When a Scot Ties the Knot

  He cursed. His hips arched off the bed.

  "Don't move like that," she said.

  "Dinna tease like that," he growled.

  She took pity on him. Her hand curled around his staff, catching him in a proper grip. With her first stroke, bright light flashed through his brain, blanking it. He fell back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  Yes. That. More. Faster. Please.

  He squeezed his eyes shut to savor the sensation. Every sweet, slow stroke of her hand tugged him closer to release.

  And then . . . a new sensation joined the mix. A cool, gentle flutter just at the tip of his cock. Almost like a breeze.

  She was licking him. Swirling that shy, pink, clever tongue around the crown of his erection. Kissing and lightly tasting.

  The feeling was intense. Sublime. Not nearly enough.

  He endured perhaps a minute of this exploration before his thighs went rigid. He couldn't stand it anymore. With a trembling hand, he reached down to stroke her hair.

  "Take me in your mouth."

  The words were a risk. He might have scared her off entirely. She might have lifted her head, released his aching cock, and given him a lecture about how she wouldn't be ordered around.

  To hedge his chances, he followed with a desperate "Please."

  But even before he'd remembered his manners, she'd complied, bathing the head of his cock in wet, blissful heat. Pleasure engulfed him, and he moaned in helpless surrender.

  "I love you."

  The words just slipped out. He couldn't hold them back anymore.

  He immediately cursed himself. Of all the idiot moments to say that for the first time. Now she'd stop for certain. She'd pull away with joyful tears in her eyes, and they'd have to sit up and discuss their feelings. Maybe even cuddle.

  But she didn't stop. She just looked up at him, smiled a little around his cock, then took him deeper still.

  He groaned again. "God, I love you so much."

  She started out tentative. Understandable, this being her first time. But she didn't exactly require a great deal of skill. He was aching with need, and she was enthusiastic, if not experienced. Short of biting him, there was little she could have done that would not have felt good.

  She was more than good. She was amazing.

  He found himself rolling his pelvis, striving to push deeper every time her sweet, lush mouth sank down on him. He began to fear losing control and pushing her too far.

  "Take me in you," he urged. "I need to feel you. Fill you."

  Again, he didn't have to ask twice. She eagerly rose up and gathered her skirts to her waist, straddling him with caution. Logan reached between them to position himself, parting her folds with the head of his cock. She was wet. So wet. The knowledge that she'd found that oral attention just as arousing as he had . . . ?

  He gave a strangled groan.

  She sank down on him, and he slipped easily halfway. With a gentle rise and fall of her hips, she took him deeper by agonizing half-inch fractions. It was paradise and torture all at once.

  At first, she was careful not to take him all the way, mindful of his wounded thigh. But after a few minutes, she braced her hands on his shoulders and set a rhythm that he could tell had less to do with his injuries and more to do with her own mounting need.

  Good. He stared up at her, powerless to look away from the gentle bounce of her breasts and the evident pleasure on her face. She was the most arousing thing he'd ever seen.

  Suddenly, her eyes flew open. Her gaze met his, pleading. "Logan, I . . . Logan."

  He knew what she needed. Pushing his hand through the cloud of her skirts and petticoats, he reached down to where their bodies joined. Without breaking eye contact, he pressed his thumb to the swollen bud at the crest of her sex.

  "That's it, mo chridhe. Let it happen. Come for me."

  Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. She held his gaze for just a few more strokes before her eyes squeezed shut.

  She came hard, convulsing around him and shaking with pleasure. Her climax commanded his. With a guttural cry, he surrendered to it, losing himself in sensation.

  In the aftermath, he wanted to pull her down to him. Stay inside her and let her fall asleep against his pounding heartbeat. But she'd remembered his injuries and her nursing duties now, and she wasn't having any of that. She moved aside, nestling into the crook of his arms.

  Well. That was fine, too.

  "There's just one thing I still don't understand," she murmured. "Where on earth are those letters?"

  Chapter Twenty-six

  In an instant, Maddie felt Logan's body tense. His heart kicked into a faster rhythm.

