When a Scot Ties the Knot

She bit her lip. “Do you think the women noticed?”

“I canna say. But I noticed.”

She looked into the distance. “I’ve told you. I’m shy.”

“That seemed like something more than shyness to me.”

She shook her head. She was used to her family and friends not understanding. But it was a new low when even her imaginary sweetheart refused to accept the truth.

“I’m timid in groups, that’s all. I always have been. And I hate that it sometimes makes ­people feel I’m not interested, but I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Dinna worry. You’ll have a chance to make a good impression on Beltane.”

“Beltane?”

“The first of May. It’s a traditional Highland celebration, reaching back to the pagan times.”

“I’ve heard of it,” she said. “But I’m not sure why I’d be making an impression on that day.”

“I’ve invited them to the castle and asked the lasses to spread the word. We’ll extend the invitation to anyone living in the area.”

“You’re having a party, then?”

“It would be more accurate to say that you are having a party. The lady of the castle is the hostess, is she not?”

Maddie’s steps grew agitated, and she nearly stumbled over a rock. “The first of May is barely a fortnight from now. That isn’t enough time to prepare the castle. Or, for that matter, to prepare myself. I’ve never hosted anything.”

“These ­people need a connection to the traditional ways,” he said. “A celebration to look forward to. And they need to know that the land is in good hands. It’s important that they see us working together.”

“I just wish you’d asked me first.”

“I might have asked. But I was decided on inviting them no matter your answer.”

“Well. How very commanding of you.”

“I’m not accustomed to making decisions by committee, mo chridhe. For mild-­mannered discussion, you should have posted your letters to some cleric from Hertfordshire. If you didna want a Highland officer, you shouldna have wished for one.”

Shouldna, couldna, wouldna.

“Silly me. I dreamed big.”

He gave her a sly grin. “And you got it.”

The lewd implication in his statement made her blush.

“Can we please discuss the fact that we are egregiously mismatched?” she asked. “Two days in, and our marriage is already a disaster. I keep thinking there must be some other solution. If you will not accept a lease . . . perhaps I could sell some of the land to you.”

He snorted. “Sell it to me for what? Do I look like a wealthy man?”

“You’re an officer. Or you were. Your commission must have been worth a significant amount.”

“I attained that rank through a field promotion. My captaincy wasn’t worth the same as a gentleman’s. It gives me and the lads enough to start on, but that’s all.”

“Oh. Well, that’s too bad.”

“If I had the gold to purchase land outright, I would have done that on my own. It would have been a great deal easier.”

Maddie didn’t know how to take that statement. Was she supposed to believe he’d been driven to this dishonorable act—­forcing her into marriage—­out of honorable motives? Or was she supposed to feel like she was his second choice?

She fingered the brooch affixed to her tartan sash.

Well, there was her answer.

She was his second choice.

“Say I’d never written a single letter,” she said, her voice softening. “Say your men didn’t need any help. What would you have wanted for yourself, Logan? A home, a wife, a family? A trade, or a farm . . . ? What did you dream about?”

“I dreamed of nothing.”

“You can’t say nothing. Surely you must have—­”

“No.” His tone was curt. “Lass, I never dream at all.”

Damn.

Logan hadn’t intended to say that. It wasn’t something he talked about often. In point of fact, it probably wasn’t something he’d spoken of to another soul, ever. He knew it marked him as strange.

But he’d spoken of it now, for some daft reason.

She stopped in the middle of the path and turned to him, searching him with those clever, dark eyes that had the power to see not only what was there but also what wasn’t.

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “Everyone has dreams.”