A Hint of Rapture (4 page)

Colonel Wolfe leaned his elbows on the table and
lowered his voice. "You and I are of like mind, Garrett. During the past
three months we have seen a great deal of bloodshed, and much of it has been
irrational, cruel, and against all sense of fair play. Culloden was proof of
that, and now Cumberland's policy of harrying the glens . . ."

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head gravely.
"There has been enough slaughter of innocents. I simply cannot sit by and
watch it begin anew. When Hawley got the dispatch this morning, his first
impulse was to send my entire regiment to Strathherrick, beside Loch Ness,
since all evidence points to that valley as Black Jack's main territory."

"Where you would carry out his normal policy in
matters concerning the Highlanders," Garrett said quietly. "Torture,
maim, rape, burn, and then ask questions."

"Right. Instead I took a chance and suggested a
more peaceful method of capturing this outlaw. Amazingly Hawley agreed to hear
me out, probably due to the recent outrage expressed by clans loyal to King
George about the atrocities committed against the defeated Highlanders."

"It certainly wouldn't do to have those powerful
clans join their Jacobite cousins against the excessive ravages of the
English," Garrett commented.

"Indeed not. Now, it's my guess that Black Jack is
carrying out these raids to provide food for that region," Colonel Wolfe
rushed on. "Opened sacks of the king's grain were found in a cave near the
loch, and villagers have been found with good supplies of salted meat in their
cellars."

"Not likely for an area that lost its cattle and
crops to Cumberland's more aggressive troops."

"Exactly. I told Hawley if a large force of armed
soldiers descended upon Strathherrick, Black Jack and his men would take to the
mountains and never come down from hiding. We already know how well these
people guard their secrets, despite the threat of death. Prince Charles has
managed to remain on the run for three months, eluding thousands of our troops.
It would be the same for Black Jack."

"So instead I'm supposed to take a third of my men
and attempt to discover the whereabouts of the elusive Black Jack by living
among the Highlanders of Strathherrick as an occupying yet peaceful
force."

Colonel Wolfe nodded. "With your insight into
Highland ways, the task may be easier than you think." He smiled broadly.
"If I were a younger man, I'd relish the assignment. Your prowess with the
ladies is renowned, Garrett. You're as much of a gentleman to the doxies who
follow our troops as to the elegant damsels we've met in the cities. You've
charmed them all. Perhaps you may find a willing Highland lass or two to aid
you in your quest. Who knows what secrets might be betrayed at the height of
passion."

Garrett laughed. He was not convinced that a pretty
Highland wench would so willingly hop into bed with an English soldier, but the
thought intrigued him nonetheless.

"I would suggest you and your men billet in a
village, or perhaps in one of the few manor houses still left standing,"
Colonel Wolfe said. "I've heard of a place that might be large enough for
all of you. Hmmm, what was the name of that village?"

He paused, rapping his knuckles absently on the table.
"Ah, yes, now I remember. It's near Farraline, I believe. The owner may
not take kindly to the inconvenience, but at least it's better than finding his
home burned to the ground." He stood up. "Any more questions,
captain?"

"One," Garrett replied. "How long do I
have to find this Black Jack and bring him to the king's justice?"

Colonel Wolfe sobered, his features darkening.

"Hawley is an impatient man, Garrett. If our plan
proves unsuccessful, he'll carry out his threat."

"Just as I thought," Garrett said, rising
from his chair and following the colonel from the room.

Chapter 2

"Will ye be ridin' out again this ev'ning,
Maddie?" Glenis asked as she smoothed a clean cloth over the rough-hewn
kitchen table. She glanced up when she received no answer. Her eyes, brown as
dried berries, anxiously studied her young mistress. Madeleine was seated on a
low stool by the window, poring over a worn and yellowed map balanced atop her
knees.

Her brow creased in concentration, Madeleine traced her
finger along the thin line of General Wade's Road, which stretched from
Inverness to Fort Augustus. The road hugged Loch Ness for three-quarters of the
way, then jutted out to the southeast around Beinn a Bhacaidh, a lesser
mountain, and Loch Tarff. The narrow valley of Glen Doe lay just to the south
of the tiny loch, and it was the site of tonight's raid.

