Madeleine bit her lip, stunned by her comparison. Dougald had never elicited such thoughts from her, nor had he ever looked at her quite the way Garrett did, making her flesh tingle and her heart hammer, fanning the heat building within her.
No! Dinna forget Garrett is yer enemy! she chided herself fiercely. Ye canna compare him to yer da or to Dougald. ‘Tisn’t right!
Oddly enough, her self-reproach rang hollow within her. Things didn’t seem so clear anymore, at least not when she was around Garrett. He seemed to have the uncanny ability to soften her hatred. He was becoming less of a redcoat in her eyes and more of a man, a most intriguing man.
With great effort she forced the whole confusing matter from her mind. “Ye were right about my mother,” she began anew. “She was said to be the prettiest lass in Strathherrick—lively, sharp-witted, and a bit stubborn when ‘twas needed.”
“She sounds just like you, Madeleine,” Garrett said softly.
His compliment caused her to shift uncomfortably in the saddle. “Do ye see that faraway bluff on the northern shore?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject. She flushed under his amused scrutiny and was more than relieved when he looked to where she was pointing. “‘Tis the ruins of Castle Urquhart. ‘Twas a fine castle once, belonging to the Grants. There’s little left now but crumbling walls and a dungeon.”
“A dungeon? I suppose it’s haunted by ghosts, as many of Scotland’s castles are rumored to be.”
“No, I havna heard any stories of ghosts at Castle Urquhart,” Madeleine replied. “But there are two vaults in the dungeon, left unopened for hundreds of years. One’s rumored to have treasure in it, and the other the plague.”
“That’s a choice I would not wish to make,” Garrett said with a deep, rumbling laugh. He glanced back at her, his expression growing serious. “I’ve enjoyed these stories, Madeleine, but I think we should move on to Foyer’s Falls. Perhaps we can find a nice spot overlooking the waterfall where we can rest and talk further. Jeremy was good enough to pack a lunch for us.”
Madeleine nodded. She suddenly felt foolish and a little hurt. Here she was carrying on about water beasts, ghosts, and castle ruins, when all along Garrett had nothing on his mind but Black Jack.
“I dinna mean to bore ye, Garrett,” she said defensively. “Nor waste yer precious time.” She jerked on the reins and kicked her mare, urging the animal into a fast trot.
Garrett was caught unaware by her swift action. She left him behind, but he quickly overtook her, his bay’s powerful strides far surpassing those of her mare. Again the silence lay oppressively between them, both keeping to their own thoughts as they rode side by side along Wade’s Road.
Madeleine ignored the groups of English soldiers they passed, her eyes fixed straight ahead as she and Garrett dodged in and out of the bustling highway traffic.
She was grateful that the paved, steeply graded road was heavily traveled during the day. The crowded highway prevented many of the supply trains from traveling between Inverness and Fort William in the daytime. If supplies were to get through at all, the redcoats had little choice but to use the road at night, despite the threat of raids. There was no other route across the mountainous Highlands.
Madeleine was pleased to see the vast number of rickety carts and lumbering wagons vying for space with pedestrians carrying bundles and baskets. A sleek black carriage drawn by four elegantly matched horses clattered by, the liveried driver paying little heed to the common folk scurrying out of harm’s way. Madeleine caught a glimpse of the carriage’s rich, well-dressed occupants, and her mood darkened considerably.
Probably some of fat King Geordie’s loyal Scotsmen—the vile traitors, she thought bitterly. She vehemently hoped the carriage would lose a wheel while crossing the humpbacked bridge up ahead and tumble straight into the loch.
It didn’t. The carriage proceeded safely, much to her disappointment. It followed Wade’s Road to the left while she and Garrett reined their horses into a walk along a narrow dirt road. Foyer’s Falls were straight ahead, only a short distance away.
Madeleine’s resentment was tempered by a rush of excitement, and she forgot the carriage. She could hear the majestic roar of the falls growing louder and louder. She inhaled the damp air, laden with moisture; it was becoming cooler as they neared the steep, rocky gorge. Then suddenly they were upon it, one of the most magnificent sights imaginable. It took her breath away.
One spectacular waterfall thundered into another and another, forming tiers of foaming white water. Mist soared high into the air, a rainbow arcing within the infinite sparkling droplets. The falls merged and melded, the water cascading into the turbulent River Foyers at the bottom of the gorge.
Madeleine stroked the mare’s smooth neck, attempting to calm her. The horse was snorting and stamping her hooves on the ground, clearly terrified by the deafening roar. Madeleine turned to Garrett, who was intently watching the falls. She had to shout to be heard.
“Would ye mind if we rode down closer to the river? Otherwise I might find myself taking a dive into the falls!”
He nodded, noting the tight grip she had on the reins, and quickly took the lead. As they moved away from the precipitous gorge overlooking Loch Ness, the mare quieted considerably. Several hundred feet farther and the falls were a dull thunder in the distance, though still visible. Garrett halted his bay and twisted in the saddle to face her.
“We could stop here if you’d like,” he offered, indicating a gentle hill that sloped gradually into the River Foyers. A thick beech wood ran the length of the green hillside, promising welcome shade.
“Aye, ‘tis a fine spot,” she agreed tersely and dismounted. She saw Garrett grimace as he eased himself from the saddle, and she guessed he was still suffering from his illness. A pang of guilt tweaked her conscience, but she shrugged it off. He was feeling better, wasn’t he? He was certainly well enough to renew his single-minded search for Black Jack!
Almost angrily she strode down the hill and tethered her mare to a tree. She plopped on the grass, watching as Garrett did the same. She made no effort to help him as he spread out a woolen blanket beside her.
He knelt and dumped out the contents of his saddlebag: a loaf of thick-crusted bread, a small wheel of cheese, and some rosy apples. It was simple fare, but Madeleine’s mouth watered. She’d had no breakfast, and the long ride had fueled her appetite.
She immediately tore off a chunk of bread, ignoring his chuckle at her haste. She split the cheese in thirds, offering him two pieces and keeping one wedge for herself. She took a bite, savoring the aged cheddar flavor. It was an English cheese, but she had to admit it was quite good.
“Here. You must be thirsty,” Garrett said as he poured a cup of red wine from a wineskin and handed it to her.
“Thank ye,” she said. She took a long draft, her eyes widening in surprise.
The smooth wine was hardly what she had expected. It was a French vintage which she had no trouble stomaching; the French hated the English almost as much as the Highlanders. Yet how had Garrett come by such a wine? French imports were prohibited in England, since the two countries were forever at war, or taxed so highly they were well out of reach to all but the rich.
