When a Scot Ties the Knot

  "I never dreamed that this was possible." Maddie circled her spoon in the bowl again and again. "I can't imagine how it occurred."

  "To be sure, I'm stunned as well. The back-from-the-dead part is quite a shock, of course. Even more than that . . ." Her aunt propped her chin on the back of her hand and stared out the window looking onto the courtyard. "Just look at that man."

  Maddie followed her aunt's gaze.

  Captain MacKenzie stood in the center of the grassy space, giving directions to the small band of soldiers in his command. His men had brought their horses inside the castle walls to be fed and watered and stabled for the night. After that, they'd expressed an intent to make camp.

  They were practically taking up residence.

  Dear heaven. How had this happened?

  The same way all of it had happened, Maddie told herself.

  It was her fault.

  She'd made one mistake years ago, in much the same way a child made a snowball. It had been a small, manageable, innocent-looking thing at first. It had fit in the palm of her hand.

  Then the snowball had rolled away from her and taken a wild bounce down a hill. From there, everything escaped her control. The lies built on themselves, growing ever larger and gaining furious speed. And no matter how long and hard she chased after it, she never quite managed to get the snowball back.

  "To think that my little Madling--at the tender age of sixteen--snagged that glorious specimen. And here I thought you only collected seashells." Aunt Thea toyed with her cuff bracelet. "I know you told us a great deal of your captain, but I assumed you were overstating his qualities. It would seem you were being humble instead. Were I thirty years younger, I'd--"

  "Aunt Thea, please."

  "Now I understand why you resisted marrying elsewhere all this time. A man like that will ruin a woman for all others. I know it well. It was just the same between me and the Comte de Montclair. Ah, to relive that springtime at Versailles." She looked over at Maddie again. "You haven't touched your posset."

  Maddie peered at the lumpy, aromatic mess before her. "It smells . . . adventurous."

  "It's just the usual. Hot milk, curdled with ale. A bit of sugar, anise, clove."

  "Are you certain that's all?" Maddie gathered a spoonful. "No special ingredients?"

  "Oh, yes. I did add a dram of Dr. Hargreaves' Elixir. And a pinch of pickling spice to clear the phlegm." She nodded at the bowl. "Go on. Be a good girl and eat it up. We've hours yet before dinner. I told your captain to bring his men in for the evening meal once they've settled."

  "We're going to feed them?" Everyone knew that once you fed a pack of wandering beasts, they'd never leave. "Cook will quit in protest."

  "They're soldiers. They'll only want simple fare. Bread, beef, puddings. No need for a lavish menu." Aunt Thea raised a silver brow. "Unless you're offering up a pair of lobsters?"

  Maddie looked up, horrified. "Fluffy and Rex? How could you even suggest it?"

  "What I'm suggesting, my dear, is that your time as a shellfish voyeur may be drawing to a close."

  "But I've been commissioned by Mr. Orkney to draw a series illustrating the lobster's life cycle. Mating is only one part of it. They can live for decades."

  The lobsters were only one of a few small projects she had underway. With a bit of luck--and Lord Varleigh's assistance--she hoped to have larger undertakings soon.

  "You have a life cycle of your own to get on with." Aunt Thea placed her hands atop Maddie's. "Now that the captain has returned, you can be married soon. That is, assuming you still want to marry him. Do you not?"

  Maddie met her aunt's gaze.

  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 on
ly 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?"

  "Easy, Grant."

  Grant's was the saddest tale of the lot. A mortar had landed too close at Quatre-Bras, tossing the giant of a man twenty feet through the air. He'd survived his injuries, but now he couldn't remember a blessed thing for more than an hour or so. He had a perfect recollection of everything in his life up until that battle. Anything new slipped through his grasp like so much sand.

  "We're at Lannair Castle," Munro explained. The grizzled field surgeon had more patience than the rest of them put together. "The war is over. We're home in Scotland."

  "Are we? Well, that's bonny."

  No one had the heart to dispute it.

