When a Scot Ties the Knot by Tessa Dare Page A

Foolishly.
    When she’d finished her part, he said something similar in return. She heard her name in the mix of Gaelic.
    Then Munro stepped forward and unwound the cloth.
    â€œWhat now?” Maddie asked.
    â€œJust this.” He bent his head and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “That’s all. It’s done.”
    The men all gave a rousing cheer.
    It was done. She was married.
    Did she feel different? Should she feel different?
    â€œI wouldna expect you to wear a full arisaid,” her groom said. “But now that you’re Mrs. MacKenzie, you should never be without these.”
    One of the men handed him a length of green-­and-­blue tartan. Logan draped it from one shoulder to her waist, like a sash.
    From his sporran, he pulled something small that flashed in the candlelight. He used it to pin the plaid together in front.
    â€œOh, that’s lovely,” Aunt Thea said. “What is it?”
    â€œIt’s called a luckenbooth,” a soldier—­the one named Callum—­explained. “It’s tradition in the Highlands for a man to give such a brooch to his betrothed.”
    â€œThen you should have given it to her in Brighton years ago,” Aunt Thea said.
    â€œI should have done. I suppose I forgot.” With that, he gave Maddie a sly glance.
    A realization struck her like a lightning bolt. She now had a confidant. A conspirator. Someone who knew everything. All her secrets. He didn’t love her for them, but he hadn’t run screaming from her, either.
    This ruthless, kilted stranger she’d married might be the closest thing on earth Maddie had to a true friend.
    Thunder boomed somewhere, quite nearby. The candle flames ducked and cowered. The storm must be passing directly overhead.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Grant asked, looking more confused than he had before the ceremony began. “We’re drawing fire, Captain. We need to take cover.”
    Maddie could see now what Logan had meant about the big soldier’s memory. The poor man.
    Logan reached out to his friend again. Explained, again, that they were safe in Scotland. Promised, again, to take him to Ross-­shire tomorrow to see his wee ones and his nan.
    How many times must he have made those same assurances, Maddie wondered. Hundreds? Perhaps thousands? He must have the patience of a saint.
    â€œAnd who’s she?” Grant nodded at Maddie.
    â€œI’m Madeline.” She held out her hand.
    â€œYou’re the sweetheart what wrote him all those letters?”
    â€œAye,” Logan said. “And now she’s my wife.”
    Grant chuckled and dug his elbow into Logan’s side. “You lucky bastard.”
    Yes, Maddie thought. Grant was still her new favorite person. Faulty memory or no, she was going to enjoy having him around.
    In fact, she was contemplating giving him a kiss on the cheek, when the hall flashed white, then dark. The entire castle shook with a mighty—­
    Crash.
    â€œMadeline, get down.”
    When the lightning struck, Logan’s heart took a jolt. And for the first time in years, his initial impulse wasn’t to soothe Grant or protect his men.
    His attention went solely to his bride.
    He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her to his chest and pulling her toward the floor, lest something above them shake loose and fall.
    Once the chandeliers had stopped swaying and the danger had passed, he leaned close to speak to her. “Are ye well?”
    â€œYes, of course. The crash only startled me.”
    She was still trembling.
    And Logan didn’t think it was only because of the storm. Through the entire ceremony, her unease had been palpable. She’d grown more and more pale, and by the time they’d spoken their vows, her eyes had refused to focus on his.
    She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she disliked social gatherings. And this was a mere dozen ­people in a castle in the remotest