When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(9)

The older man clapped Callum on the back. “Sorry to hear it, lad. If she didna wait, she didna deserve you.”

“I canna blame her.” Callum patted his chest with the stump of his left forearm—-the one missing a hand Munro had amputated in the field. “Have a look at me. Who’d wait on this?”

“A great”—-Fyfe hiccupped—-“many lasses, surely.”

Logan pulled a flask of whisky from his sporran, uncapped it, and passed it to Callum. Sympathetic words were never his strong point, but he was always ready to pour the next round.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. When the regiment had landed at Dover last autumn, they’d been greeted as triumphant heroes in London. Then they’d marched north. Home, to the Highlands. And he’d watched his men’s lives and dreams fall apart at the seams, one by one.

Callum wasn’t the only one. The men gathered around him represented the last of his discharged soldiers, and the worst off: the homeless, the wounded, the left behind.

They’d fought bravely, survived battle, won the war for England on the promise of coming home to their families and sweethearts—-only to find their families, homes, and sweethearts gone. Pushed off the lands they’d inhabited for centuries by the same greedy English landlords who’d asked them to fight.

And Logan couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Until today.

Today, he took it all back.

The hulking man at the edge of their group startled. “What’s this, then? Where is this place?”

“Easy, Grant.”

Grant’s was the saddest tale of the lot. A mortar had landed too close at Quatre--Bras, tossing the giant of a man twenty feet through the air. He’d survived his injuries, but now he couldn’t remember a blessed thing for more than an hour or so. He had a perfect recollection of everything in his life up until that battle. Anything new slipped through his grasp like so much sand.

“We’re at Lannair Castle,” Munro explained. The grizzled field surgeon had more patience than the rest of them put together. “The war is over. We’re home in Scotland.”

“Are we? Well, that’s bonny.”

No one had the heart to dispute it.

“Say, Captain,” the big man said. “Will we be making our way to Ross--shire soon? I’m keen to see my nan and the wee ones.”

Logan nodded tightly. “Tomorrow, if you like.”

They weren’t going anywhere near Ross--shire tomorrow, but Grant would forget the promise anyhow. Most days, Logan couldn’t bear to tell him they’d been to Ross--shire months ago. Grant’s nan was dead of old age, the wee ones had perished of typhus, and their family cottage was a burned--out shell of ash.

“Tomorrow would be fine.” After a pause, Grant chuckled to himself and added, “Did I tell ye the one about the pig, the whore, and the bagpipes?”

The rest of the men groaned.

Logan silenced them with a look. At Corunna, Grant had held off an entire line of voltiguers, giving their company time to fall back. He’d saved their lives. The least they could do was listen to his bawdy joke one more time.

Logan said, “Let’s hear it, then. I could do with a joke today.”

The telling of it lasted a while, what with several starts, stops, and pauses for Grant to collect his thoughts.

When he finally came to the end, all the men joined him in a bored tone: “ ‘Squeal louder, lass. Squeal louder.’ ”

Grant laughed heartily and slapped Logan on the back. “A good one, isn’t it? Can’t wait to tell it back home.”

Home. This place was as close to a home as Grant could have now.

Logan raised his voice. “Have a look around the glen, lads. Start choosing your sites for cottages.”

“They’ll never let us have this,” Rabbie said. “Are ye daft? It’s been more than eight years since you kissed her good--bye. This land’s in English hands now. That lass of yours has a father or a brother somewhere who’ll show his face to chase us off, and we’ll be on the next ship to Australia.”

Callum shifted his weight. “Perhaps we should wait to be certain she’ll marry you, Captain.”

Logan squared his shoulders. “Have no worry on that score. I’ll be making certain of it. Tonight.”



Chapter Three

Once she’d reached her decision, Maddie washed her face, sipped some brandy, and readied herself to go out and confront Captain Logan MacKenzie.

She got as far as the doorway—-where he appeared, looking for her.

His gaze swept her up and down, leaving her painted with gooseflesh.

“You look as though you could use some air, mo chridhe. Let’s take a stroll and talk, the two of us.”

“Very well,” she agreed, a bit dismayed that it wasn’t her idea now. She wanted to be in control. Or at the very least, holding her own.

But how could she ever hold her own with a man like this?

Maddie struggled to keep up with him as they walked out of the castle and through the arched stone gateway. His long, easy strides translated to a brisk pace for her.

They emerged from the castle’s shadow into the afternoon sun and walked out toward the loch’s edge. The weather was deceptively cheery—-sunny and warm for April, with a gentle freshness in the breeze. The sky and water seemed to be having a contest to out--blue one another.