When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After 3)

"I joined the army," he said. "More than ten years later, I'm not through paying for that choice. Most of my friends paid with their lives."

She bit her lip. When he put it that way . . .

"Please try to understand. If you read my letters, you must believe I took no pleasure in lying. It simply mushroomed beyond my control. I've wished so many times that I'd never said anything."

"You'd take it all back?"

"Yes. In a heartbeat."

She thought he flinched a little at her eagerness, but maybe it was just her imagination. She had a well-established surfeit of imagination. Particularly when it came to men in kilts.

"If you want to take back your lies," he said, "then you should marry me."

"How do you reason that?"

"Think on it. You wrote letters to your Scottish intended. I received them. Those are the plain facts, are they not?"

"I suppose."

"Once you marry me, none of it is a lie," he pointed out. "It will be exactly as though you've told the truth all these years."

"Except for the part where we love each other."

He shrugged. "That's a minor detail. Love is just a lie people tell themselves."

Maddie wanted to disagree with that statement, but she wasn't sure she could make a convincing case. Not from personal experience, at any rate.

And despite herself, she was growing intrigued. "What kind of arrangement are you suggesting?"

"A simple one. We marry for our own reasons, as a mutually beneficial arrangement. I get the property. You'll get your letters back."

"What about . . ." Her cheeks warmed with a blush. "You know."

"I'm not sure I do know."

He knew what she meant, the rogue. He just wanted the amusement of making her say it.

She forced the words out. "What about marital relations?"

"Do I mean to ravish you, you mean?" He lifted a brow. "The marriage must be consummated. But I'm not interested in children."

"Oh. I'm not interested in children, either."

That wasn't precisely true. Maddie loved babies. But for one reason and another, she'd long given up on the idea of motherhood for herself. It wouldn't be much sacrifice to jettison the last raft of hope now.

"So just one night of consummation?" she asked. "And no emotional involvement whatsoever."

He nodded. "We'll only need to live together for a few months. Long enough for me to establish ownership of the place. I'll build some cottages, put crops in the ground. Then you're free to do as you please."

"You mean leave? What would I tell my family?"

"That we're like any other couple who married in haste and then found themselves reconsidering, wanting to live apart. It's not uncommon."

"No," Maddie admitted. "It isn't uncommon. In fact, that wouldn't even be a lie."

Her head was spinning.

The idea of marriage had sounded preposterous at first. But maybe this was the next-best thing to going back in time. Perhaps she really could take it back--this ridiculous, impetuous tale that had taken over her life.

And, oh--her heart pinched.

For the first time in years, she could visit her family without feeling like a fraud. This web of lies she'd spun had made it impossible for her to confide in anyone. She didn't dare let anyone too close.

The loneliness had worn on her. Most dreadfully.

And when she wasn't visiting friends or family, she could stay in the castle and continue her work in peace. Captain MacKenzie would be busy managing the lands. She only needed to share a bed with him the once.

She stole a glance at his bare legs.

Perhaps that bedding part wouldn't be entirely terrible. At the least, she would have the chance to satisfy a few matters of curiosity. She spent her days waiting on lobsters to have intercourse. Naturally, she'd wondered about the human equivalent from time to time.

"I need your choice, lass," he said. "Will you be marrying me, or will I be forwarding all these letters to the London scandal sheets?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Do you promise me that no one will ever know the truth?"

"I swear they willna know it from me."

"And I will be free to continue my own interests and pursuits."

He nodded. "You have your life, and I'll have mine."

Maddie felt dizzy, as though she were standing on the edge of a precipice. She took a deep breath, gathered her nerve . . . then jumped.

"Very well, I accept. We can be married as soon as it's practicable."

"Practicable?" He laughed. "This is Scotland, lass. There's no need to wait for banns or be married in a kirk."

"But you promised no one would suspect the truth. That means you must appear to be fond of me, at least at first. I think if you were truly my Captain MacKenzie, and we'd waited all these years to be together, you would want me to have a proper wedding."

