Again she was showered by dirt and debris. She coughed ‘and wheezed, fumbling in the dark for the candle and tinderbox. She hurriedly lit the candle, her fear easing as golden light flooded her end of the tunnel. She dripped some wax on one of the rungs and twisted the candle into it.
Madeleine shook out the bundle of her gown and shawl and quickly changed out of her black garb.
At least she would be wearing proper clothes if she were caught in the drawing room. She could easily explain that she had been awakened by the cry in the woods and had dashed down the stairs to find out what had happened. If they found her near the closet, or even inside it, she could say she was looking for lamp oil. The closet was stocked with oil, candles, and many other household items.
She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, broke off the candle, and hurried through the tunnel. The shadowed passage didn’t bother her as much this time. Her mind was too preoccupied, and her thoughts were spinning.
She had never had such a close call before. That soldier, whoever he was, had almost caught her. She had only heard him running up behind her at the last moment, right before he grabbed her jacket. Thankfully he had stumbled over her and rolled away, instead of coming down on top of her. Otherwise she might never have escaped.
Madeleine fingered the sprig of yew tucked in the bodice of her gown. Once again it had granted her good fortune. She swore that from that moment on she would never go out on a raid without her clan badge.
She reached the other end of the tunnel and doused the light, threw her black clothes in a corner, then climbed the ladder and fumbled for the wooden handle. The trap door practically flew open on its hinges. She crawled out, heaving a great sigh of relief. From what she could hear inside the closet, the house was quiet.
Madeleine rose to her feet and shut the trap door firmly. Until next time, she thought, straightening her gown and smoothing the top of her hair. She pushed open the closet door and stepped into the drawing room, holding her breath. The soldier in the hallway was awake. She could hear him pacing. She was tiptoeing toward the side stairs when the front door suddenly crashed open and a soldier yelled, “It’s Captain Marshall. He’s been hurt!”
Madeleine gasped. Garrett—hurt? Dear God, he had been the one who had grabbed her in the fir grove!
There was instant commotion in the hallway; men’s voices, raised and shouting, a chair scraping out of the way, and then from the right wing of the house, the sounds of running feet and more shouts.
Madeleine flew up the stairs, heading straight for her room. She stared wide-eyed at her door, stunned that it was open. She thought back uneasily. She had left the door closed, hadn’t she? Yes, she had, she could swear it. Someone must have been in her room while she was gone.
She felt sick, her stomach lurching. She closed the door and bolted it from the inside. As she quickly lit the candle on the table by her bed, her gaze swept the room. Everything was the same as she had left it. She looked at her bed. The coverlet was still pulled over the two pillows she had heaped beneath the sheets, and it lay undisturbed.
A sudden breeze blew in the window, stirring the curtains. Maybe it had been the wind, she reasoned, watching the embroidered gauze billow and curl. The breeze could have been strong enough to force open the door if she hadn’t latched it properly.
Madeleine started as footsteps and anxious voices sounded down the hall, Sergeant Fletcher’s voice booming above the rest.
“Easy now, lads, that’s it. Let’s get him into the room and lay him down on the bed. Watch it, you fool! Good, now hold his shoulders fast while we get him through the door…” His voice trailed off as the men moved into her father’s room.
Exhausted and spent, Madeleine sank down on the edge of the bed, twisting her hands nervously.
It was so dark in those woods, it had been virtually impossible to make out the identity of the soldier who had attacked her. And even if she had known it was Garrett she doubted she would have done anything differently. Her survival had been at stake. Hers and the people she served. If she had been caught, everything would have been lost.
Yet even as she reasoned with herself, she felt a poignant pain, a tumble of mixed emotions that both confused and angered her.
How badly was he hurt? She hadn’t hit him that hard, or had she? What if he should die?
She felt another stab of pain. What was the matter with her? She didn’t care in the least if he lived or died. He meant nothing to her, absolutely nothing. He was a murdering and lying redcoat.
Yet she knew that was not the truth. Garrett Marshall was a redcoat on the surface, but he was altogether different from what she had imagined an Englishman to be like. He had shown himself to be a man of honor and integrity, not at all coarse or crude, a man of humor, a fair man…a man who could send her senses reeling with his slightest touch.
Madeleine put her trembling fingers to her temples. Her head felt as if it were about to explode. She almost screamed at the sudden loud banging on her door.
“Who’s there?” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm and steady.
“Sergeant Fletcher, Mistress Fraser. I must speak with you at once.”
“Just a moment.” Madeleine crossed to her wardrobe and whisked off her gown and boots, replacing it with her white bedgown and cambric robe. She quickly unbraided her hair and ran a brush through the tangles to remove bits of grass and twigs. Then she rushed to open the door.
“Forgive me, Mistress Fraser,” the sergeant began, his eyes moving over her appraisingly. He cleared his throat when he saw her sudden frown, and rushed on. “Captain Marshall has been injured in a mysterious accident. Would your housekeeper…uh…”
“Glenis.”
“Yes, Glenis. Would she have any medicine? We’re looking for our medical supplies, but they’ve been misplaced somewhere. It’s urgent, I’m afraid. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but he’s weak—”
“Of course, Sergeant Fletcher,” Madeleine said, frightened at this news. “If ye’ll follow me, we’ll fetch Glenis. She is well versed in treating many ills.”
Aye, Glenis would help Garrett, she thought, walking swiftly down the stairs with the sergeant close behind her. Unwittingly, she said a silent prayer for the injured man who lay in her father’s bed.
