“They think I’m marrying you.”

“So they know about the letters?”

“Aye, they know I received them. But they never read them.”

Maddie would have liked to believe he was telling the truth, but she doubted it. To a soldier in grim circumstances, the ramblings of an undersexed, overimaginative English chit must have been high entertainment. Why would he have kept them to himself? It seemed far more likely that her letters had been passed around the campfire for amusement on dreary nights.

“It’s just so many ­people,” she said. “And such a large space.”

It had started to feel far too much like a crowd.

Maddie didn’t do well in crowds.

“You must know from my letters that I can’t abide social gatherings like these. My shyness is the reason I invented you in the first place.”

“Invented me? Lass, you didna invent me.”

“No, you’re right. I invented someone understanding and kind.” She crossed her arms and hugged herself. No one else seemed likely to do it. “Have you never heard the phrase painfully shy? The attention of a roomful of ­people . . . for me, it’s an icy blast in the dead of winter. First my skin starts to prickle all over. Then I go numb. And then I freeze.”

“Look around you.”

He swiveled her to face the hall, then stood behind her, placing his hands on the railing and bracketing her between his arms. His solid chest met her back, and his chin pressed against her temple. The pose was intimate and oddly comforting.

He indicated his men one by one. “On the end there, Callum lost his hand. Rabbie has a leg full of shrapnel. Fyfe wakes screaming every night, and Munro can scarcely sleep at all. Then there’s Grant. He can’t hold onto a memory since Quatre-­Bras. Even if he noticed something amiss with you, he’d forget about it in an hour. There’s not a soul in this hall without his own burdens.”

Not a soul?

She craned her neck to look up at him—­all six perfectly formed feet of him. “What burden do you have?”

“The burden of duty.” His voice lowered to an intense whisper. “I led those men into battle. When they were weary and chilled and sick with fear, I pushed them on. I promised they’d see the day when they’d come home to their wives, their sweethearts, their bairns, their lands. Instead, they came home to nothing.”

His anger was palpable, drawing the small hairs on the back of Maddie’s neck tall.

“Tonight,” he said, “I’m taking their future back.”

“So that’s why you want this land? For them?”

He nodded. “I’ve made it clear I’ll not stop at lying, blackmail, or thievery. But just in case it needs underscoring, mo chridhe, you’re going down there if I have to sling you over my back and carry you like a sack of oats.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

He released the railing, took a step back, and offered his arm.

Maddie accepted it. She couldn’t delay any longer.

Arm in arm, they descended the stairs. She was aware of the dozens of eyes on her, chilling her like a wintry wind—­but at least she had a tall, braw Highlander to offer some shelter.

Aunt Thea gave her a warm smile as she passed. That helped, too.

They made their way toward the center of the room. Along the way, Logan paused to introduce her to his men. Each soldier bowed to her. Between the graveness of their manner and the stormy, candlelit setting, Maddie felt transported back to another time. She might have been a medieval bride, accepting the fealty of her laird’s clansmen.

It was a comfort to know he was doing this out of loyalty to his men and not simple greed. Even if he despised her, at least she knew he was capable of caring for someone.

“Here’s Grant,” Logan said as they reached a large, hulking man at the end of the line. “You’re going to meet him several times.”

“What’s all this, Captain?” Uneasy, the big man rubbed his shaved head with one palm and looked around. “Where are we now?”

Logan reached out and placed a firm hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Be easy. We’re back in Scotland, mo charaid. The war’s over, and we’re at Lannair Castle in Invernesshire.”

The big man’s eyes turned to Maddie. He looked at her as though he were struggling to focus. “Who’s this lass?”

Maddie offered her hand. “I’m Madeline.”

“This is your sweetheart?” Grant asked Logan. “The one what sent all the letters?”