A Hint of Rapture (37 page)

"That will not be necessary, sheriff,"
Garrett said grimly. "Mistress Fraser will not try to escape." He
glared at the nearest guard, who quickly moved aside, then he reached out and
took Madeleine's arm.

"Dinna touch me!" Madeleine blurted in a
vehement whisper, jerking her arm away. "I'll walk with the guards, if ye
dinna mind. They're far better company." She heard Garrett sigh heavily,
but he gave no reply as he stepped back.

Madeleine walked from the room surrounded by her silent
escort. She could sense Garrett's gaze on her as they stepped out into the
courtyard, could feel it searing into her all the way to the stone chapel.

She entered the dim interior, knowing that when she
next saw the light of day she would be wife to an Englishman, wife to Major
Garrett Marshall. Her life had been spared, yet it would never, never be the
same.

Chapter 26

Madeleine laid her head back against the copper tub,
luxuriating in the delicious warmth of her bath.

She hadn't known what she wanted to do first when she
entered the well-appointed suite on the second story of this comfortable inn,
eat or bathe. Now she was glad she had opted for the tub, despite her gnawing
hunger. It felt so wonderful to be clean again!

She sighed, breathing in the heady fragrance of the
rose-scented bath oil the maidservant had poured into the water. She had never
smelled such sweetness. She began to work her fingers through her wet, tangled
hair, smiling in spite of herself.

When the innkeeper's stout wife had showed her to these
rooms less than an hour ago, it had been like walking into a vision of
unexpected luxury, especially after the days Madeleine had spent in her bleak
prison cell.

A fire burned cheerily in the sitting room hearth, and
thick tallow candles were aglow on the mantelpiece and in ornate wall sconces.
A cloth-covered table, laden with all manner of savory dishes beneath domed
silver lids, was set near the latticed windows and flanked by two stuffed
armchairs. In the large bedchamber, a gleaming copper tub was placed near the
fireplace, already filled with steaming hot water, as if they had known she was
coming.

She remembered gasping in surprise, and the friendly
Lowland Scotswoman had laughed heartily, urging her to make herself at home.
The woman's last words before she closed the door had stunned Madeleine and
still echoed in her mind.

"If there is anything else ye need, Lady Marshall,
ye have only to ask my daughter, Clara. She'll be serving as yer maid during
yer stay with us tonight. Yer fine husband said ye must have whatever yer heart
desires."

Madeleine frowned. Lady Marshall. It felt so strange to
be called by that name. And as far as having whatever her heart desired, she
could see very well through Garrett's ploy. Already he was trying to curry
favor with her to mask his treachery. Well, she would have none of it, and she
would tell him as much when next she saw him.

Which she hoped wouldn't be tonight, she thought
nervously, hugging her knees to her chest. She hadn't seen Garrett since they
had arrived at the inn on the outskirts of Edinburgh. He'd ushered her in the
front door and handed her over with a few short words to the innkeeper's wife,
who had then whisked her up the stairs.

She was grateful the kindly woman had said nothing
about her bare feet and disheveled appearance, covered somewhat by the heavy
riding coat Garrett had insisted she wear. Nor had Clara, who had gathered the
soiled clothes with only the faintest look of disgust and quickly left the room
with them while Madeleine stepped gingerly into the tub.

Perhaps Garrett was seeing after her kinsmen, Madeleine
considered, her mood darkening.

She had already been seated in the carriage when they
were brought stumbling and limping from the prison, their whiskered faces
haggard and pale in the gathering dusk. She had shrunk back from the window,
hiding behind the velvet curtains, afraid even to face them, ashamed for what
Garrett must already have told them.

Her kinsmen had been assisted into the black coach
directly behind hers, a half dozen mounted soldiers flanking the doors. Garrett
had then climbed into the carriage with her and told her that the remainder of
Hawley's soldiers would meet them in the morning before they set out for
Strathherrick.

Those had been his only words during the entire journey
to the inn. He had sat directly across from her, his handsome face cloaked in
shadow, a tense silence filling the dark interior of the swaying carriage. She
had held on tightly to the leather strap, pretending interest in the sights as
the coach rumbled through the forbidding gatehouse of Edinburgh Castle and down
the steep hill into the city.