" 'Tis a risky plan," she whispered to
herself, unaware of Glenis's scrutiny. There would doubtless be many soldiers
so close to Fort Augustus, but that could not be helped.

According to her sources, a large herd of cattle was
grazing in Glen Doe, cattle which until a few weeks ago had belonged to some
hapless Highland villages. Well, she would simply "rescue" a few
tonight, during the wee hours of darkness. Her people would have fresh meat for
their suppers within two days.

A smile briefly touched Madeleine's lips, then faded as
her thoughts turned once again to the impending raid. She looked up from the
map and gazed out across the apple orchard, the sun's bright rays warm on her
face. The damp morning fog had long since burned away, leaving the sky overhead
a pristine blue. The clear, sunny afternoon boded well for the weather later
that night.

She and her five kinsmen would start out at dusk for
the distant valley. They would ride the sturdy, dun-colored horses native to
the Highlands and keep to the mountains they knew so well, away from Wade's
Road and any unwelcome encounters with redcoats. On the rugged slopes above
Glen Doe they would tether the horses and descend into the valley like silent
ghosts to gather together a dozen cattle and drive them back into the
mountains.

Moonlight would guide them along the footpaths of
ancient drovers as they traveled as far as possible before daybreak, hiding in
the forested brae beside the River Feohlin until nightfall. Then they would set
out again. Once they reached Aberchalder Burn near Farraline, the cattle would
be slaughtered and the meat distributed to the surrounding villages before
dawn.

"Maddie, hinny. Dinna ye hear me?" Glenis
repeated. Again there was no reply. With an exasperated sigh the old woman
walked to the window, stopping just behind the stool. She reached out and
brushed an unruly chestnut lock away from Madeleine's temple.
"Maddie?"

Madeleine jumped up, the map sliding from her knees to
the freshly swept floor. "Och, Glenis, ye startled me!" she
exclaimed. "I dinna know ye were standing there."

"I'm sorry, lass," Glenis said as Madeleine
bent to pick up the precious parchment, folding it into a neat square.
"But I feel as if I've been mutterin' to m'self in this kitchen like some
mad hatter. Ye've not heard a word I've said to ye."

Madeleine slipped the map a side pocket of her gown and
gave her servant a hug. Glenis Simpson had been with the Frasers of Farraline
so long she was like a grandmother to Maddie. Serving as housekeeper and
midwife, she had been present at the birth of Madeleine's father as well as
Maddie's own, nineteen years ago.

Madeleine would never have lived to see her first day
if not for Glenis, who had breathed air into her tiny lungs after she was born
blue and silent, the cord wrapped around her neck. The determined Scotswoman
didn't give up until the room echoed- with Madeleine's lusty cries, and her
grateful parents swore they had witnessed a miracle from heaven.

Now Glenis was frail, with stooped shoulders and gray
hair like fine gauze. She had seen sixty-nine winters come and go. Yet she
still ruled Mhor Manor with strict efficiency, the two remaining maidservants
her obedient and respectful charges.

Madeleine was the only person Glenis could not control.
She had tried over the years to tame Maddie's impetuous spirit and transform
her into a "proper" young lady, especially after her mother had died
when Madeleine was six years old. But Madeleine had always displayed a streak
of feisty independence that could not be subdued, and Glenis's efforts had been
largely unsuccessful. Maddie was a grown woman now, mistress of a sizable
estate, yet Glenis still looked upon her as the wild child who used to roam the
heather-strewn moors and rocky mountain slopes.

"What did ye ask me, Glenis dear?" Madeleine
asked in a soothing tone, though she suspected she already knew the question.
"Ye have my full attention. "

Glenis grasped Madeleine's hands in her bony ones, her
grip amazingly strong. " 'Tis worried I am, Maddie," she began,
concern etching her wrinkled face. "Worried sick for ye!"

"Glenis—" Madeleine tried to interrupt.

"No, ye'll hear me out, lass," Glenis shushed
her. "Ye've been about these raids almost ev'ry night now for two months,
ever since those redcoats wrecked the house. Sometimes ye're gone for so
long—two, three days and more—I canna sleep for the worry that plagues
me."

