“What have ye done with my kinsmen?” she blurted, wincing as his fingers bit cruelly into her arms. “Where are they?”
“They live, Madeleine, which is more than I could have said if you’d ridden out to meet us on the road to Inverfarigaig as you had planned,” Garrett answered bitterly. “That’s the Highland way, isn’t it, Maddie? Go out fighting, taking as many of the filthy redcoats with you as you possibly can? How glorious!” he spat furiously. “A bloody death befitting Strathherrick’s brave brigands, to be sung about for years to come around the ceilidh fire.”
Madeleine was stunned by his scathing words. Someone must have told him she and her kinsmen were meeting at the yew tree, perhaps the same person who had told him she was Black Jack. Who would have so betrayed her, even if it had spared her life, and the lives of her kinsmen, for a time? It had to be someone Garrett trusted, otherwise he would surely have never believed she was his brigand.
“Would you have taken me down as well?” Garrett inquired, his low-spoken question splintering her thoughts. His voice throbbed with undisguised anguish. “You’re a hard lass to figure out, Maddie Fraser. You lie in a man’s arms one night, then you plan to shoot him dead the next—”
“No!” Madeleine cried, struggling against his viselike grip. “I’d never have shot ye!” She would have admitted more, but she was suddenly aware of someone standing directly behind her. She clamped her mouth shut and hung her head, overwhelmed by the spinning events.
“What is it, Fletcher?” Garrett barked.
“The captive, sir, the one who was shot—”
“Who’s been shot?” Madeleine rasped, twisting to peer at the sergeant.
“Kenneth Fraser,” Garrett answered for him. “At least that’s the name Angus gave us. Angus Ramsay kindly provided us with all of your kinsmen’s names, after a bit of reasonable persuasion.”
“What happened to Kenneth?” she demanded, not wanting to consider what that persuasion might have entailed. “Ye said my kinsmen were unharmed.”
“Not unharmed,” Garrett responded grimly. “Alive.” At Madeleine’s horrified expression he softened his tone, but not by much. “Your kinsmen were roughed up a bit, Maddie, which is to be expected considering they did not wish to surrender easily.”
“That’s putting it mildly, captain,” Sergeant Fletcher growled under his breath. “It’s a good thing the blokes didn’t have time to draw their pistols.” He grunted and fell silent at Garrett’s dark look.
“Kenneth was the only man shot,” Garrett continued. “He had the good fortune to tackle with Rob Tyler, who didn’t take kindly to being kicked in the groin or having his arm sliced open. If it had been one of my other soldiers, your Kenneth might very well be dead. Tyler’s an excellent shot, even in a thick fog like this. He winged Kenneth in the leg to put him down.” He glanced at Sergeant Fletcher. “What’s the matter with the prisoner?”
Madeleine started. Prisoner. Aye, that’s what she and her kinsmen were now. Prisoners of Captain Garrett Marshall. No doubt to be handed over to General Hawley as soon as possible and their heads to be proudly displayed upon tall spikes within the week. Her stomach lurched queasily at the thought.
“It’s his wound, sir,” Sergeant Fletcher replied, breaking into her morbid reverie. “The bleeding’s stopped, but it needs attention we can’t give him here. The same goes for Tyler’s arm.”
“Very well, Fletcher,” Garrett said. “Have the men mount up.” He paused, his gaze sweeping Madeleine from head to foot, as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing. “Now that we’ve caught our Black Jack, there’s no reason to linger.”
“Yes, sir.” Fletcher turned around and appeared to address the mist. “Up with you, men, and onto your horses. Captain Marshall has the prisoner well in hand.”
Madeleine gasped as ten soldiers materialized out of the fog just behind her, some springing up from the uneven ground where they had crouched, hiding.
“In case you had run the other way, instead of backing into me,” Garrett said, reading her mind. “We couldn’t risk losing you in this fog.” He sighed raggedly. “Let’s go, Madeleine.”
He walked with her to a beech grove where his bay was tethered, a short distance from the towering yew. The air was alive with sounds now, as all around them soldiers were mounting their horses, their voices raised and animated.
Garrett said nothing as he drew a thick piece of rope from his saddlebag and tied it securely around her wrists.
“I winna try to escape,” she said dully.
“I know,” he replied. “It’s for appearances. My men already suspect…” His voice trailed off, realizing he had said more than he wanted to right now.
There would be time to talk later, when they were alone. He could well imagine the questions tumbling in her mind. How had he known to find her at the Fraser yew? How had he discovered she was Black Jack? All this and more he would answer for her, but not now.
To Garrett’s relief, Madeleine seemed to ignore what he had said. He lifted her onto the horse tethered to the same tree, then mounted his bay. He grabbed both sets of reins and nudged his horse with his boot. “Get on with you, Samson.”
He and Madeleine fell in line with the rest of the soldiers, though the fog was still so dense he could see no farther than the horse in front of him. That soon changed when they rode up the hill and left the swirling mist behind them. The moonlit sky reappeared, scattered with myriad twinkling stars. It felt as if they had left a place of shadow and danger for a world of tranquil order.
Garrett studied Madeleine in the moonlight as she rode so silently beside him. He had to admit she looked exactly like the brigand who had raided his camp, with her black jacket, trousers, and boots and her smudged face.
Garrett’s gaze swept the double line ahead of him, then he twisted in his saddle and assessed the small group behind him, checking to see that all was well. The subdued prisoners were flanked by soldiers. Their hands were trussed behind their backs, and thick ropes secured them to their saddles.
The last had been an extra precaution and probably unnecessary, he conceded. He doubted the Highlanders would attempt an escape. Their fierce loyalty to Madeleine was too ingrained. They would go with her wherever she was taken, sharing whatever fate would be hers.
Garrett gritted his teeth as a gut-wrenching sense of despair overwhelmed him. He glanced at Madeleine, but she was staring straight ahead of her. If she was aware he was looking at her, she gave him no indication.
