♥ ♥ ♥
Madeline stayed in her room most of the next day. Everyone thought she was feeling ill, and in a sense she was. She took the bloody chemise of fine silk edged with French lace, and thought to destroy it, but instead threw it into a corner of her wardrobe. It would serve as a symbol, a reminder to her. Maman had been right; she was much too romantic, not nearly as sensible as she should be. Hitting her fist against the wall, Madeline wondered how she could be so impetuous and unthinking. She did not want to face her cousins or even the servants. She refused to eat and spent most of the day brooding in silent reflection.
The day was warm and the bedroom she shared with Elizabeth retained the heat of the day. Madeline was too uncomfortable and restless to sleep that evening. Hours after Elizabeth was fast asleep, she tossed and turned. Finally, she got out of bed and wrapped herself tightly in her woolen shawl. She did not want to disturb the family but felt that she must take a walk. Feeling closed in, she ventured outside the manor. It was a beautiful moonlit night and she walked into the wild, unkempt garden for a stroll. She felt more at peace in the night air. She could breathe deeply and draw her confused thoughts together.
♥ ♥ ♥
Gareth had spent most of the day thinking about the extraordinary black-haired girl he made love to the afternoon before. She excited him more than any other female he had ever been with. He did not like that at all; in fact, it made him feel quite uneasy. He sensed that if he were not careful, she might cause him to lose control, to make some colossal blunder like he had before. Why should a mere slip of a girl affect him that way? She was hardly more than a child in age. Yet she was most certainly a provocative woman. He felt himself become aroused just thinking of her, of the small slender body with the high, full breasts, the glossy, thick black hair and the eyes that were moonbeams one moment and wild, pale ponies the next.
He could not sleep that night for want of her body. He walked around moldering MacCarnan castle thinking of little else but his obsession with the girl.
He hated being trapped in this stark, gray stone castle with its crumbling walls; hated the poverty he saw in the Highlands. He wished to return to England now that the fighting was done. He wanted to take Madeline with him. But how could he? Her relatives hated all Englishman and him in particular. They would hate him even more when he found Andrew MacCarnan, put him in chains, and then escorted him off to be tried for treason. There was only one possible outcome for MacCarnan after that, he thought grimly. No, these people were not likely to forgive him. It was an ugly thing occupying an enemy country where the people wished you dead and treated you with defiance, animosity or fear.
Gareth walked down into the entrance hall of the old castle, noting the cavernous stone hearth, the worn tapestries that hung on the walls, the suits of armor tarnished and ancient which stood proudly fixed in splendid disrepair. He wondered if his father’s castle was much like this one but immediately realized that it could not be. He had never visited the Duke nor did he ever intend to do so. Yet he knew his father must live magnificently as befitted an auspicious peer of the realm.
Outside in the chilling mountain air, he felt much more at home. He always preferred the outdoors, even at night. He was thinking again of Madeline when he saw a girl in a white gown and shawl standing in the ruined moonlit garden of the manor, her shiny black hair cascading down her back. He had been hoping to see her all day and now at last she was in his sight.
He came to her quietly almost stealthily since he did not want anyone from the manor to know that he was approaching her as if this meeting were some clandestine plan. Madeline turned and almost cried out when she saw him, but he caught her into his arms and kissed her passionately, which effectively silenced her. He tried to be tender, but there was something wildly primitive, darker than the night, stirring within his breast. His kiss deepened, taking possession of her, his tongue demanding hers, mating with its essence. She tasted sweet like a sugar confection.
Madeline sighed deeply, trying not to let herself succumb to his passion. Yet his kisses swept her away, drowning her in the wild current that existed between them. His possession of her was something she seemed unable to fight. He was holding her in his arms, pressing her backward, his kisses intoxicating her in a way that wine never had. She felt weak, almost dizzy. He lifted her into his arms and carried her easily to a secluded spot in the old garden. In a moment they were together on the grass, his lips caressing her throat, his fingers teasing the nipples of her breasts until they were rigid and swelling with desire. Her fingertips traced the rippling muscles of his back as his hands ran down her body and lifted the hem of her nightgown. His hands sent ripples of heat through her woman’s flesh as they moved along her thighs, kneading, caressing, his fingers touching her most private recesses, plumbing her sleek warm depths.
