her raids right under his
nose, she thought defiantly, tucking her legs beneath her. And she would relish
every minute of it!
She yawned, growing drowsy. After a short nap she would
set out through that secret tunnel, her mission clearly before her. Her
decision had been made. There would be no turning back.
Chapter 7
Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows,
blinding Madeleine as she opened her eyes. She pulled the blanket over her face
and yawned. She could hear birds chirping outside and squirrels busily
chattering along with the gently rustling leaves and creaking branches stirred
by a soft breeze. They were such lovely sounds, she thought drowsily. She loved
summer mornings . . .
Summer mornings! Suddenly Madeleine threw back the
blanket and sat up, squinting against the brightness.
"God's wounds, girl, ye've slept the whole night
away," she said to herself, exasperated. Obviously yesterday's excitement
had proved too much for her. She cast the blanket aside in disgust and rose
from the bed.
She was stiff and sore from sleeping at such an awkward
angle, crosswise, with her legs curled up beneath her, and she winced
painfully. She stood on tiptoe and stretched her arms high above her head, then
dropped them to her sides. She took a few steps, almost tripping because her
skirt and her linen petticoat were tangled about her legs.
She shook the material out vigorously. Her gaze darted
to the porcelain clock on the mantelpiece, one of her few belongings that had
escaped the soldiers. It was quarter past eleven.
Madeleine sighed heavily, furious with herself. So much
for giving her kinsmen advance warning and alerting them to their new danger,
she thought bitterly. By now they would have heard from someone else that
English soldiers were billeted at Mhor Manor. News traveled fast in
Strathherrick, especially when it had anything to do with redcoats.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She
would have to wait until later that afternoon to tell them her decision. She
had a christening to attend first. She had promised Flora she would be there,
and she never broke a promise.
She opened her wardrobe, her hand drifting across the
small collection of better gowns hanging to the left side of her everyday wear.
Her fingers lovingly caressed the three gowns she had inherited from her
mother, gowns of silk, point lace, and satin, with quilted brocade underskirts.
Lady Jean Fraser had worn them long ago, during trips
with her husband to Edinburgh and Glasgow. She had been a well-educated woman,
fond of the theater and opera, and Sir Hugh had lovingly indulged her cultured
tastes and love of finery. She had just begun to instill such interests in
Madeleine when she died so tragically, bitten by a venomous adder while picking
brambles in the woods.
Sir Hugh never went to the theater again, and he
traveled very little. When Madeleine asked him once if they could journey to
Edinburgh to see a Shakespearean play, he had quietly refused her. Even as a
young girl, she sensed such diversions were simply too painful for him, evoking
memories of happier days. She had never asked again.
Madeleine absently smoothed a satin flounce. The gowns
were still considered fashionable thirteen years later, at least in the
Highlands, though she didn't care one whit about fashion. It merely pleased her
that they fit her so well and had belonged to her mother. Occasionally she
would try them on in secret and whirl in front of the oval full-length mirror,
the shimmering fabrics bringing hazy recollections, of the beautiful,
chestnut-haired woman who had once worn them.
Her hand skimmed over her other gowns. Simpler in
design and fabric, they had been made especially for her by an accomplished
seamstress in the village and were reserved for special occasions. She smiled.
Today was such an occasion.
Madeleine chose a gown of printed linen, admiring the
delicate pattern as she lifted it from the wardrobe. It was
nose, she thought defiantly, tucking her legs beneath her. And she would relish
every minute of it!
She yawned, growing drowsy. After a short nap she would
set out through that secret tunnel, her mission clearly before her. Her
decision had been made. There would be no turning back.
Chapter 7
Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows,
blinding Madeleine as she opened her eyes. She pulled the blanket over her face
and yawned. She could hear birds chirping outside and squirrels busily
chattering along with the gently rustling leaves and creaking branches stirred
by a soft breeze. They were such lovely sounds, she thought drowsily. She loved
summer mornings . . .
Summer mornings! Suddenly Madeleine threw back the
blanket and sat up, squinting against the brightness.
"God's wounds, girl, ye've slept the whole night
away," she said to herself, exasperated. Obviously yesterday's excitement
had proved too much for her. She cast the blanket aside in disgust and rose
from the bed.
She was stiff and sore from sleeping at such an awkward
angle, crosswise, with her legs curled up beneath her, and she winced
painfully. She stood on tiptoe and stretched her arms high above her head, then
dropped them to her sides. She took a few steps, almost tripping because her
skirt and her linen petticoat were tangled about her legs.
She shook the material out vigorously. Her gaze darted
to the porcelain clock on the mantelpiece, one of her few belongings that had
escaped the soldiers. It was quarter past eleven.
Madeleine sighed heavily, furious with herself. So much
for giving her kinsmen advance warning and alerting them to their new danger,
she thought bitterly. By now they would have heard from someone else that
English soldiers were billeted at Mhor Manor. News traveled fast in
Strathherrick, especially when it had anything to do with redcoats.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She
would have to wait until later that afternoon to tell them her decision. She
had a christening to attend first. She had promised Flora she would be there,
and she never broke a promise.
She opened her wardrobe, her hand drifting across the
small collection of better gowns hanging to the left side of her everyday wear.
Her fingers lovingly caressed the three gowns she had inherited from her
mother, gowns of silk, point lace, and satin, with quilted brocade underskirts.
Lady Jean Fraser had worn them long ago, during trips
with her husband to Edinburgh and Glasgow. She had been a well-educated woman,
fond of the theater and opera, and Sir Hugh had lovingly indulged her cultured
tastes and love of finery. She had just begun to instill such interests in
Madeleine when she died so tragically, bitten by a venomous adder while picking
brambles in the woods.
Sir Hugh never went to the theater again, and he
traveled very little. When Madeleine asked him once if they could journey to
Edinburgh to see a Shakespearean play, he had quietly refused her. Even as a
young girl, she sensed such diversions were simply too painful for him, evoking
memories of happier days. She had never asked again.
Madeleine absently smoothed a satin flounce. The gowns
were still considered fashionable thirteen years later, at least in the
Highlands, though she didn't care one whit about fashion. It merely pleased her
that they fit her so well and had belonged to her mother. Occasionally she
would try them on in secret and whirl in front of the oval full-length mirror,
the shimmering fabrics bringing hazy recollections, of the beautiful,
chestnut-haired woman who had once worn them.
Her hand skimmed over her other gowns. Simpler in
design and fabric, they had been made especially for her by an accomplished
seamstress in the village and were reserved for special occasions. She smiled.
Today was such an occasion.
Madeleine chose a gown of printed linen, admiring the
delicate pattern as she lifted it from the wardrobe. It was
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