  "It's not what you think," he said.

  "I hadn't formed any thoughts."

  "I had those letters. I did. I received them all, read them all again and again."

  "I know you did."

  "And then after the last one, where you left me for dead . . ." He cursed under his breath. "I got so angry, I burned them all in the fire one night. All but one."

  "So when you pulled one of those letters out of your pocket and read it to me . . ."

  "I was reciting from memory. I knew them by heart. No matter how I tried to forget you, I never could get you out of my heart."

  She hugged him gently. "Logan. That is the stupidest, sweetest thing I've ever heard."

  "What can I say. I'm . . ."

  "Squish. Pure squish."

  "I was going to say I'm in love with you, but I suppose it isna much different."

  He caught her hand in his, and their fingers laced together in a tight knot atop his chest.

  "First rule of love: dinna panic."

  "What's the second rule? I think we'd better skip to that."

  She lifted her head and gave him a wicked smile. "No thrashing about."

  Maddie had just craned her neck to give him a deep, passionate kiss, when a knock sounded at the door.

  "Mrs. MacKenzie? Are you there?"

  Logan kissed the top of her head. "I like hearing her call you that."

  "So do I." Maddie propped her chin on his chest and smiled up at him. "I suppose I should go answer."

  "Dinna bother." Logan lifted his voice. "Come in."

  With a little shriek of alarm, Maddie moved to rise from the bed.

  His arm tightened around her. "Stay right where you are. It's hardly the last time the servants will catch us in bed together. She might as well grow accustomed to it."

  "I'm the one who'll need to grow accustomed to it." Maddie felt a blush creeping up her throat already. But she didn't move.

  If Logan wanted her at his side, that was where she would stay.

  Always.

  When the maid entered, Maddie remained curled up at Logan's side. "What is it, Becky?"

  To her credit, the maid took it in stride. "I . . . I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am. But there's a caller for you."

  "A caller?"

  "Yes, Mrs. MacKenzie. And it's a man."

  "A man?" Rising up on her elbow, Maddie exchanged a surprised glance with Logan. "Are you expecting someone?"

  "Not unless you are."

  "Did this gentleman give his name?" she asked Becky.

  The maid shook her head. "I forgot to ask. Oh, Mrs. MacKenzie. He looks ever so--"

  "Big?"

  "No. Strange."

  Now Maddie was completely at a loss. "Please show him into the parlor, Becky. And ask Cook to prepare some tea. I'll be down in a trice."

  Once the maid left, Maddie gave Logan a bemused shrug. "I can't imagine who it might be."

  "Do I need to be jealous?"

  "Well, I must warn you, the last time I had an unexpected gentleman caller . . ." Smiling, she glanced down at their linked hands on his chest. "This happened."

  "That's it." Logan released her hand and sat up in bed. "I'm going down there with you."

  "Logan, I was only teasing. You should stay in bed. There's no need."

  "I'm goin
g down with you," he repeated in his most stern, commanding tone. He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, wincing as he worked one arm through the sleeve. "Just in case this unnamed strange gentleman tries something untoward."

  "And if he did, what would you do about it? Bleed on the man?" She laughed.

  He didn't.

  He gave her a solemn look. It wasn't the look of an invalid but of a warrior. "I'd have to be dead in my grave before I stopped fighting for you, Madeline. Even then, I'd move six feet of earth to find a way."

  Oh. Be still her heart.

  "Very well, then."

  What else could she do when he said such things? Maddie knew better than to try talking him out of it. If his mind was set on rising from his sickbed, there was no further benefit to arguing. And to be honest, she felt comforted to see him healthy and on his feet.

  They went slowly. She buckled his feileadh beag about his waist and helped him pull the shirt down over his bandaged torso. Despite his boyish protests that he could do it himself, she insisted he sit while she attacked his wild hair with a comb.

  When he was presentable, they made their slow journey down the corridor, arm in arm.

  The identity of the man in the parlor came as a true surprise.

  "I'm Mr. Reginald Orkney," he announced.

