When a Scot Ties the Knot

“And you blamed me.”

 

 

“Of course I blamed you. You were to blame. I’d read your letters. I knew they were nothing but fancies for a spoiled English debutante who didna fancy a turn about Almack’s that season. But the letters kept coming. The mockery, too. And after a while, I started to wonder . . . could I not make captain? That would show them all.”

 

“That sounds very like you. Ambitious. Determined.”

 

He snorted. “It was absurd. Do you have any idea what a stupid notion it is for an enlisted private with no money and even fewer connections to set his sights on making captain?”

 

“But you did it.”

 

“Aye. I did it. It took me four years, but I did it, one promotion and field commission at a time. The address on the envelope became the truth. The men’s teasing became respect. And the letters inside, they were changing, too. They were . . . kinder. Thoughtful. Bloody odd, but thoughtful. You sent me news of wee Henry and Emma. Here were children praying for me every night, as though I were part of their family. You canna understand, Maddie. I spent my youth in the byres, or huddled beneath my tattered plaid on the ground. I’d never had that. Never in all my life. I felt like a fool for it. But I started to pray for them, too.”

 

“Logan . . .”

 

“And then there was you. This strange, sweet woman that wouldna recognize me in the street but told me all her secrets—-and made more of me than I could have made of myself. Someone who was dreaming of me, wishing to hold me in her arms. It felt . . .” His voice caught. “It felt as if I’d tugged on a loose thread of God’s tartan, and a world away, someone tugged back. What was lies and foolishness to you was more than that to me. Your letters gave me the dream I didn’t know how to imagine for myself. They brought me to life. And then you left me for dead.”

 

Maddie pressed a hand to her mouth. “Logan, I’m so sorry. I cared for you. What you felt . . . I felt it, too. I never would have kept writing for so long otherwise. I knew it was real somehow.”

 

“Dinna say that.” He seized her by the arms and gave her a little shake. “Dinna tell me I was real to you and then you walked away to never think of me again. That only makes it worse.”

 

“Then tell me how to make it better.”

 

“It’s no use.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing you could say.”

 

She touched her hand to his cheek. “Not even I love you?”

 

The words rocked him. He refused to let her see.

 

“No. I dinna want to hear that.”

 

“Well, I want to say it. Now, when there are no obligations. No threats hanging over my head. No lies to protect. I love you, Logan. Somehow . . . It began before I knew you.”

 

“That doesna make any sense.”

 

“I know it doesn’t.” She smiled. “But it’s true.”

 

“No.” He caught her face in his hands and held her tight. “It isna true, and you know it. I’ve had enough of falsehoods.”

 

“I love you, Logan. That’s not a lie.”

 

He clenched his jaw. “Those words are always a lie.”

 

Perhaps those words weren’t false for everyone. But they were always a lie when spoken to him. Everyone who’d ever claimed to love him had deserted him. Disclaimed him. Left him for dead.

 

And she was no different. She’d given him a false demise on the battlefield, and when he’d forced his way back into her life, she’d found another way to worm out of his grasp.

 

Right this moment, her trunks were packed. She was planning to leave him in the morning.

 

And now she dared to chase after him and tell him this?

 

He bent his head and pressed his brow to hers. “Stop.”

 

“You don’t think I’ve tried stopping? For that matter, I tried mightily not to start in the first place. Neither strategy succeeded.” Her fingertips grazed his jawline. “I can’t help it. And I can’t deny it any longer. I love you. Whether anything comes of it or not, I want you to know.”

 

He would not let those words into his heart. He would not believe them.

 

But he would use them to his advantage, any way he could.

 

She kissed his mouth, so softly. Then his cheek. Then his temple.

 

“Remember the first night we made love?” she whispered, sliding her arms around his waist. “It was Beltane. Everyone was gathered around the bonfire, and we slipped away in secret.”

 

“Aye.” The word slipped out as a moan. He could feel himself giving in to the sweet warmth of her. “I remember.”

 

“Remind me what happened next. Did we spread your plaid on the heather and make love beneath the stars?”

 

He shook his head, nuzzling her throat. “We almost did. It was tempting. But I wanted our first time to be in a proper bed.”

 

“Oh, that’s right. I recall it now.”

 

She stared up at him, waiting.