He closed the distance between them.

"Lass, if I were truly your Captain MacKenzie, and I'd spent years at war, yearning for the one woman I wanted to hold more than life itself . . . ?" He touched a lock of her hair. "I wouldna wait another night."

She swallowed hard. "Truly?"

"Aye, truly. And I would have done this an hour ago."

His head tipped to the side. His gaze dropped to her lips. And then his mouth did the strangest thing.

It started drawing closer to hers.

He couldn't be--

Oh, Lord. He was. He was going to kiss her.

"Wait." Panicked, Maddie put both hands on his chest, holding him off. "Your men, my servants . . . they could be watching us."

"I'm certain they're watching us. That's why we're going to kiss."

"But I don't know how. You know I don't know how."

His lips quirked. "I know how."

Those three little words, spoken in that low, devastating Scottish burr, did absolutely nothing to ease Maddie's concerns.

Thankfully, she had a reprieve. He pulled back and peered at her hair. He looked like a boy marveling at clockwork, wondering how it all worked. After a few moments, she felt him grasp the pencil holding her chignon.

With one long, slow tug, he eased it loose and cast it aside.

It landed in the loch with a splash.

His fingers sifted through her hair, teasing the locks free of their haphazard knot and arranging them about her shoulders. Tenderly. Like she'd always imagined a lover would. Sparks of sensation danced from her scalp to her toes.

"That was my best drawing pencil," she said.

"It's just a pencil."

"It came from London. I have a limited supply."

His thumb caressed her cheek. "It almost put out my eye. I've a limited supply of those, too. And it's better this way."

"But--" Her breath caught. "Oh."

He bracketed her cheeks with his hands, tilting her face to his.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She stared at his mouth. A wave of inevitability washed over her.

She whispered, "This is really happening, isn't it?"

In answer, he pressed his lips to hers.

And Maddie went still. The lightning bolt of sensual expertise she'd been hoping for didn't arrive. She was glued to his face, staring at his cheekbone. She had no idea what she was supposed to do.

Close your eyes, ninny.

Maybe, if she was very still and paid close attention, her idiocy wouldn't be obvious. Perhaps he could teach her to kiss, in the same way the sky taught the loch to be blue.

It was a stupid risk, kissing her this soon.

Logan realized it the moment his lips met hers and she went rigid in response. Bloody hell. If this embrace went wrong, he could scare her off and his grand plans would be over before they began.

That meant his challenge was plain.

He had to make sure this kiss went right.

"Hush, mo chridhe. Softly now."

He brushed his lips over hers in brief passes, with all the patience and tenderness a m

an like him could muster--which wasn't a great deal. But before long she was responding in a shy, sweet way. Her lips brushed his, too.

The same hands that had flattened against his chest to hold him back now clutched at his lapels, drawing him closer. Her lips parted beneath his, and he swept his tongue between them. A small sigh eased from the back of her throat, encouraging and sweet. He explored her mouth with slow, languid strokes.

And then his patience was rewarded, when her tongue touched lightly to his.

Holy God. His knees almost buckled.

Yes. That's the way of it.

She had the idea now, his clever little minx. When he explored, she yielded. When he took, she gave. And she did the same in return.

Logan could have stood by that mirror-finish loch and kissed her for hours. Days. Weeks and months, perhaps, while the seasons changed around them. There was something different to her. A taste he couldn't quite name, except to decide he'd never known it in a kiss before. A bit of spice, a bit of sweet, and all of it warm.

Whatever it was, that teasing essence had him wanting to kiss harder, probe deeper to chase it. As if he could bring it into himself and make it his own.

But he didn't want to frighten her. After one last, lingering brush of his lips to hers, he lifted his head.

He'd forgotten that she was still standing on tiptoe, balanced on that rock. As he released her and stepped back, she swayed toward him. Their bodies collided with a dull unf. Softness meeting strength.

