Logan didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful that she kept completing his side of the conversation. He supposed it was habit on her part. She’d conducted a one--sided correspondence with him for years.
And then, once he’d served his purpose, she’d had the nerve to kill him off.
This canny little English heiress thought she’d come up with the perfect scheme to avoid being pressured into marriage.
She was about to learn she’d been wrong.
Verra wrong.
“Oh, dear,” she muttered. “I think I’ll be sick.”
“I must say, this is a fine welcome home.”
“This isn’t your home.”
It will be, lass. It will be.
Logan decided to give her a moment to compose herself. He made a slow circle of the room. The castle itself was remarkable. A classic fortified tower house, kept in a fair state of repair. This chamber they currently occupied was hung with ancient tapestries but was otherwise furnished in what he assumed to be typical English style.
But he didn’t care about carpets and settees.
He paused at the window. It was the surrounding land that interested him. This glen was ideal. A wide, green ribbon of fertile land stretched alongside the clear loch. Beyond it lay open hills for grazing.
These were the Highlands his soldiers had known in their youths. The Highlands that had all but disappeared by the time they’d returned from war. Stolen by greedy English landlords—-and the occasional fanciful spinster.
This would be home for them now. Here, in the shadow of Lannair Castle, his men could regain what had been taken from them. There was space enough in this glen to raise cottages, plant crops, start families.
Rebuild a life.
Logan would stop at nothing to give them that chance. He owed his men that much. He owed them far more.
“You,” she announced, “have to leave.”
“Leave? Not a chance, mo chridhe.”
“You have to leave. Now.”
She took him by the sleeve and tried tugging him toward the door. Unsuccessfully.
Then she gave up on the tugging and started pushing at him instead.
That wasn’t any help, either. Except, perhaps, as an aid to Logan’s amusement.
He was a lot of man, and she was a mere slip of a lass. He couldn’t help but laugh. But her efforts weren’t entirely ineffectual. The press of her tiny hands on his arms and chest stirred him in dangerous places.
He’d gone a long time without a woman’s touch.
Far too long.
At length, she gave up on the pulling and pushing, and went straight to her last resort.
Pleading. Big, brown calf’s eyes implored him for mercy. Little did she know, this was the least likely tactic to work. Logan wasn’t a man to be moved by tender emotion.
However, he was a man—-and he wasn’t unmoved by a pretty face. What with all her exertions, he was starting to see a flush of color on her cheeks. And an intriguing spark of mystery behind those wide, dark eyes.
This lass didn’t belong in gray. With that dark hair and those rosy lips, she belonged in vibrant color. Deep Highland greens or sapphire blue.
His own smile took him by surprise.
She was going to look bonny wearing his plaid.
“Just go,” she said. “If you leave now, I can convince my aunt this was all a mistake. Because it was a mistake. You must know that. I never meant to bother you with my silly ramblings.”
“Perhaps you didna mean to. But involve me you did.”
“Is it an apology you want, then? I’m sorry. So very, very sorry. Please, if you’ll just give me the letters back and be on your way, I’ll be most generous. I’d be glad to pay you for your troubles.”
Logan shook his head. She thought a bribe would appease him? “I’m not leaving, lass. Not for all the pin money in your wee silk reticule.”
“Then what do you want?”
“That’s simple. I want what your letters said. What you’ve been telling your family for years. I’m Captain Logan MacKenzie. I received every last one of your missives, and despite your best attempts to kill me, I am verra much alive.”
He propped a finger under her chin, tilting her face to his. So she would be certain to hear and believe his words.
“Madeline Eloise Gracechurch . . . I’ve come here to marry you.”
Chapter Two
Aunt Thea sat across from Maddie at the tea table. “Well, my dear. I must say, this has been a most surprising afternoon.”
Maddie could not dispute it. She dipped her spoon in the posset and traced figure eights in the pale, lumpy brew.
The entire encounter with Captain MacKenzie had left her reeling.
I’ve come here to marry you, he’d said.
And in return, what had she said? Had she given him a scathing, witty refusal? Shredded his smirk to ribbons with her rapier wit? Sent him riding into the sunset, sworn to never again pester an unsuspecting Englishwoman in her home?
Hah. No, of course not. She’d merely stood there, still as a stone and twice as dumb, until her aunt had returned, posset in hand.