When a Scot Ties the Knot (24 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-seven

L
ogan did not take well to idleness.

It hadn't been a week since Maddie's departure with Mr. Orkney, and he was already out of his mind with boredom. And, of course, missing his wife like mad.

He didn't know how he was going to survive six months of this.

At least the men seemed to know he needed company. It was just like old times on campaign. They all sat around the fire of an evening, drinking whisky and talking of lost loves and their future lives.

Logan reached into his pocket and touched the corner of a folded paper. He'd found it tucked in his sporran the night after she'd left with Mr. Orkney. Just the sight of a creased paper with her handwriting had sent his mind tumbling into memories. His heart had given a familiar throb. Could it be another letter?

And then he'd opened it to find something so much better.

A sketch.

The little minx.

He wouldn't take it out in company, but he'd taken to carrying it with him always. The charcoal drawing all but glowed like an ember in his vest pocket, threatening to burn straight through the pocket lining.

He uncapped his flask to pour another whisky. Then he thought better of it and put the flask away. After scratching his chin, he decided he could do with a bath and a shave as well. If he wasn't careful, he'd be a raging drunk with a yard-­long beard by the time Maddie returned.

And she
would
return to him.

He had to believe that, or he'd truly go mad.

Grant roused himself. “What's this, then? What's happened?”

Logan considered mumbling through his usual litany of reassurances: we're in Scotland, they'd go Ross-­shire tomorrow, and so forth. But then he stopped himself.

Instead, he put his hand on his friend's shoulder. “You've suffered an injury,
mo charaid
. One that disrupted your memory. We're back from the war, safe. Your family wasna so fortunate. But I'm here, and I'll always tell you the truth. Ask me whatever you wish.”

But Grant surprised him. “I know where I am, Captain. And I'm starting to recover pieces of the rest. There's only one question I wanted to ask. Where's Madeline?”

No one could reply. If the rest were anything like Logan, they were wondering if they'd heard him wrong.

“Where's Madeline?” he repeated.

“She's . . . well, she left.”

“Left? Why would she do that?”

“I told her to go.” Logan scrubbed his face with one hand. “I sent her to Bermuda to draw sea creatures with a naturalist.”

Grant was quiet for a moment, and then he spoke the words everyone—­Logan included—­seemed to be thinking. “You
stupid
bastard.”

Logan raised his hands in defense. “What else could I do? She has talents. And dreams. I dinna want to stand in the way of them. She'll be back.”

He had to cling to that thought. She would come back.

She
would
.

Wouldn't she?

Callum scratched his head. “Well, I understand why you wanted her to go. But what I canna fathom is why you didna go with her.”

Go with her.

Logan had to admit, the idea had never occurred to him. “I couldna go with her.”

“Why not?”

“We've only just settled at Lannair. I'm the laird of the castle now. Someone needs to watch over the property. And you lads need me here.” He looked around at the men. “Do you not?”

His only reply were the sounds of a clearing throat and someone's boot scuffing back and forth against the stone floor.

So. They didn't need him.

“I see,” he said tightly.

“It isna that we
want
you gone,” Callum said. “But we're grown men, the lot of us. We can fend for ourselves. The cottages are underway; the crops are in the ground. Even Grant is on the mend.”

The words were meant to console him, but Logan felt hollow inside.

If Maddie's true dreams had been hidden in the margins of her letters, his own hopes had been hidden on the borders of his plans. It wasn't the land he'd wanted. It was family. Kinship.

Love.

This motley assortment of broken-­down soldiers around him was the only family he'd ever known. He'd looked after them the way he would look after his own kin. If Maddie was gone and the men didn't need him . . . who was he anymore?

“I thought we were a brotherhood,” he said. “A clan.
Muinntir
.”

“Aye, we are,” Rabbie said. “And that's the thing about bonds of brotherhood,
mo charaid
. They stretch. For thousands of miles if need be. You can depend on us to hold the place together while you take your bride on a honeymoon.”

A honeymoon
.

What a notion. Logan hadn't even thought of it that way. Men with his origins didn't have holidays. Now it was all he could imagine. Sailing with Maddie through clear blue waters, watching the breezes stir her dark, unbound hair. Making love to her on sandy shores.

At last, they could really take that walk along the beach.

“What day is it?” he asked.

“Wednesday,” Callum answered.

Logan rose to his feet and kicked his chair to the side. “Then there's time. I can catch the ship before it leaves.”

The men snapped into action.

“That's the spirit,” Rabbie said. “I'll ready your horse.”

Callum brought him his coat, and Logan eased into it.

