What should she do? Her first instinct was to try to find Garrett, despite the urgent note. She didn’t like the idea that he was being led on some mysterious chase through Strathherrick, knowing his danger as she did.
It was clear to her that his two missing soldiers had unwittingly become part of this ruse, probably trussed up at this moment and hidden where Garrett would never find them. For what purpose? So she might meet an old friend at Aberchalder Burn? Who could it possibly be?
Madeleine suddenly thought of Lord Lovat. He was an old friend, nearly eighty years old. Had he perhaps decided to remain in the Highlands rather than take a ship to France? Since he was a hunted fugitive with a price on his head, it would make sense he would not want to risk having Garrett and his soldiers following her to their meeting place.
She felt a rush of excitement and quickly came to a decision. What better person to help influence her kin than the chief of Clan Fraser himself? Once Lord Lovat knew the truth behind everything Garrett had done for his clansmen, and for her, surely he would persuade the Frasers of Strathherrick to accept Garrett’s presence among them.
Madeleine threw the tartan shawl around her shoulders and ran to the door. Perhaps she could venture to hope that everything was going to work out after all.
***
Madeleine shivered as she veered her restless mare onto the leaf-strewn footpath that ran alongside Aberchalder Burn.
The fir trees were dense here, interspersed with Scots pine and naked beech trees that choked out what little sun there was on this cloudy autumn day. The air was chill and damp, indicating that there would be a frost that night if it grew cold enough.
She drew her tartan shawl more tightly around her, wishing she had worn something with more warmth, such as trousers and a heavy jacket. Too bad she hadn’t thought of it before she left. She still possessed a set of black clothes, hidden deep in one of drawers in her old room. She simply hadn’t gotten rid of them yet.
Madeleine ducked her head, dodging a branch. The fork in this swiftly running stream lay beyond the next thick clump of firs. She listened carefully for any voices but heard nothing except trilling larks and crossbills piercing the sound of rushing water.
As she followed the narrow path down a slight decline, Madeleine trained her eyes on the fork clearly visible ahead. There was no one standing there waiting for her, nor did she see any movement in the dense green foliage surrounding her on all sides.
At last she drew up on the reins, bringing her horse to a halt. She sat quietly in the saddle for a moment, looking around her again, then cautiously dismounted.
She tensed as twigs and dried pine needles rustled and snapped close behind her. She turned around slowly. Her eyes widened at the sight of seven ragged Highlanders emerging from behind trees and thick hedges. They were bearded and unkempt, rough-looking men she had never seen before. She doubted they even belonged to Clan Fraser.
Surely Lord Lovat would have his own clansmen for an escort, she thought fleetingly, feeling the slightest quiver of fear. Men he could trust without question. Who were these—?
“Mistress Madeleine Fraser?” one of the men asked gruffly, breaking into her anxious thoughts.
“Aye,” she said, holding her ground. She expected him to say more, perhaps explain their presence here, but instead he looked away from her.
Madeleine followed his gaze, her breath catching in her throat as another man stepped from the dense wood, a big man with dark hair and deep-set hazel eyes that caught and held her own. She watched, paralyzed, as he drew closer, not stopping until he loomed in front of her. His massive frame blocked out all else.
“Maddie,” he breathed, his voice rough, deep, and hauntingly familiar.
“Dougald,” Madeleine whispered hoarsely, staring at his bearded face. “I canna believe ‘tis ye. Some fugitive kinsmen told me ye were dead, that the redcoats had hanged you at Inverness in the town square, not long after Culloden.” Her voice quavered and died away, her stricken expression registering her shock.
“Ye were told wrong, love,” Dougald said, taking a step closer. “I was taken prisoner and held in a stinking Inverness gaol, but they dinna hang yer Dougald. ‘Twas another poor wretch they must have seen at the noose.” He gestured to the men who were watching them silently. “We escaped from that gaol only two days past, six Camerons, one Macdonald, and I. We’re on our way to Glasgow, where we’ll catch a ship to France.”
“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.