Acting on instinct, he caught her in his arms.

He felt all of her against all of him. Warm and curved and feminine and so alive beneath that gray mourning frock.

Then she looked up at him--with those big brown calf's eyes, fringed with sooty lashes, and her kiss-plumped lips slightly parted.

Holy God. His knees really did waver this time.

Logan believed what he'd told her, with everything he had in that place where a heart ought to be. Love was nothing but a lie people told themselves.

But lust?

Lust was real, and he was feeling it. Feeling it to his core. As he held her to him, his blood pounded with the fiercest, most primal kind of need. One that spoke of possession and claiming and mine.

She made him wild.

Surely it was simply because he'd gone so long without female company. Madeline wasn't even his usual sort. Given his choice, he would have said he favored a bonny Scots lass with fiery hair and a knowing gleam in her eye. Not a shy, proper English gentlewoman just learning the taste of her first kiss.

But beneath the shyness and reserve, she possessed a natural, earthy sensuality. He couldn't help but think of what that might mean in bed--when all the rules and corsets were shed, and the dark freed her from propriety.

Damn. He was wondering about her again.

He was weary of that, the wondering. He'd been wondering about this woman for far too long. Day after bloody day, and night after freezing night. For years. It had driven him mad.

He needed to see her. Search her. Taste her. Everywhere. Hear the little noises she made in pleasure. Just once. Then the wondering would be replaced with knowledge, and he wouldn't be haunted by her anymore.

He lifted her down from the rock and set her on her feet.

"Captain MacKenzie," she said dreamily, "I wi--"

"Logan," he corrected. "I believe it's better to call me Logan now."

"Yes. I suppose it is. Logan."

"What was it you meant to say?"

She shook her head. "I've no idea."

He'd take that as a good sign.

"I'd best go clean myself up and gather the men," he said. "You can start preparing for the ceremony."

"I suppose a week ought to be sufficient time," she said. "Though I'd rather have two."

He shook his head. "I'm not waiting a week."

"A few days, then. At least give me that much. I . . . I've nothing suitable to wear."

"I dinna care about the color of your frock, lass. I'm only going to take it off you again."

She blinked. "Oh."

Logan knew he had to make this happen soon. If he gave her time to think about it, she might decide she wouldn't go through with it at all.

He cast a glance at the sun, fast sinking toward the green horizon. "You have three hours. We're marrying tonight."

Chapter Four

Maddie had always been different from other girls, and she had always known it. For example, she was certain she was the only bride to ever write the following to-do list on her wedding day: * Bath

* Coiffure

* Dress

* Lobsters

Three hours later, she was bathed, coiffed, and dressed--and sadly for both her and Rex, there was still no sign of Fluffy molting.

Now she stood in the gallery, overlooking the scene that was to be her Highland wedding.

It was a stark tableau. There weren't any special decorations. Too early in the year for flowers, no ribbons on hand, and there hadn't been time for anything else.

Outside, a spring thunderstorm had broken. Wind and rain howled, lashing the castle walls. In the high hall, candles blazed in every available holder. The flames danced and flickered, looking as anxious as she felt.

Servants lined one side of the hall. Captain MacKenzie's men lined the other. Both groups were waiting on her.

And she wanted nothing more than to stay exactly where she was, forever. Or go hide with Fluffy under the rocks.

"Ready, lass?"

She jumped, startled. Logan had joined her in the gallery, sneaking up on her with his catlike steps.

Sneaking up on her with his gorgeousness, too.

Mercy.

He, too, had bathed. And shaved. Most of his brown hair had been tamed with a comb, but a few incorrigible locks fell over his brow in rakish fashion. Someone had brushed out his redcoat and polished the buttons. The gold braid and brass gleamed in the candlelight.

He'd been ruggedly attractive earlier today. Now he was magnificent.

Maddie felt unequal to him. Becky had done her best with the hair, but Maddie had no choice but to wear one of her usual dark-gray frocks. She hadn't had anything else made in years. What would be the point? She never went anywhere, never entertained.

