When a Scot Ties the Knot
Page 76“And now you love him. Don’t you?”
“I’m afraid I might.” Her eyes stung at the corners, and she blinked hard. “But he doesn’t love me. Or perhaps he could, but he won’t let himself. I don’t know what to do. We quarreled terribly after the ball last night. I gave him back the engagement brooch.”
“A mere lovers’ quarrel, perhaps.”
“Is it? I don’t know if we’re lovers at all. I want to be loved so desperately, I’m afraid I’m just imagining he could love me in return. I’ll end up stuck in another lie of my own creation.”
Aunt Thea smiled. “After what I put him through in preparation for that ball, he must genuinely care for you. At least a little.”
“He’s a loyal man. But I . . . I think I’ve wounded him somehow. Deeply. Perhaps my lies didn’t hurt you or the family, but they hurt Logan. I don’t understand how or why the silly letters of a sixteen-year-old could have such an effect. But I wish I knew how to make it right.”
Even offering her love hadn’t been enough. What more could she give him than that?
She stared at the table. “I just feel so twisted up inside, and hopeless.”
“I have just the remedy for that condition.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just this.”
Her aunt leaned forward and caught her in a warm, tight hug. It was a hug that smelled like a cosmetics counter, but so welcome nonetheless. They held each other, rocking back and forth.
By the time they pulled apart, Maddie had tears in her eyes.
Aunt Thea cupped her cheeks. “You are loved, my precious Madling. You always have been. Once you know and believe that in your heart, everything else will be clear.”
Logan kept his distance from Maddie for the next several days. It wasn’t easy staying away, but he didn’t see that there was anything to be gained from approaching her. She was already on the brink of leaving, and he didn’t have anything new to say.
He could only hope that time—or perhaps the lingering threat of those letters—changed her mind.
That seemed even less likely when on the afternoon of Beltane, he found her in the dining hall amid dozens of crates and boxes.
The table was covered with china, silver, glassware, linens, pewter candlesticks. And humbler items, too: pots and kettles, fireplace pokers, candles and small jars of spice.
“No,” Maddie said. “This isn’t a tea party. I’m building the men’s trousseaux.”
“Trousseaux?”
Her brow wrinkled. “Can men have trousseaux? I don’t rightly know. It doesn’t matter. When they move into the new cottages, they will need to set up house. They’ll be in need of these items.”
“Isn’t the castle in need of these items?”
“Not anymore.” She packed a pewter jug in straw. “I’m going home to my family. Someone ought to make use of these things.”
Logan set his jaw. It rankled him, the calm, matter-of-fact way she spoke of leaving. Not only leaving the castle but leaving him as well.
He followed her as she moved to the other end of the table, counting out equal piles of spoons.
“Do I get a parting gift, too?” he said, no doubt sounding more petulant and transparent than he would have liked. “Perhaps a side table and a pair of candlesticks?”
“Oh really? What’s that?”
Her dark eyes met his. “I want you to have this.”
“What, a spoon?”
“No, this.” She tilted her head to glance at the vaulted ceiling. “The land. This castle. All of it.”
Logan stared at her. What was she saying? “Maddie, you can’t mean to—”
“It’s already done.” She reached toward the center of the table and plucked an envelope from atop a pile of folded tablecloths. “I drew up the papers by copying the documents that transferred the property to me. Becky and Callum signed as witnesses. The news will have spread through the castle by now. By this evening, everyone will know.” She handed the envelope to him. “Lannair is yours.”
He took the envelope in his hand. He couldn’t do anything but stare at it.