Garrett grabbed the child’s narrow shoulders and turned him around gently. “It’s all right, boy. I’m not going to hurt you. Tell me your name.”
“Neil, Neil Chrystie,” the boy stammered, looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes.
“Well, Neil Chrystie, my name is Garrett Marsh—”
“I know who ye are,” the youngster blurted with astounding bravado, his fear clearly forgotten. “Ye married our Maddie!”
“So I did,” Garrett said, somewhat nonplussed. “Tell me Neil. What were you doing in the wagon? Choosing something for your mother, I hope. Do you need some help?”
Neil shook his head vigorously, shrugging away from Garrett’s loosened grasp. “There’s nothing my mama would want from those wagons!” he shouted, clenching his small fists and shaking them at Garrett. “We Frasers dinna want a thing from King Geordie’s spy!”
Completely stunned by this belligerent outburst, Garrett caught the boy’s sleeve. “Spy? Where did you hear such nonsense, Neil?” he asked tightly, but before the child could answer another voice sounded behind him.
“Let the boy go, if ye will, Major Marshall.”
Garrett released him and spun around to find Angus Ramsay staring at him stonily, the man’s huge arms crossed over his chest.
“Angus,” he said in a greeting as he straightened up, but he received no response.
“Go on home with ye, Neil,” Angus commanded the astonished boy, who was looking from Garrett back to his towering kinsman. “Dinna be playing ‘round the wagons anymore, do ye hear?”
“Aye!” Neil took off like a frightened rabbit and didn’t look back.
“A good ev’ning to ye, then, Major Marshall,” Angus muttered with the slightest nod.
Garrett said nothing as Angus turned abruptly and strode back to his cottage, the door held open for him by a strapping dark-haired man Garrett had never seen before. Then the door slammed shut, leaving Garrett to his simmering fury, young Neil Chrystie’s words ringing in his ears. Suddenly everything was clear to him, painfully clear.
Spy! So that was it. The villagers truly believed he was a spy for King George. That would explain everything: the spurned cottages, household goods, and cattle, and Angus’s surly behavior yesterday and just now. Somehow they must have gotten the word from Madeleine, even though she had never left Mhor Manor since returning from Edinburgh. Somehow…
It must have been through Meg and Kitty, Garrett surmised grimly, walking back to his stallion. Madeleine must have filled their ears with every manner of accusation—probably the same farfetched story she had flung at him at Edinburgh Castle—and told them to pass it along to the villagers in Farraline.
Perhaps she had even done so that morning the two young women had come to help her with the cleaning, he thought incredulously, amazed that he hadn’t considered the possibility sooner. They had suddenly disappeared to go—bramble picking! On top of her betrayal, Madeleine had lied to him. How many more of her lies had he unwittingly swallowed?
Such anger burned inside him, his hands were shaking as he seized the reins and hoisted himself into the saddle. Yet it was nothing compared to the fierce resolve burning in his heart.
Dammit, he had taken enough abuse! Madeleine had obviously turned her kin against him, so his plan had been doomed from the start. Well, the devil take his plan and the hell with patience!
“I’ll see you at the house,” he said tersely, veering his stallion sharply around. Sergeant Fletcher’s words were lost to him as he set out at a full gallop through the village and onto the road to Mhor Manor. The wind whistled wildly around him, fueling his racing thoughts.
It was time Madeleine knew exactly how he felt about her, whether she wanted to hear it or not. He would not keep his feelings to himself any longer, nor would he tolerate any more of her irrational lies and accusations. She would know the truth behind King George’s pardon once and for all!
Vibrant memories crowded in upon him as he sped toward the manor house. He could remember so clearly that sunny afternoon when he first set eyes on the mistress of Farraline, Madeleine Fraser, the fairest woman he had ever seen. It could have been yesterday, the recollection was so vivid.
Yet it was hard to believe that just over two months had elapsed since that day. It felt as if he had lived a lifetime since then, as if he had exhausted a lifetime of emotion ranging from the sweetest joy to the most heartrending despair. All condensed into nine turbulent weeks.
Garrett scarcely waited for his powerful stallion to come to a stop before he jumped from the saddle and ran to the kitchen door. At this time of night, Madeleine was usually helping Kitty by setting the dining table. He burst in the door, a loud gasp and a crash of china greeting his stormy entrance.
“M-major Marshall!” Kitty cried, a puddle of brown gravy and broken china at her feet.
Garrett glanced into the dining room, but there was no sign of Madeleine. “Where is she?” he asked impatiently.
“Who?”
“Maddie, wench! Who do you think?” he responded angrily, then softened his tone at her stricken look. “I’m sorry, Kitty. Isn’t she helping you tonight?”
“No, I believe she’s lying down,” the maidservant said shakily. “At least she was a while ago. She wasna feeling herself today. She’s been working far too hard, we think.”
That news gave Garrett pause, but he quickly shrugged it off. Exhausted from the web of lies she’s spun around herself, he thought darkly, rushing through the dining room. He took the stairs three at a time and strode to their room, his blood roaring in his ears.