He brushed his hands down the red sleeves before spearing his fingers through his hair. He had no hose, no stock or cravat. There wasn't any time.

“How do I look?” he asked Callum as he jammed his left foot into a boot.

“Like something a wildcat dragged through gorse,” Callum said.

Logan shrugged. Nothing to be done about it now. She would either take him as he was, or she wouldn't.

“Wait, wait.” Munro blocked his way. “To have any chance of traveling to Glasgow by coach, you'd have to leave”—­the field surgeon checked his pocket timepiece—­“twelve hours ago. And as your doctor, I canna recommend you ride overland. Not with that recent injury.”

Logan leveled a hard stare at the man. “Doctor or no—­if you value your own health, you willna try to stop me.”

“As I said, that's speaking as your doctor.” Munro gave him a sly grin. “As your friend and brother, I say ride well and Godspeed.”

Logan acknowledged him with a nod of gratitude.

“Chances are you'll still miss her, you know.”

“I know. But I have to try. And if I'm too late . . .” He pushed his right foot into the other boot. “I suppose I'll write her some letters.”

“Letters?” A familiar feminine voice rang through the hall. “Oh. I am sorry I'll miss those.”

Maddie.

Oh, the expression on Logan's face when he turned around.

She would treasure it forever.

He looked red-­eyed, as though he hadn't slept in days. He certainly hadn't shaved. The smell of whisky hung in the air. His shirt was unbuttoned and his hair was unkempt. He was a portrait of misery without her.

She loved it. And she'd never loved him more.

“You're here,” he said, sounding bewildered.

“I'm here.”

He drew closer. Slowly. As if he was afraid that if he moved too close, too fast, he might scare her away.

Maddie smiled. She wasn't going anywhere.

He stopped a few paces distant. Then simply stood there for a moment, letting his gaze roam every part of her.

“You look beautiful,” he said, passing a hand over his face.

“You look terrible,” she replied, smiling.

“Why are you here? The expedition was postponed?”

She shook her head.

“Called off?”

“No.”

“You're not with—­” His gaze dropped to her belly.

She smiled and shook her head. “Not that either.”

“Then you changed your mind about sailing with him.”

“Actually, I never went to Glasgow at all.”

His brow darkened. “Did that Varleigh bastard—­”

“Logan.” She stepped forward and put a hand to his chest. Warm and solid as ever. It felt so good to touch him. So essential and right. “This would go much faster if you'd stop trying to guess and simply let me do the talking.”

He opened his mouth to speak. Then shut it.

She took that as her cue.

“You asked me to think about what I would have answered had Mr. Orkney invited me to join his expedition two months ago. And I knew at once what my answer would have been. It would have been no. I would have been too intimidated, too fearful. I would have pinned myself to a specimen board and let my own wings shrivel to dust. The only reason I could even contemplate leaving . . . It was because of you.”

“Then why are you back here?”

“Because you wanted me to chase my dream. And it wasn't in Glasgow or Bermuda,” she explained. “I did what I should have done the night of the Beetle Ball. I apologized to Mr. Orkney and went to Edinburgh instead, where I took my portfolio to Mr. Dorning. He's the printer working on the encyclopedia, if you recall.”

He nodded.

“You were right, Logan. I do have ambition. I do want to do something grand with my talents. But the encyclopedia was the commission I truly wanted from the first. So I showed Mr. Dorning my work and offered my ser­vices for his project.”

His eyebrows lifted. “And . . . ?”

“And . . .” She smiled. “He gave me the post.”

There was no holding him back any longer. He caught her in his arms and lifted her off her feet, swinging her around in a circle.

Maddie felt as though she were flying.

And even when he dropped her feet back down to earth, her heart kept on soaring.

“Your ribs,” she said, suddenly remembering. “Be careful. Remember what Mr. Munro said about your lung.”

“My lungs are fine. It's my heart that's about to burst. With pride. That's brilliant,
mo chridhe
.” He turned to his men. “Lads, Mrs. MacKenzie here is going to illustrate an encyclopedia. Four whole volumes. Congratulate her.”

The men offered their hearty congratulations, which Maddie was most glad to accept.

“Now bid her good-­bye,” he said.

“Good-­bye?” Maddie looked up at him, confused.

“Aye.” He pulled her close and growled into her ear. “Once I have you upstairs in our bed, they'll not see you for a fortnight or two.”

Her face heated. “Oh.”

He followed that promise with a searing kiss that tasted of whisky and sweetness. She kissed him back, sinking into the embrace fully. No safety net, no tether to grasp. From this moment forward, she wasn't holding anything back.

