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.
“Wh-what?” she choked, her eyes wide with fright.
“You must come with me, Mistress Fraser,” the guard muttered, grabbing her arm. When she recoiled, he gave her a hard push and she stumbled forward, almost falling. He caught her in time, but she yanked away from him.
“Where—where are ye taking me?” she stammered, seeking refuge in a corner.
She gasped when another guard entered the cell.
Her eyes darted desperately from one man to the other.
She felt trapped, like a hunted animal, as they advanced upon her, seizing her arms. “No!” she cried, her feet slipping on the stone floor as they propelled her toward the door. “No!”
Outside in the dim corridor, she found herself surrounded by guards, two in front and two in back of her, besides the soldiers gripping her arms. The presence of so many guards checked her futile cries, and she fell silent, overcome with dread.
This was not how she had planned to act at all, Madeleine thought wildly, limping between her captors as they hurried her along the corridor and up a long flight of winding stairs.
Where had her courage flown? Her resolve to face her death bravely?
She was so frightened she feared she might wet her clothes and humiliate herself before these English soldiers.
She could never have anticipated the stark terror gripping her now.
Madeleine panted, fast losing her battle to retain any semblance of reason and her ability to place one foot before the other.
If not for the guards supporting her arms and forcing her along, she would have collapsed altogether.
They walked through an empty room, then a wide studded door swung open and they were outside in a square courtyard flanked on all sides by two-story buildings.
Madeleine blinked, shielding her eyes. Despite the dense clouds, the daylight was much more intense than anything she had experienced for five days. She hazarded a glance around her, fearing to find a wagon which would carry her to the execution site.
There was no wagon, and as the guards marched across the courtyard, she thought fleetingly that they were going to make her walk the entire way.
She could not have been more stunned when they entered another building and proceeded down a wide hallway, stopping abruptly before an ornately carved door.
The guard on her left knocked loudly, then lifted the brass latch and pushed open the door.
Madeleine was ushered into a large room spartanly furnished with a long, polished table at one end and a single upholstered chair in the center of the floor.
While the four guards who had flanked her waited by the door, the two men holding her arms pushed her forward and shoved her into the chair, snapping to attention as a side door creaked open.
Breathless and totally bewildered, Madeleine gasped as General Hawley lumbered into the room, scarcely acknowledging her presence. He was followed by the prison sheriff and the judge who had tried and pronounced sentence on her and her kinsmen the day after they had arrived at Edinburgh Castle.
What was going on? she wondered crazily, not even venturing to guess why she had been brought to this room.
She was so intent on watching them take their places at the table that she did not notice the last man enter and remain standing near the wall.
She only glanced at him when she heard his boots scraping on the wooden floor. Her heart stopped.
Garrett.
She was so stunned that the earth could have dropped from beneath her and she would never have known it. She stared at him and he stared back, his eyes filled with familiar warmth.
All she could think was that he was surely a phantom; her mind must be playing tricks. She had gone mad; the terrible strain had broken her at last. She probably would have fainted if General Hawley’s booming voice had not shattered the room’s silence. Blood rushed to her face as he addressed her.
“Mistress Madeleine Fraser, if you would kindly direct your attention this way,” he commanded, pounding his huge fist on the table.
She jumped, her gaze riveted on the corpulent general, certain if she looked back at the wall, Garrett would be gone.
Unwittingly, her eyes darted back. He was still there, the faintest smile on his lips. How strange such a phantom had been sent to her, the image of a man she had thought she would never see again. She glanced back at General Hawley, who was scowling, his face a mottled shade of red.
“Mistress Fraser, I shall be brief,” he began, shooting a furious look at Garrett.
He took a rolled parchment from the somber-faced judge and held it in his hand, pointing it at her as he spoke.
“His Majesty King George has seen fit to take a personal interest in your situation and has offered you the chance of a pardon, upon certain conditions to which you must agree.”
Madeleine was not sure she had heard him correctly. For an instant she thought she might be dreaming, and she sank her thumbnail into her palm. She blinked at the stinging pain, but the room did not disappear. It was real, God help her. Then Garrett must be real.
“A-a pardon?” she asked.