When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(81)

“Do I need to be jealous?”

“Well, I must warn you, the last time I had an unexpected gentleman caller . . .” Smiling, she glanced down at their linked hands on his chest. “This happened.”

“That’s it.” Logan released her hand and sat up in bed. “I’m going down there with you.”

“Logan, I was only teasing. You should stay in bed. There’s no need.”

“I’m going down with you,” he repeated in his most stern, commanding tone. He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, wincing as he worked one arm through the sleeve. “Just in case this unnamed strange gentleman tries something untoward.”

“And if he did, what would you do about it? Bleed on the man?” She laughed.

He didn’t.

He gave her a solemn look. It wasn’t the look of an invalid but of a warrior. “I’d have to be dead in my grave before I stopped fighting for you, Madeline. Even then, I’d move six feet of earth to find a way.”

Oh. Be still her heart.

“Very well, then.”

What else could she do when he said such things? Maddie knew better than to try talking him out of it. If his mind was set on rising from his sickbed, there was no further benefit to arguing. And to be honest, she felt comforted to see him healthy and on his feet.

They went slowly. She buckled his fèileadh beag about his waist and helped him pull the shirt down over his bandaged torso. Despite his boyish protests that he could do it himself, she insisted he sit while she attacked his wild hair with a comb.

When he was presentable, they made their slow journey down the corridor, arm in arm.

The identity of the man in the parlor came as a true surprise.

“I’m Mr. Reginald Orkney,” he announced.

Becky was right; the man looked every bit as out of place in her parlor at eleven o’clock in the morning as Maddie had felt in Lord Varleigh’s ballroom. He was dressed in a tweed coat, dark--blue trousers, and thick--soled boots. When they entered the room, he launched from his chair, whipped the hat from his head, and greeted them with a deep bow.

“Good morning, Miss Gracechurch.” He bowed again in Logan’s direction. “Captain MacKenzie.”

“Actually,” she said, “it’s now Captain and Mrs. MacKenzie.”

“Is it, then? Well!” Mr. Orkney clapped his hands together in surprise. Unfortunately, the gesture flattened the hat he was still holding in one hand. He awkwardly tossed the thing to the floor and kicked it under a chair. “My felicitations to you both.”

And then he showed no signs of saying anything further.

After a moment’s silence, Madeline prompted, “Mr. Orkney, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Oh. Yes, that. I’m not sure the visit has a purpose now, strangely. You see, Miss Gracechurch—-or Mrs. MacKenzie, I should say—-I confess, I came hoping to engage you.”

The tension in the room leapt to a new level.

“You came to propose?” Logan sounded wonderfully envious.

Mr. Orkney looked mildly terrified. “Not engage her as a wife,” the man quickly amended. “Lovely as she might be, I have a wife of my own. Oh, dear. I seem to be making a muddle of things.” He cleared his throat and began again. “Mrs. MacKenzie, I had come hoping to engage your ser-vices. As an illustrator.”

Logan relaxed. “There’s no reason you can’t commission my wife’s work. Even though we are newly wed, she intends to continue illustrating.” He looked down at her. “Don’t you?”

“Certainly,” Maddie said.

“Well, that’s excellent to hear,” Mr. Orkney replied. “To deprive the world of such talent would be a true tragedy.”

“But Mr. Orkney, are you certain you want to hire me? Perhaps you didn’t yet receive my letter. There was a delay, of sorts, with the lobsters.”

“Yes, yes. But that is of little consequence. This is a new project, you see. You may have noticed, I’m a different sort of naturalist from Lord Varleigh and his friends. I’ve no desire to trap the things and bring them home to England as effigies. I prefer to study and record my findings in the wild. My aim for this voyage is to record the native mollusks and crustaceans of Bermuda.”

“Bermuda. My goodness. What an adventure.”

“Yes. I had come here to ask if you, Miss Gracech—-Mrs. MacKenzie, would be available to join the expedition as our illustrator.”

Maddie couldn’t speak for a moment.

He wanted her to join an expedition to Bermuda?

Mr. Orkney tugged on his ear. “It’s quite short notice, I’m afraid. We hadn’t planned on leaving until later this summer. But just last week we were offered passage on a ship that sails from Port Glasgow this Thursday next. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“Thursday next? So you’re asking me to leave—-”

“Immediately.” He pulled an apologetic face. “I’m afraid so, yes. Once you have your things, we’d travel from here to Glasgow and use the remaining time to gather supplies for the voyage. You’d be welcome to bring a companion, should you desire one. However, my wife will be undertaking the journey with me. I know she would be glad of female company.”

When Maddie’s head stopped spinning, she managed a reply. “It sounds like a most exciting opportunity, and I’m honored that you would think of me. But I’m a newlywed, as you see. My husband is recovering from an injury. I simply can’t—-”