“What’s our destination, captain?” Sergeant Fletcher asked, reining in his horse beside Garrett’s.
“The ancient yew of Clan Fraser,” Garrett replied cryptically. At the sergeant’s confused expression, his tone grew even darker. “I’ll explain along the way, Fletcher.”
Garrett dug his heels into the bay, leaning into the saddle as the horse lunged forward in a spray of wet dirt. Sergeant Fletcher quickly followed suit, catching up with him as their horses galloped neck-and-neck along the road, the soldiers thundering not far behind them.
Chapter 21
Madeleine slowed her fast sprint, stopping abruptly when she reached the bottom of the hill. Breathless, she bent over and rested her hands on her knees, her lungs burning as she inhaled great gasps of air.
She always ran this last distance to the yew tree as hard as she could. It never failed to exhilarate her and clear her mind. She needed that more than ever tonight.
She stood up, adjusting her black cap and checking to see that her thick braid was stuffed into her jacket. As she smeared powdery peat ash on her face, her gaze instinctively darted in the direction of the yew tree.
The swirling fog had gathered so thickly here she could see only a few feet in front of her. Even the full moon was almost obscured from view, no more than a pale orb through the incandescent vapor. She wondered if the road to Inverfarigaig was buried in mist and fleetingly prayed it was not.
Madeleine began to walk in what she believed was the right direction, allowing her instincts to guide her. She sensed it was near midnight. She had left Mhor Manor as she usually did, at quarter to eleven. Fortunately she hadn’t encountered any obstacles that would have slowed her progress.
She had easily slipped into the drawing room closet while the guard in the main hallway was idly chatting with one of his compatriots. The tunnel had offered no difficulty, other than the disgusting spiders clinging to the dank walls. The trapdoor at the far end had been harder to lift because of the water-soaked sod, but that had only taken her a few extra moments. So far, this night had been like any other.
“‘Tisn’t like any other,” she whispered vehemently. She stopped for a moment to get her bearings.
Why did she have the sensation that she was walking in the wrong direction? she thought irritably. Damn this fog! The yew tree couldn’t be more than twenty feet away, yet at this rate she wouldn’t find it unless she stumbled headlong into its gnarled trunk.
A sudden noise startled her, and she whirled around, unable to see through the dense fog. Her heart knocked against her chest and her skin tingled with goosebumps.
She could have sworn it sounded like a groan, but it had ended so abruptly she couldn’t be sure. She turned in a slow circle, listening, her eyes straining for any hulking shapes that might be her kinsmen.
A sharp whinny cut through the air. Madeleine nearly jumped out of her muddy boots.
“Och, what’s come over ye, Maddie?” she chided herself nervously. It was only one of her kinsmen’s horses. She took a few steps in the direction she thought she had heard the whinny, then hesitated.
Should she call out to them? she wondered anxiously. She was wasting precious time blundering about like this in the fog. If she didn’t meet up with them soon, they would abandon the plan, thinking perhaps she had decided against it for tonight.
Madeleine frowned, repelled by the thought. She had no intention of agonizing and waiting through another entire day. She quickly made up her mind.
“Angus, ‘tis Maddie!” she hissed, cupping her hand to her mouth. “Where are ye?”
A long silence followed, then she heard a faint rustling somewhere off to her right. She tensed, holding her breath, then tried again. “Ewen? Duncan? Answer me!”
“Aye, Maddie. Over here,” a gruff male voice responded this time, again to her right.
Relief poured through Madeleine’s body, her legs feeling strangely weak. She hurried in the direction from which the voice had come, her boots making squishing noises in the soggy turf. She discerned the faint outline of a tree looming overhead—the ancient yew!
Madeleine began to run, unaware of stealthy shapes moving in behind her, following her. She was almost to the tree when she heard a crackling sound, like a branch snapping in two, in back of her. She wheeled around but found only twisting fog and shadow. She did not see the dark forms pressed to the ground only five feet away from her, melding into the tufted peat.
“A-Angus?” she stammered, stepping backward. She had a creeping sensation that something was terribly wrong. Surely her kinsmen would have been gathered by the tree, along with their horses. Where could they possibly be—?
“Och!” she gasped, bumping into something hard. She felt strong hands suddenly grip her shoulders, then spin her around so roughly her head snapped back.
“An odd time of night for a stroll, Madeleine,” her captor said, “or should I say—Black Jack.”
Madeleine’s eyes widened, her scream dying in her throat. “Garrett!” she exclaimed hoarsely, her mind reeling
He had called her Black Jack! she thought wildly. Garrett knew she was Black Jack. He had said it with such certainty, such grim conviction. But how?
“Aye, ‘tis Garrett,” he acknowledged, imitating a gruff Scottish burr. “Not yer Angus, or Ewen, or Duncan, as ye might have supposed, nor even yer two flame-haired Fraser kinsmen who put up quite a fight, I can tell ye.”
Madeleine drew a ragged breath as cold realization seized her. So it had been Garrett who answered her a few moments ago! He knew the names of her kinsmen. God’s wounds, then the groan she heard must have been…
