A Hint of Rapture (14 page)

"I winna ask ye again, sir . . . Och, what do ye
think ye're doing?" There were sounds of a scuffle, a frightened gasp as
something ripped, then a resounding slap.

"Don't think to cuff me again, wench, or
I'll—"

"You'll what, soldier?" Garrett exploded,
wrenching the door open so fiercely it slammed against the wall and nearly fell
from its hinges.

"Captain Marshall!" Rob blurted out. He
jumped away from a sobbing Meg, who was clutching her torn bodice.

The plump blond maidservant tried to skitter through
the door, but Garrett gently caught her arm. She looked up at him in complete
terror, tears staining her reddened face.

"I heard everything, Meg," Garrett said
quietly, hurt by her expression. "You needn't worry. The man will be
punished, and he won't bother you again. You have my word."

She looked startled, then nodded gratefully and
disappeared through the door.

"Wh-what do you mean, captain?" Rob
stammered, backing up a few steps. He was large man, nearly as tall as Garrett,
but his stance revealed his apprehension. "I didn't do anything." He
shoved his hand into his scarlet coat and pulled out a tarnished pocket watch.
"See this? She tried to steal it from me. Had it in her basket. When I
tried to grab it from her, the basket caught on her dress—"

"Shut up," Garrett cut him off, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Do you think I'm blind, man? Or stupid?" He
scarcely turned his head as Sergeant Fletcher rushed up beside him.

"Is anything amiss, captain?"

"See that this man is given ten lashes, sergeant,
then set him on his horse. When we return this evening, shackle him and put him
under guard. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"And warn the other men as well. If any of them so
much as looks cross-eyed at the women of this house, or any women in this
valley for that matter, they'll suffer the same fate and worse."

'But—but Captain Marshall, they're only stinkin',
whorin' Highlanders," Rob pleaded, sweat running down his unshaven face.

"Get this scum out of my sight," Garrett
said, his fists clenching. One more word out of the lying bastard, he thought
furiously, and he'd strike him down. He should have done so already.

Sergeant Fletcher obeyed him at once. He pulled out his
pistol and aimed it at the offender's chest. "Move, soldier. Now."

Rob shot a surly glance at Garrett and began to saunter
down the flagged path with Sergeant Fletcher at his heels. He walked faster
when the sergeant roughly stuck the butt of the pistol in his back.

Garrett's face was grim as he stepped back into the
house and headed directly for the kitchen. He found Meg sitting at the table,
still sobbing while Glenis patted her shoulder.

If they heard him come in, they did not turn around. He
stood there uncomfortably. Women's tears had always confounded him. He cleared
his throat and stepped forward, feeling awkward. Both women were staring at him
now.

"I want to apologize, Meg, for my soldier's
behavior," he said, glancing out the window as a man's loud scream sounded
from somewhere near the cooking tent.

He heard the zinging of the lash, followed by another
cry, a wail of pain that reminded him of a wounded animal. He raised his voice.
"You needn't fear it will happen again. I've seen to that."

Meg flinched in her chair as another scream rang
through the air. Her face was ashen. "Th—thank ye, sir," she barely
managed, covering her ears.

Glenis moved toward him. "Aye, thank ye, Captain
Marshall. I'm well past my prime, as ye can plainly see, and I need Meg's help
here. I dinna want to worry for her every time my back is turned, what with yer
soldiers about the house."

Garrett nodded. For Meg's sake, he was thankful that
the screams had finally stopped. It was a wretched thing to hear such misery,
however well deserved. "Meg will be safe, Glenis. I promise."

"I believe ye, captain," Glenis said, then
asked, "May I call ye Garrett?"

He smiled at her request and the unexpected warmth in
her dark eyes. "Of course. I'd like that."

"Good. Well now, Garrett. I've baked some scones.
Would ye like one or two for yer breakfast?" She rushed on before Garrett
could reply. "Och, that reminds me. Did ye happen to sample some yesterday
morn by chance"

"Yes, now that I think of it. Rob Tyler . . . the
man who's just been punished," he said dryly, "had a dozen or so and
gave one to me. He said my cook had baked them special. They were quite good,
actually, the best I've ever tasted. Cinnamon and—

"Treacle," she finished for him
matter-of-factly. "Aye, that's the ones. Then ye've tasted my cookin',
Garrett. Yer soldier helped himself to my kitchen before ye rode out. Stole
every last one of them, he did. Shall
  
agree
one of the lashes was for the scones?"