It took all her strength but she fought against him, pulling her lips free of his. “No!” she cried out. “We must not, this is wrong. This is madness!”
“I’ve thought of nothing but you all day.” It was true, he realized, he could scarcely attend to his duties. He’d had her yesterday and that should have been the end of it. But it was not. Instead, the hunger for her had grown even stronger, the desire more intense.
♥ ♥ ♥
His mouth came down on hers, silencing her protests. His body dominated hers, his leg pressing downward over her thighs, pinioning and then thrusting between them. Now it was no longer his fingers that she felt as he penetrated the delicate softness of her. He was gentle with her at first, moving slowly, yet the thrusts became ever stronger. She could no longer fight him. Rivulets of pleasure were sweeping over her in waves. She began to move with him, raising her writhing hips against his thrusts, and as the tension between them built, she felt the most incredible excitement. Ripples of sweet sensation feathered her taut belly. When she thought she could stand no more of it, Madeline was swept away, spiraling into spasm after spasm of pure pleasure. He plunged deeper and moaned as she suddenly went limp. Then he seemed to collapse beside her. His breath was ragged but he still held her tightly and she could feel his heart pounding as he pressed his body firmly against her again.
Quickly she brought her gown down below her knees.
“I promised myself that would never happen again,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He looked into her silvery eyes and thought she meant what she said.
“You want me just as I want you,” he told her. “We have a need for each other. Desire is a most powerful force.”
“But it shouldn’t be! I was to save myself for my husband. That is what Maman expected. What have I done? What sort of wanton have I become?”
She moved away from him and although he tried to bring her back into his arms, she ran away. He thought that she might be crying, but she was gone before he could say another word to her. Perhaps tomorrow they would talk and he would try to reassure her. What did he feel for her? Was it only lust? No, he could not help feeling that it was something more. And yet long ago he had come to the conclusion that love was an illusion; that nothing could exist between a man and a woman but physical desire.
She had talked about marriage, but that was not something he would ever consider. He had no need of a wife to complicate his life. Let men with titles who needed heirs marry. That was certainly not for him. Nor had he ever wished to have a permanent mistress. He was a man who disliked emotional ties and commitments of any kind; he knew very well that they only brought pain and suffering. No, he would not marry her or even offer her declarations of undying devotion. Whatever his faults, he was not a man who lied to women. Perhaps females enjoyed flattery and charming endearments that meant little but that would never be his way. Yet what would he do about Madeline de Marnay? He had no idea.
♥ ♥ ♥
The next day, Madeline and Elizabeth again took a basket of provisions to the cave where Andrew and his clansmen were hiding. As before, it seemed as if the
English soldiers ignored them, and Madeline breathed a sigh of relief. She especially did not want to be noticed by Gareth.
Still, they took precautions, stopping often and listening carefully. She herself was not very alert; her mind was too disturbed and she had not slept at all the night before. Physical and emotional exhaustion dulled the sharpness of her senses. But Elizabeth’s attention was keen enough. When they arrived at the cave, all seemed as before except they found Andrew asleep and looking pale.
“How is he?” she asked, turning to Fergus.
The giant shrugged. “He’s still running a fever, but that’s to be expected with such deep wounds. A few more days and he’ll be on the mend. Then we’ll head further north and hide where the Sassenach will ne’er find us.”
“Perhaps he’ll wake soon and we can feed him some broth,” Madeline said, kneeling beside her cousin.
Andrew’s eyes opened then and he looked up into her face and smiled. “Such beauty!” he exclaimed. “How I wish I could make you my bride this very moment. Waking to see your face is like looking at heaven.”
