She shook her head, mesmerized by the sight of his hands slipping beneath the hem of her gown. She felt a sharp intake of breath as his fingers barely grazed her thigh. He deftly slid the thin white stocking down her leg.
“Here?” he inquired, tenderly touching her knee. His smooth fingertips pushed and explored, around and around, tickling her, though she tried hard not to show it. She feigned a wince of pain.
“Oooh, ‘tis there,” she said, pursing her lips. She lifted her head to find him studying her, his attention no longer on her knee. His penetrating gaze seemed to devour her, though his expression was inscrutable.
She shivered, unable to tear her eyes away. He was looking at her just as he had the other night!
The taunting memory of his lips at her breast leaped into her mind. She flushed hotly and forced it away, shifting on the bed. Her movement broke the spell, for Garrett looked down, caressing her left knee with his thumbs.
“There’s no swelling,” he said quietly. “I think it is only bruised.” He began to pull up her stocking.
“I can manage, thank ye,” Madeleine said, embarrassed. As he rose to his feet, she drew the stocking over her knee and quickly shook out her skirt.
“From the sound of your fall, I’m surprised it was no worse,” he said.
“Aye, ‘tis a lucky thing,” she agreed. She stood up slowly, testing her weight on her “injured” knee. “‘Tisn’t hurting so badly now. Thank ye for yer trouble, Garrett.” She affected a slight limp as she padded toward the door in her stockinged feet.
“I’ll see you to your room, Madeleine,” he offered, taking the pewter candlestick from the bedside table.
Madeleine stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. “No, that winna be necessary,” she objected lightly. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I can see my way well enough.”
“I insist,” Garrett said, his features set with determination. He was at her side in two strides and wound his arm through hers. “I’ll not have you injuring yourself further by tripping about in the dark.”
Madeleine’s mind raced frantically. If Garrett accompanied her to her room only to discover the door bolted, he would surely demand to know why. She could not risk Lord Lovat being found out. What could she possibly say to dissuade him? She walked slowly, stalling for time.
“I thought you’d gone to bed an hour ago, Madeleine,” Garrett said, matching her pace. “I was surprised to see you were still up.”
His soft-spoken statement jolted her, reminding her of why she had left her room in the first place. It gave her a chilling idea.
Perhaps if she talked to him now about Black Jack, it would divert his attention, she thought wildly. There was no longer any reason to wait until morning.
Once Garrett knew she was going to help him find his brigand tomorrow evening, she hoped he would forget all about escorting her and rush out to inform Sergeant Fletcher. When he returned, she would be gone to bed, or so he would think. Aye, that’s what she would do. She had no other choice.
A flicker of fear coursed through her body, and she found she was trembling. She had the oddest sensation she was about to leap from the edge of a precipice into a pitch-black chasm. Once she offered her help, there would be no turning back, no second thoughts, and no hope of rescue.
Courage, lass, she bolstered herself. ‘Tis for the well being of yer people. Yers is only one life to their many. ‘Tis as good a time as any to seal yer fate.
Madeleine turned to face him, hoping he would not sense the depth of her fear. “I did go to bed, but I couldna sleep. I’ve been thinking about what ye said about Black Jack, and about General Hawley. I was coming to find ye, Garrett. I thought we might talk.”
Garrett was so stunned he wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. After she heatedly refused his last plea, he had resigned himself to the conclusion that she would never help him. Now here she was, in his room, saying she wanted to talk about Black Jack!
Don’t get your hopes up, man, he thought, forcing himself to remain calm. Hear her out first. She might yet disappoint you.
He felt her tremble and sensed she was nervous. “Sit down, Madeleine,” he said gently, leading her to an armchair. He set the candlestick on the small, three-legged table behind her. “Would you like a glass of wine before we talk?”
“Aye.”
He filled two goblets from the cask set atop the desk, then returned quickly to her side. He offered her one, noting how her hand was shaking as she lifted the goblet to her mouth and drank deeply. He took a sip, barely tasting the wine. His eyes never left her face.
Her large blue eyes were luminous in the candlelight and tinged with a hint of resignation that he had never seen there before. She looked so vulnerable, so unlike the defiant young woman he knew. He pulled up another armchair and sat down beside her.
“What about Black Jack, Madeleine?” he asked, hoping he was not rushing her. She took another long draft of wine before she answered, then held the goblet in her lap.
“I’ve decided to help ye find him,” she said evenly, staring into his eyes. “I believe ye’ve told me the truth about Hawley. Tomorrow night, I’ll deliver Black Jack into yer hands, and then ye and yer kind can leave Strathherrick in peace.”
Garrett sharply drew in his breath. So his instincts had been right after all! Madeleine not only knew of Black Jack, she was going to lead him to the brigand. This was more than he had ever hoped.
“But why have you waited until now to tell me this?” he asked with a twinge of irritation, thinking of the raids he could have prevented. “You’ve told me twice you knew nothing.”
