“It isna that we want you gone,” Callum said. “But we’re grown men, the lot of us. We can fend for ourselves. The cottages are underway; the crops are in the ground. Even Grant is on the mend.”
The words were meant to console him, but Logan felt hollow inside.
If Maddie’s true dreams had been hidden in the margins of her letters, his own hopes had been hidden on the borders of his plans. It wasn’t the land he’d wanted. It was family. Kinship.
Love.
This motley assortment of broken-down soldiers around him was the only family he’d ever known. He’d looked after them the way he would look after his own kin. If Maddie was gone and the men didn’t need him . . . who was he anymore?
“I thought we were a brotherhood,” he said. “A clan. Muinntir.”
“Aye, we are,” Rabbie said. “And that’s the thing about bonds of brotherhood, mo charaid. They stretch. For thousands of miles if need be. You can depend on us to hold the place together while you take your bride on a honeymoon.”
A honeymoon.
What a notion. Logan hadn’t even thought of it that way. Men with his origins didn’t have holidays. Now it was all he could imagine. Sailing with Maddie through clear blue waters, watching the breezes stir her dark, unbound hair. Making love to her on sandy shores.
At last, they could really take that walk along the beach.
“What day is it?” he asked.
“Wednesday,” Callum answered.
Logan rose to his feet and kicked his chair to the side. “Then there’s time. I can catch the ship before it leaves.”
The men snapped into action.
“That’s the spirit,” Rabbie said. “I’ll ready your horse.”
Callum brought him his coat, and Logan eased into it.
He brushed his hands down the red sleeves before spearing his fingers through his hair. He had no hose, no stock or cravat. There wasn’t any time.
“How do I look?” he asked Callum as he jammed his left foot into a boot.
“Like something a wildcat dragged through gorse,” Callum said.
Logan shrugged. Nothing to be done about it now. She would either take him as he was, or she wouldn’t.
“Wait, wait.” Munro blocked his way. “To have any chance of traveling to Glasgow by coach, you’d have to leave”—the field surgeon checked his pocket timepiece—“twelve hours ago. And as your doctor, I canna recommend you ride overland. Not with that recent injury.”
Logan leveled a hard stare at the man. “Doctor or no—if you value your own health, you willna try to stop me.”
“As I said, that’s speaking as your doctor.” Munro gave him a sly grin. “As your friend and brother, I say ride well and Godspeed.”
Logan acknowledged him with a nod of gratitude.
“Chances are you’ll still miss her, you know.”
“I know. But I have to try. And if I’m too late . . .” He pushed his right foot into the other boot. “I suppose I’ll write her some letters.”
“Letters?” A familiar feminine voice rang through the hall. “Oh. I am sorry I’ll miss those.”
Maddie.
Oh, the expression on Logan’s face when he turned around.
She would treasure it forever.
He looked red-eyed, as though he hadn’t slept in days. He certainly hadn’t shaved. The smell of whisky hung in the air. His shirt was unbuttoned and his hair was unkempt. He was a portrait of misery without her.
She loved it. And she’d never loved him more.
“You’re here,” he said, sounding bewildered.
“I’m here.”
He drew closer. Slowly. As if he was afraid that if he moved too close, too fast, he might scare her away.
Maddie smiled. She wasn’t going anywhere.
He stopped a few paces distant. Then simply stood there for a moment, letting his gaze roam every part of her.
“You look beautiful,” he said, passing a hand over his face.
“You look terrible,” she replied, smiling.
“Why are you here? The expedition was postponed?”
She shook her head.
“Called off?”
“No.”
“You’re not with—” His gaze dropped to her belly.
She smiled and shook her head. “Not that either.”
“Then you changed your mind about sailing with him.”
“Actually, I never went to Glasgow at all.”
His brow darkened. “Did that Varleigh bastard—”