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 . . .
A soft noise reached his ears.
A voice, murmuring.
No, voices.
He followed the low, soft rumble of indistinct conversation down the corridor to where it ended with a flight of steep stairs. The voices were coming from the kitchen.
As he crept down the stairs, the murmuring grew more distinct, and the knot of worry in his chest began to loosen. He recognized Grant’s voice.
“Squeal louder, lass. Squeal louder.”
And then a ripple of soft feminine laughter.
When he turned the corner, he saw them there. Grant and Maddie. Seated together at the table, huddled around two mugs and a single lamp.
Logan braced himself against the archway as the emotions pummeled him. He was relieved and incensed at the same time. He’d been worried that Grant could have harmed himself. Now he knew it was even worse—he could have harmed Madeline.