“Captain Marshall!” Rob blurted out. He jumped away from a sobbing Meg, who was clutching her torn bodice.
The plump blond maidservant tried to skitter through the door, but Garrett gently caught her arm. She looked up at him in complete terror, tears staining her reddened face.
“I heard everything, Meg,” Garrett said quietly, hurt by her expression. “You needn’t worry. The man will be punished, and he won’t bother you again. You have my word.”
She looked startled, then nodded gratefully and disappeared through the door.
“Wh-what do you mean, Captain?” Rob stammered, backing up a few steps. He was a large man, nearly as tall as Garrett, but his stance revealed his apprehension. “I didn’t do anything.” He shoved his hand into his scarlet coat and pulled out a tarnished pocket watch. “See this? She tried to steal it from me. Had it in her basket. When I tried to grab it from her, the basket caught on her dress—”
“Shut up,” Garrett cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think I’m blind, man? Or stupid?” He scarcely turned his head as Sergeant Fletcher rushed up beside him.
“Is anything amiss, Captain?”
“See that this man is given ten lashes, Sergeant, and then set him on his horse. When we return this evening, shackle him and put him under guard. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And warn the other men as well. If any of them so much as looks cross-eyed at the women of this house, or any women in this valley for that matter, they’ll suffer the same fate and worse.”
‘But—but Captain Marshall, they’re only stinkin’, whorin’ Highlanders,” Rob pleaded, sweat running down his unshaven face.
“Get this scum out of my sight,” Garrett said, his fists clenching. One more word out of the lying bastard, he thought furiously, and he’d strike him down. He should have done so already.
Sergeant Fletcher obeyed him at once. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the offender’s chest. “Move, soldier. Now.”
Rob shot a surly glance at Garrett and began to saunter down the flagged path with Sergeant Fletcher at his heels. He walked faster when the sergeant roughly stuck the butt of the pistol in his back.
Garrett’s face was grim as he stepped back into the house and headed directly for the kitchen. He found Meg sitting at the table, still sobbing while Glenis patted her shoulder.
If they heard him come in, they did not turn around. He stood there uncomfortably. Women’s tears had always confounded him. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, feeling awkward. Both women were staring at him now.
“I want to apologize, Meg, for my soldier’s behavior,” he said, glancing out the window as a man’s loud scream sounded from somewhere near the cooking tent.
He heard the zinging of the lash, followed by another cry, a wail of pain that reminded him of a wounded animal. He raised his voice. “You needn’t fear it will happen again. I’ve seen to that.”
Meg flinched in her chair as another scream rang through the air. Her face was ashen. “Th—thank ye, sir,” she barely managed, covering her ears.
Glenis moved toward him. “Aye, thank ye, Captain Marshall. I’m well past my prime, as ye can plainly see, and I need Meg’s help here. I dinna want to worry for her every time my back is turned, what with yer soldiers about the house.”
Garrett nodded. For Meg’s sake, he was thankful that the screams had finally stopped. It was a wretched thing to hear such misery, however well deserved. “Meg will be safe, Glenis. I promise.”
“I believe ye, Captain,” Glenis said, then asked, “May I call ye Garrett?”
He smiled at her request and the unexpected warmth in her dark eyes. “Of course. I’d like that.”
“Good. Well now, Garrett. I’ve baked some scones. Would ye like one or two for yer breakfast?” She rushed on before Garrett could reply. “Och, that reminds me. Did ye happen to sample some yesterday morn by chance?”
“Yes, now that I think of it. Rob Tyler…the man who’s just been punished,” he said dryly, “had a dozen or so and gave one to me. He said my cook had baked them special. They were quite good, actually, the best I’ve ever tasted. Cinnamon and--”
“Treacle,” she finished for him matter-of-factly. “Aye, that’s the ones. Then ye’ve tasted my cookin’, Garrett. Yer soldier helped himself to my kitchen before ye rode out. Stole every last one of them, he did. Shall we agree one of the lashes was for the scones?”
Garrett wanted to throw back his head and laugh, but instead he shook his head solemnly. “Yes, I think that’s fair. And I’d love to try a few more.”
The old servant smiled faintly and moved to the hearth. “Meg, will ye pour the captain a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you, Glenis,” Garrett said with regret. “I’ll have to eat my breakfast in the saddle. Perhaps another morning.”
She wrapped two fat scones in a white linen napkin. “Will ye be goin’ far? I could pack ye a few extra.”
