“This one was my favorite.” Maddie smiled.
With a heavy sigh, Logan unfolded the letter. Then he set the paper on the table and reached into his sporran, withdrawing something unexpected.
A pair of spectacles.
When he fitted the unassuming wire frames to his face, the change in his appearance was immediate and profound.
Profoundly arousing, that was.
His features were still every bit as strong and unpolished, as though cut from granite with imprecise tools. As always, his jaw sported the shadowy growth of new whiskers—it seemed he could shave twice a day and never vanquish his inner barbarian. But the spectacles added an element of refinement to his masculine appeal. Not only refinement but civility as well. Humanity.
Strangely, they made her even more acutely aware of his raw animal nature. A lion might be trained to walk upright and wear a tailcoat, but one could never forget that beneath the manners, it was still a dangerous beast.
As Logan scanned the contents of the letter, Maddie imagined she could sense him craving violence.
From the far end of the table, his men began to urge and tease.
“Go on, then, Captain.”
“What’s the delay?”
“You could pass it here, and we’d read it ourselves.”
“I wouldn’t mind if they do,” Maddie said.
He shot her a glare through those spectacles.
She felt it raise every hair on her arms.
At last, Logan cleared his throat. “ ‘My dear Madeline,’ ” he read in a bored, dispassionate tone. “ ‘The nights spent on campaign are long and cold, but thoughts of you keep me warm.’ ”
The men drummed the table in approval.
“ ‘I think often on the charms of your fair face. Your dark eyes. And your soft, creamy . . .’ ” He tilted the paper to peer at it. Suspense thickened the air like humidity. “ ‘ . . . skin.’ ”
Rabbie whistled. “I was excited for a moment there.”
“Good save, Captain,” Callum added.
He pressed on, clearly eager to have it all over with. “ ‘When this war is over, I shall hold you in my arms and never let go. Until then, my love, I offer this verse.’ ”
“Well . . . ?”
Maddie had to press a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. She was ever so glad her talents ran to sketching and not poetry. Every verse she’d penned in adolescence was trite and insipid. As an adult, she would never willingly put her name to the horrid things.
Fortunately, she’d put Logan MacKenzie’s name to every last one.
“ ’To my truest love,’ ” he began.
“Go on,” she urged. “I remember it precisely, if the ink is smudged. Let me know if you need help.”
“I won’t.”
She leaned forward. “It begins like so. ‘Were I a bird . . .’ ”
He exhaled with a sound of finality. Like a trapped hare with no escape, settling down to await its death.
Then he began to read aloud in that deep, resonant Scots burr.
“Were I a bird, I’d sing for thee.
Were I a bee, I’d sting for thee.
Were I a peak, I’d tower for thee.
Were I a tree, I’d flower for thee.
Were I a flute—”
The reading was interrupted as Callum began to cough with alarming violence. Rabbie slapped him on the back with vigor.
“Do I need to stop?” Logan asked. “Are you dying?”
Callum shook his head.
“Because I wouldna mind it if you were dying.”
“No, no.” At length Callum looked up with a reddened face and choked out, “Dinna mind me. Do go on.”
“Were I a flute, I’d play for thee.
Were I a steed, I’d neigh for thee.”
Now the coughing was contagious. All the men had succumbed. Even the servants had been afflicted. Maddie was fighting a powerful tickle in her throat, too.
Logan plowed on, no doubt hoping to kill them all dead. Then there would be no witnesses.
“Were I a fire, I’d burn for thee.
But being a man, I yearn for thee.”
He flung the paper down on the table and whipped off his spectacles. “All my love and et cetera. That’s the end.” She thought he heard him mutter bitterly, “The end of all dignity.”
Quiet reigned for a long moment.
“I have a most excellent cough remedy in my medicine box,” Aunt Thea finally remarked. “Captain, I think several of your men could do with a dose.”
Maddie motioned to the servants to clear the plates and bring dessert.