by Tessa Dare
The big man's eyes turned to Maddie. He looked at her as though he were struggling to focus. "Who's this lass?"
Maddie offered her hand. "I'm Madeline."
"This is your sweetheart?" Grant asked Logan. "The one what sent all the letters?"
Logan nodded. "I'm marrying her. Right now, as a matter of fact."
"Are ye?" The man stared at her for a moment, and then a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. Grinning, he dug his elbow into Logan's side. "You lucky bastard."
In that moment, Maddie knew one thing.
Private Malcolm Allan Grant was her new favorite person.
He'd made her feel pretty on her wedding day. So long as she lived, she would never forget it.
"Say, can we go to Ross-shire soon, Captain?" Grant asked. "I'm keen to see my nan and the wee ones."
"Tomorrow," Logan said. "We'll go tomorrow."
"That will be fine."
That settled, Logan steered her to the center of the room. "We'd better get on with it."
"Who's going to officiate?"
"Munro will do the honors, but we dinna need anyone to officiate. There aren't any rings to bless. We'll keep this traditional, like the Highland ways of old. 'Twill be a simple handfasting."
"A handfasting? I thought those only last for a year and a day."
"In novels, perhaps. But the kirk put a stop to temporary unions some centuries ago. That doesna stop brides and grooms from exchanging vows in the old way. We clasp hands, like so." He took her by the wrist, gripping her right forearm with his right hand. "Now take hold of me."
She did as he asked, curling her fingers around his forearm as best she could.
"And the other," he prompted.
He claimed her left wrist in the same manner, and she held onto his. Their linked hands now formed a cross between them. It looked something like a cat's cradle or a children's game.
Logan nodded at Munro.
The man stepped forward and wound a length of plaid around their linked wrists, tying them together. Maddie watched, transfixed, as the strip of fabric wound over her wrist and under his, lashing them together.
Her heart began to beat faster. Her breathing, too. Her brain began to feel as light and misty as a cloud.
He must have been able to tell. His grip tightened on her wrist.
"Can we not do this in private?" she whispered.
"There must be witnesses, lass."
"Yes, but this many? It's only that . . ."
She couldn't finish her plea. The numbness had closed in on her, just as it always did. The cold found her, no matter how well she hid. And the ice encased her from toes to tongue, forbidding her to speak or move. Her pulse beat dully in her ears and time's progress slowed to a glacial creep.
"Look at me," he commanded.
When she did, she found him staring down at her. His eyes were intent, captivating.
"Dinna worry about the others. It's only me and you now."
His low words of assurance did something strange to her. Something she would have thought impossible. They heated her blood from the inside out and made her forget everyone else in the room. He'd erected a shield against that beam of attention.
It truly was just the two of them now.
Suddenly, the rain, the dark, the candles, the primal symbolism of being tied to another human being . . . It all seemed magical. And more romantic than she could bear.
She was visited by the strange, unshakeable sensation that this was everything she'd dreamed of since she was sixteen years old.
Don't, she pleaded with herself. Don't imagine this to be more than it is. That's how all your trouble starts.
"Now ye repeat the words as I say them," Logan said.
He murmured something in Gaelic, and she repeated the words aloud as best she could.
"Good," he praised.
Again, she warmed inside. Foolishly.
When she'd finished her part, he said something similar in return. She heard her name in the mix of Gaelic.
Then Munro stepped forward and unwound the cloth.
"What now?" Maddie asked.
"Just this." He bent his head and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "That's all. It's done."
The men all gave a rousing cheer.
It was done. She was married.
Did she feel different? Should she feel different?
"I wouldna expect you to wear a full arisaid," her groom said. "But now that you're Mrs. MacKenzie, you should never be without these."
One of the men handed him a length of green-and-blue tartan. Logan draped it from one shoulder to her waist, like a sash.
From his sporran, he pulled something small that flashed in the candlelight. He used it to pin the plaid together in front.
"Oh, that's lovely," Aunt Thea said. "What is it?"
"It's called a luckenbooth," a soldier--the one named Callum--explained. "It's tradition in the Highlands for a man to give such a brooch to his betrothed."
"Then you should have given it to her in Brighton years ago," Aunt Thea said.
"I should have done. I suppose I forgot." With that, he gave Maddie a sly glance.
A realization struck her like a lightning bolt. She now had a confidant. A conspirator. Someone who knew everything. All her secrets. He didn't love her for them, but he hadn't run screaming from her, either.
This ruthless, kilted stranger she'd married might be the closest thing on earth Maddie had to a true friend.
Thunder boomed somewhere, quite nearby. The candle flames ducked and cowered. The storm must be passing directly overhead.
"What's this?" Grant asked, looking more confused than he had before the ceremony began. "We're drawing fire, Captain. We need to take cover."
Maddie could see now what Logan had meant about the big soldier's memory. The poor man.
Logan reached out to his friend again. Explained, again, that they were safe in Scotland. Promised, again, to take him to Ross-shire tomorrow to see his wee ones and his nan.
How many times must he have made those same assurances, Maddie wondered. Hundreds? Perhaps thousands? He must have the patience of a saint.
