She was certain of one thing. When they came upon Garrett and his soldiers, she would fire her pistols harmlessly into the air. It would not be her bullets that found him, even if fate decreed he fall wounded, or die.
Chapter 20
Garrett glanced up at the moon, a white, luminescent disc hanging like a shining medallion in the night sky. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the rain had stopped over an hour ago, the thick clouds giving way to long swaths of misty vapor that did little to obscure the moon’s brightness.
He and his men now had a better view of their surroundings, even though a swirling fog shrouded the ground. It lent an eerie quality to the night, sharpening their already finely honed nerves and heightening their senses.
They had been waiting by this slight turn in the road for several hours, a site Garrett had carefully chosen because of the wide stream just behind them. The rushing water would mask their movements, a crucial consideration if they were to maintain their element of surprise.
He was especially grateful for it now. The dozen soldiers still mounted were shifting constantly in their saddles to ease cramped muscles while their horses snorted beneath them and pawed the damp earth. The other twelve men were leaning on trees or pacing, their mounts tethered nearby. The long wait was growing more interminable with each passing moment, and there was still no sign of Black Jack.
Garrett drew out his gold pocket watch and pushed the tiny spring releasing the ornate lid. Eleven o’clock. He slipped the watch back into his pocket, his expression tightening. God only knew how much longer they would have to remain hidden behind these fir trees—
A sudden movement farther up the road caught his attention, the hair prickling on the back of his neck. He motioned to Sergeant Fletcher.
“Aim your weapons, men, and hold fast!” the sergeant hissed. “Don’t dare move a whisker until I tell you!”
The soldiers obeyed instantly. Those standing shouldered their muskets and took cover behind the trees. The mounted soldiers sat rigidly in their saddles, one hand gripping the reins while the other held a cocked pistol. They waited tensely for the sergeant’s signal.
Garrett stared intently between the branches, scarcely breathing as a dark shape moved closer and closer. He could make out a horse, its head bobbing as it plodded along, and what appeared to be some sort of small wagon with a lone, huddled figure upon the seat.
Not even a wagon at that, he amended, but a cart. It was hardly the mode of transportation he would have expected from Black Jack, but perhaps several of his men were hiding beneath that blanket, and the others were following on horseback.
“Easy,” Garrett whispered, the cart almost in front of him. “Easy. Now, Fletcher!”
“Halt where you are!” Sergeant Fletcher roared, his pistol firing into the sky. The deafening report echoed above them as Garrett and his mounted soldiers swooped onto the road and surrounded the wagon. A woman’s piercing scream ripped through the air.
“Please dinna shoot, Captain Marshall…Dear God, dinna shoot me!” a quavering voice wailed. “‘Tis me, Glenis! Glenis Simpson!”
“What the devil?” Garrett cried, wheeling his bay around sharply. He rode up alongside the wagon and yanked the hood off the cowering figure. His eyes widened. “Down with your weapons, men!” he commanded, holstering his pistol and jumping to the ground. He lifted the sobbing woman from the seat and cradled her in his arms. “Glenis, what are you doing here?” he said in stunned disbelief.
“Och, it’s taken me so long to find ye, Garrett,” she choked through her tears, shuddering against his chest. She pointed accusingly at the cart. “That blasted animal wouldna go faster than a slug.” Suddenly she clutched his coat, her wet eyes wide with terror. “‘Tis not midnight yet?”
“No, Glenis, not even quarter past eleven,” Garrett soothed her, though he had no idea why she would ask him such a question.
“There’s still time, then,” she replied, her sobs quieting. “Still time…” Her voice cracked and faded as she drew a labored breath.
Garrett knelt on one knee and set her upon the ground, supporting her in the crook of his arm. “Still time for what, Glenis?” he asked impatiently. “Tell me why you’ve come this far—”
“‘Tis Madeleine, Garrett!” Glenis blurted. “Ye must help her. Ye must!”
“What has happened?” he demanded, an icy chill running down his spine. “Has she been hurt?”
“No, not hurt. Ye must listen to me, Garrett,” Glenis pleaded, twisting to face him. Her dark eyes glistened in the moonlight, burning with a strange fire. “Ye care for my Maddie, dinna ye? I know ye took her to yer bed last night.”
Garrett flushed warmly beneath her intense scrutiny. He heard an embarrassed cough and glanced up to find his men had dismounted and were gathered in a loose circle around him, listening intently. “Go on with you!” he shouted angrily. “Fletcher, get the men back to their positions. Now!”
“Yes, sir!” Sergeant Fletcher snapped briskly. “You heard the captain. Back on your horses. Move!”
Garrett waited until they had swiftly dispersed, then he met Glenis’s searching gaze.
“This is madness, Glenis,” he said with exasperation. “Surely Madeleine told you what was afoot this evening—”
“Aye, she did,” Glenis retorted heatedly, “and I’ll not say anything further ‘til ye answer me.”
Garrett sighed in frustration. “Of course I care for her, Glenis,” he stated in a rush. “I love her.” He snapped his mouth shut, realizing what he had just said. He had never voiced those words aloud to anyone before, and he felt naked, as if he had revealed a part of his soul.
Glenis’s eyes seemed to drill into him all the more. “So ye love her, then,” she said under her breath. “‘Tis more than I could have hoped.”
