had convinced him. She was grateful Dougald had been spared the noose. She had cared for him, after all. But now she felt more wretched than she ever had before.

  She loved a man she had once hated, and hated this man for threatening her newfound love. And Dougald was the man her father had chosen for her . . .

  No, dinna think of it! she berated herself, stifling her twinge of guilt. If loving Garrett made her a traitor, so be it. She would do anything to protect him, to protect their love—

  Madeleine started as Dougald's hands easily circled her waist. She didn't dare protest as he pulled her against his powerful chest.

  " 'Twas only my dreams of ye that kept me going during those long months in that filthy gaol, Maddie Fraser," he said thickly. "I stayed alive for ye, finally broke out of prison for ye. When I heard ye were married to a redcoat I would have come for ye then and strangled him with my bare hands if Angus hadna stopped me." His arms tightened around her, and he sank his fingers into her hair, drawing her head back roughly. "This Major Garrett Marshall, he's tasted yer charms before me, hasna he, Maddie?"

  Madeleine said nothing, not wanting to goad his rage any further.

  "I know he has, and for that he will die," Dougald said bitterly.

  She closed her eyes as his mouth found hers, possessive and brutally demanding. He was hurting her, and tears welled beneath her lashes. She choked them back, even as she fought against the wave of nausea assailing her senses. She only hoped he would not discern that she felt nothing for him now—nothing.

  When he finally released her, she felt defiled by the man who had once been her betrothed—a man who was no more than a shell of his former self, a man from whom she had everything to fear.

  "I—I should get back," Madeleine stammered, glancing behind her for her horse. One of the other Highlanders was holding the mare for her, and she quickly thanked him as she took the reins. She winced as Dougald gave her a lift into the saddle, hardly able to bear his touch on her.

  "We'll watch for yer signal, Maddie," Dougald said, his hazel eyes boring into hers curiously. "Dinna forget."

  Her throat was constricted so tightly she could not reply. She merely nodded, a fixed smile on her face as she sharply turned the horse around and galloped back along the shaded path, putting as much space between herself and Dougald Fraser as possible.

  Tears ran unchecked down her face; sobs of disbelief tore at her throat. Her desperate thoughts spurred her on, even as she broke from the trees and raced toward Mhor Manor.

  As soon as Garrett returned to the estate, they would ride into Farraline and face Angus together.

  Next to herself, Angus spoke for the entire village, and his word was respected throughout Strat
hherrick. He had believed in Garrett once, before her wild accusations had poisoned his mind against him.

  If Angus accepted the truth, there was still a chance that he might be able to sway her kinsmen against Dougald's hideous plan.

  She cried out her anguish at the darker thought that he might not be able to convince them.

  If so, she would flee her beloved Highlands with Garrett and never return. Aye, she would do it gladly. She would do anything to save his life and their future together.

  Chapter 33

  Almost two hours passed before Garrett's soldiers thundered up the dirt drive, Sergeant Fletcher in the lead.

  Madeleine flew from the drawing room where she'd been anxiously waiting and met them just outside the front door. Her gaze scanned the entire group, her heart lurching in her breast. Garrett was not among them.

  "Where's Major Marshall?" she blurted as Sergeant Fletcher dismounted. He appeared startled by her question.

  "The major's not here?" he asked as she rushed up to him.

  "No," she replied, searching his face. "I've been standing by the window, watching, and ye're the first to come back."

  "That's odd," the sergeant said, clearly perplexed. "As soon as we found our missing men, Major Marshall took off across the moor." He cleared his throat, glancing at her somewhat sheepishly. "Don't think me too bold, m'lady, but he said his beautiful bride was waiting for him."

  "But if he left before ye, he should have been here by now," Madeleine insisted, too worried even to smile at the sergeant's statement. "How far away were ye? Where did ye find yer two soldiers?"

  "That's another strange thing," Sergeant Fletcher related. "I doubt we'd ever have found them if we hadn't given chase after a Highlander who fired a pistol at us—"

  "Ye were shot at?" she interrupted him, horrified.

  "Over our heads, m'lady," the sergeant continued. "We set off after him and stumbled upon our men, tied and blindfolded beneath a tree along the banks of Loch Mhor, almost four miles directly to the south." He shook his head. "It was almost as if we were led to that spot, as if this whole escapade was planned, though the major and I had no clue as to why."

  "Did ye catch the man who fired upon ye?"

  "No. A few of us went after the bloke, but we lost him in the woods. Major Marshall decided as long as we'd found our men, we should head back. He mentioned that .he was going to discuss it with you later, since you know these people so well. What do you think, m'lady?"

  Madeleine didn't reply, her mind racing. If Garrett and his men had ridden to the south, then they surely would have forded Aberchalder Burn. Was it possible that Garrett might have been apprehended on his way back because he was alone?

  Raw fear shot through her. Had she given herself away to Dougald after all? Had he possibly sensed the truth of her feelings for Garrett? Was he planning his own personal revenge rather than waiting for this evening?

  She blanched, remembering Dougald's ominous words. He had said he wanted to strangle Garrett with his bare hands—

  "Lady Marshall, are you all right?" Sergeant Fletcher asked, startling her. He took her arm. "You look ill. Let me help you inside."

  "No, I'm fine, sergeant. But thank ye," she said, forcing herself to think rationally and calmly. Hysterics would do neither her nor Garrett any good and would only stir the sergeant's suspicions. She had to act, and quickly, but she couldn't involve Garrett's soldiers.