He raised himself weakly on an elbow and tried to kiss her lips, but she turned her face.
“Behave yourself,” she said. “We all want you to get strong again.”
“Your kiss will give me encouragement in that,” he replied.
Madeline did not deny him his kiss. How could she? Yet she felt dishonest kissing Andrew chastely after engaging in wild passionate lovemaking with Gareth Eriksen.
At that moment, there was a commotion and two clansmen pushed a man into the cave toward her and Andrew. She started and jumped away in shock. The man in front of them was Gareth. He looked as if he’d been in a great fight, beaten and bloodied around the face. His clothing was torn as well. She gasped as their eyes met, and he in turn stared at her angrily, a strange feral light in his eyes. She realized then that he had seen her kissing Andrew. He was jealous, she thought. But Ciel, what was he doing here?
♥ ♥ ♥
Gareth could not believe his own stupidity. A well-trained English officer such as himself foolishly following after two girls without telling anyone where he was going or why! He had allowed himself to feel something for the girl and that had been his undoing. Emotions were always troublesome for a man. He thought he had managed to successfully cut himself off from feeling anything, but this girl had been so deceptively sweet and innocent. He should have known better.
His disillusionment with the chit had begun early that morning when Lieutenant Wooding returned with his group. They were worn out from chasing after the Young Pretender. Wooding reported to him directly, his face reddened from the heat of the sun.
“What have you found out, Lieutenant?”
“Not much, sir. The Pretender is always a step ahead of us it would seem.”
“Surely, with the reward we’re offering, someone must be willing to come forward.”
The sergeant standing beside Wooding wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand and then shook his head despondently. “Nay, sir. We’ve discovered that in the Highlands it’s tradition a host may never betray his guest. These people consider the Pretender a guest and none will inform on him, no matter what.”
Gareth sighed deeply. This was terrible news. “He must be getting a great deal of help to be eluding us this successfully. Did you see anything out of the ordinary or meet anyone that was in any way suspicious?”
The sergeant scratched his nose thoughtfully. “Only one person I found odd some days ago, but I don’t know that there would be any connection with the Young Pretender.” He turned to the young lieutenant. “You remember them, don’t you, sir?”
“Of course, but I don’t see any connection.”
“Let me be the judge,” Gareth urged impatiently.
The sergeant looked to the lieutenant who nodded that he should go on and speak. “Well, sir, there was this young noblewoman, French from her name, and she had two men with her, as well as a young lad, and a tall, ugly maid. I thought it odd that they were out there in the middle of nowhere, but we did let them pass. The men weren’t red-headed like the prince, and the lady was getting all upset about being stopped by us.”
Gareth had a terrible sick feeling in his stomach akin to nausea as a thought occurred to him. “Would you recall the woman’s name?”
The sergeant was thoughtful. “Well, sir, I can’t remember rightly, but it was French – of that, I’m certain.”
“Can you give me a description of the lady?”
The sergeant hesitated and Wooding took over the description. “Not too tall. Dark hair and very light, gray eyes. A rare beauty she was, especially next to that ugly maid of hers. I couldn’t see the maid’s face very well because she had the hood of a cloak pulled around her, but you could tell that she was tall and scrawny.”
Gareth dismissed the two men and stood staring out the window, lost in thought. The party they described could have been that of Charles Edward. He had an intuition about it. In fact, he was almost certain. Madeline had obviously led the Young Pretender to a point of safety. She was not the helpless creature she appeared to be at all. Why had he ever thought to trust her, to care about her? He’d even begun to feel guilty for seducing and misusing her. But she would use him if she could use him to help those damnable Scots.
Later, when Gareth had gone out of the castle to survey his men, Captain Morgan pointed out the two girls who were going picnicking. He noticed Madeline and her cousin carrying a heavy hamper between them. Madeline was dressed in white muslin, a plain shawl draped around her shoulders, her ebon hair worn pulled back and plaited in a thick braid with white ribbon as if she were just an innocent child like her young cousin. Why dress like that, he wondered? To make certain that the men did not see her as the desirable woman she really was? Why would the girls go hiking off to the woods for a picnic? She was up to something, he realized. She was just as treacherous as a woman could be, more so because she cultivated an angelic aura. He felt anger and outrage building within him.