Garrett wanted to throw back his head and laugh, but
instead he shook his head solemnly. "Yes, I think that's fair. And I'd
love to try a few more."

The old servant smiled faintly and moved to the hearth.
"Meg, will ye pour the captain a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you, Glenis," Garrett said with
regret. "I'll have to eat my breakfast in the saddle. Perhaps another
morning."

She wrapped two fat scones in a white linen napkin.
"Will ye be goin' far? I could pack ye a few extra."

Garrett wasn't fooled by her seemingly innocent
question, a clever way of asking after his plans. It didn't bother him. His
Scots grandmother had told him the Highlanders were a curious people by nature.

In fact, Glenis reminded him of his grandmother. Maybe
that's why he felt such a fondness for this spry old woman, as if he had known
her far longer than a few days.

"No, Glenis, not far," he replied.
"Though I can't say when we'll be back." He smiled as he took the
linen packet from her outstretched hand. "Could I ask a favor of
you?"

Her expression became guarded, but her eyes remained
kind. "Aye."

"Would you ask Madeleine—Mistress Fraser—if she
might care to go for a ride with me tomorrow? I'd ask her myself, but as I
said, I don't know when I'll be back today, and it might be late. There are
some places I'd like to ask her about. She knows the valley so well, and its
lore and history. Perhaps she might consider . . ." He stopped, feeling
awkward again, almost like a schoolboy.

"Aye, I'll ask her for ye," Glenis said
simply.

If she sensed his discomfort, she gave no notice of it.
Meg was studying him strangely, though, and he decided it was time to take his
leave.

"Thank you for the scones, Glenis," he said.
He left through the kitchen door and walked to the front of the manor house,
where his men were waiting for him. He mounted his bay gelding and glanced over
at Rob Tyler.

The soldier was glaring at him, with his back hunched
over and his coat thrown carefully over his shoulders. He lowered his head at
Garrett's grim expression.

"Ride," Garrett ordered tersely. He and his
men set out, leaving only a few soldiers behind to guard their supplies. Their
horses' hooves kicked up a thick cloud of dust as they galloped down the drive
and onto the road to Farraline.

***

Madeleine watched from the kitchen window until they
had disappeared. She straightened and looked directly at Glenis.

"Since when have ye taken such a liking to the
captain?" she asked. She had heard their exchange from the dining room
where she had hidden, waiting for Garrett to leave. She had heard everything
from the moment the front door had slammed against the wall, rudely waking her
from her sleep. The entire scene between Garrett and his soldier had been
played out as she stood at the top of the stairs, still wearing her nightdress.

" 'Tis not a liking, hinny," Glenis objected
quietly. "A kindness, that was all. The captain stood up for Meg here. I'm
grateful to him, and so ye should be."

"Aye, if he hadn't come along, Maddie," Meg
agreed, her voice quivering, "I dinna like to think what might have
happened to me." She shuddered visibly.

Madeleine fell silent and looked out the window. Aye,
'twas true, she thought. He had had one of his own men beaten for accosting
Meg.

She had witnessed the punishment from her room,
counting each stroke, wishing she were the one wielding the biting lash. She
hadn't even blinked when the soldier was cut down from the post, his back
striped and bleeding.

"Maddie, did ye hear what Garrett asked of
me?" Glenis asked softly.

She did not turn from the window. "Aye."

Her reply did little to satisfy Glenis. "Well,
will ye ride with him tomorrow or not? He seems to be a fair man, but I dinna
like the thought of ye out alone with him. "

Madeleine did not answer but only shrugged, a faraway
expression in her eyes.

Garrett Marshall was a most unusual man, for a redcoat.
She didn't understand him in the least. Nor did she trust him.