  If he had been taken captive by Dougald and his renegade Highlanders, they'd probably kill him at the first sign of any redcoats, if they hadn't already.

  Sickened by the thought, Madeleine banished it from her mind. She would not give up hope so easily. She couldn't. She began to walk into the house, Sergeant Fletcher at her side, still holding her arm.

  "I'm sure my husband will return shortly," she said to him at the foot of the stairs, affecting a light tone. "Thank ye for yer kind attention, sergeant. In truth, I have been feeling a bit tired of late. I think I'll go lie down for a while. When Major Marshall arrives, ye might tell him I'm waiting for him in our room."

  Sergeant Fletcher nodded, smiling at her. She had no idea what Garrett might have told him, but obviously it was enough that the sergeant surmised all was well between them. She smiled back at him warmly, then turned and hurried up the stairs.

  Once in the hallway, Madeleine rushed right past their bedchamber and into her former room. She dosed the door quietly and hurried over to the armoire, pulling out the bottom drawer. She dug beneath piles of linen bedding to find what she was looking for. She drew out the last set of black clothes she possessed and carried them to the bed.

  She changed quickly, grateful she still had a pair of trousers to wear instead of skirts which would only slow her down. Her thoughts turned to what lay ahead.

  She had to get to Farraline at once and find Angus. She held no illusions that she would be able to persuade Dougald on her own to spare Garrett's life. Dougald would laugh in her face. She needed Angus by her side, and as many of her kinsmen as would follow her to Aberchalder Burn. But first she would need to convince them Garrett was not the king's spy.

  Madeleine shook out the black jacket, her dirk falling onto the floor. She picked it up, testing its familiar weight in her hand. The silver hilt had tarnished since she had seen it last, the night she was captured as Black Jack. How long ago it all seemed.

  She hadn't taken the dirk with her that night but had hidden it instead, not wanting her father's prized gift to fall into her captors' hands. She slid it into the leather sheath at her belt, knowing she might very well need a weapon.

  After slipping her brogues back on her feet, Madeleine was ready. She left her chamber and sneaked silently down the side stairs, heading for the drawing room. She had never thought she would use the secret tunnel again, until a few moments ago.

  If Sergeant Fletcher knew she was going into Farraline, he'd insist she have an escort. That was the last thing she wanted. The only problem was that she wouldn't have a horse, but that could not be helped. She would never make it to the stable without being seen. 'Twas almost impossible in the full light of day with so many soldiers around. She would have to borrow a horse in the village.

  Madeleine peeked into the drawing room, not surprised to see it was empty. Garrett had insisted that the main part of the house was to be restricted for their private use alone, unless by invitation. Yet she had to be careful nonetheless.

  She darted into the closet, fumbling with the newly repaired trap door, which was slightly different than the last. Finally she got it open. She clambered down the ladder, realizing she had forgotten a flint and candle.

  There was no time to go back. With her arms held out in front of her, she ran through the pitch-dark tunnel, gasping as invisible spiderwebs swept across her face. Her hands broke her impact as she hit the far wall with a thud.

  She cursed loudly, her voice echoing eerily in the dark. She could not scramble up the ladder fast enough. She pushed against the heavy trap door until it gave way, blinking as daylight flooded the tunnel.

  In an instant she was out, heaving in great gulps of fresh air. She began to race toward Farraline, hiding behind the trees as long as she could, then broke into a dead run across the rolling moor.

  She was astounded when she reached the southern edge of the village, thinking how much it resembled the Farraline that had stood there before Hawley had burned it down. She hadn't been there since the day she returned from Edinburgh. It was amazing how much had been accomplished in so short a period of time, thanks in large part to the labor of Garrett and his men.

  Madeleine slowed her pace only slightly when she came upon the main street. It was freshly swept, neat and deathly quiet. No children shrieked and played in the streets, no feminine laughter filtered from the cottages, no male voices rang out, no horses neighed, nothing. Only silence and the sighing wind.

  She rushed up to the nearest cottage and peered inside the door, which had been left standing ajar, but
it was empty. So were the next three she visited. She dashed down the street to Angus's house, built exactly on the spot where his cottage had stood before. She entered only to find that it was empty, too.

  Madeleine hastened back into the street and ran up and down its length, calling out to anyone who might be there. Her cries carried back to her, muffled by the brisk wind. She had never encountered a stranger scene. The village was completely deserted.

  She stood there a moment, not knowing quite what to do. If she did not find Angus, she would have to face Dougald alone. A daunting thought, but if that was all that was left to her . . .

  A distant rumbling sound suddenly caught her attention, and she stiffened, listening. Had she only imagined it? No, there it was again, louder this time—and it was coming from the direction of Loch Mhor.

  Madeleine began to run toward the sound, leaving the village behind her. What had been a rumbling to her ears in Farraline become raised voices, shouting in anger. She could see them now, a large group of people, some on horseback, some standing, all of them gathered around a tall beech tree with thick branches overhanging the dark water.

  She ran faster, her breath ripping at her throat, her lungs on fire. She began to make out faces: Allan Fraser; Flora Chrystie holding her wriggling babe in her arms, her three boys at her skirts; Ewen Burke and Agnes, his wife; Meg and her parents; Kitty; and so many others. They were all the villagers of Farraline.