  "Say, Captain," the big man said. "Will we be making our way to Ross-shire soon? I'm keen to see my nan and the wee ones."

  Logan nodded tightly. "Tomorrow, if you like."

  They weren't going anywhere near Ross-shire tomorrow, but Grant would forget the promise anyhow. Most days, Logan couldn't bear to tell him they'd been to Ross-shire months ago. Grant's nan was dead of old age, the wee ones had perished of typhus, and their family cottage was a burned-out shell of ash.

  "Tomorrow would be fine." After a pause, Grant chuckled to himself and added, "Did I tell ye the one about the pig, the whore, and the bagpipes?"

  The rest of the men groaned.

  Logan silenced them with a look. At Corunna, Grant had held off an entire line of voltiguers, giving their company time to fall back. He'd saved their lives. The least they could do was listen to his bawdy joke one more time.

  Logan said, "Let's hear it, then. I could do with a joke today."

  The telling of it lasted a while, what with several starts, stops, and pauses for Grant to collect his thoughts.

  When he finally came to the end, all the men joined him in a bored tone: " 'Squeal louder, lass. Squeal louder.' "

  Grant laughed heartily and slapped Logan on the back. "A good one, isn't it? Can't wait to tell it back home."

  Home. This place was as close to a home as Grant could have now.

  Logan raised his voice. "Have a look around the glen, lads. Start choosing your sites for cottages."

  "They'll never let us have this," Rabbie said. "Are ye daft? It's been more than eight years since you kissed her good-bye. This land's in English hands now. That lass of yours has a father or a brother somewhere who'll show his face to chase us off, and we'll be on the next ship to Australia."

  Callum shifted his weight. "Perhaps we should wait to be certain she'll marry you, Captain."

  Logan squared his shoulders. "Have no worry on that score. I'll be making certain of it. Tonight."

  Chapter Three

  Once she'd reached her decision, Maddie washed her face, sipped some brandy, and readied herself to go out and confront Captain Logan MacKenzie.

  She got as far as the doorway--where he appeared, looking for her.

  His gaze swept her up and down, leaving her painted with gooseflesh.

  "You look as though you could use some air, mo chridhe. Let's take a stroll and talk, the two of us."

  "Very well," she agreed, a bit dismayed that it wasn't her idea now. She wanted to be in control. Or at the very least, holding her own.

  But how could she ever hold her own with a man like this?

  Maddie struggled to keep up with him as they walked out of the castle and through the arched stone gateway. His long, easy strides translated to a brisk pace for her.

  They emerged from the castle's shadow into the afternoon sun and walked out toward the loch's edge. The weather was deceptively cheery--sunny and warm for April, with a gentle freshness in the breeze. The sky and water seemed to be having a contest to out-blue one another.

  Captain MacKenzie's eyes bested them both.

  "What a bonny afternoon to walk along the waterfront," he said. "Just like old times, in Brighton."

  "You can stop teasing me. I'm well aware that I was a fool at sixteen. But I didn't stop maturing when I stopped writing you letters. I've grown into a woman."

  "Oh, have you now?"

  "Yes. An independent woman. One who manages her own household and affairs. So let us be direct."

  They came to a halt on a small spit of land that extended into the loch like a gnarled green finger.

  Heavens, he was so tall. Maddie realized that she was going to have an ache in her neck from staring up at him. She stepped onto a large, flat rock, closing their height difference to a more manageable amount.

  Unfortunately, closing that distance only brought her closer to his handsome features and breathtaking eyes.

  His attractiveness didn't matter, she reminded herself. This was not a long-abandoned dream miraculously come true. This man was not the heroic Captain MacKenzie she'd invented. He was just a soldier who happened to share the same name.

  And he certainly wasn't in love with her.

  No, this man wanted something, and that something wasn't Maddie. If she could learn what his goal was, perhaps she could convince him to go away.

  "You said you don't want money. What is it you're after?"

