“Do you like it?” Garrett asked, noting her stunned reaction.
She lowered her cup, licking her lips self-consciously. “Aye, ‘tis very good. I’ve always liked French wines.”
“Ah, so you’re familiar with foreign vintages.”
His casual comment pricked her temper. “We’re not savages here as ye might have supposed, Garrett, though yer kind treat us as such,” she spouted hotly. “My da taught me a great deal about fine wines, and dancing, and proper table manners. He saw to it I was well educated, just as my mother had been. Ye might be interested to know I can read and write as well as any of yer aristocratic lady friends!”
“Better, I’d warrant,” he said under his breath, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When she looked at him quizzically, he sobered. “I did not mean what I said as an insult, Madeleine. Forgive me if it seemed so. And it has not escaped my attention that you possess many exquisite qualities.” His voice became husky, his eyes blazing into hers with a strange but compelling fire. “A man would easily become the envy of any court with a woman such as you by his side.”
Madeleine stared at him, surprised by his candor, her heart thumping wildly. She thought to take a sip of wine, but her hands were trembling so badly she dared not attempt it. She did not want him to see how much his words had affected her.
“Did yer brother, Gordon, give ye the wine as a parting gift?” she asked with feigned flippancy, desperately hoping to veer their conversation from its unsettling course.
“It’s my own private stock,” he replied tightly, a scowl appearing on his handsome face. “I brought a cask with me from England. My life as a soldier would truly be desolate without such small pleasures, and fortunately I’ve the means to provide myself with some comforts, Gordon be damned.”
Madeleine sensed his anger and said no more. Obviously there was a deep rift between the two brothers, a rift she did not wish to explore. It was also clear Garrett had some wealth of his own to afford such wine, making him one of the luckier younger sons of the nobility. She hastily decided it was none of her business to pry any further into his personal affairs.
She looked on silently as Garrett lifted his cup and drank deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gazed out over the rumbling river for a very long moment, as if composing his thoughts, then back at her. His eyes caught and held hers.
“Tell me, Madeleine. Do you recall our discussion the day my soldiers and I commandeered Mhor Manor? About troublemakers and brigands?”
Madeleine fought the swell of apprehension rising in her heart. “Aye,” she said, gripping the cup tightly. “I asked ye if there were brigands in Strathherrick.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Ye wouldna answer.”
Garrett sighed, his gaze never leaving her face. His expression was hard and grim. It frightened her.
“You must listen carefully to me, Madeleine. I must ask you to trust me, as I’m about to trust you.”
Madeleine stared at him, incredulous. “I trust no Englishmen,” she declared emphatically, setting down her half-empty cup. “Ye’re mad to even think—”
“In this case you must,” he said, cutting her off impatiently. “Please hear me out, Madeleine. That’s all I ask.”
She said nothing, eyeing him sullenly. He interpreted her silence as an assent and rushed on.
“I was sent to Strathherrick to search for a brigand. We call him Black Jack.”
She flinched inwardly. “Black Jack? ‘Tis a clever name.”
“Yes. A clever name for a very dangerous man. He’s been raiding English supply trains for about three months now, from Inverness Firth to Loch Lochy. Several English soldiers have been shot either by him or by his men. One almost died.”
There, he’d said it, she thought with relief. A very dangerous man. He had no idea his notorious Black Jack was sitting right across from him. She wondered fleetingly if he referred to the man she had shot.
“I must find Black Jack within three weeks, Madeleine. I thought you might be able to help me. Do you know anything at all about this brigand? Anything.”
She could not believe her ears. Did he truly think she would help him? He must, or he wouldn’t be looking at her so expectantly. How utterly absurd. Little did he know that if she helped him, she’d be settling a hangman’s noose about her own neck! She shuddered at the dreadful thought, her anger piqued once again by his presumption.
“I know nothing of yer brigand, Garrett, and ye’re a fool if ye think I’d ever help ye, even if I did.”
Suddenly his hands gripped her arms cruelly, and he pulled her against him, his face within inches of her own. She tried to wrench free, but he held her fast. His breath was warm on her skin and fragrant with wine; his eyes had darkened to the color of slate. “Would you say the same thing, Mistress Madeleine Fraser,” he asked, his voice low and intense, “if you knew that within three weeks the Highlanders of Strathherrick would suffer more deeply than ever before?”
Madeleine gasped, her throat tightening painfully. “What do ye mean?” she whispered hoarsely.
“I believe I mentioned my chief commander’s name to you, General Henry Hawley, the Duke of Cumberland’s half brother. The general has a remarkable talent for brutality. I have no doubt you’ve heard of some of his recent exploits.”
She bobbed her head. “Aye.”
“If I cannot find Black Jack within three weeks, General Hawley has sworn to descend on your valley like the angel of death himself. He’ll start by burning every house in Strathherrick, even your own. Only then will he ask questions about Black Jack, and believe me, Hawley won’t rest until he has that brigand in chains. His methods are not pretty, Madeleine, but if you want, I can describe them for you—”
“No!” she cried, her fingers desperately prying at his hands. “Ye’re hurting me!”