  Becky was right; the man looked every bit as out of place in her parlor at eleven o'clock in the morning as Maddie had felt in Lord Varleigh's ballroom. He was dressed in a tweed coat, dark-blue trousers, and thick-soled boots. When they entered the room, he launched from his chair, whipped the hat from his head, and greeted them with a deep bow.

  "Good morning, Miss Gracechurch." He bowed again in Logan's direction. "Captain MacKenzie."

  "Actually," she said, "it's now Captain and Mrs. MacKenzie."

  "Is it, then? Well!" Mr. Orkney clapped his hands together in surprise. Unfortunately, the gesture flattened the hat he was still holding in one hand. He awkwardly tossed the thing to the floor and kicked it under a chair. "My felicitations to you both."

  And then he showed no signs of saying anything further.

  After a moment's silence, Madeline prompted, "Mr. Orkney, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

  "Oh. Yes, that. I'm not sure the visit has a purpose now, strangely. You see, Miss Gracechurch--or Mrs. MacKenzie, I should say--I confess, I came hoping to engage you."

  The tension in the room leapt to a new level.

  "You came to propose?" Logan sounded wonderfully envious.

  Mr. Orkney looked mildly terrified. "Not engage her as a wife," the man quickly amended. "Lovely as she might be, I have a wife of my own. Oh, dear. I seem to be making a muddle of things." He cleared his throat and began again. "Mrs. MacKenzie, I had come hoping to engage your services. As an illustrator."

  Logan relaxed. "There's no reason you can't commission my wife's work. Even though we are newly wed, she intends to continue illustrating." He looked down at her. "Don't you?"

  "Certainly," Maddie said.

  "Well, that's excellent to hear," Mr. Orkney replied. "To deprive the world of such talent would be a true tragedy."

  "But Mr. Orkney, are you certain you want to hire me? Perhaps you didn't yet receive my letter. There was a delay, of sorts, with the lobsters."

  "Yes, yes. But that is of little consequence. This is a new project, you see. You may have noticed, I'm a different sort of naturalist from Lord Varleigh and his friends. I've no desire to trap the things and bring them home to England as effigies. I prefer to study and record my findings in the wild. My aim for this voyage is to record the native mollusks and crustaceans of Bermuda."

  "Bermuda. My goodness. What an adventure."

  "Yes. I had come here to ask if you, Miss Gracech--Mrs. MacKenzie, would be available to join the expedition as our illustrator."

  Maddie couldn't speak for a moment.

  He wanted her to join an expedition to Bermuda?

  Mr. Orkney tugged on his ear. "It's quite short notice, I'm afraid. We hadn't planned on leaving until later this summer. But just last week we were offered passage on a ship that sails from Port Glasgow this Thursday next. I couldn't pass up the opportunity."

  "Thursday next? So you're asking me to leave--"

  "Immediately." He pulled an apologetic face. "I'm afraid so, yes. Once you have your things, we'd travel from here to Glasgow and use the remaining time to gather supplies for the voyage. You'd be welcome to bring a companion, should you desire one. However, my wife will be undertaking the journey with me. I know she would be glad of female company."

  When Maddie's head stopped spinning, she managed a reply. "It sounds like a most exciting opportunity, and I'm honored that you would think of me. But I'm a newlywed, as you see. My husband is recovering from an injury. I simply can't--"

  Logan's hand tightened on her arm. "How long would she be gone?"

  "About six months."

  Logan nodded. "Will you give us a moment to discuss it?"

  "But of course." The man bowed again, more deeply than ever.

  Maddie followed Logan into the corridor, confused. What was there to discuss? He didn't need to talk her out of it, if that's what he meant. She'd already expressed her intent to decline with regrets.

  He said, "I think you should go."

  "What?"

  "I think you should accompany Mr. Orkney on his expedition to Bermuda."

  She couldn't believe this. "What about everything we said to each other on Beltane? Everything we shared in bed that night? If you've forgotten all that, surely you must remember twenty minutes ago."

