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And thus, at sixteen years old, she found herself staring down her first London season with approximately as much joy as one might anticipate a dose of purgative.
My dear imaginary Captain MacKenzie, you are not real and never will be. I, however, am a true and eternal fool. Here, have a drawing of a snail.
You made me a great many promises. I was reluctant to accept them, knowing how our nascent love would be tested by distance and war. But you assured me that your heart is true, and I . . . And I have read too many novels, I think.
Truly, it’s a bit frightening how much she cherishes my misery.
I can almost believe it’s you. Beside me. Keeping me warm and safe. But it’s not you, because it is a pillow and you are not even a real person. And I am a bug.
I will never be married. Or held, or loved. Maybe if I write those things out, I’ll get used to the truth of them. It’s time to stop lying and put aside dreaming. My darling, departed Captain MacKenzie . . . Adieu.
“I knew it,” Aunt Thea said. “It’s him.” The strange man nodded. “It’s me.” “It’s who?” Maddie blurted out.
“A few days, then. At least give me that much. I . . . I’ve nothing suitable to wear.” “I dinna care about the color of your frock, lass. I’m only going to take it off you again.”
This ruthless, kilted stranger she’d married might be the closest thing on earth Maddie had to a true friend.
“I think you underestimate my capacity for taking normal human interaction and making it awkward.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I have not, as of yet, developed an artistic interest in your arse.”
“That pitying look you’re giving me,” he said. “I dinna think I like it.” “I don’t like it, either.” “Then stop making it.” “I can’t.”
“You did want a new reason to despise me, after all. I’m just trying to oblige.” “You’re doing a fine job of it, too.” “So you’re upset with me.” “Yes.” “Insulted. Angry. Irritated.” “All three.” “Excellent.”
So in lieu of a sophisticated reply, she made a juvenile one. She stammered nonsense for a moment, then panicked and fled.
He looked at the mud. “If I pull you free, will you promise to bed me for my pains?”
“Did you never hear of knocking?” “Not in my own house, no.”
“You’ve got to be the Rob Roy of her imaginings. Are you calling her a ‘bonny lass’? The Englishwomen’s hearts go all a-flutter at that.”
Madeline would have her dreams, and she would be his wife. Tonight, if there was any justice. And once he held her in his arms, he was never going to let her go.
“Do you want to hear something verra amusing?” “I don’t suppose it’s a joke that ends with ‘Squeal louder, lass. Squeal louder.’ ”
“It felt as if I’d tugged on a loose thread of God’s tartan, and a world away, someone tugged back.
Touch all of you. Taste all of you. Learn you from the inside out. Once I’ve held you like that, I’m not going to let go. Ever.” And in response, she spoke a single word: “Good.”
“Munro.” Logan turned his head from side to side, seeking the surgeon. “Munro, do you see this woman beside me?” “Aye,” Munro answered. “I see her.” “You see how bonny she is?” Maddie blushed. “Aye,” the surgeon said, smiling. “I do.” “Well, we’ve been married for weeks now,” Logan said, lifting his head groggily. “I’ve only bedded her the one night. And I’ll be damned if that night will be the last. You had better mend me, Munro. I have a lot of pleasuring to do.” “Understood, Captain.”
“What can I say. I’m . . .” “Squish. Pure squish.” “I was going to say I’m in love with you, but I suppose it isna much different.”
“Just in case this unnamed strange gentleman tries something untoward.” “And if he did, what would you do about it? Bleed on the man?” She laughed.
“I’d have to be dead in my grave before I stopped fighting for you, Madeline. Even then, I’d move six feet of earth to find a way.”
I love you to the point of madness.
“You look beautiful,” he said, passing a hand over his face. “You look terrible,” she replied, smiling.
“Logan, you are my dream. You always were. You have to know that. The deepest desire of my heart. And as wild a fantasy as I spun . . .” She laced her arms about his neck. “ . . . the reality of us is so much better.”
