When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(43)

She was coming to care for him too much, too foolishly. She couldn’t repeat the same mistake she’d made when she was sixteen. Pitching those letters into the fire was her only hope if she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life caught in a lie of her own making.

Unfortunately, after many dusty hours of searching, she hadn’t found so much as a clue. Over the past two days, she’d opened every drawer in every piece of furniture—-checked behind and beneath them, too. Now she’d turned her gaze to the walls themselves.

This afternoon, she stood back and surveyed the Long Gallery, a room on the castle’s top floor that stretched the full length of the tower. The oak paneling featured a molded ledge where the wall met the ceiling. From where Maddie stood, it didn’t look deep enough to hide a packet of letters . . . but there was no way to be certain other than to check.

She pulled a straight--backed chair to the edge of the room and climbed atop it, standing on tiptoe to reach her fingers into the cobwebby, linty crevice.

Nothing . . .

Nothing . . .

She stretched in an effort to reach the corner.

Noth—-

“What’s all this, then?”

Maddie nearly fell off the chair. After regaining her hold on the paneling and securing her footing, she turned to face the intruder. “Oh. Good afternoon, Grant.”

“How do you know my name?” He searched the gallery, wary. “What’s this place?”

His hand went to his hip, as though he were reaching for the weapon he expected to be there. Maddie was suddenly aware of how large he loomed, and how small she was in comparison.

And how alone they were right now.

Her heart began to beat a little faster. If she didn’t manage to calm him, this situation could grow dangerous indeed.

Maddie stayed very still and held up both empty—-if dusty—-hands. She repeated the words she’d heard Logan and his comrades say so many times. “The war’s over, Grant. You’re back home in Scotland. This is Lannair Castle, and you’ve been staying here for almost a week. Callum, Rabbie, Munro, Fyfe . . . they’re working just outside, collecting stone.”

His brow creased. “Who are you?”

“I’m Madeline. Captain MacKenzie’s sweetheart who wrote him all those letters. We’re married now.” She motioned toward her plaid sash and the luckenbooth.

“Are ye?”

She nodded.

The man’s face relaxed. “He’s a lucky bastard, then.”

“Thank you. And you’re my favorite person.”

He grinned. “Then I’m a lucky bastard, too.”

Maddie couldn’t help but smile. This man must have been quite the charmer once, when he’d been healthy of body and mind.

His gaze shifted about the room uneasily. “Do you know where my wee ones are? Have we been to Ross--shire? I’m keen to see the bairns.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“I’ll ask the captain if we can go tomorrow.”

Her heart broke for the poor man. Again and again, he woke from that fog obscuring his mind, looking for his children. And every time, Logan put him off.

Well, Maddie couldn’t take him to Ross--shire. But perhaps she could help him in some other way.

She climbed down from the stepstool and clapped the dust from her hands. The letters search would have to wait for another time. Logan had probably taken them with him in that black knapsack. She hadn’t been able to find it, either.

She crossed the room and took Grant by the arm. “Do your children like shortbread?”

“O’course they do. Never seen the bairn what doesna like shortbread.”

“Let’s go down to the kitchen. I think Cook has prepared some fresh this morning, and I could do with a cup of tea. And while we eat, I’d love for you to tell me all about them.”

It was hours past nightfall when Logan finally reached the glen. He hadn’t intended to travel by night, but the moon was near full, and the prospect of camping on the damp heath didn’t particularly appeal.

Not when there was a warm bed waiting for him at Lannair Castle.

He’d given her time. She’d had her opportunity to rest. He wasn’t sleeping on the damned floor tonight.

A bleary--eyed footman let him in the side stairway. Logan felt as weary as the manservant looked, but instead of going straight up to bed, he stopped on the first landing and peeked into the High Hall. There he did a silent count of the men as they slept. It was an old habit from his days of watching over cattle and sheep as a youth, and one he’d never abandoned as a commander of troops. He’d never lost a lamb or calf, and he’d never left a soldier behind, either.

One, two, three, four. . .

He counted twice and still came up one short.

Grant was missing.

Christ.

His weary heart kicked into a faster rhythm, and he crossed the length of the hall. When he found out who’d shirked his duty tonight, that someone’s bollocks were getting a sharp twist.

But truly, Logan had no one to blame but himself. He never should have left them on their own. After tonight, he ought to start posting a man as sentry. This was a bloody castle, after all. A military fortress. Perhaps he ought to be running it that way.

As he searched the nearest rooms, he sent up a silent prayer. Grant couldn’t have wandered far, could he? Hopefully he hadn’t wandered out into the night. If he lost his way on the moors and his mental slate wiped clean . . .