"And who's she?" Grant nodded at Maddie.
"I'm Madeline." She held out her hand.
"You're the sweetheart what wrote him all those letters?"
"Aye," Logan said. "And now she's my wife."
Grant chuckled and dug his elbow into Logan's side. "You lucky bastard."
Yes, Maddie thought. Grant was still her new favorite person. Faulty memory or no, she was going to enjoy having him around.
In fact, she was contemplating giving him a kiss on the cheek, when the hall flashed white, then dark. The entire castle shook with a mighty--
Crash.
"Madeline, get down."
When the lightning struck, Logan's heart took a jolt. And for the first time in years, his initial impulse wasn't to soothe Grant or protect his men.
His attention went solely to his bride.
He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her to his chest and pulling her toward the floor, lest something above them shake loose and fall.
Once the chandeliers had stopped swaying and the danger had passed, he leaned close to speak to her. "Are ye well?"
"Yes, of course. The crash only startled me."
She was still trembling.
And Logan didn't think it was only because of the storm. Through the entire ceremony, her unease had been palpable. She'd grown more and more pale, and by the time they'd spoken their vows, her eyes had refused to focus on his.
She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said she disliked social gatherings. And this was a mere dozen people in a castle in the remotest part of the Highlands. How much worse would it have been for her in a crowded London ballroom?
He had been accustomed to thinking of her as spoiled or petulant for inventing a sweetheart the way she had. But now he was starting to wonder if there hadn't been something more to it.
Damn
. He was wondering about her again.
The wondering ended tonight.
And it didn't matter if she'd had motives of self-preservation. The task of preserving her was his now. He'd just pledged as much before his men and God, and despite this marriage being a convenient arrangement, he wasn't one to take those vows lightly.
He helped her to her feet, acutely aware of how small she was, how delicate. Every wash of pink on her cheeks or labored breath was suddenly a matter for his concern.
Which didn't make a bit of sense, considering he was the villain in her life. He'd just forced her into a marriage she didn't want, and now he was obsessed with protecting her? It was laughable.
But no less real.
As he helped her to her feet, he asked, "Are you well?"
"Just a bit shaky. Perhaps from standing so long."
The men would be expecting a celebration. Music, food, dancing. Logan had asked the castle's cook for a feast and wine. "Come along, I'll take you upstairs."
"Just go slowly, if you will," she whispered to him. "So I can keep pace."
"That won't be necessary. I mean to carry you."
"Like a sack of oats?"
"Nay, lass. Like a bride."
He hefted her into his arms and carried her out of the hall, to his men's cheers and her aunt's evident delight.
Once they'd made it out of the hall, however, Logan realized he had no idea where he was going. "How do I get to your rooms?"
She gave him directions. The directions involved a great many stairs.
"You walk up all of these steps each evening?" he asked, trying to hide the fact that he'd grown a bit winded.
"Usually multiple times a day."
That was the problem with Scottish tower houses, he supposed. They were built tall and narrow for greatest protection from siege--and inside, they were all stairs.
"The original lairds would have housed the servants all the way up here. Why don't you use a room on one of the lower floors?"
She shrugged. "I like the view."
Her bedchamber, once they reached it, was warmly furnished and cozy. The spaces under the sloping gabled ceilings were filled with rows of books and small curiosities. It wasn't at all the way he would have expected an English heiress's room to be--but having read Maddie's letters, he could recognize it as entirely her.
His eye was drawn to a pair of miniatures on the dressing table, depicting two fair-haired children, one boy and one girl. Logan knew them at once.
"That's Henry and Emma," he said.
"Yes. How did you know?"
He shrugged. "Maybe I recognized them from your letters."
The truth was, not only did he recognize the children but he also recognized Maddie's hand at work in the miniatures.
A strange sense of intimacy overtook him.
Fast on its heels came an inconvenient wave of guilt.
He set her down.
"Thank you for carrying me."
"You weigh less than a bird. It was nothing."
"It was distressingly romantic, is what it was. Would you try to be a bit less dashing? This is meant to be a convenient arrangement."
"As you like, mo chridhe."
She was right. Romance was not in their bargain. Now that he had her upstairs, in a bedchamber, he was eager to get on with the parts they did agree to.
The two of them, in a bed.
He nodded to her as he left the room. "I'll give you a half hour to make ready. And then I'll return."
Chapter Five
I'll give you a half hour to make ready.
A half hour?
Maddie tried not to panic. What was a half hour to prepare for becoming a wife? A mere blink, surely. Thirty minutes were nowhere near enough time to make herself ready.
Thirty years might not be enough time to feel ready. There was simply too much to absorb.
She was married. She was about to lose her virginity. And worst of all, she was feeling stupidly infatuated with her new husband.
At this very moment, her heart was throbbing with a sweet, tender ache.
So absurd.
For heaven's sake, she'd only known him half a day, and he'd been terrible for most of it. Her brain argued back and forth with her foolish, sentimental heart.
He blackmailed you into marriage.
And then kissed me by the loch.
His behavior to you was detestable.
But his loyalty to his men is admirable.
He threatened to carry you like a sack of oats.
And swept me off my feet instead.
