Garrett wasn’t fooled by her seemingly innocent question, a clever way of asking after his plans. It didn’t bother him. His Scots grandmother had told him the Highlanders were a curious people by nature.
In fact, Glenis reminded him of his grandmother. Maybe that’s why he felt such a fondness for this spry old woman, as if he had known her far longer than a few days.
“No, Glenis, not far,” he replied. “Though I can’t say when we’ll be back.” He smiled as he took the linen packet from her outstretched hand. “Could I ask a favor of you?”
Her expression became guarded, but her eyes remained kind. “Aye.”
“Would you ask Madeleine—Mistress Fraser—if she might care to go for a ride with me tomorrow? I’d ask her myself, but as I said, I don’t know when I’ll be back today, and it might be late. There are some places I’d like to ask her about. She knows the valley so well, its lore and history. Perhaps she might consider…” He stopped, feeling awkward again, almost like a schoolboy.
“Aye, I’ll ask her for ye,” Glenis said simply.
If she sensed his discomfort, she gave no notice of it. Meg was studying him strangely, though, and he decided it was time to take his leave.
“Thank you for the scones, Glenis,” he said. He left through the kitchen door and walked to the front of the manor house, where his men were waiting for him. He mounted his bay gelding and glanced over at Rob Tyler.
The soldier was glaring at him, with his back hunched over and his coat thrown carefully over his shoulders. He lowered his head at Garrett’s grim expression.
“Ride,” Garrett ordered tersely. He and his men set out, leaving only a few soldiers behind to guard their supplies. Their horses’ hooves kicked up a thick cloud of dust as they galloped down the drive and onto the road to Farraline.
***
Madeleine watched from the kitchen window until they had disappeared. She straightened and looked directly at Glenis.
“Since when have ye taken such a liking to the captain?” she asked. She had heard their exchange from the dining room where she had hidden, waiting for Garrett to leave. She had heard everything from the moment the front door had slammed against the wall, rudely waking her from her sleep. The entire scene between Garrett and his soldier had been played out as she stood at the top of the stairs, still wearing her nightdress.
“‘Tis not a liking, hinny,” Glenis objected quietly. “A kindness, that was all. The captain stood up for Meg here. I’m grateful to him, and so ye should be.”
“Aye, if he hadn’t come along, Maddie,” Meg agreed, her voice quivering, “I dinna like to think what might have happened to me.” She shuddered visibly.
Madeleine fell silent and looked out the window. Aye, ‘twas true, she thought. He had had one of his own men beaten for accosting Meg.
She had witnessed the punishment from her room, counting each stroke, wishing she were the one wielding the biting lash. She hadn’t even blinked when the soldier was cut down from the post, his back striped and bleeding.
“Maddie, did ye hear what Garrett asked of me?” Glenis asked softly.
She did not turn from the window. “Aye.”
Her reply did little to satisfy Glenis. “Well, will ye ride with him tomorrow or not? He seems to be a fair man, but I dinna like the thought of ye out alone with him. “
Madeleine did not answer but only shrugged, a faraway expression in her eyes.
Garrett Marshall was a most unusual man, for a redcoat. She didn’t understand him in the least. Nor did she trust him.
Perhaps she should go riding with this Englishman and learn more about him, she decided. He was searching for her, wasn’t he? Her gut instincts had told her as much.
If she knew more about him, perhaps she could use such knowledge to her advantage. He might think it strange that she would so readily accept, but he had apologized after all.
“Maddie?”
She smiled thoughtfully at her servant. “We’ll see, Glenis. We’ll see.”
Chapter 10
It had been dark for several hours when Madeleine crept silently across her chamber to peer at the mantel clock. The porcelain face was just visible by the faint light of the moon shining through her windows.
It was quarter to eleven. Time to set out through the secret tunnel if she was to meet her kinsmen at the yew tree near the village of Errogie by midnight.
Dressed in her gray cotton gown and already wearing her sturdy black boots, she wrapped a tartan shawl around her head and shoulders, clutching it with one hand. Under her arm she carried the black clothes she wore during her raids in a tight roll. When she was sure she was ready, she tiptoed to the door and lifted the latch.
