Maddie’s wasn’t a soul under his protection, not truly. He meant to use her for her lands, plain and simple. But at least she had the comfort of this knowledge: He couldn’t leave her here.

So long as their marriage remained unconsummated, she was of no use to him dead.

“First, draw a good breath,” he told her. “In and then out. Slowly.”

“I don’t want to waste time with breathing. Can’t you just pull me out of this?”

“Breathe,” he repeated.

It would seem he wouldn’t help her until she obeyed him. She closed her eyes, drew a breath, then released it.

“That’s it, again. More slowly this time. And again, until you’ve calmed.”

Those half dozen slow, forced breaths were the most torturous moments of her life. But at the end of them, she did feel somewhat improved. Her rioting heartbeat had calmed to a slightly less deafening clamor.

“When you’re ready,” he said, “you can begin to move back and forth.”

“How?”

“Just rock to and fro. As if you’re dancing.”

“Oh, Lord. That’s it. I’ll die here. I don’t know how to dance.”

He chuckled. “Lass, the bog doesna know that.”

She did as he directed, swaying back and forth. She felt like a clock’s pendulum moving in treacle. At first, she could only move an inch or two to either side, but after a few minutes’ effort, she could manage a reasonable sway.

“That’s it. Can you feel water circulating about your legs?”

She nodded.

“Then you’re doing it right. Keep it up. Perhaps even a bit faster. It would be best to have your legs free before . . .”

“Before what?” Maddie asked.

Heavy raindrops splattered her face and shoulders.

“Before that.”

Wonderful. Now she would be wet and chilled from both sides.

She rocked with renewed vigor and was rewarded with a bit more breathing room. “What do I do now?”

“Lean back a touch,” he directed. “As though you’re going to float atop the bog.”

“But—­”

“Just do it.”

He lay on his stomach behind her, reaching forward with both hands. As she reclined, he caught her under the arms.

“I have you,” he whispered in her ear. “And I’m not letting go.”

She swallowed hard. “What next?”

“Whichever of your legs feels the loosest, keep wriggling it side to side. And pull it up.”

“I’m confused. Am I supposed to move it side to side, or up?”

“Both.”

Dear Lord. What was next? Do this all while juggling torches and smoking a pipe? She wasn’t certain she had the coordination for this. London ballrooms, Highland bogs . . . was there no place in the world that was safe for an awkward English spinster?

She worked on her right leg first, shaking it beneath the surface of the mud as she slowly drew it upward. The incremental progress was agonizing, but at last her knee emerged from the muck.

“Good,” he said. “Now the other. This time, you wriggle. I’ll pull.”

“I’m trying.”

And she was trying, but it wasn’t enough. The mire was quickly closing on her again, drawing on her leg. She was suddenly, sharply aware of how fortunate she was to have Logan nearby. If Maddie had been on her own, she never could have worked herself free.

Even with him here, it didn’t seem a certainty.

“One last time,” he said. “Move your leg back and forth, with as much vigor as you can manage. I’m going to pull on the count of three.”

She nodded.

“One . . . two . . .”

She gritted her teeth.

“Three.”

His arm muscles flexed. As he pulled, she felt a terrible wrench in her hip joint. Maddie knew she would pay for that later. She’d be sore for days.

But a full year of soreness would still be better than one more minute spent stuck in that bog.

At last, she was free.

Breathless and panting, she crawled a few feet up the slope and flopped onto a bit of damp turf. She was caked with mud below the waist and soaked with rain everywhere else.

Logan seemed winded, too. He collapsed beside her.

“Life is so strange,” she said, swiping a strand of hair from her rain-­spattered face. “When I invented a Scottish sweetheart, it was with the aim of avoiding humiliation. Look at me now. How do I get myself into these things?”

“By wishing for them, mo chridhe.” He rolled to face her, propping himself on his elbow. “It’s everything you asked for. A remote castle in the Highlands and an officer in a kilt. Be glad you didna manage to kill me off, or you’d still be stuck in that bog alone.”