“Don’t you realize a Highlander could sneak in without a moment’s warning and slit your sorry throat?” He traced the cold tip along the soldier’s neck from ear to ear to drive home his message. The man was so terrified he couldn’t speak. He only nodded, swallowing furiously.
“Get up,” Garrett said sternly, withdrawing his knife and sheathing it. The soldier jumped to his feet, swaying slightly. It was obvious his knees were shaking. “I’m going out for a walk. See that you’re awake when I get back.”
“Y-yes, sir. Yes, sir!”
Garrett opened the door and strode outside. The three soldiers patrolling the drive stopped and snapped to attention. He was glad to see at least they had not deserted their posts.
“Good evening, Captain Marshall…er…I mean good morning,” one of the soldiers offered.
Garrett acknowledged the greeting with a short nod. “I take it everything has been quiet tonight.”
“Yes, captain.”
“Good. Carry on.” He walked away from them, aware that they were wondering what he was doing up so early in the morning. He shrugged it off. It was good to keep them on their toes.
He hiked down the drive and onto the road to Farraline for a good distance, then doubled back the other way. He knew he’d made the right choice. The cool night air was working like a tonic on his senses, drawing everything into sharp focus and clearing his mind.
Garrett stopped and stared up at the black sky, sprinkled with thousands of winking stars. The moon hung like a pale white crescent just over the mountains.
His gaze fell on the great, hulking shadows soaring directly in front of him. Somewhere in those craggy hills and hollows dwelled the man he was seeking, he was sure of it.
“Where are you, Black Jack?” Garrett said softly, his words lost on the sighing breeze. “Dammit, where are you?”
He turned and began to walk in a wide arc around the manor house, his boots sinking into the spongy moor. The fir trees were thick here, tall, ancient trees that had withstood many a Highland winter. He rambled on, content to be outside amid such rugged beauty. He drew in great breaths of the bracing air, slapping his arms vigorously. Perhaps he should have worn his coat—
“What the devil?” he exclaimed suddenly, crouching on his haunches. Had he just imagined it…or was someone creeping across the moor?
Garrett held himself completely still with his senses alert and his body poised for action. He watched and listened.
Yes, there it was again! His keen eyes followed a lone figure who was stealing like a silent cat across a stretch of barren moor. Then the shadowy form disappeared into a copse of fir trees, the branches swallowing him up and covering his flight.
Garrett could not believe it.
A black-clad figure in the dark night. Could it possibly be…?
He didn’t dare to hope. There was no time for thought, only action. He sprinted toward the trees, his heart racing, his eyes searching for any sign of movement.
Garrett fell to the ground as the figure darted out again only thirty feet away from him. His fingers groped for his knife, and he pulled it out, clutching it in one hand. He jumped up and bolted after the fleeing form.
Garrett cursed under his breath as the figure dashed into another copse of trees just ahead of him, no more than ten feet away. He did not slow down. He was so close, and he had to catch the bastard!
His lungs were on fire and his thighs were pumping hard, but his footfalls made little sound. He headed straight for the trees, knocking the branches out of the way as he plunged into the wooded grove. The figure was only an arm’s length away now.
Garrett reached out and lunged, catching a handful of thick fabric. He yanked hard, and the figure fell in front of him, tripping him.
Garrett lurched forward, the momentum of his body toppling him over and over as he rolled on the ground. He hit the tree trunk so hard it knocked the breath from his body. He lay there on his stomach, stunned, his mouth full of dirt.
Then he felt a heavy branch striking him on the side of the head. He yelled out in pain, saw blinding streaks of light bursting in front of his eyes, then nothing…
***
Madeleine dropped the branch and stepped back, her chest heaving furiously. She massaged her aching shoulder, which she had bruised in her fall.
Damn, just when everything had gone so smoothly, this had to happen. The soldier’s cry still rang in her ears, still echoed about the fir grove. She had to get out of there fast, in case any guards had also heard his cry.
She didn’t bother to turn the soldier over to see if he was still breathing. There was no time, and she would discover soon enough if he lived or died.
She found the bundle of clothing she had dropped when she was tackled and ran swiftly toward the center of the grove where the tallest fir tree stood. She stooped under the low-lying branches, sifting her hands through the tall grasses for the loose square of sod. She found the concealed trap door and lifted it. Taking one last deep breath of fresh air, she clambered down the ladder, pulling the door down over her.