Maddie, you are impossible.
She sighed and muttered, "No argument there."
She decided against calling in the maid to help her prepare.
As she removed her plaid sash and gown, she sternly reminded herself that this Captain Logan MacKenzie was not the hero she'd spent her girlhood dreaming of. When he returned to this room in--she checked the clock--nineteen minutes' time, it would not be with the intent of sparking romance; he would come to complete a transaction.
But, but, but . . .
Lightning flashed outside. She froze in the act of unrolling her stockings, suddenly awash with the memory. His arm, wrapping tight around her when the thunder crashed. He'd looked so handsome by candlelight. Not to mention, rather thrilling when he'd whisked her up the stairs.
Oh, she was in so much trouble.
As she pulled a brush through her unbound hair, shivers of anticipation coursed through her. They played a naughty game of tag as they chased from one secret part of her body to the next. Her skin felt warm and tingly. Willing.
Ready.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep, slow breath. She should not be looking forward to this. She should not be imagining this encounter to mean things that it didn't. That kind of foolishness could only lead to getting hurt.
Love is just a lie we tell ourselves.
And Maddie was all too practiced at lying.
She took another glimpse at the clock. Eight minutes left.
As she replaced the hairbrush on her dressing table, her gaze landed on the small heart-shaped brooch he'd given her at the close of the ceremony. What was the name Callum had told her?
A luckenbooth.
She lifted it for closer examination. The design was simple, even humble. The outline of a heart shape had been worked in gold, with a few chips of semiprecious stones--green and blue--inset near the crest.
Maddie turned the brooch over in her hands to examine the clasp. As she did, her fingertips caught a rougher patch on the otherwise smooth gold.
Interesting. It was engraved.
She leaned closer to the candlelight, peering hard at the tiny markings. It looked to be a pair of initials.
"L.M."
For Logan MacKenzie, of course.
Goodness, he'd arrived prepared. He seemed to have thought everything through. Then she squinted to make out the second set, expecting to find an "M.G." for Madeline Gracechurch.
There was no "M.G." engraved there.
There was, however, another set of letters.
" 'A.D.,' " she read aloud.
Unbelievable.
Apparently Captain Logan "Love's just a lie we tell ourselves" MacKenzie was a liar, too. He must have had some history of romance. One that hadn't ended well, evidently--considering he'd given Maddie the brooch he'd bought for this former lover.
The rogue.
Maddie dropped the brooch on the dressing table. At least her tingling, yearning feelings had dissipated. This was exactly the sharp object she'd needed to separate her heart from the rest of her body. Now she had a foolproof way to remember that this was not a real marriage and she should not imagine him to possess any true feelings. She'd be wearing that luckenbooth every day--a little heart-shaped talisman to remind her that all of this was false.
The door creaked on its hinges.
Oh, Lord. It was time.
Maddie scrambled into the bed and dove beneath t
he coverlet. Not quite fast enough, unfortunately. He'd seen the entire maneuver, she was sure.
She drew the bed linens up to her chin and peered at him.
He'd removed his coat and uncuffed his shirt, rolling his sleeves to the elbow. He appeared to be barefoot, shed of his socks and boots. He wore only that open-necked shirt and his kilt, loosely belted and slung low on his hips.
"Are you ready?" His voice was darker than the shadows.
"I'm not certain," she answered. "But I don't think I'll grow any readier."
"If you're fatigued, we could wait for the morning."
"No, I . . . I think I should rather have it over with tonight." Given any more time to think and worry, she might lose her nerve entirely.
"Well, then."
He licked his fingertips, then extinguished the candles one by one, until the only light in the room came from the flickering red-and-amber fire in the hearth.
The bed dipped with his weight.
Maddie lay very still beneath the coverlet. Her heart was beating faster than a bird's. She felt hot everywhere.
"There's this." She reached for the jar her aunt had given her. "Aunt Thea gave it to me. It's some sort of cream or salve, I think. She said you'd know what to do with it."
He took the jar, unscrewed the cap, and gave the contents a sniff.
"Aye. I know what to do with it." He capped the jar and flung it away. It rolled into a darkened corner.
"But--"
"I ken better than to let your aunt's remedies anywhere near me," he said. "I remember too well how her sleeping tonic fared. Your letter said you had a blistering rash for weeks."
Maddie bit her lip and drew the coverlet tight about her shoulders. He remembered that? Even she'd forgotten about the sleeping tonic. But he was right, she'd been covered in itchy red bumps for weeks.
It was disconcerting how much he knew about her without knowing her at all. And when it came to knowing the real Logan MacKenzie, she was completely in the dark. In this situation, every advantage was his. He had knowledge, experience, control.
"Drink this instead." He handed her a small flask.
"Is it medicine?"
"It's Highland medicine. Good Scotch whisky."
She gingerly lifted the flask to her lips.
"Toss it back. The burn is worse if you sip."
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tossed her head back and tipped the flask, sending a bolt of liquid fire down her throat. Coughing, she handed it back.
"If the deed's done right," he said, "there willna be any need for any creams or salves." His hand encircled her calf through the bed linens. "And I mean to do this right. You'll enjoy it."