Garrett gathered Madeleine into his arms and stood up quickly, his eyes ablaze. “I’m Captain Marshall, assigned to this valley by General Henry Hawley. Who’s in command here? Who gave you the order to burn this village?”
“Why, General Hawley,” the officer blurted, stunned. “He’s personally leading our regiment.” He peered at Madeleine’s face, streaked with tears and soot. “If I’d known she was a woman, captain, I wouldn’t have hit her so hard.”
Garrett ignored the man’s curious stare, his jaw tightening. He recalled the terse message he had received the day before from Colonel Wolfe and cursed his own carelessness in not taking the warning more seriously.
It was clear General Hawley had made good on his threat to take immediate action, far sooner than Garrett would ever have expected. Colonel Wolfe must have told Hawley that he suspected Black Jack’s activities were centered around Farraline. Garrett had told his colonel as much in a message he had sent to Fort Augustus several weeks ago.
“Where’s the general?” Garrett asked gruffly
“Right over there, captain, near that stone church,” the lieutenant replied, pointing toward the north end of Farraline.
Garrett grimaced. He must have ridden right past Hawley in his haste to overtake Madeleine. He would have caught up with her sooner if not for Hawley’s blasted soldiers blocking the road. At least it would have spared her the cruel blow to her head.
He glanced down at Madeleine’s face, so pale beneath what little black soot remained. Once again she had thought nothing for her own safety, trying in vain to stop what was happening to Farraline. Garrett had to get to General Hawley at once if he was to save the rest of the village from the torch. He looked steadily at the lieutenant.
“Tell your men, and those of the other officers as well, to stay their torches until further orders are received from General Hawley,” he commanded.
“I can’t do that, Captain Marshall,” the lieutenant objected. “Our orders are to keep going until there’s nothing left standing—”
“I said stay your torches,” Garrett said ominously. “I’ve news for the general that will undoubtedly reverse his orders. If one more cottage is burned, lieutenant, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
The young officer swallowed hard, clearly daunted by Garrett’s murderous expression. He nodded.
“Good. Get on with it.” Garrett watched as the lieutenant hurried over to the other mounted officers, who each in turn glanced guardedly at him. They began to call off their men.
Garrett waited no longer. He turned and strode toward the church, hugging Madeleine to his chest.
Each step was excruciating as his mind waged a final battle with his raging emotions, his soul demanding that he find a way to hold on to his dream. How he longed at that moment simply to ride out of Farraline with Madeleine safe in his arms, leaving this horrible dilemma far behind them.
Yet Garrett knew he could not. If there was one thing he understood about Mistress Madeleine Fraser, however painful for him, it was that she would sacrifice everything, even her life, for her kinsmen.
By turning Madeleine over to General Hawley as Black Jack, Garrett would be helping her people. To do otherwise would only earn him her hatred. It was bad enough she already believed he had lied to her. Her screams still echoed in his ears, her words twisted cruelly into his heart…I hate ye… I hate ye…
God, he could not think of it! He had to believe there was another way he could save Madeleine from Hawley’s wrath. He had to believe he had not lost his dream forever—
“Welcome, Captain Marshall,” a loud voice rang out, shattering his tormented thoughts. “So now I see how you’ve been wasting your time. A wench in trousers, no less.”
Garrett’s eyes narrowed at his supreme commander, who was sitting astride a gleaming white stallion that seemed dwarfed by the man’s ponderous weight. Illuminated by the towering flames, Hawley’s massive bulk cast a grotesque shadow on the church’s stone walls.
“General Hawley,” Garrett said curtly, stopping in front of the general and his plumed retinue of high-ranking officers.
A quick glance told him his only ally, Colonel Wolfe, was not among them. He would have to fight this out alone. He drew a deep breath and was about to speak when Sergeant Fletcher suddenly rode up to the church, followed by the rest of his soldiers and their sullen prisoners.
Sergeant Fletcher dismounted and rushed over to his side. “You caught her, captain,” he blurted with relief.
“Caught whom?” General Hawley inquired, his shrewd, heavy-lidded eyes swiftly assessing the scene before him.
“Black Jack,” Garrett stated clearly. He nodded toward the trussed Highlanders flanked by his soldiers. “And the five men who’ve been riding with her.”
General Hawley quickly masked his astonishment and adopted a look of studied amusement. “Surely, you jest, Captain Marshall.” He pointed to Madeleine with the feathered end of his horsewhip. “Are you telling me that this woman is the brigand who’s been attacking my supply trains?”
“Yes, I am, general,” Garrett replied evenly. “We captured Black Jack and her kinsmen an hour ago, after discovering the location of their meeting place. They would have been in your custody by tomorrow night.
He paused, glancing pointedly over his shoulder. “This matter could have been resolved peacefully, as we had planned.”
“Do I detect a hint of criticism in your tone, captain?” General Hawley asked sharply, anger shaking his voice. “If so, you’d do well to keep it to yourself. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Garrett said.
