“Why are ye telling me this, Angus?” Madeleine demanded hoarsely, finding her voice at last. “We’re on our way to prison in Edinburgh Castle, and the major,” she hissed, “with his fine promotion, is on his way back to Fort Augustus. What does it matter?” She rose abruptly to her feet, but Angus caught her sleeve.
“I’m sorry, lass. We—we face such troubles ahead,” he said falteringly, as if unsure how to express what he was feeling. “Last night, well, I’ve never seen ye so distraught. Ye’re like a daughter to me, Maddie. I thought ye’d want to know what Major Marshall had done to help your kin, that’s all…I dinna want ye to go on thinking he lied to ye, after ye trusted him so.”
Madeleine broke away from him and hurried to the high window, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. She rested her forehead upon the sill, her thoughts a tangled confusion.
Garrett hadn’t lied to her. She would never have believed it but for her Angus telling her it was so. Garrett had tried to stop the destruction…
She inhaled sharply as vivid memories of the night before flooded her mind. The flames, the raucous laughter, the screaming. Garrett’s anxious voice, imploring her to drop the pistol.
Madeleine rubbed her temples, her head beginning to pound. Garrett’s words came back to her in a rush.You can still trust me, Maddie…I told you the truth…You must believe me…
Yet she hadn’t believed him. She would have shot him dead if that other officer—
A ragged moan broke from her throat, and she covered her face with her hands. Other memories, other words, crowded in upon her: Foyer’s Falls, their night together, his fierce embrace, his words—his words! Garrett had said nothing would happen to her, not if he could prevent it.
Madeleine slowly lifted her head, her eyes blurred with fresh tears as she gazed searchingly out the window. There were redcoats all around, marching along the drive, walking in and out of her home, camped upon the back lawn, in the orchard, laughing and talking. Yet none of them was Garrett.
He was gone.
The awful finality of it struck her with resounding force, echoing in her mind. Garrett was gone. He had spoken those words before he knew she was Black Jack. She could expect nothing from him now. Nothing.
Shattering heartache suddenly gripped her, far worse than anything she could have imagined. She trembled uncontrollably, her hands curled into tight fists.
How she wished she still believed Garrett had betrayed her, if only to dull the pain tormenting her now. That he had forsaken her was more than she could bear.
“It doesna matter,” she whispered fiercely, wiping angrily at her tears. “It doesna matter!”
Yet deep in her heart, it did matter. She could not deny it. She cared, and deep down she had begun to believe Garrett might care, too. Until now.
Chapter 24
London, England
Garrett yanked at his waistcoat in irritation, the stiff fabric driving him mad. He had become so accustomed to wearing a military uniform he had almost forgotten what it was like to dress in formal civilian clothes.
He tugged at the white muslin stock tied tightly around his neck, his fingers brushing against the frothy lace jabot. He winced uncomfortably. He couldn’t say he had missed them. He felt like a preening peacock in his borrowed clothes, the pleated outer coat and breeches of plum velvet, the gold brocade waistcoat, the cream silk stockings and red-heeled shoes.
Either London fashions had become more outrageous, Garrett thought dryly, or his brother was stretching the limits of good taste. He sensed it was a bit of both. He had finally drawn the line at the curled tie-wig his brother’s dresser had insisted he wear. He had no time or inclination for such frippery. It was enough he had agreed to Gordon’s insistence that he change out of his travel-stained clothes the minute he walked in the door.
Garrett smiled thinly, recalling his brother’s expression when he had entered the plush salon where Garrett was waiting for him. He was a study of unruffled composure, though Gordon’s eyes had reflected his shock. And how like Gordon to demand Garrett change before they discussed his matter of great urgency, so that his stink and his mud-splattered clothes would not offend the household.
Garrett glanced about the library, which was clearly his brother’s private domain. Well-dusted tomes stretched from floor to painted ceiling, a goodly portion of them from their late father’s collection. The room was dominated by a massive desk placed near the high, arched windows overlooking the fashionable street. Garrett could well imagine his brother sitting there, poring over letters and papers dealing with the king’s business.
His eyes strayed to the crystal decanter on the mantelpiece. He could use a tumbler of brandy right now. He started to rise, then changed his mind and sat back down. He wanted to be completely clearheaded for the important discussion which lay ahead.
Garrett drummed his fingers impatiently on the stuffed armrest, wondering what was keeping his brother. He had journeyed at a devil’s pace to get to London, the exhausting trip taking him just over four days with stops for fresh horses and brief respites for sleep. A few moments’ wait might be trivial, but to him it seemed unbearable. Every instant that passed brought Madeleine closer to—
“So, Garrett, what is this urgent matter which has brought you so unexpectedly to London?” a deep, resonant voice sounded from the doorway, startling him.
Garrett stood up and turned to face his brother. “Gordon,” he acknowledged stiffly, though he did not cross the floor to greet him. He thought fleetingly how little Gordon had changed in the two long years since he had last seen him.
His older brother was nearly as tall as he and slightly broader, with the same gray-green eyes as his own, but the resemblance ended there.
Gordon took after their father’s side of the family, with his pale coloring and dark brown hair barely visible beneath his full powdered wig. He was probably considered handsome, with narrow, patrician features that had a somewhat hawkish look about them.
An undeniable air of authority clung to Gordon, tinged with studied restraint. He had a fearsome temper, which Garrett had witnessed on numerous occasions when it had usually been directed at him. The last occasion had been two years ago, just before Garrett left London to fulfill his commission. Their parting had been anything but convivial.
“You look well, brother,” Gordon said, looking him over as he walked to stand by his desk. He smiled tightly. “The military seems to have agreed with you. You look hale and healthy, though a bit weary from your journey.”
