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.
What could they possibly be doing? she wondered, dazed and lightheaded from her exertion. Why were they assembled here, so far from their homes?
Then she saw him, his head towering above the crowd, and she felt as if she were choking, unable to draw breath.
Dougald.
He yelled out something, and the villagers responded by shouting back at him. She caught words, phrases, each one a death knell pounding into her brain.
“Hang the English bastard!”
“We dinna want King Geordie’s spy in our midst. Do away with him now, with our blessing!”
“Ye’ll not torment our Maddie Fraser any longer, ye devil!”
“Aye, hang him and throw his corpse into the loch. ‘Twill appear he drowned, and good riddance!”
“No! Garrett,” she gasped in disbelief, fearing she might collapse at any moment. She no longer felt her legs pumping beneath her, and she was terrified she might lose consciousness before she reached them. “Please, God, dinna let me faint,” she prayed breathlessly. She was almost there. “He needs me…he needs me…grant me courage—”
Madeleine burst upon them so suddenly the villagers jumped back in surprise. She stumbled, but no one was close enough to break her fall. She sprawled facedown in the heather, the wind knocked out of her, too exhausted even to lift her head.
“‘Tis Maddie!” the villagers echoed throughout their ranks, astonished.
In the next instant she was dragged to her feet, a strong arm supporting her around the waist. She looked up, meeting Angus’s concerned gaze.
“Ye must stop this,” she rasped, fighting to catch her breath, fighting the numbness in her limbs. “‘Tis not right! I love him—I love him.”
“Hush, lass. Be careful what ye’re saying,” Angus warned, keeping his voice low, aware that everyone was staring at them.
