Ye’re the mistress of Farraline now, Maddie…. Tend to the needs of yer people…. They depend upon yer care and good judgment.
Madeleine let the curtain drop, her tears drying on her cheeks. A determined resolve flared brightly within her breast, and a bold plan took shape in her mind.
“Aye, something has to be done, Maddie Fraser, and ye’re the one to do it,” she vowed fiercely.
God help her, somehow she would see that the Frasers of Strathherrick would survive these awful times and live to prosper once again in the Highlands they loved so dearly!
Then come, thou fairest of the fair,
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share,
And by thy beauteous self I swear
No love but thine my heart shall know!
Robert Burns
Chapter 1
Fort Augustus, Inverness-shire
July 1746
Captain Garrett Marshall stirred on his narrow cot, awakened by slow, cautious footfalls across the planked floor. Instantly alert, he tensed. He reached for the knife beneath his thin mattress, then rolled over without making a sound.
A flickering light drew his attention to the entrance of the officers’ bunkhouse, and he eased himself up on one elbow, his keen gaze piercing the darkness. He immediately recognized the intruder and relaxed. It was one of General Hawley’s aides, a young corporal.
What could he want at this early hour? Garrett thought irritably, watching as the soldier quietly made his way down the long row of wooden cots, holding his sputtering candle high. The corporal stopped occasionally to lift the edge of a coarse blanket and peer into the face of a sleeping officer, then moved on. It was clear he was searching for someone.
Suddenly the soldier tripped over a pair of boots standing beside a cot, his whispered oath eliciting groans from several men. He froze, the candlelight bobbing as his hand shook, until the groans lapsed once again into loud snoring. Only then did he resume his search, moving gingerly down the narrow center aisle.
Garrett smiled grimly. Whatever the corporal’s purpose, he obviously did not want to wake anyone needlessly and receive a sharp cuff on the ear for his trouble. Yet his method was most unwise. Perhaps Garrett should teach this lad a lesson that might one day save his life.
He lay back down and pulled the blanket well over his shoulder, shadowing his face. He waited, listening, until the corporal was standing over him. In one sudden movement, Garrett threw off the blanket and jumped up from the cot, seizing the unsuspecting soldier by the throat.
“It’s dangerous to creep so among armed men, corporal,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Better to announce your presence, and wake us, than be mistaken for the enemy. We have been tricked before by a Highlander wearing the king’s colors.”
The soldier nodded vigorously, gulping at the deadly weight of a knife pressed against his belly. Sweat broke out on his brow as he stared up into vivid gray-green eyes. “Y-yes, sir, C-Captain Marshall!” he finally managed to stutter.
Satisfied, Garrett released him. He slipped the knife back beneath his mattress, then straightened and ran his hands through his dark blond hair. “What are you doing here?”
With a start the flustered soldier remembered his mission. “Wh-why, looking for you, sir,” he blurted out, though not too loudly. “General Hawley has requested your presence at his quarters immediately. Your commander, Colonel Wolfe, was summoned earlier and awaits you there.”
“Very well. Any idea what this is all about?” Garrett asked, pulling on his breeches and reaching for the white shirt which hung from a peg wedged into the stone wall. He glanced out the small window high above his cot and saw that it was still dark, perhaps an hour yet before dawn.
“No, sir, though a messenger and escort were admitted through the gates no more than a half hour past. An important dispatch, I’d guess, because he made straight for the general’s quarters.” The corporal shrugged. “I cannot say for sure if this dispatch concerns you, captain, or if it’s some other matter.”
Garrett quickly drew on his red waistcoat, fastened the buttons, and expertly tied his white cravat. He mulled over the corporal’s words as he pulled on his black boots, buckled his sword belt about his lean waist, and donned the long red coat that reached just to his knees.
Why would General Hawley have summoned him so early in the morning? If he had been a higher ranking officer, it would have made sense. But he commanded a company of one hundred foot soldiers, nothing more, nothing less. It was hardly worth singling him out—
Garrett’s jaw tensed, and his eyes narrowed. Perhaps he was being summoned to discuss some disciplinary action against one of his men. Dammit all, that was the last thing he needed for morale!
General Henry Hawley, a bastard son of George II and half brother to the Duke of Cumberland, had not earned the nickname Hangman due to his generosity and friendly rapport with his troops. He ruled his forces with an iron hand, hanging any man who disobeyed him or displayed the least bit of cowardice in battle. Fort Augustus had recently been given over to his command, after the duke had returned to London last week. If one of Garrett’s men had already earned the general’s displeasure, Garrett could do little to save him.
After tying his hair back with a ribbon, Garrett lifted his black tricorn hat from another peg and set it atop his head. He followed the corporal from the bunkhouse, although he took the lead when they approached the imposing fieldstone building in the center of the fort. A mist hung in the cool air, and Garrett inhaled deeply, bracing himself for whatever might lie ahead.
The sentinels standing guard allowed them entrance, and the corporal followed him through a heavy oak door, down a dark corridor, and into a well-lit room. Garrett halted and stood at stiff attention at the first sight of General Hawley. He was seated at one end of a long table with Colonel Thomas Wolfe at his left.