“Captain Morgan, you’ve seen the two young ladies go off picnicking before?” he asked.
Morgan nodded, his watery blue eyes glistening in the sunlight. “They seem to love nature. I can’t imagine our English young ladies going off on their own that way unescorted, can you? But then these people are half savage, aren’t they?”
Gareth told Morgan that he would be gone for a while and to handle any problems that arose. Then he discreetly started off on foot to follow the two girls. He was careful to keep a distance, but he had an idea of where they might be headed and wanted to find out if he were right.
As it turned out, he was correct. He followed them to a cave and knew at once that this must be the place where MacCarnan was hiding. He had MacCarnan now, he thought triumphantly. All he had to do was go back and get his soldiers. As he quietly turned to make his way back toward the castle, four men came out of nowhere, descending on him with such ferocity that he was overcome and his weapons removed. He put up a good fight, but these men had the element of surprise and had sprung on him with the fierce manner of seasoned warriors.
Now here he was standing before Madeline and a man she had been kissing. The sight of her kissing the cinnamon-bearded stranger made him react with seething rage and he advanced even as the two men pushed him forward. He came toward the wounded chief in a menacing way and was soon shoved to his knees by a wild-looking giant with a claymore in his hand.
“I’ll deal with this Sassenach now!” snarled the giant, raising the claymore, and holding it above Gareth’s head with a two-handed grip.
Gareth braced himself, knowing that one swift stroke would sever his head from his body in seconds. Firelight danced crazily off the fine steel blade of the broadsword. He was afraid, yet oddly calm, prepared to accept what must be. He did not embrace death, but as a soldier, he must accept his fate.
“No!” Madeline screamed. Her pale eyes were wild with fear. “You must not! Please, A
ndrew. Do not kill him!”
“Hold!” the chief called out, raising himself unsteadily on one elbow. “Let him be. It’s not our way to murder an unarmed man in such a manner. Only in battle is there honor in taking the Englishman’s life.”
The giant spat on the ground. “The man’s our sworn enemy, Andrew. We canno’ let him go. You canno’ travel yet either. You’re too weak. I say we kill him now and be done with it.”
“Nay! We will not,” the chief replied. “I am in charge here. Am I no’ the MacCarnan? Am I not your laird? I say he lives. Secure him well that he may not escape us. We’ll keep him with us until we are well away from here. Who are you, mon?”
Gareth looked at Madeline who bit her pink lower lip and did not speak. She would, of course, tell them the truth eventually, he reasoned. There was no point in trying to lie, nor had he any intention of begging them to spare his life.
“Colonel Gareth Eriksen,” he replied in his deep, resonant voice. He felt pain from the blows he’d received but he kept his bleeding head unbowed before his enemies.
There was an exclamation.
“It’s the Viking,” a wiry man said in a voice that almost sounded awestruck, and in spite of his awkward situation, Gareth was mildly amused.
“You can see that we know of ye. You’re a ruthless one, they say. You ne’er give up. Well, I’m no weakling either you’ll find.”
The ugly giant shook his head vehemently. “‘Tis a mistake you’re makin’, Andrew. Too soft, ye be. Too long ye suckled at your mother’s tits. Allow this man to live and you’ll be regrettin’ it. Look at him! He’s already thinkin’ of ways to escape us.”
“He’ll ne’er escape til we be ready to release him.”
Gareth turned a cold, hard eye on Madeline as the Highland warriors dragged him to a dark corner of the cave. Inside himself, he raged at the girl who he deemed a conniving bitch, his anger beyond all reason or logic. But the worst of his fury was turned against himself, for ever lowering his defenses and allowing her entry inside the fortress of his heart.
The Chevalier Page 13