“I made an exploding haggis? Oh, Lord.”
He looked into the pot and tsked at the ruined pudding. “Before you put it in to boil, you need to give it a prick with a—”
A savage roar echoed through the vaulted kitchen. Logan dropped the pot lid and wheeled around.
Jesus.
Grant had risen from the seat where he’d been chopping onions. The explosion must have startled him. He looked more wild-eyed and terrified than Logan had seen him in months.
But one thing was different.
This time, Grant was holding Maddie. He had her wrapped in one arm, and with the other hand he held the kitchen knife to her throat.
“Where are we?” he asked. “What’s happened? What’s this place? Where are my bairns?”
Logan caught Maddie’s eye.
“I’m all right,” she said softly. “I’m not afraid. He doesn’t want to hurt me. He’s only confused.”
Logan wished he could feel so certain of that. Between the explosion and the smell of blood hanging in the room, he could only imagine the hellish places Grant’s mind might have taken him to, or what kind of enemy he might believe Maddie to be.
“Easy, Grant,” he said. “You’re home in Scotland. The war’s over.”
“No.” He swung his head back and forth. “No, no, no. Dinna give me that tale, Captain. Not again. Day after day it’s the same. We’ll go to Ross-shire tomorrow, you tell me. Always tomorrow, never today.”
Logan swallowed a curse. Of all the times for Grant to stitch together a few pieces of his shredded memory. “Easy, mo charaid. Let’s just calm ourselves, and sit down to a nice glass of—”
“I want to know now!” Grant shouted, holding the blade’s edge to Maddie’s pale throat. “You tell me the truth, MacKenzie.”
“First, let the lass go. She doesna know anything.” Logan moved toward him, open hands raised. “I’ll tell you the truth, but you must let her go.”
Grant shook his head, keeping Maddie in a tight grip. “Where are they? I want my children. My family. I want the truth.”
“Just tell him,” Maddie whispered. “Please.”
Logan steeled himself and looked his friend in the eye. “They’re dead. They’re all dead.”
“That’s a lie.”
“No. We went there together, months ago. The wee ones perished of typhus a good year back. What remained of the village had been evicted. The houses were all burned out, and the survivors had been sent to Canada. Their ship sank in rough seas. There’s nothing left.”
“No.” Grant pressed the knife to Maddie’s throat. “No, you’re playing me false. I’d remember that.”
“You saw their graves, mo charaid. To the side of the old kirk, beneath the rowan tree. I stood by your side as you wept and prayed for them.”
Grant’s face contorted with anguish. The big man sobbed, and his grip on Maddie went slack.
Logan made eye contact with her. “Go. Now.”
She ducked under Grant’s arm and escaped to the side of the room.
Before Grant could reach for her, Logan stepped in his way. “I’m the one you’re angry with. Turn the knife on me.”
The big man gave an inhuman howl and did just that, charging forward and swinging the kitchen blade in a wide arc. Logan ducked fast enough to put himself out of harm’s way, but he heard the swish of steel pass all too close to his ear.
“Logan!” Maddie cried.
Then Grant changed direction, charging again. Logan scrambled backward over the table, putting a barrier between them. They circled round it as Grant chased and Logan stayed on retreat.
Logan kept his voice even. “Madeline, leave the room.”
“No.”
“I said go, Maddie.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with him. Not like this.” Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw her reach for an oversized wooden spurtle and lift it like a cricket bat.
Then his attention swung back to Grant.
From the other side of the table, the battered soldier leveled the knife with a trembling hand. “What’s happened to my mind, Captain? I canna hold onto the days. They slip through my fingers. The last thing I properly recall, we were on the battlefield.”
“It was a mortar at Quatre-Bras.”
“My head was ringing. It’s still ringing. All the time, the ringing. The blood.” He struck himself with an open palm to the temple. “I told you to leave me. You should have left me.”