She squeezed Madeleine's hands tightly as if to
emphasize her words, making her wince. " 'Tis a noble thing ye're doin',
Maddie, but how long do ye think 'twill be before the English set about to find
ye in earnest? What if ye're captured? Do ye think they'll be merciful with ye,
like they were to yer da and his clansmen at Culloden?"

"Yer fears are unfounded, Glenis. They'll not find
me," Madeleine objected vehemently, her eyes flashing in defiance.

English bastards! The mere mention of her father's
brutal fate made her all the more certain what she was doing was right, despite
the constant danger she and her kinsmen faced. The raids they had committed
against the redcoats gave purpose to her life and were a means of fighting Tack
against the savage injustice her people had suffered. She could do no less,
whatever the consequences. Her conscience, and her pride, would never allow it.

Glenis shook her gray head, unconvinced. "No,
lass, if ye keep on, they'll surely find ye—"

"Enough, Glenis!" Madeleine demanded, cutting
her off and pulling her hands free. Tears smarted her eyes, but she forced them
back. "I'll not listen to any more of yer talk. I canna believe ye would
ask me to cease the one thing that gives our people hope and puts food in their
bellies!"

Madeleine leaned against the narrow window ledge and
gazed beyond the orchard toward the village of Farraline, a cluster of small
stone cottages nestled near Loch Mhor.

"Ye have walked in the village, Glenis. 'Tis a
place come back from the edge of despair," she said, her voice
impassioned. " 'Tis the same in Gorthlick and Aberchalder, and the other
villages. The bairns no longer cry out from hunger, but scramble and play, and
their mothers have milk again in their breasts for the wee ones. The men who
are left have new hope for their families, and we can fill the sacks of the
fugitives who come to our doors in the night with enough food to last them many
days in the mountains."

Madeleine swallowed hard, remembering the half dozen
fugitive clansmen who had sought a few hours' refuge in the manor house only
last week. They had brought her news that Dougald Fraser, her betrothed, had
been taken prisoner only days after Culloden. He had been hanged as a traitor
in the town square at Inverness while the clansmen watched from a tavern attic
where they were hiding. Now she had two for whom to grieve, her father and
Dougald.

Dougald Fraser had been big and strong, with a wide
smile that dared to take on the world and hazel eyes that danced with a lust
for life. Had she truly loved him, as a woman loves a man, or was her feeling
merely the bond of friendship formed in childhood? Now she would never know.

She had accepted that she and Dougald would marry one
day because it was the wish of her father, who had seen in his young kinsman a
fine match for his strong-minded daughter. She had never thought to question
his decision, for he was the only person whose word she had always obeyed.

Now she would never wed. She had sworn as much on the
night she learned of Dougald's fate. The man who had earned her father's
blessing was cold in his grave, and she would have no other. She would devote
her life to her people, and when the time came to choose an heir for the estate
she would find someone worthy to take her place from among her kinsmen.

How ironic, Madeleine thought bitterly. If her father
had survived Culloden and been tried for treason, his estate and title would
have been forfeited to the Crown upon his execution. It was only because he had
died on the battlefield that the family estate still belonged to her. She was
permitted to keep her land because as mistress of Farraline and a mere woman,
she was considered harmless, no threat to the government. If they only knew . .
.

"I said 'tis a noble thing ye do, Maddie,"
Glenis said, "and 'tis proud I am of ye." She bent her head and
pressed her furrowed cheek against Madeleine's shoulder. "Yer da would be
proud of ye, and yer dear mama. I'll not bother ye further with my fears, if
only ye promise not to take any heedless chances." Her voice quivered and
broke, while hot tears dampened Madeleine's sleeve. "If anything ever
happened to ye, I'd have no one left."

"Please dinna worry," Madeleine said gently.
"Nothing will happen to me, ye'll see. And if it will make ye happy, I
promise I winna raid any redcoats unless I'm sure 'twill go as planned. Fair
enough?"

Sniffling and nodding her head, Glenis fumbled in her
apron pocket for a handkerchief.

"Besides, Glenis dear, only the five clansmen who
ride with me know what we do. And ye, of course."

"I'll never betray ye, lass!" Glenis
exclaimed fiercely, wiping away her tears. "I'll take yer secret to my
grave—"