“Glenis, you must tell me what this is all about,” Garrett demanded, glancing beyond the cart and back again. “Yes, I love Maddie. But what has that got to do with your being here, at this time of night, and especially since you’re aware of the danger?”
“Ye’re the one in danger, Garrett,” Glenis shot back, her dark eyes ablaze. “Ye and yer men. Black Jack knows ye’re waiting here! They’re going to fight ye, Garrett. Fight ye to the death, unless ye stop them in time.”
Garrett stared at her, his mind racing. Had Madeleine betrayed him to Black Jack? Had she deliberately set up some sort of trap? No, it couldn’t be, not after…
“Glenis, what the hell is going on?” he yelled, shocking himself at the loudness of his voice.
She struggled to her feet, her narrow chest heaving with exertion. “I’ll tell ye what’s goin’ on, Garrett Marshall. Black Jack knows ye’re here—because my Maddie is Black Jack!”
Garrett gaped at her, certain she had gone mad. He stood up suddenly, towering above her. “What did you say?” he asked harshly, as if daring her to repeat herself.
“Madeleine Fraser, the mistress of Farraline, is yer brigand, Garrett,” Glenis said steadily, undaunted by his thunderous look. “She’s yer Black Jack. She’s been raidin’ ye English since a month after her father was killed at Culloden—raidin’ to put food in her people’s bellies.”
Garrett shook his head in disbelief. “While my soldiers and I have been stationed at Mhor Manor? That’s not possible, Glenis.”
“Aye, ‘tis more than possible,” she objected. “There’s a tunnel beneath the house rennin’ some forty yards beyond its walls. Ye’ll find it in the drawing room closet. ‘Tis the perfect way to sneak in and out without anyone takin’ any notice at all.” She stepped toward him and lowered her voice. “‘Twas how ye got that nasty knot on yer head, Garrett. Ye surprised her coming home from a raid. Ye nearly caught her that night.”
Astounded, Garrett rubbed his forehead. “That was Madeleine?”
“Aye,” Glenis said, nodding. She fluttered her hand impatiently. “Och, Garrett, I could tell ye so much more, but there’s no time for it. Maddie’s kin have convinced her ‘tis best to fight ye, otherwise ye wouldna believe she was Black Jack if she surrendered to ye easily.” She drew a ragged breath and rushed on. “There’ll be a terrible spillin’ of blood, maybe Maddie’s, maybe yer own, unless ye stop it. I’d rather see my Maddie in prison than dead on the ground. If ye truly love her, Garrett, as ye say ye do, ye’ll capture her and her kin before a single shot is fired!”
Glenis’s impassioned words drove into Garrett’s mind with resounding force. Madeleine was Black Jack. It was so farfetched he was inclined to believe it. The woman he loved was a brigand, a thief!
Good God, she was the bloodthirsty bastard who had shot his sergeant. His sweet, tempestuous Madeleine!
He gripped Glenis’s spindly arms. “I believe you, Glenis,” he said grimly. “Tell me what I must do to avoid this fight.” He felt her knees buckle beneath her, and he quickly grabbed her by the waist.
“God love ye, Garrett. Thank ye,” she said gratefully, her eyes flooding with fresh tears, her rasping voice quivering with emotion. “Thank ye—”
“Glenis!” Garrett interrupted urgently. “You can thank me later if you wish. Tell me what I must do!”
“Aye, ye’re right.” Glenis hiccoughed. She drew herself up, standing steadily on her feet though she was visibly trembling. “There’s an ancient yew tree just north of Errogie on the left side of the road, but before ye round the north tip of Loch Mhor. Ye winna miss it, Garrett. ‘Tis the tallest tree ye’ll see, with a huge, twisted trunk. The leaves will appear dark to ye, like black velvet—”
“I’ve seen that tree before,” Garrett interjected. “I remember noting it because the yew sprig is the Fraser badge.”
“Aye, that’s the one,” Glenis confirmed. “Maddie will meet her kinsmen there at midnight, then they’ll set out for Inverfarigaig knowin’ ye’re waitin’ somewhere along the way. Ye must ride like the wind, Garrett, and surprise them at the yew tree. They winna expect ye there. I only hope ye’ve enough time to make it now.”
Garrett pulled out his watch, his breath escaping in a rush of relief. “We’ve more than a half hour, Glenis. Plenty of time to get there and hide, unless Maddie’s kinsmen are already there waiting for her.” He grimaced. He didn’t even want to consider that bleak possibility or its consequences.
His commanding voice roared above the sound of the rushing stream. “Mount up, men, and secure your weapons. Prepare to ride like you’ve never ridden before. You’ll never call yourselves foot soldiers again if we manage this stunt.”
He turned back to Glenis. “I’ll have two of my men escort you back to Mhor Manor.”
“No, Garrett, I’ll not be returnin’,” she said resignedly. “‘Tis a traitor I am now to Maddie and her kinsmen. I’ve betrayed her trust. She’ll not want the likes of me around her home.” She glanced at the cart. “I’ll be goin’ on to my sister’s in Tullich.”
Garrett wanted to argue with her, but there was no time. “My men will escort you safely to Tullich, then.” He bent and kissed her damp cheek. “You’re no traitor in my eyes, Glenis. I only hope one day I may thank you for what you’ve done.” He walked her to the cart and lifted her onto the seat.
“Take care of my Maddie,” Glenis said, clasping his hand tightly. “Dinna let anything happen to her.”
If God wills it, he thought grimly, and the English courts. What the next hour would bring was uncertain at best, the future a yawning black hollow he did not want to contemplate.
“I’ll do everything in my power to help her,” Garrett said with quiet intensity. “That I promise you, Glenis.” He squeezed her hand, then stepped away from the cart. “Sergeant Fletcher, I need two men to accompany Glenis Simpson to Tullich.”
“Very good, captain.”
Within minutes the cart was creaking down the road toward Inverfarigaig, a well-armed soldier flanking each side. Garrett knew it was a circuitous route to Tullich, but better that than steer Glenis back toward Errogie and the skirmish that would shortly ensue.
He mounted his powerful bay, the animal snorting restlessly beneath him.
