When a Scot Ties the Knot
Page 18“Oh, that’s lovely,” Aunt Thea said. “What is it?”
“It’s called a luckenbooth,” a soldier—the one named Callum—explained. “It’s tradition in the Highlands for a man to give such a brooch to his betrothed.”
“Then you should have given it to her in Brighton years ago,” Aunt Thea said.
“I should have done. I suppose I forgot.” With that, he gave Maddie a sly glance.
A realization struck her like a lightning bolt. She now had a confidant. A conspirator. Someone who knew everything. All her secrets. He didn’t love her for them, but he hadn’t run screaming from her, either.
This ruthless, kilted stranger she’d married might be the closest thing on earth Maddie had to a true friend.
Thunder boomed somewhere, quite nearby. The candle flames ducked and cowered. The storm must be passing directly overhead.
“What’s this?” Grant asked, looking more confused than he had before the ceremony began. “We’re drawing fire, Captain. We need to take cover.”
Maddie could see now what Logan had meant about the big soldier’s memory. The poor man.
Logan reached out to his friend again. Explained, again, that they were safe in Scotland. Promised, again, to take him to Ross-shire tomorrow to see his wee ones and his nan.
“And who’s she?” Grant nodded at Maddie.
“I’m Madeline.” She held out her hand.
“You’re the sweetheart what wrote him all those letters?”
“Aye,” Logan said. “And now she’s my wife.”
Grant chuckled and dug his elbow into Logan’s side. “You lucky bastard.”
Yes, Maddie thought. Grant was still her new favorite person. Faulty memory or no, she was going to enjoy having him around.
In fact, she was contemplating giving him a kiss on the cheek, when the hall flashed white, then dark. The entire castle shook with a mighty—
Crash.
“Madeline, get down.”
His attention went solely to his bride.
He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her to his chest and pulling her toward the floor, lest something above them shake loose and fall.
Once the chandeliers had stopped swaying and the danger had passed, he leaned close to speak to her. “Are ye well?”
“Yes, of course. The crash only startled me.”
She was still trembling.
And Logan didn’t think it was only because of the storm. Through the entire ceremony, her unease had been palpable. She’d grown more and more pale, and by the time they’d spoken their vows, her eyes had refused to focus on his.
She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she disliked social gatherings. And this was a mere dozen people in a castle in the remotest part of the Highlands. How much worse would it have been for her in a crowded London ballroom?
He had been accustomed to thinking of her as spoiled or petulant for inventing a sweetheart the way she had. But now he was starting to wonder if there hadn’t been something more to it.
Damn. He was wondering about her again.
And it didn’t matter if she’d had motives of self-preservation. The task of preserving her was his now. He’d just pledged as much before his men and God, and despite this marriage being a convenient arrangement, he wasn’t one to take those vows lightly.
He helped her to her feet, acutely aware of how small she was, how delicate. Every wash of pink on her cheeks or labored breath was suddenly a matter for his concern.
Which didn’t make a bit of sense, considering he was the villain in her life. He’d just forced her into a marriage she didn’t want, and now he was obsessed with protecting her? It was laughable.
But no less real.
As he helped her to her feet, he asked, “Are you well?”
“Just a bit shaky. Perhaps from standing so long.”
The men would be expecting a celebration. Music, food, dancing. Logan had asked the castle’s cook for a feast and wine. “Come along, I’ll take you upstairs.”
“Just go slowly, if you will,” she whispered to him. “So I can keep pace.”
“That won’t be necessary. I mean to carry you.”