She certainly hadn't been prepared for a wedding.

"I don't feel ready for this," she said.

He swept her with a quick, perfunctory gaze. "You look ready enough."

Hardly what a bride dreamed of hearing on her wedding day. Not You look beautiful. Not You look lovely.

You look ready enough.

She glanced down at the half dozen soldiers lining the hall. "What do your men think is happening here tonight?"

"They think I'm marrying you."

"So they know about the letters?"

"Aye, they know I received them. But they never read them."

Maddie would have liked to believe he was telling the truth, but she doubted it. To a soldier in grim circumstances, the ramblings of an undersexed, overimaginative English chit must have been high entertainment. Why would he have kept them to himself? It seemed far more likely that her letters had been passed around the campfire for amusement on dreary nights.

"It's just so many people," she said. "And such a large space."

It had started to feel far too much like a crowd.

Maddie didn't do well in crowds.

"You must know from my letters that I can't abide social gatherings like these. My shyness is the reason I invented you in the first place."

"Invented me? Lass, you didna invent me."

"No, you're right. I invented someone understanding and kind." She crossed her arms and hugged herself. No one else seemed likely to do it. "Have you never heard the phrase painfully shy? The attention of a roomful of people . . . for me, it's an icy blast in the dead of winter. First my skin starts to prickle all over. Then I go numb. And then I freeze."

"Look around you."

He swiveled her t

o face the hall, then stood behind her, placing his hands on the railing and bracketing her between his arms. His solid chest met her back, and his chin pressed against her temple. The pose was intimate and oddly comforting.

He indicated his men one by one. "On the end there, Callum lost his hand. Rabbie has a leg full of shrapnel. Fyfe wakes screaming every night, and Munro can scarcely sleep at all. Then there's Grant. He can't hold onto a memory since Quatre-Bras. Even if he noticed something amiss with you, he'd forget about it in an hour. There's not a soul in this hall without his own burdens."

Not a soul?

She craned her neck to look up at him--all six perfectly formed feet of him. "What burden do you have?"

"The burden of duty." His voice lowered to an intense whisper. "I led those men into battle. When they were weary and chilled and sick with fear, I pushed them on. I promised they'd see the day when they'd come home to their wives, their sweethearts, their bairns, their lands. Instead, they came home to nothing."

His anger was palpable, drawing the small hairs on the back of Maddie's neck tall.

"Tonight," he said, "I'm taking their future back."

"So that's why you want this land? For them?"

He nodded. "I've made it clear I'll not stop at lying, blackmail, or thievery. But just in case it needs underscoring, mo chridhe, you're going down there if I have to sling you over my back and carry you like a sack of oats."

"That won't be necessary."

He released the railing, took a step back, and offered his arm.

Maddie accepted it. She couldn't delay any longer.

Arm in arm, they descended the stairs. She was aware of the dozens of eyes on her, chilling her like a wintry wind--but at least she had a tall, braw Highlander to offer some shelter.

Aunt Thea gave her a warm smile as she passed. That helped, too.

They made their way toward the center of the room. Along the way, Logan paused to introduce her to his men. Each soldier bowed to her. Between the graveness of their manner and the stormy, candlelit setting, Maddie felt transported back to another time. She might have been a medieval bride, accepting the fealty of her laird's clansmen.

It was a comfort to know he was doing this out of loyalty to his men and not simple greed. Even if he despised her, at least she knew he was capable of caring for someone.

"Here's Grant," Logan said as they reached a large, hulking man at the end of the line. "You're going to meet him several times."

"What's all this, Captain?" Uneasy, the big man rubbed his shaved head with one palm and looked around. "Where are we now?"

Logan reached out and placed a firm hand on Grant's shoulder. "Be easy. We're back in Scotland, mo charaid. The war's over, and we're at Lannair Castle in Invernesshire."