When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(27)

But Logan couldn’t keep her from searching forever.

In the meantime, she would take inspiration from Fluffy—-grow a thick, impenetrable shell around herself and stay inside it just as long as she dared.



Chapter Eight

Logan knew his bride hadn’t been counting on hosting a half dozen soldiers at dinner. However, he would offer no apologies for including them. He needed to show them that this marriage was real, regardless of what had—-or hadn’t—-happened in their bedchamber last night.

The castle’s dining hall was certainly large enough to accommodate their makeshift clan. Even with five of his men, Maddie, her aunt, and Logan in attendance, they still didn’t fill the whole table.

Most of all, the men deserved this—-to sit down to a table laid with china and silver, and be served joints of roasted meat, jellied fruits, oysters, rich sauces, and more.

This was the lavish homecoming he’d promised them on the battlefield. And Logan didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

These men—-broken--down and brash as they were—-had been the closest thing to family Logan had ever known. He wasn’t going to let them down.

For the first two courses, they simply ate in awed silence.

Rabbie, of course, would ruin it as soon as the edge of hunger was gone. “I must say, Mrs. MacKenzie, what the captain told us about you . . . Well, it did not do ye justice.”

Maddie cast him a worried glance.

“Oh?” Aunt Thea asked. “What did Captain MacKenzie say about her?”

“Verra little, ma’am. But if it were me who’d been so fortunate, every man in the regiment would be sick of hearing my boasting.”

Munro snorted. “Every man in the regiment was sick of hearing your boasting anyway.”

With a bashful smile, Maddie set down her wineglass. She touched a fingertip to her collarbone, idly stroking up and down the slender ridge.

She did that when she was nervous, Logan had noticed. Unfortunately, the little gesture that she found soothing did not have a similar effect on him. On the contrary—-it inflamed his every base desire.

He swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away from that single, delicate fingertip stroking back and forth. And back and forth. It was as though he could feel that gentle, teasing touch on his skin. Or on his— “So, Captain,” Callum said, sawing through a joint of mutton. “Now that we’re all together, tell us the full story. Start at the beginning. How did ye woo her?”

Logan gave himself a brisk shake and turned his attention to his plate. “The usual way.”

“As I told ye, ma’am,” Rabbie said. “He’s a man of few words.”

“A man of few words?” Aunt Thea said. “But surely you’re mistaken. Can this be the same man who wrote our Madling so many beautiful letters?”

“Letters?”

“Oh, yes. He sent our Madling reams of love letters. So eloquent and well expressed.”

What the devil was this about? Logan sent a sharply inquiring glance at Maddie. She bit her lip and stared into her wine.

“I’m certain she saved them all. Madling, why don’t you bring them down so the Captain can read a few? I always wished we could hear them in that delightful Scots brogue.”

“That will not be necessary,” Logan said.

“Perhaps not necessary,” the older woman said, “but I think it would be sweet.”

That word again. Sweet.

“No one wants to hear them.”

At the far end of the table, Callum grinned. “Oh, I’d like to hear them.”

His eager sentiment was seconded by every other man at the table, save Grant.

“Perhaps another time, Aunt Thea,” Maddie said. “We’re in the middle of a meal. The letters are in my dressing table all the way upstairs. As hostess, I can’t leave our guests.”

“It’s out of the question,” Logan agreed.

“Of course it is,” Aunt Thea replied. “You stay right here, Madling. I’ll go fetch them myself.”

With that, the elderly woman was gone from the room before Logan and his men could even rise from their chairs as a mark of respect.

As soon as she was gone, Logan slid closer to his secretive bride. “What is she talking about?”

She murmured her response from behind her wineglass. “Well, I had to make up your side of the correspondence, didn’t I? It wouldn’t have been believable otherwise.”

“And what, exactly, did this version of me say?”

A glint of amusement warmed her brown eyes. “Perhaps you should have made this inquiry before you pressured me into a hasty wedding. Whatever is in those letters, you’re stuck with it now.”

Holy God. Logan shuddered to imagine what utter foolishness a romantic sixteen--year--old chit like Madeline Gracechurch would put into the mouth of a Highland officer.

This could be bad. Verra bad.

“Perhaps we could make a trade,” she whispered. “I’ll give you back your letters if you give me back mine.”

“Those aren’t my letters in your dressing table.”

“The ones I sent weren’t your letters, either. And yet you claim possession of them. You can’t have it both ways.”

Her lashes gave a coy flutter. So this was what she turned into, given the smallest scrap of power over him. A saucy flirt.