She refused to let him carry her from the room. But he whisked her away by the hand, leaving her breathless as they mounted the spiraling stairs. By the time they reached the bedchamber, she was dizzy with laughter and desire.

Together they fell onto the bed.

He pulled at her frock, working the buttons loose with one hand and pushing up her skirts with the other.

They made love in slow, cautious strokes. Partly in deference to his injured state, and partly just to savor the closeness. Neither of them wanted it to end too soon.

Afterward, he stayed inside her while she held him close.

“Did you really mean to keep me here a fortnight?” she whispered.

“Maybe two.”

“I can't stay in bed forever, you know. There's work to be done. And I feel I need to warn you . . . soon my studio will be crawling with beetles, dragonflies, moths, and more.”

She felt him shudder.

“Don't worry. Most of them will be dead.”

He peered down at her. “
Most
of them?”

“And people almost never die of insect bites.”

“
Almost
never.”

She gave him a teasing nuzzle. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

His brow pressed to hers. And for a moment, that's all they did: just breathe. Trade the same air back and forth, until there wasn't his breath or hers, but just theirs.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.”

“I missed you fierce,
mo chridhe
. I was a jackass to ever let you go.”

“Oh, you were Captain MacJackass.”

He smiled a little. Then his expression grew solemn. “I just didna want to hold you back from your dream.”

“That's just it. You never could.” She stared deep into those eyes, the same brilliant blue as wide Highland skies. “Logan, you
are
my dream. You always were. You have to know that. The deepest desire of my heart. And as wild a fantasy as I spun . . .” She laced her arms about his neck. “ . . . the reality of us is so much better.”

 

Epilogue

I
t took him a few months, but once he'd fully recovered from his injuries and the summer sunshine had warmed the air, Logan finally managed to whisk his wife away for a proper honeymoon.

He took her to the seaside. Nine years after they'd first “met” on the beach in Brighton.

Better late than never.

He found them a well-­furnished cottage near Durness, situated near a wide, sandy crescent of beach with a perfect view of the pink-­orange sunsets. It wasn't Brighton or Bermuda, but it was lovely and secluded and theirs.

Considering it was the first holiday he'd ever planned or taken in his life, Logan felt rather proud of his success.

Every afternoon, they walked along the shore together. Maddie collected shells and sketched them in her notebook. Logan gave her a gold wedding band he'd had engraved with both their initials. More than once, they made love on his green-­and-­blue tartan spread over white sands.

And they bid farewell to two dear friends.

“Fare-­thee-­well, Fluffy,” Maddie whispered. “Take good care of her, Rex.”

They released the lobsters into the ocean and bid them a good journey and best wishes for thousands of healthy offspring.

As they looked out over the blue water, Maddie reached for Logan's hand and laced her fingers in his. “Remember when you held our firstborn child in your arms?”

He pulled her close and kissed those sweet, soft lips. “I believe I do remember that. As I recall, it was about nine months from now.”

She laughed. “More like six, I think.”

“What?” Stunned, Logan lifted his head and looked down at her. “No. Already?”

She nodded.

“But . . .” He racked his memory for any evidence. “You havena been sick.”

“I was at first, just a little bit. Aunt Thea gave me a tonic.”

He dropped her hand, stepped back, and stared at her, rubbing a hand over his face.

God help him. He thought he might faint.

She bit her lip. “I confess, I thought you'd react with more enthusiasm.”

“I'm not lacking for enthusiasm. I want to squeeze you tight and spin you around and lay you down and make love to you. But I'm suddenly terrified to do any of it.” He swallowed hard. “You're with child. It's a delicate condition.”

“Delicate?” She smiled. “Logan, the child I'm carrying is yours. I feel certain he or she can survive just about anything. Including love.”

He reached to trace a gentle caress along her collarbone. “
Mo chridhe.
My own heart.”

She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “There's another little heart inside here now. It's a bit of you and a bit of me, and a lot of someone we'll have to wait to know. But Logan”—­her dark eyes tipped up to meet his—­“this means we're a family.”

His knees truly did buckle then.

He pulled her roughly to him, clutching her tight to hide his own overwhelming emotions. Later, he'd blame the redness in his eyes on wind-­driven sand.

For now, he buried his face in her hair and murmured promises.

Thou art bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh.

The same words with which he'd vowed his life to Madeline, he whispered now to his unborn babe. This child would never know hunger, never feel cold. Never know the pain of fear and darkness. Not while Logan had breath in his lungs and life in his veins.

And as for love . . .

Even when his heart stopped beating, there would be no end to his love.

He held her there until the incoming tide lapped at their toes.

And then he swept his wife into his arms and took her home.