  His mouth quirked in a little smile. "Believe me, I'm not going to forget twenty minutes ago so long as I live. I still think you should go."

  "I thought you wanted us to stay together. Always."

  "What I want is to hold you tight and never let you out of my sight again. What I want is to spend every moment of every day with you and clutch you skin to skin for every moment of every night. I love you to the point of madness. But I am just rational enough to know that I want those things because I have difficulties with trust."

  "And I understand it."

  "I know you do, sweet lass that you are. That doesn't change that it's my problem to overcome." He took her by the shoulders. "This is a remarkable opportunity. An expedition to Bermuda. Illustrating from life, rather than these dead, dusty things they send you. A chance to travel and establish your career. It's what you've longed for."

  "But . . . Logan, I don't want to--"

  "You want to go." He laid the backs of his fingers to her cheek. "I've seen your studio, mo chridhe. That faded map with all those wee pins. You can't tell me you don't want to go."

  "Part of me might," she admitted. "But all of me wants to be with you."

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  "What if I'm pregnant?"

  "It's unlikely after so few times. When do you expect your courses?"

  "Any day now."

  "Then you'll probably know for certain before the ship sails. In the meantime, you might as well prepare. An opportunity like this won't arrive every day. Mr. Orkney could be your best chance to chase your dream."

  "My dream?" She arched an eyebrow. "Since when do you put any credence in dreams?"

  "Call it a recent development."

  "If you ask me, you're afraid. You're so afraid I might think of leaving, you're pushing me away."

  He shrugged. "You could be right. You say you love me, but I can't stop thinking . . . How can you be certain? I've known you for years. You haven't known me but a few weeks, and now you'll give up the chance of a lifetime? How do I know it's me you want? Perhaps you're still hiding behind the story."

  "So now I'm the girl who cried kilt. Because I made up a Scottish officer once upon a time, you will never fully trust that I love you?"

  "What I'm saying is this, Madeline. If you followed your dream and came back to me . . . ? I'd trust that."

  She stared at him fo
r a long moment.

  They couldn't live this way, always doubting each other, always questioning whether their bond was a true love union or a convenient arrangement.

  Was it their hearts that locked together like two pieces of a puzzle? Or merely their fears?

  She loved him. She felt certain of it, even if he didn't. But unless she wanted to live out the rest of her life under the fog of his doubt, she had to convince him of that.

  Maddie would go to the ends of the earth. To hell and back, if need be.

  By contrast, Bermuda didn't seem so far.

  "Let me ask you this way." Logan tipped her face to his. "If he'd come here and asked you two months ago, before I ever came into your life . . . what would you have said? I think we both know."

  Maddie nodded to herself. She did know exactly how she would have answered.

  And after she considered it that way, everything became clear.

  Before she could give herself time to rethink it, she returned to the parlor. "Mr. Orkney, I can leave with you today."

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Logan did not take well to idleness.

  It hadn't been a week since Maddie's departure with Mr. Orkney, and he was already out of his mind with boredom. And, of course, missing his wife like mad.

  He didn't know how he was going to survive six months of this.

  At least the men seemed to know he needed company. It was just like old times on campaign. They all sat around the fire of an evening, drinking whisky and talking of lost loves and their future lives.

  Logan reached into his pocket and touched the corner of a folded paper. He'd found it tucked in his sporran the night after she'd left with Mr. Orkney. Just the sight of a creased paper with her handwriting had sent his mind tumbling into memories. His heart had given a familiar throb. Could it be another letter?

  And then he'd opened it to find something so much better.

  A sketch.

  The little minx.

  He wouldn't take it out in company, but he'd taken to carrying it with him always. The charcoal drawing all but glowed like an ember in his vest pocket, threatening to burn straight through the pocket lining.

  He uncapped his flask to pour another whisky. Then he thought better of it and put the flask away. After scratching his chin, he decided he could do with a bath and a shave as well. If he wasn't careful, he'd be a raging drunk with a yard-long beard by the time Maddie returned.

  And she would return to him.

  He had to believe that, or he'd truly go mad.