This was it. Her chance to give that ever--growing snowball a swift kick of truth. Break it apart once and for all.
Actually, Aunt Thea, I don’t wish to marry him. You see, I didn’t manage to snag that glorious specimen of man. I’d never seen him before today. There never was any Captain MacKenzie at all. I told a silly, panicked lie to avoid a season of disappointment. I deceived everyone for years, and I’m sorry for it. So very sorry and ashamed.
Maddie bit her lip. “Aunt Thea, I . . .”
“Hold that thought,” her aunt said, rising from the table and moving toward the cabinet. “First, I’m pouring myself some brandy to celebrate. I know this is your miraculous day. Your sweetheart, come home. But in a way, it is my triumph as well. After all those times I went to battle with your Papa, when he wanted to force you back into the ton . . . I’m just so happy for you. And happy for myself, as well. I’m vindicated. The past ten years of my life have meaning now.” She brought her glass of brandy back to the table. “Well? What is it you have to say?”
Maddie’s heart pinched. “You do know how grateful I am. And how much I adore you.”
“But of course I do. I’m rather easy to adore.”
“Then I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” Her aunt laughed. “Whatever for, my Madling?”
Maddie’s head began to throb at the temples. She gripped the spoon until her knuckles ached.
“For not eating the posset.” She gave her aunt a sheepish smile. “I’m feeling better. Might I have a brandy, too?”
She just couldn’t do it. Aunt Thea must not be made to suffer for Maddie’s mistakes. The old dear had no fortune of her own. She depended on Maddie for financial support, and Maddie depended on her aunt for everything else. To tell the truth now would hurt them both too deeply.
This predicament was one of her own making.
That intimidating Highlander in the courtyard was her problem.
And Maddie knew, then and there—-it was up to her to solve him.
By the time Logan emerged from the castle, his men were anxiously awaiting news. And judging from the looks on their faces, they expected the news to be bad.
“So . . . ?” Callum prompted. “How did it go?”
“As well as could be expected,” Logan replied.
Better than he’d expected, in some ways. Logan had anticipated arriving to find a woman plagued with pockmarks or afflicted with a harelip. At the least, he’d told himself, she would be plain. Why else would a gently--bred heiress feel compelled to invent a sweetheart?
But Madeline wasn’t afflicted in any visible way, and she certainly wasn’t plain. She was lovely.
A lovely little liar.
He wasn’t yet certain whether that made things better or worse.
“If that’s so,” Rabbie asked, “why are you out here with us?”
“She’d believed I was dead,” he said. “Our return came as a shock to her. I’m giving her a moment to recover.”
“Well, at least she’s still here,” Callum said. “That means you fared better than I did.”
Munro, the field surgeon, joined them. “Still no news about your lass, Callum?”
Callum shrugged. “There’s news. My uncle in Glasgow checked the records of the ship what sailed for Nova Scotia. There was no Miss Mairi Aileen Fraser on the passenger list.”
“But that’s good,” Munro said. “Means she’s still here in Scotland.”
The round--faced soldier shook his head. “I said there was no Mairi Aileen Fraser on the list. There was, however, a Mrs. Mairi Aileen MacTavish. So much for my returning hero’s welcome.”
The older man clapped Callum on the back. “Sorry to hear it, lad. If she didna wait, she didna deserve you.”
“I canna blame her.” Callum patted his chest with the stump of his left forearm—-the one missing a hand Munro had amputated in the field. “Have a look at me. Who’d wait on this?”
“A great”—-Fyfe hiccupped—-“many lasses, surely.”
Logan pulled a flask of whisky from his sporran, uncapped it, and passed it to Callum. Sympathetic words were never his strong point, but he was always ready to pour the next round.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. When the regiment had landed at Dover last autumn, they’d been greeted as triumphant heroes in London. Then they’d marched north. Home, to the Highlands. And he’d watched his men’s lives and dreams fall apart at the seams, one by one.
Callum wasn’t the only one. The men gathered around him represented the last of his discharged soldiers, and the worst off: the homeless, the wounded, the left behind.
They’d fought bravely, survived battle, won the war for England on the promise of coming home to their families and sweethearts—-only to find their families, homes, and sweethearts gone. Pushed off the lands they’d inhabited for centuries by the same greedy English landlords who’d asked them to fight.
And Logan couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Until today.
Today, he took it all back.
The hulking man at the edge of their group startled. “What’s this, then? Where is this place?”