Actually she remembered little of the journey. The
countless cobbled squares and narrow wynds, Edinburgh's famed alleyways, were
all a blur. Only the memory of Garrett's leg occasionally brushing against hers
whenever they hit a bump stood out in her mind, unnerving her all the more.

She had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. The
day's unsettling events were still difficult to comprehend, and the brief
wedding ceremony was something she did not want to contemplate. It had been the
greatest relief to arrive at the inn, the greatest relief to find herself alone
in these rooms, at least so far.

Madeleine's gaze darted over to the canopied bed,
apprehension filling her. It was so huge, so empty. Would Garrett demand to
share it with her? Would he claim his rights as her husband? Surely he wouldn't
force her—

A soft knock at the bedchamber door startled Madeleine,
intruding into her uneasy thoughts. She sank lower in the tub and crossed her
arms over her breasts, which were barely submerged beneath the water's surface.

"Who is it?" she called out, her gaze darting
frantically about the candelit room. Three thick towels were draped over a low
sitting stool, well out of arm's reach. She would never make it to them in time
to cover herself.

" 'Tis Clara," a cheerful voice replied. The
door opened wide to reveal a trim, dark-haired young woman who was deftly
balancing an odd assortment of wrapped packages and boxes in her arms.

Clara smiled brightly as she bumped the door with her
hip, closing it. "Sorry for the draft, m'lady," she apologized,
setting her bundles on a table placed against the wall. "How's yer bath?
Still warm?" Without waiting for an answer she hurried over and dipped her
fingers into the tub. "Och, 'tis grown a bit tepid, m'lady. Would ye like
some more hot water?"

"No, thank ye, Clara," Madeleine said,
feeling the tension ease from her body. "I've soaked enough for one
night."

"Very well, m'lady," Clara replied briskly,
wrapping a huge towel around Madeleine's shoulders as she rose wet and dripping
from the tub. Clara flung another towel on the rug, waiting patiently with the
last towel in her hands while Madeleine stepped over the rim.

Madeleine's eyes widened as Clara sank to her knees and
toweling her legs. "Clara, 'tisn't necessary," she said with embarrassment,
wholly unused to such attention. "I'm able to dry m'self." She gently
took the towel from the startled maidservant. "Perhaps ye've a robe I
might wear when I'm finished? I dinna have any other clothes with me."

Clara quickly recovered herself, a wide grin breaking
across her pert features. "Aye, there's probably a robe, m'lady, and
more," she said mysteriously, at the packages on the table. "May I
open them for ye?"

Madeleine nodded, quickly buffing herself dry. She
wrapped the towel snugly around herself, watching curiously as Clara tore
through the pretty floral wrappings on the largest package, string and tissue
paper fluttering to the floor. She gasped as the maidservant whirled around,
shaking out a lustrous blue silk wrapping gown.

"Isn't it lovely?" Clara breathed, laying it
out on the bed. Soon the bedspread was covered with delicate lace
undergarments, a quilted robe in apricot satin, several sets of silk slippers,
a pair of shoes with elegantly curved heels, two light woolen traveling gowns, soft
leather riding boots, even a silver hairbrush, as box after box was unwrapped.

Madeleine could only stare at all the finery, her ire
rising. Was Garrett attempting to bribe her with these gifts? she wondered
heatedly. He would find himself sadly mistaken if he thought he could soften
the edges of his selfish deceit and make her more amenable to his marriage of
convenience with such a ruse.

She shivered suddenly, feeling a chill despite the warm
fire at her back. Her skin rippled with goosebumps. She couldn't remain wrapped
in this damp towel forever.

Clara must have read her mind, for she quickly scurried
toward her with the quilted robe. "Och, I'm sorry, m'lady. I was so busy
unwrapping the packages I almost forgot ye were waiting for yer robe."

" 'Tis no matter, Clara," Madeleine said,
dropping the towel and easing into the satin garment. At once she was warmed,
the light padding chasing away her goosebumps. She walked over to the bed and
chose a pair of slippers lined with down, sliding them onto her feet. They fit
perfectly.

"Would ye like me to comb out yer hair,
m'lady?" Clara asked. " 'Tis such a pretty color, now that the dirt's
been washed away—" She clapped her hand over her mouth.

