When a Scot Ties the Knot

Maddie’s presence in the same room made him strangely uneasy. She was too mysterious, too quiet, too tempting. The sweet scent of lavender kept prodding him awake every time he started drifting off to sleep.

As soon as the first light of dawn seeped through the window, he rose from his makeshift bed, buckled his kilt about his waist, and made his way out of the castle to stand by the loch, watching the new day creep across the blue surface and burn off the mist.

“So, Captain. How are ye feeling this fine morn?”

Logan turned away from his view of the loch. “What?”

Callum and Rabbie stood behind him, peering at him with an unusual degree of interest.

Rabbie propped his forearm on Callum’s shoulder. “What do you think, lad?”

Callum cocked his head. “I dinna rightly know. I think it’s a yes.”

Rabbie laughed. “I think not.”

Logan frowned. “What the devil are you on about?”

Rabbie clucked his tongue. “Irritability. That’s not a good sign.”

“But he doesna look well rested,” Callum replied. “That should be a point in my favor.”

Logan stopped trying to make sense of them. He was in no humor for their joking this morning.

“If you’re awake, we might as well get to work,” he said.

After breakfast, they all rode out to scout the glen.

Not far from the loch, they found the remnants of a ruined cattle enclosure. Time, weather, or battles had crumbled the low walls ages ago. There was no use in rebuilding it, but the loosened stone could be put to use in building cottages.

He put his hand on a waist-­high bit of wall, and a chunk of stone immediately shook loose. It landed on his boot, crushing his great toe. Logan kicked it aside and ground out a curse.

He turned in time to see Rabbie extending an open palm in Callum’s direction. “I’ll take my payment now.”

Callum resentfully dug a coin from his sporran and placed it in Rabbie’s hand.

Logan had had enough of their mysterious chatter. “Explain yourselves.”

“I’m just settling a wager with Callum,” Rabbie said.

“What kind of bet?” he demanded.

“As to whether you bedded your wee little English bride on the wedding night.” Rabbie grinned. “I said no. I won.”

Damn. Was his frustration that obvious?

Logan thought of the way he’d just cursed at a rock.

Yes, it probably was.

They’d lived too close with each other for far too long. Logan could tell at a glance when Callum’s stump was paining him, and he could sense when Fyfe had a difficult night ahead.

He knew his men, and they knew him, too. It would be plain to them all that he hadn’t purged his own lust last night.

Though Rabbie’s wagers were crass and stupid, he understood why the men would take more than an idle interest in his amorous activities. In order to ensure Castle Lannair would be their permanent home, he needed to consummate the marriage. There was a lot riding on Logan’s . . . riding.

As of this morning, he was letting them down.

He hated that feeling. In battle, he’d been their infallible, loyal officer, leading them into battle without so much as a blink. Not anymore.

Callum, always the peacemaker, tried to apologize. “We’re just having a bit o’ sport with you, Captain. She must have been weary last night, and you only just came home to her. Was quite a shock, I expect. There’s no shame in giving her time to adjust to the idea. I’m certain your lass thinks it sweet.”

Sweet?

Curse it all. First cuddling. Now he was sweet?

“That’ll be enough,” he said. “If I hear of any more wagers like this one, heads will be cracked. You should spend your time on something more worthwhile. Like shoveling out the castle stables this afternoon.”

“But Captain . . .” Callum lifted his amputated arm.

“No pity from this quarter.”

Until he could put any doubt to rest, he would do what he’d done for the past several years: keep the men working and focused on the future.

They placed stones to mark out sites for building and planting. Then he led the group up the slope to survey the grazing lands from a higher vantage.

“There’s no time to be wasted,” he said. “If we want to have a harvest this autumn, we need to put crops in the ground by Beltane.”

“Let’s hope the land’s yours by Beltane,” Rabbie said.

“It’s mine already. I’ve married her.”

“Aye, in word. But the English have a way of breaking their word, up here in the Highlands.”