Garrett stood up, catching out of the corner of his eye the covert movement of the burly sergeant standing to his right. He whirled, but it was too late to stop him.
Pulling a knife from his boot, the sergeant flung it at the Highlander, who attempted to dodge the lethal missile. He wasn’t quick enough. The blade sank into his upper arm, and he cursed loudly. At the same time a shot rang out in the clearing, and the sergeant sank heavily to the ground.
“I’m hit, captain!” the sergeant gasped as if he could not quite believe it. An ugly red stain widened around the singed hole just below his left shoulder, blood streaming through his splayed fingers.
Stunned, Garrett looked from the black-clad figure in the shadows who was holding a smoking pistol, to the soldier sprawled at his feet. He took a step toward the wounded man.
“Stop where ye are,” the nearby Highlander grated. His pistol was still trained on Garrett though blood seeped from inside his sleeve and streaked his trembling hand. Without a sound, he pulled the knife from his flesh and hurled it to the ground.
Garrett’s eyes narrowed angrily. “My sergeant needs help. Shoot me if you will, but I’m not going to stand here while he bleeds to death.”
For a moment the Highlander simply stared at him as if defying him to make another move. Then he seemed to waver. He glanced at Black Jack in the shadows, who nodded curtly, and back to Garrett. “Go on with ye then,” he muttered, rubbing his arm.
Garrett dropped to his knees beside the wounded man. He whipped his cravat from around his neck and used it to staunch the bleeding. “That was a foolhardy thing to do, sergeant,” he said sternly, though he could not fault the man for trying.
“I’d do it again, Captain Marshall,” the sergeant grunted, his face ashen. “The wily bastards!”
Garrett was silent. He, too, had a knife in his boot, as did many of the soldiers. Perhaps if their efforts were somehow coordinated, there still might be a chance—
The injured Highlander’s voice boomed across the clearing, interrupting his thoughts. “While yer captain plays nursemaid, the rest of ye strip off yer boots and yer clothes and throw everything in one pile. Ye winna conceal any more weapons if we can help it. Then lie facedown on the ground. Move!”
Garrett swore softly. So much for that plan.
After a few minutes he lifted the soiled cravat from the wound, pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped. Yet the man would need medical attention to remove the bullet, which meant returning to Fort Augustus. He could well imagine Colonel Wolfe’s face, not to mention General Hawley’s, when they discovered what had happened. Dammit all! His mission had been thwarted before it had really begun, and he had no one to blame but himself.
“Up with ye, captain, now, and strip off yer fine uniform,” the Highlander demanded. “It looks like yer sergeant will live, so he’ll not be needing yer care for a while. And we’ve no more time to spend chatting with ye.”
Garrett rose to his feet, his face darkening with fury as he yanked off his boots and began to undress. His soldiers were already stark naked and lying facedown in the dirt, while two of Black Jack’s men tied their hands and feet together.
The Highlander gave a short laugh when he picked up one of Garrett’s boots and a knife fell to the ground with a thud. “It could have been ye with the ball in yer shoulder, eh, captain?”
Garrett didn’t answer but merely shot a glance in Black Jack’s direction. To his surprise, the brigand was nowhere to be seen. He stepped out of his breeches, standing as God had made him in the center of the camp. The indignity of it was almost more than he could stomach.
“Lie down by yer men.”
Garrett threw his clothes on the pile near the fire and grimly followed the Highlander’s order. His hands were tied behind his back, then his feet were bound securely.
“That should hold ye for a while, lads,” a different man said, his deep voice tinged with malice. “Perhaps when the brave sergeant regains consciousness, he’ll see fit to let ye go. Hopefully for yer sakes ‘twill be before any Highland wildcat roaming these hills picks up yer scent. Ye look to be a fine lot of trussed turkeys from this angle!”
Furious, Garrett longed to lash out and tell the man his raiding days were numbered, but he held his tongue. If he was given another chance to set out for Strathherrick after this fiasco, he did not want these brigands to have any advance warning of what was in store for them.
A sudden whooshing sound startled him, and he began to cough when acrid gray smoke billowed through the camp. With a groan he realized the Highlanders had set fire to their boots and uniforms.
Just one more humiliation to endure, Garrett raged silently. One more score to settle with Black Jack.
His eyes stinging from the thick smoke, he turned his head and watched three of the Highlanders move toward the wagons, their arms loaded with confiscated weapons. They disappeared along the path, then he heard the anxious neighing of horses and wooden wheels creaking. They were hitching up the supply wagons.
Garrett mumbled a swift prayer that the wagon carrying extra clothing would be spared. If not, he doubted the few villages they had passed along Wade’s Road could provide them with thirty pairs of boots and breeches. He and his men would become the laughingstock of the entire army if they were forced to retire to Fort Augustus barefoot and naked.
He blinked several times from the smoke, his watery eyes falling on Black Jack walking along the edge of the camp. The brigand turned for a moment and looked back in their direction, then was gone, swallowed up by the dark woods.
“We’ll meet again, Black Jack,” Garrett vowed, gasping from the smoke. “And next time, I swear it will be to my advantage.”
Chapter 4
Madeleine felt a warm satisfaction as she lifted the last basket from the cart and hooked it over her arm. “Will ye see to the mare, Neil, whilst I visit yer mama?” she said gently, smiling at the young boy who was hopping excitedly beside the cart.
“Oh, aye, Maddie!” he exclaimed, his ruddy cheeks aglow with health and vigor. His hazel eyes, wide as saucers, glanced at the basket. “Have ye anything for me?” he asked hopefully.
