Aye, she really was tired, she thought wearily. That much was true. She’d spent much of the afternoon planning tonight’s raid with her kinsmen. It would be their last one together, though they didn’t know it yet. Now she needed nothing more than a long nap. Midnight would come soon enough, and she had to be well rested and alert—
She started when Garrett suddenly grabbed her arm.
“No, Madeleine,” he said firmly, turning her about to face him. “This can’t wait until tomorrow.”
His gaze was so insistent she knew she would not escape him. “Very well,” she relented, her heart racing. Was he going to ask her about the other night? she wondered anxiously. Surely he wasn’t going to drill her about—
“Two weeks ago you claimed you knew nothing about Black Jack,” he began, confirming her suspicion. His grip tightened around her arm. “I’ve just received word that there have been seven raids since that day. I’ll ask you once more, Madeleine. Do you know anything at all about this brigand?”
Anger erupted within her at his rough treatment, mixed with a sense of desperation. She couldn’t tell him yet! She had one last raid to complete, then there would be more than enough food in the cave to last the winter. She would tell him in the morning, but not now. She had planned everything so carefully. By tomorrow night, Garrett would have his Black Jack.
“Ye’re hurting me!” she exclaimed hotly. She tried to wrench free, but he held her fast. “I told ye! I know nothing of yer brigand. Now let me go!”
Garrett sighed heavily as he reluctantly released her. She did not wait to see if he had anything further to say but dashed up the stairs, feeling his eyes bore into her back. Once she was in her room, she bolted the door against him. She knew he was still thinking of her, wondering why she would not help him. If he only knew how afraid she truly was.
Ye’ve put him off, lass, ‘tis all that matters, Madeleine assured herself shakily, setting down her basket and throwing off her shawl. She kicked off her brogues and lay down on the bed, hugging her arms to her chest.
How she wished at that moment that she was a little girl again, with no more worries than how she would elude Glenis’s stern and watchful eye, or which of her favorite ponies she should ride across the moor. Life had been so simple and carefree then.
“Ye canna escape yer troubles by wishing them away,” she whispered fiercely. “Ye’re a grown woman now, Maddie Fraser, and ye must face what life has brought to ye.”
She closed her eyes, willing her body to relax even while her thoughts continued to tumble and whirl.
She was astounded by how smoothly the raids had gone so far, despite Garrett’s placing extra patrols in Farraline and on some of the roads surrounding the village. The supply trains had also been more heavily guarded, but the element of surprise had not failed her and her kinsman yet.
With Glenis’s help she had even feigned a slight illness when she and her kinsmen had journeyed overnight to Glen Tarff to steal another herd of cattle. While she was gone, Glenis had virtually camped outside her door for two days, allowing no one in her room, not even Meg.
“‘Tis a woman’s ailment,” was all her faithful servant offered as explanation. It soon would pass, but until then, Madeleine needed complete rest and solitude. Thankfully, Garrett had been deceived.
Aye, that ruse had been risky, as had all her raids, but it was well worth it. The cave at Beinn Dubhcharaidh was nearly stocked from floor to ceiling with barrels, crates, and sacks containing every manner of foodstuff, from salted beef to turnips. If anything happened to her, she could be assured her people would have enough food to survive the winter.
If anything happened to her…
Madeleine shivered, suddenly ice-cold. She rose abruptly from her bed, her hand clutching her throat.
How could she possibly rest when she imagined the noose tightening around her neck with each passing moment? Dear God, where would she ever find the courage to face what was ahead?
She walked swiftly to the door despite the wooden feeling in her legs.
She would speak with Glenis. Glenis never lacked for words of wisdom and strength in trying times; it was her comfort that had seen Madeleine past her father’s death. It would be hard for them to discuss what lay ahead, but it was better than suffering alone. And it was time Glenis knew of her plans.
Madeleine hurried downstairs, grateful there was no sign of Garrett. She ignored the guard who had returned to his post and rushed into the kitchen.
She was disappointed to see that Glenis was not there. She checked her room, but it was empty. She was about to double back and search the rest of the house when she heard a soft knock on the kitchen door.
Her brow knit anxiously. It was dark out already. Who would be about at this supper hour? She thought of her kinsmen and hurried to the door.
She cracked it open, peering outside. She could barely make out an old woman’s stooped figure in the thin sliver of candlelight cast from the kitchen. A large fringed bonnet covered the woman’s bowed head, shadowing her features.
“Forgive me, lassie, for this intrusion,” the woman wheezed in a gruff voice. “Could ye spare a cup of hot tea and a slice of bread for a weary traveler?”
Madeleine hesitated only an instant. She drew open the door, studying her unexpected visitor in the flood of light. “Aye, of course,” she said graciously. “Come in.”
From what little Madeleine could see of the woman’s face, she had never seen her before, and she doubted her visitor was from the valley. If she was a fugitive, Maddie had never seen a more unlikely one. Yet she could not deny this woman her hospitality. It was an unwritten code among the Highlanders that strangers were always made welcome. Except for redcoats, she amended dryly.
“Thank ye,” the woman said, glancing furtively over her shoulder before entering the kitchen. As Madeleine closed the door behind her, she shuffled to the table and immediately sat down, heaving a loud groan of relief. The chair creaked ominously under the woman’s weight.
Madeleine stifled her reaction, but she could not help noticing her visitor was amazingly stout, her hunched shoulders broad and rounded beneath a threadbare shawl. The woman was wearing a gray fustian gown that seemed to lack a clear waistline, appearing almost sacklike in its loose proportion. From beneath the ragged hem peeked dusty black boots, the largest pair Madeleine had ever seen on anyone, let alone a woman.
