When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(36)

But this . . .

This was different.

As he watched her with the tenants’ children, his conception of her pushed against its established boundaries. He was forced to add new descriptors to his list. Ones like “generous” and “responsible” and “protective.” She was conquering new places in his understanding, brazenly invading territory he’d rather die than surrender.

This was all wrong. He’d come here to marry her and claim what he was owed.

He didn’t want to like her—-not any more than she wanted to like him.

“Not all of us English landowners aspire to the Countess of Sutherland’s example,” she said. “My father always adhered to strong principles of land stewardship, and inoculation is something I care about. My mother survived smallpox as a young girl. Though she recovered from the pox, her heart was weakened. I believe it was why she died young.”

Logan knew, of course, that she’d lost her mother. Her father’s happy remarriage had been detailed in many a letter. However, she’d never written much about the woman herself, and it hadn’t occurred to him to ask.

“I was hoping this year to start a school,” she said, deftly changing the subject. “Perhaps once your men finish their own cottages, they can work on building a schoolhouse.”

“First they need to work on finding wives and making the children to fill it.”

“That can likely be arranged. Several of the men hereabouts went to war and didn’t return. More than one young woman found herself at loose ends.”

Just looking around them, Logan glimpsed a few potential candidates—-a cluster of lasses stood together in a doorway, whispering and giggling amongst themselves. They were quickly joined by others. Soon it seemed the entire population of the small village had come out to greet them, crowding around.

“You weren’t exaggerating,” he said. “They do appreciate your aunt’s castoffs.”

She looked up from her basket. “They’re not usually this eager. That must be for you. When I . . .”

Her voice trailed off. When Logan turned to look at her, he could see she’d grown still. He recognized that pale, disconnected expression on her face. It was the same look she’d worn at their wedding.

She’d called it shyness, but to Logan, it looked rather like shock. He’d seen it in soldiers, particularly the ones who’d survived the ugliest of battles. Their eyes stared for miles, and their minds seemed to be somewhere far away.

“Maddie?”

She shook herself.

“This is Captain MacKenzie,” she told the women, pushing the basket into Logan’s hand and backing away. “He’s going to distribute the gifts today.”

“Wait,” he said. “You mean to just leave me here with all this . . .” He fished a small tin out of the basket. “ . . . rose--hip beautification balm?”

“I’ve just remembered a woman down the lane who’s entered her confinement. I meant to look in on her.”

“It can wait until you’ve finished here.”

She shook her head, and then she was gone.



Chapter Eleven

Maddie hastened away, ducking behind a long, narrow stone cottage with a sloping thatched roof.

Once alone, she wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself tight. Her teeth chattered, and her skin prickled all over.

She felt a touch guilty for leaving Logan on his own, and under false pretenses. There wasn’t any woman who’d entered her confinement in this humble village. Not that Maddie knew of, at any rate. But she found a ewe nursing a pair of lambs in the stone enclosure behind the cottage, and she decided that made her honest enough.

When the crowd had closed around her, the cold had closed in, too. She’d known she had to get away, and the truth never made a useful excuse.

Over the course of her life, she’d learned this lesson over and over again. If she begged to be released from a social obligation on the grounds that she was simply too shy, her family and friends never took her at her word. They insisted she only needed to give it a chance. They wheedled and nudged, telling her of all the fun she would have. This time, they promised, it would be different.

It was never different.

Maddie had long ago accepted the truth. The same occasions that brought joy and merriment to others were torture for her. And no one would ever understand.

Once she’d recovered her composure, she walked back to the cottage’s corner and peeked around it to observe.

The women were still crowded around Logan and his basket of beauty supplies. They tapped the bottles he offered and peered into jars of cream, talking and giggling amongst themselves. He uncorked a bottle of eau de toilette and held it out for a young woman with coppery hair to sample the aroma.

After taking a cautious sniff, the young woman laughed and smiled. A wash of pink touched her freckled cheeks. Maddie suspected it had nothing to do with the bottled scent and everything to do with its handsome purveyor.

Goodness, he looked fine today. The morning sunlight brought out the ginger highlights in his hair and turned his skin a warm bronze. The air about him was one of command and ease. He was in his element. He’d likely been raised in a baile much like this. He knew just how to greet each of the cottagers who came forward, from the oldest grandmother to a curious youth who came down from the grazing slopes.