Madeleine could not help laughing. "Aye, I suppose
I was a fine sight to behold," she admitted lightly. She crossed to the
dressing table and sat on the brocade stool. "Ye may try to tackle this
mess if ye wish, Clara. Ye might find it more trouble than it's worth."

As Clara picked up a comb and began working expertly through
the wet, tangled snarls, Madeleine stared at her reflection in the mirror. She
was shocked by the dark circles beneath her eyes and the hollowness of her
cheeks, her image a weary shadow of her former self.

She sighed softly. The strain of the past few weeks had
taken its toll upon her. She thought of her kinsmen, recalling their gaunt
faces. If only she knew how they were faring tonight.

"Clara," she said, glancing up at the young
woman. "Do ye know what's become of the four men who arrived at the inn
shortly after my husband and m'self ?"

"Oh, aye, they're fine," Clara answered,
smiling as she combed out a glistening lock. "They've nice rooms on the
third floor, along with the soldiers. Yer husband bought new clothes for them,
too, m'lady. He's up there right now, seeing that they have everything they
need." Her gaze met Madeleine's in the mirror. "If ye dinna mind me
saying so, Lady Marshall, yer husband is a most generous man. He told my
parents to spare no expense in making this a comfortable ev'ning for ye and yer
kin."

Madeleine did not answer, her temper flaring anew. She
was grateful her kinsmen were being well treated, but it irked her that Garrett
was putting on such a grand show. For what? She was not fooled. It was all part
of his plan.

If Garrett won some small modicum of her kinsmen's
favor, it would only make it that much easier for him to spy on them when they
returned to Strathherrick. Perhaps he was even telling them he possessed a bit
of Scots blood to ease their minds and gain their trust. She couldn't wait to
inform them it was Sutherland blood, the traitorous clan that would sooner lick
King Geordie's boots than aid their Highland brothers in placing Stuart on
Britain's throne.

"There now, m'lady," Clara said, sweeping
Madeleine's thick hair back from her forehead with the silver brush. She
stepped away from the stool, surveying Madeleine's image with obvious pleasure.
"Ye look beautiful, m'lady, as ye should for yer wedding night."

Madeleine started, twisting around on the stool. "Who
told ye 'twas my wedding night?" she blurted.

"Why, yer husband, m'lady," Clara said,
looking at her strangely. Then a slow smile spread over her face. "Och, I
know just what ye must be feeling, Lady Marshall," she said with
understanding. "I was so nervous on my wedding night only a few months
past that I locked my poor Jamie out of my room!" She blushed, giggling.
" 'Twas only later I discovered what fun I'd missed." She sobered
suddenly. "Ye're as white as a sheet, m'lady. Let me fetch ye some wine."

Madeleine caught her frilled sleeve, fighting her sense
of light-headedness. "No, I'm all right, Clara. I think I could use a bit
of food, though." As if to emphasize her words, her stomach rumbled
loudly. She forced a smile to her lips. "Aye, perhaps some food and a
glass of wine. For my nerves, as ye say."

Clara held on to her arm as they walked into the
sitting room, not letting go until Madeleine was seated comfortably at the
table.

"Mama's an excellent cook," Clara said,
lifting the silver lids one by one. Aromatic steam wafted up from the white,
oval plates, making Madeleine's mouth water. "Ye'll feel better in no time
once ye taste some of her rabbit pie and thyme-roasted chicken. 'Tis the best
in Edinburgh town, I'd swear."

Madeleine nodded, her eyes agape at all the food.

Besides the two main dishes Clara had mentioned, there
were cheese tartlets, tiny crescent-shaped meat pies, and fresh-baked scones
accompanied by pots of golden butter and dark heather honey. A wheel of Stilton
cheese was surrounded by sliced apples and pears, and for dessert, a light
ginger pudding studded with plump raisins was accompanied by a small pitcher of
lemon sauce.

Clara handed Madeleine a crystal goblet brimming with
red wine. "Shall I fill ye a plate, m'lady?" she queried kindly, a
look of concern still on her face as Madeleine took a small sip.

"I'll see to her now," a deep, male voice
answered for her. "Thank you, Clara."

Madeleine almost choked on her wine. She looked beyond
Clara to Garrett, whose broad shoulders seemed to fill the door frame, and she
felt a nervous rush of excitement. He stepped into the room, his eyes warmly
appraising her.