  "I'm after this, lass." He nodded toward the loch. "The castle. The land. And I'm prepared to do anything to get it. Even marrying a deceitful English minx."

  At last, here was an explanation she found credible.

  Unfortunately, she also found it terrible.

  "You can't force me to wed you."

  "I willna need to force you. You'll wed me eagerly enough. As you say, you're an independent woman now. 'Twould be a shame for these letters"--he pulled the yellowed paper from his breast pocket--"to fall into the wrong hands."

  He cleared his throat and began to read. " 'My Dear Captain MacWhimsy. This morning, the dreadful Miss Price came to call. Lavinia is always prodding me for stories about you. Today she asked if we had kissed. I said of course we had. And then of course she had to ask me what the kiss was like.' "

  As he read, Maddie felt her face growing hotter. The edges of her vision turned a pulsing shade of red. "That's enough, thank you."

  He went on reading. " 'I should have said something insipid, like sweet or nice. Or better yet, nothing at all. Instead . . .' "

  "Captain MacKenzie, please."

  " 'Instead,' " he continued, " 'this silly, boastful word tripped off my tongue. I'm not certain where it came from. But once it was out there, I couldn't take it back. Oh, my captain. I told Miss Price our kiss was--' "

  She dove for the paper. He raised his hand overhead, removing it from her reach. Despite herself, she hopped in a futile attempt to grab it. He chuckled at her attempt, and she felt the loss of dignity keenly.

  " 'I told Miss Price our kiss was incendiary,' " he finished.

  Oh, Lord.

  He folded the paper and returned it to his breast pocket. "This one isna so bad, really. There are more. Many more. You may recall, they grew quite personal."

  Yes. She recalled.

  For young Maddie, those letters had served as a diary of sorts. She would write down the things she didn't dare speak aloud. All her petty complaints, all her most uncharitable thoughts born of adolescent moods and disappointments. Her ill-informed dreams about what love could be between a woman and a man. She'd sent those letters to Captain MacKenzie precisely because she'd never wanted anyone who knew her to read them.

  And now he threatened to expose them to the world.

/>   A sense of despair churned in her belly. She felt as though she'd spent her youth stuffing heartfelt wishes into bottles and tossing them into the ocean--and suddenly, years later, they'd all been returned.

  By a sea monster.

  "What if I refuse to marry you?" she asked.

  "Then I think I'll forward your letters on to someone else. Someone who'd be verra interested."

  She winced. "I suppose you mean my father."

  "No, I was thinking of the London scandal sheets. Most likely I'd go to both and see which one will offer me more money."

  "I can't believe anyone would be that heartless."

  Chuckling, he touched the folded letter to her cheek. "We're just getting acquainted, mo chridhe. But believe me when I tell you I'm nothing you ever wanted and worse than you could have dreamed."

  Of course he would be.

  This was a perfect example of Maddie's luck. Of all the ranks in the army, all the names in Christendom, and all the clans in the Highlands . . . she had to randomly choose his.

  If this had only been a matter of some mortification, Maddie would have taken that punishment, and gladly. However, if those letters became public, it would mean more than simple embarrassment.

  People laughed at a fool; they hated a fraud. Perhaps she hadn't set out to deceive all of England, but she'd made no objections to stirring her family's sympathy and her peers' jealousy. Years later, after the captain's supposed death, she'd accepted their condolences.

  She'd even accepted a castle.

  All of her acquaintances would know that Maddie had deceived them, and for the silliest of reasons. The gossip would haunt her family for years. And who would commission scientific illustrations from a woman infamous for lies? She could find herself all alone with no means of support.

  Her sense of panic only grew.

  "Let's discuss this rationally," she said. "You're proposing to blackmail me with letters I wrote when I was sixteen years old. Didn't you do anything rash and foolish when you were sixteen years old?"

  "I most certainly did."

  "Good," Maddie said eagerly. Perhaps she could convince him to be sympathetic. He would agree that no one should be forced to pay a lifelong price for youthful folly. "And what was your foolish choice?"