Glenis did not answer for a long moment, a weighty silence filling the hall. At last she spoke, her voice breaking with emotion.
“No, Maddie, I canna. Ye’ve much to sort out for yerself. Ye dinna need me here right now. I’ll know when ‘tis the right time to return again to Mhor Manor.”
Madeleine didn’t know what to say. Tears filled her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks as Glenis turned and walked down the stairs, leaving her alone in the hall.
She stood there a long time, dazed and uncertain while one thought rang in her mind.
Tonight, when Garrett returned from Farraline, she would ask him if what Glenis had told her was true.
She had to know. Until then she would not even dare to hope.
Chapter 31
It was near nightfall when Garrett settled one of the last stones on the newly thatched roof, then climbed down the rough-hewn ladder.
“That’s it, Fletcher,” he shouted, rubbing his chafed hands together as he surveyed the two cottages they had finished that day. “Call off the men. It’s growing too dark to continue, and too cold, for that matter.”
“I’ll agree with you there, major,” Sergeant Fletcher replied heartily from the other roof, his breath hanging like a mist upon the brisk air. “I hope Jeremy has a nice hot supper waiting for us.”
“I’m sure he does,” Garrett said, thinking about his own supper. He only hoped some of Kitty’s wonderful cooking would soothe his foul mood, along with a snifter of good brandy and Madeleine’s company. During the past few days her behavior had somehow softened toward him, which was more than he could say for these stubborn villagers.
He glanced at a group of men gathered up the street. They stared back at him sullenly, then turned and walked into the nearest cottage, but it was not one that he had built. Those cottages were still standing silent and empty, as if they were tainted with the plague. As these two would no doubt stand empty, he thought grimly, their efforts wasted once again.
Garrett was frowning as he sought out Corporal Sims in the gathering dusk.
“Sims, ride over and tell the men clearing the eastern fields that we’re finished for the day.”
“Yes, sir, Major Marshall.”
As the young man rode away, Garrett untethered his dappled stallion. “Let’s ride by the church first, Fletcher, then make our way back to Mhor Manor. I want to see if anything’s been taken from the wagons today.”
He mounted, grimacing at the soreness in his limbs, and noted how Sergeant Fletcher was hauling himself into the saddle. The older man caught his look and grinned tiredly.
“Building that last wall today really took the wind out of me. Those damn stones seem to get heavier all the time.”
“I know what you mean,” Garrett said dryly, urging his stallion into a trot as the sergeant rode alongside him and the rest of his weary soldiers brought up the rear. “I’m beginning to wonder what the devil we’re trying to prove in the first place.” He glanced at the grizzled soldier, noting the deep lines in his face. “WhatI’mtrying to prove,” he amended, his tone laced with bitterness. “You’re just following my orders, and very well, I might add.”
“I didn’t mean the work was bothering me, major,” Sergeant Fletcher replied. “It’s just we’ve been pushing so hard. We’ve done a lot since we got here, and the men haven’t complained, but they need a break. A day’s rest would suffice.”
Garrett sighed heavily, knowing the sergeant was right. “Granted, Fletcher. Tell them they’ve earned my highest compliments for their efforts and a well-deserved day off. You might also say they’ll receive an extra reward when their pay arrives from Fort Augustus.”
“That’s not necessary, Major Marshall,” the sergeant insisted gruffly. “We’re here to follow your orders. You don’t need to compensate us for doing our duty, especially from your own pocket.”
“Enough said, Fletcher. It’s what I want to do. I’m sure the men have wondered often enough why they’re building cottages and clearing fields, which is not your typical military duty. Yet they haven’t questioned my orders once. I’ve you to thank for that. Perhaps sometime I’ll offer all of you an explanation.”
“You don’t have to explain your motives to me, sir,” Sergeant Fletcher said, lowering his voice. “I can well imagine the task you’ve set for yourself. I only wish these Highlanders might show some appreciation for what you’re doing for them. I get the strong impression they don’t want our help. Don’t even want us around, for that matter.”
“So do I, Fletcher. So do I,” Garrett said, watching as suspicious faces appeared behind cracked doors or peered out at them from windows as he and his men rode along the main street.
He drew up on the reins when they reached the reconstructed church, his mood darkening even more. The fully loaded wagons he had left there days ago were still untouched, further proof that his plan was failing miserably.
He shot a glance over at Angus Ramsay’s cottage across the street. His worst moment had come yesterday when Angus turned his back on him, refusing even to speak with him. Whatever inroads he thought he had made with the burly Highlander had vanished.
Thoroughly disgruntled, Garrett was about to veer his horse around when he spied movement beneath the protective covering on one of the wagons. He dismounted quickly, leaving Sergeant Fletcher and his soldiers staring after him. He strode over to the wagon and threw back the canvas, starting in surprise when a small red-haired boy jumped up and scrambled over the side.
“Hold on there,” Garrett said, catching the boy by the collar of his jacket.
“Let me go!” the boy cried desperately, his short legs pumping uselessly. “Let me go!”
