She glanced at Ewen, a man she’d known and trusted all her life, her father’s friend. And Duncan, so young, only seventeen. She thought of Kenneth and Allan Fraser, living in a rude cave for months, yet riding by her side whenever she needed them.
Such brave men they were, and so dear to her heart. They had risked everything to take up her cause. She could not deny them their final stand together. Maybe ‘twas best this way after all.
“Very well,” she agreed quietly. “We’ll fight.”
Angus squeezed her shoulder approvingly. “Ye said ye already told Captain Marshall where he might find Black Jack?”
Madeleine nodded. “I told him this morning that Black Jack ventured out only at night from his secret hideout on Beinn Dubhcharaidh,” she recounted. “I mentioned a certain mountain path he usually traveled which skirts Loch Conagleann, and I urged Captain Marshall to ambush the brigand there, rather than wait until he met his men for a raid.”
“A clever plan, lass,” Ewen broke in with a low chuckle, “if ‘twas how ye meant to have Black Jack captured alone.”
“Aye,” she said, smiling thinly. “I told Captain Marshall if Black Jack sensed he was being followed, he would melt into the night and they would never find him. Better to nab him quickly than let him get away.”
“That plan winna work for us now, Maddie,” Angus said. “What will ye say to him since we’re riding with ye?”
Madeleine’s expression grew pensive, then she shrugged. “I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind, that’s all. I’ll say I’ve thought about it and decided ‘tis better if he captures every last one of the brigands, just in case General Hawley winna be satisfied with only Black Jack. ‘Tis more than plausible.”
“So where will we meet?” Duncan asked eagerly, leaning forward in his chair.
“At the yew tree at midnight,” she replied, “then we’ll set out for Wade’s Road. I’ll explain to Captain Marshall the route Black Jack and his men would most likely take if they were planning a raid for tonight. He and his soldiers will no doubt hide somewhere along the way.” She fell silent, then continued softly. “‘Twill be as much a surprise for them as for us when we finally come upon each other in the dark.”
“‘Tis a sound plan, Maddie,” Angus said simply. “So be it.”
He walked over to the cupboard and grabbed the whiskey decanter and four glasses, setting them on the table. He filled the glasses and passed them around, then raised his own high above his head.
“A toast,” he stated reverently. “To our chief, Lord Lovat, God keep him safe to France. To our raid tonight, God grant us strength and courage to face our enemy. And to Mistress Madeleine Fraser, the bravest lass ever to walk the heather!”
Exuberant ayes echoed about the cottage as they drank the fiery liquor. One by one the empty glasses slammed onto the table.
What a stubborn hardheaded lot, Madeleine thought warmly, accepting their tribute with a tremulous smile. She should have known that once her kinsmen cast their lot for her cause they would never desert her.
Tears smarted her eyes as she whisked on her shawl and bid hasty goodbyes. She practically fled from the cottage. She knew she would break down completely if she heard another such toast, and she had decided long ago never to let her kinsmen see her cry.
She set out at a brisk pace along the road to Mhor Manor, wiping away the tears with her palms. She inhaled deeply and filled her lungs with heather-scented air.
It had grown cooler since she had walked to Farraline earlier that afternoon. The whistling wind caught at her hair, flipping it behind her shoulders, and dragged at her skirt. The fresh air steadied her racing emotions, and she looked around, reveling in the wild Highland beauty.
The sun was hidden behind a bank of ponderous gray-white clouds, and its rays bathed their ragged borders in gold fire. Occasionally a bright shaft of light illuminated the barren mountain slopes, then just as quickly faded, plunging the world into muted color and shadow.
Madeleine threw out her arms and twirled along the road, her face turned up to the darkening sky. She loved it when a thunderstorm was brewing. As a child she would rush outside into the rain to dance about and stomp in the mud puddles. Poor Glenis would run out with a blanket, sputtering and scolding, and try to catch her until she was soaked to the skin as well.
Madeleine’s arms dropped suddenly to her sides, and she stopped, overcome by dizziness.
Glenis. She had talked to everyone today but Glenis. She had been in such a rush to get to Farraline and see her kinsmen that her faithful servant still did not know what was to happen that night. And now the plans had changed, becoming even more deadly.
She quickened her pace, oblivious to the rugged scenery she had delighted in only moments ago. Her mind sped with everything she had yet to say and do.
Glenis would have to leave Mhor Manor as soon as Garrett and his soldiers rode out in their pursuit of Black Jack, she decided grimly.
She would give Glenis what little gold coin she had to help provide for her future needs, and a sturdy horse and cart for traveling. Glenis could stay the night at Meg Blair’s, then set out in the early morning for her widowed sister’s cottage in Tullich. Glenis would be safe there, far away from the horrors of whatever was happening at Mhor Manor.
Madeleine turned into the drive, spying Garrett almost immediately where he stood conversing with his guards. He looked over and began to walk toward her.
Her heart thudded painfully at the sight of him. She met his eyes for an instant and then forced herself to turn away. She headed quickly for the kitchen door, but he followed right behind her.
“Madeleine,” he called out, his long strides no match for her own. He caught her arm gently, and she stopped. “I’ve been wondering when you’d get back,” he said.
His gaze raked over her and settled on her windburned cheeks and tangled hair. He swept a stray lock behind her ear, his fingers grazing her earlobe. She shivered, marveling that his simple touch could arouse her so.
