Chapter 7 #2
She nearly bit her tongue in surprise. She’d never said a kind word about any English soldier before.
It felt strange, but it was the truth. At least from what she had seen of Garrett’s manners so far.
He had been quite the gentleman since his arrival at Mhor Manor, except for the incident in her father’s room.
She flushed hotly, remembering the exciting feel of his arms around her. She could not blame him entirely for what had happened between them. It was her own foolish curiosity that had brought her into the room in the first place…stumbling into his arms as she did.
Flora looked startled, her cheeks spotting with vivid color. Her tone grew harsh. “I dinna know there was such a thing as an honorable redcoat, Maddie. If so, where were they at Culloden when my Neil fell wounded?”
Embarrassed, Madeleine was unable to answer. She had not meant to give the impression she was commending Garrett.
“Forgive me,” Flora said, seeing her discomfort. Her voice softened, and she clasped Madeleine’s arm. “Sometimes the bitterness in me grows so strong, I canna fight it down.”
“‘Tis no matter,” Madeleine said quietly. “Come. I’ll walk with ye to yer house.”
She and Flora strolled down the main street, avoiding the puddles still remaining from last night’s storm. Their conversation was purposely light; they chatted and laughed about the boys’ latest antics. No more was said about English soldiers. Finally they reached Flora’s front door.
“Into the house with ye, lads. ‘Tis time for dinner,” Flora called, laughing as her hungry brood brushed past her.
She smiled warmly. “Thank ye for standing up for Mary Rose, Maddie. Having ye for her godmother means a great deal to me.” She stepped over the threshold, then added gently, “I hope ye’re right about the captain.
If ‘twas me, I wouldna trust him as far as I could see.”
“Ye need have no fear of that,” Madeleine replied. “It’ll never be said in Strathherrick that I trust an Englishman.”
She waved goodbye and walked briskly down the side street, holding her skirt high above the mud. In a few moments she was standing in front of Angus Ramsay’s cottage, which sat at the north end of the village back near the church. She rapped firmly on the door.
“‘Tis Maddie,” she said as the door swung open. To her surprise Angus took her arm and roughly yanked her inside.
“What are ye doing?” she cried, rubbing her elbow.
Angus merely pointed out the window, his thick graying brows knit anxiously. She followed his gaze to a large group of redcoats on horseback, just now turning onto the main street.
Her eyes widened as she spied Garrett at the lead on his massive bay. He looked so at ease and sure of himself in the saddle. She felt an inexplicable rush in her stomach, but quickly attributed it to hunger pains.
“Och, lass, I’m sorry if I hurt ye,” Angus apologized. “I dinna think ‘twould be a good idea for ye to be seen by them, that’s all.”
Madeleine almost laughed out loud. “Angus, they’re living in my house! ‘Tis why I’ve come to talk to ye. Dinna ye suppose they already know who I am?”
“I meant yer coming in here, Maddie. Captain Marshall—”
“How do ye know his name?” Madeleine asked, sobering.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell ye. He was in the village earlier this morning and stopped to wish me a good day, of all things! I recognized him from the raid last week. He said I had a fine Scottish burr…the devil take him! I think he recognized my voice!”
Madeleine paled, though she tried to think rationally.
“No, ‘tis not possible, Angus. Ye’re jumping to conclusions.
Ye hardly spoke a word that night, except for a few short commands.
‘Twas Kenneth who did most of the talking, as always. Besides, I’m the mistress of Farraline, and well Captain Marshall knows it.
‘Tis my right to visit anyone I please.”
Angus seemed not to have heard her. He moved from window to window, not taking his eyes from the soldiers until they had ridden through the village. When they were gone, he turned to her at last, his usually ruddy face ashen and his features drawn.
“I dinna like the looks of this, Maddie,” he said, sinking into a chair.
Madeleine sat down beside him. “If ye dinna like the looks of the soldiers, ye winna like what I have to tell ye, either.”
Angus shot her a puzzled glance. “What do ye mean?”
She shook her head firmly. “Ewen and Duncan must be here, too. This is a decision we must make together.” She felt a rush of pity. She had never seen the stoic widower so shaken. “Perhaps ye’d feel better after a dram of whiskey, Angus.”
“Aye, now there’s a good idea,” he agreed, brightening somewhat, his normal color gradually returning. “A wee dram of the water of life to help an old Scotsman think more clearly.” He reached behind him and took a tall glass decanter from the rough-hewn cupboard. “Would ye like a half?”
“Aye.”
Angus poured them both a small glass of the clear, amber liquid, then set the decanter down in front of him. “To our Bonnie Prince Charlie!” he toasted, raising his glass.
“Prince Charlie!” Madeleine echoed. She followed Angus’s suit and drained her glass in one swallow. It would have curled her toes if she had not been brought up on the stuff since childhood. The liquid still burned her throat like wildfire.
“Better?” she said, trying not to gasp.
“Aye.” Angus poured himself another, downed it, then rose to his feet. “I’ll fetch Ewen and Duncan.” He put on his cap, then strode through the door, slamming it behind him.
The silence in the large, shadowed room was overwhelming.
Madeleine fingered her glass while she waited, turning it around and around, rehearsing her words in her mind.
She would have to be doubly persuasive because of what Angus had told her.
She hoped her kinsmen would agree to continue their raids, whether Garrett had recognized Angus’s voice or not.
Either that, she considered grimly, or she would have to go it alone. And she would, too! No one would recognize her voice. She had never said a word on any of their raids. She had nothing to fear.