Neil reluctantly did as he was told, though his eyes followed Madeleine. His brothers had been abruptly awakened by his shouting, and their confused crying added to the discord.
“Hush with ye now,” he said importantly. “There’s redcoats creeping about. Ye dinna want to bring them in here, do ye?” When his words showed little effect, he offered them some sticky tablet candy. The twins quieted immediately, brown eyes wide and watchful as they sucked on the sugary squares.
Madeleine leaned on the stone ledge, her heart thumping hard against her chest. There were at least twenty redcoats marching alongside a long procession of ten wagons driven by more soldiers. God’s wounds! What were they doing in Farraline?
She craned her head to get a better view. She couldn’t get a close look at them because Flora’s cottage was on a side street, but it was clear that they were merely passing through the village. Their pace did not slacken, and their commanding officer seemed to be waving them onward from atop a great bay horse. Most of the wagons had already turned onto the road leading to the next village, the same road that wound past her estate…
“Flora, ‘tis best to keep the bairns inside ‘til the soldiers have passed,” she said urgently, facing her kinswoman. “I’m going to set out for Mhor Manor. Glenis is alone there, since the two girls have the day free. If she spies the soldiers on the road, she’ll think the worst and panic for sure. I hope ‘tis not another contingent sent to burn us out.”
“Be careful, Maddie,” Flora warned. Concern etched her pale features, and she hugged her infant daughter protectively.
Madeleine nodded. “‘Twill be faster if I leave the cart here and ride the mare back to the estate.”
She smiled quickly at the three boys as she hurried from the cottage. She deftly unhitched the small cart and jumped on the mare’s bare back, her skirt gathered between her legs.
“Off with ye!” she cried, clucking her tongue and kicking the mare with the heels of her sturdy leather brogues.
The startled animal lurched forward. They skirted the village along a familiar footpath, well out of view of the soldiers, then set off at a full gallop across the green valley toward Mhor Manor, Madeleine’s hair flying behind her.
***
When he reached the outskirts of Farraline, Garrett pulled up on the reins. His massive bay gelding snorted and pawed restlessly at the heath. “Easy, Samson, easy,” he murmured, untying his cravat and wiping the dust and sweat from his face.
He squinted against the midday sunlight, looking down the narrow road that wound ahead of them through the rugged Highland landscape.
Like the other roads they had traveled since abandoning the paved efficiency of Wade’s highway, it was no more than two rutted, dirt tracks with a grassy strip in the center. He and his men had been forced to stop twice already and replace broken wagon wheels.
At least we’re almost there, Garrett thought. In the near distance he could see whitewashed walls and a black slate roof framed by a backdrop of fir trees and jagged gray mountains. The large manor house Colonel Wolfe had suggested to him lay just ahead.
He twisted in his saddle and surveyed the rumbling line of supply wagons drawn by exhausted horses. Two soldiers marched between each wagon, their loaded muskets held crosswise in front of them. The wagon drivers had loaded weapons beneath their seats as an added security measure.
The rigorous strain of the long march showed in the soldiers’ tired faces. Garrett had pushed them hard. They had not slept since leaving Fort Augustus and had paused only briefly for quick meals of salted beef, hard biscuits, and warm ale. They had followed a different route this time, staying well on Wade’s Road until the last possible moment. He had taken every precaution to prevent another encounter with Black Jack.
He grimaced, recalling the reprimand he had received after his unexpected return to Fort Augustus, thankfully clothed. General Hawley’s incensed ranting still rang in his ears. Only Colonel Wolfe’s intervention had spared him twenty lashes with the cat-o’-nine-tails, and the colonel’s persuasive arguments had convinced Hawley to grant him one more chance to capture the brigand.
Yet such a lashing could not have intensified his burning commitment to bring Black Jack to justice. He had a personal score to settle for the humiliation he and his men had suffered, as well as for the injury inflicted on his former sergeant. They had barely reached Fort Augustus in time and the man had nearly died from his wound. Dammit, he would find the bastard!
“Sergeant Fletcher!” he shouted as he stuffed his soiled cravat in the side pocket of his coat.
A stout soldier stepped out from the line, slinging his musket over his shoulder. “Captain?”
“I’m going to ride ahead. See that the men keep moving. The manor house is just beyond that copse of trees.”
“Very good, sir.”
As Garrett dug his boots into the horse’s sides and took off at a gallop, the sergeant’s terse command cut through the air. “You heard the captain, lads. Keep up the pace. There’ll be a swig of brandy awaiting each of you when we get to our new quarters.”
Racing along the road, Garrett reveled in the great strength of the animal beneath him. It was exhilarating to allow the bay such freedom after holding him tightly in check for most of the journey. The landscape they passed blurred, melding into streaks of vibrant color: dark green heather, brown earth, blue sky. The white manor house with its two adjoining wings drew closer and closer…
Suddenly he veered sharply to the right as another horse appeared on the left racing onto the road from a narrow path hidden between two large trees, and bumped into his bay. Garrett swore loudly and firmly grasped the reins, his experience and the muscled power of his thighs enabling him to stay in the saddle.
The other rider was not so lucky. He heard a short high-pitched scream and the smaller horse whinnying in fright, then a crash as the rider, a slim young woman, pitched headlong into a row of unkempt box hedges at the foot of the drive leading to the manor house.
“Whoa, Samson, steady now!” he yelled, pulling the bay hard about. The startled animal reared and bucked, fighting him, but it gradually calmed enough to allow Garrett to jump to the ground. He ran over to the hedges, dreading what he might find. It would be a miracle if the wench survived such a fall.
Garrett spied a pair of leather shoes, snagged white stockings, and the torn hem of a plain brown skirt poking out from the dense thicket. He leaped over the hedges to the other side and knelt beside the woman. Her face was turned away from him. Relief poured through him when he saw her fingers move and heard a low moan breaking from her throat.
With great care he took her by the shoulders and pulled her slowly from the bushes, then rolled her onto her back. Her rich chestnut hair, glinting with strands of gold in the bright sunlight, fell across her face and obscured her features.
