“I never promised you fairness. I promised you the letters in exchange for a proper marriage. I’m still waiting on my end of the bargain.”
“You are such a rogue.”
He gave her a devilish look. “I’m a Highlander, an officer, and a man who knows the meaning of ‘incendiary.’ I’m exactly what you asked for, mo chridhe. You shouldna have any complaint.”
Then he left her, disappearing in a series of pounding, unapologetic footfalls. Tromping down the stairs as if he owned Lannair Castle already.
But he didn’t, fully. Not quite yet.
Maddie had only one possible route of escape. She must find those letters. If she could find and destroy them, his claim on her would be gone, too. She’d been hoping to search for them this morning, but Lord Varleigh had called. She hadn’t had the chance.
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.”