Perhaps she should go riding with this Englishman and
learn more about him, she decided. He was searching for her, wasn't he? Her gut
instincts had told her as much.

If she knew more about him, perhaps she could use such
knowledge to her advantage. He might think it strange that she would so readily
accept, but he had apologized after all.

"Maddie?"

She smiled thoughtfully at her servant. "We'll
see, Glenis. We'll see."

Chapter 10

It had been dark for several hours when Madeleine crept
silently across her chamber to peer at the mantel clock. The porcelain face was
just visible by the faint light of the moon shining through her windows.

It was quarter to eleven. Time to set out through the
secret tunnel if she was to meet her kinsmen at the yew tree near the village of
Errogie by midnight.

Dressed in her gray cotton gown and already wearing her
sturdy black boots, she wrapped a tartan shawl around her head and shoulders,
clutching it with one hand. Under her arm she carried the black clothes she
wore during her raids in a tight roll. When she was sure she was ready, she
tiptoed to the door and lifted the latch.

She grimaced as the door creaked ever so slightly.
Holding her breath, she peered into the dark hallway and listened. She heard
nothing. Garrett and his men had returned to Mhor Manor only two hours ago, but
fortunately they had all retired at once.

At least she thought they had. Now that she was
standing in the hallway, she could see a faint light shining under Garrett's
door.

Wasn't it like him to still be awake, no doubt plotting
his next move to capture his infamous outlaw. She turned and crossed the
hallway, thankful for the carpeting which masked her movement, and stepped
gingerly down the side stairs.

At the bottom she paused as her eyes adjusted to the
blackness. A dim light burned in the main hallway, and she heard snores from
the guard stationed there. What would Garrett think if he knew his soldier was
sleeping at his duty station? she wondered. Well, she didn't care. She had one
less guard to worry about.

She walked cautiously into the drawing room and headed
directly to the closet, dodging the small side tables placed near the brocade
armchairs. She lifted the latch quietly and stepped inside the narrow
enclosure, found the round peg, and pulled the door shut behind her.

Madeleine drew a deep breath, her heartbeat drumming
loudly in her ears. She shivered with nervous excitement. She hadn't been in
the tunnel since she was fourteen, when her father had showed it to her for the
first time, though she had heard about it since childhood. She dropped to her
hands and knees near the back wall and groped along the intricately planked
floor.

Where was that notch? Her fingers ran along the cracks,
searching, until she found one that was slightly wider than the others, just
large enough for her fingertips. She pushed against the wood, which was springy
to the touch.

Suddenly a thick wedge of planking popped up, leaving a
space wide enough for her hands. She gritted her teeth and lifted the trap door
until the iron hinges would go no further.

A wave of dank, musty air assaulted her nostrils, and
she barely stopped herself from sneezing. Still in pitch darkness, she crouched
and lowered one foot into the gaping hole.

Her foot caught immediately on a wooden ladder off to
one side. She climbed down carefully, her hand grasping the wooden handle on
the trap door while she descended into the tunnel. As the trap door settled
back into place, years of dirt and dust rained down upon her. She sneezed
loudly, once, twice, praying that no one could hear her down there.

The air was quite chilly, and Madeleine was glad she
had worn her shawl. She heard the sound of dripping water and tentatively
reached out and touched one earthen wall. It was damp and spongy. She wrinkled
her nose in distaste. Mold.

She drew out a candle stub and a small pewter tinderbox
from her pocket. Kneeling, she deftly struck the flint and lit the candle.
Instantly she was surrounded by soft yellow light, the wick sputtering and
hissing. She gasped when she looked up.

The tunnel loomed ahead of her, melting into a black
abyss beyond the flickering light of her candle. The wooden beams supporting
the ceiling were draped with spiderwebs, reminding her of a crypt. She stood
and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her, glancing up one last time to
make sure the trap door was securely sealed.

Madeleine began to walk, slowly at first, but then
faster. She had no wish to tarry in this spooky underground passage. She tried
to imagine her ancestors rushing through the tunnel, but the countless
spiderwebs distracted her. As soon as she swept one aside, another was tangled
in her clothes, in her braided hair, even in her mouth.