Madeleine’s pardon.
“Satisfied?”
Garrett glanced at his brother across the desk. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “Everything seems to be in order.” He quickly rolled up the document and slipped it inside his heavy riding coat. “You’ve reviewed the papers drawn up by my solicitor?”
Gordon nodded tersely.
“Good. I have retained a quarter interest in the property’s income and the monetary inheritance I received from Father, for which you receive full deed and title to Rosemoor and the remaining yearly income. Are you agreeable to this arrangement?”
“I have signed it,” Gordon answered, arching a dark brow. “You strike a hard bargain, Garrett. I look forward to hearing from you posthaste concerning the outcome. I trust it will prove profitable for both of us.”
Garrett was already striding to the door. As an afterthought he stopped and turned around, his gaze meeting his brother’s. “I thank you, Gordon,” he said, the words not leaping easily from his tongue. He knew if not for Rosemoor, the priceless parchment next to his heart would never have come to pass. Yet he meant it all the same, for what it was worth.
“Don’t thank me yet, brother,” Gordon replied. “You’ve a long ride ahead of you. You don’t want to tempt the devil.” He glanced out the window, then back to Garrett. “I’ve given you the best charger I own to start you on your way. Arabian bloodlines.”
Garrett swallowed hard, not missing the hint of understanding in Gordon’s eyes. It was the first warmth he had seen there in years. “Lord Kemsley,” he said with a short bow, then turned to go.
“She must be truly extraordinary.”
Garrett started, glancing back at his brother. He smiled faintly, then walked through the door.
Chapter 25
Edinburgh, Scotland
Madeleine sank into a crouching position against the rough stone wall and pressed her hands over her ears in a futile attempt to drown out the piteous moans of the prisoner in the adjoining cell, a Highlander who had lost his mind after Culloden.
Or so the surly guards had told her. More likely he had gone mad from torture and abuse. She had seen and heard enough misery during the past five days of imprisonment in Edinburgh Castle to last a lifetime, and her life was becoming very short indeed.
Her public execution was slated for tomorrow afternoon, on Castle Hill at the same site where scores of criminals convicted for treason, heresy, and sorcery had met their end. She was almost thankful the wretched ordeal would soon be over.
The trial had come soon after she and her kinsmen arrived in Edinburgh, a hasty affair that had taken no more than an hour from beginning to end. She, Angus Ramsay, Ewen and Duncan Burke, and Allan Fraser had been found guilty of high treason against the Crown and sentenced to be hanged until dead. Their bodies would then be drawn, quartered, and consumed by fire, their heads displayed prominently on iron spikes to the curious citizenry of Edinburgh.
At least Kenneth Fraser would not share their grisly fate, she thought. He had died on the first day of their week-long march to Edinburgh, and his body was quickly buried beneath a cairn of stones along the steep Corrieyairack Pass.
She had shed no tears. They had all been spent. She and her kinsmen were given barely a moment beside the grave before they were shoved back into line, flanked by soldiers on every side who taunted and jeered.
It had been a nightmare. Her only consolation was that she had been spared from rape. It was as if her filthy man’s garb somehow protected her, making her appear less a woman in the eyes of the soldiers.
Madeleine sat cross-legged on the floor, worn smooth by countless prisoners before her. She massaged her bare feet. The painful blisters were almost healed, enabling her to walk with only a slight limp.
The soles of her feet had been bleeding and raw by the time they had reached Edinburgh, her leather boots no match for the long march. She had collapsed on the edge of town and been roughly dumped into a wagon for the last leg of their journey, her eyes staring hopelessly into those of her kinsmen, who had trudged close behind.
Madeleine forced the bitter memory from her mind and rose stiffly, steadying herself against the wall. She had never felt so weak, and she knew it was from lack of nourishing food. The stale bread and tepid tea was hardly the fare she needed to keep up her strength.
She laughed grimly, the sound echoing about the low-ceilinged chamber. Keep up her strength—for what? So she might swing more vigorously from the gallows, fighting for breath even as the noose tightened inexorably around her neck?
Banishing the morbid thought, Madeleine limped to the narrow window and stood up on tiptoe, peering outside.
The stone ledge was slanted upward so sharply she could see nothing but an overcast sky, but she didn’t care. She felt her spirits lighten despite her limited view. She was thankful she had not been thrown into a dark hole without windows. This small patch of sky had been her one link to sanity; an occasional shaft of sunlight was like a welcome friend.
She inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air which did much to diminish the fetid stench of her cell. The steady breeze was scented with rain, and she could hear thunder rumbling in the distance.
Madeleine thought of Strathherrick and the wild thunderstorms that rolled over the mountains from spring until late autumn, when the wind whistled and howled and the rain lashed the earth. She stood before the window with her eyes closed, her hands planted on the ledge, the cool draft blowing through her hair, imagining she was there. She imagined she was a child again, playing in the puddles, giggling happily, evading both her father and Glenis--
A loud, jarring noise startled her, shattering her daydream. She spun around as the heavy iron bar was lifted on the other side of the door, the screeching sound causing her to grit her teeth. The door was pulled back, revealing a group of six armed guards. The closest one ducked his head and entered the small chamber.
Madeleine backed up against the wall, cold fear flooding her body. The guard was so solemn—dear God, had she miscounted the days? Was it Saturday after all, the day of her execution? Her throat was constricted so tightly she could scarcely draw breath.
