The Scottish Bride (17 page)

Donnatella sat down beside her and lifted a handful of hair. Such a common color, she thought, as she smoothed out the tangles. “Meggie is the vicar's daughter?”

“Yes, she is precious. And very smart. She loves her father very much.”

Donnatella hit a snag. Mary Rose flinched. Donnatella worked on the knot until it was free. “I saw Erickson just a while ago at Vallance Manor. He is very upset, Mary Rose.”

Donnatella felt the sudden bolt of fear in her cousin, making her all stiff, and she studied more tangles in Mary Rose's hair. She said, “Really, Mary Rose, being afraid of a man is quite ridiculous. He would never hurt you. I do believe he loves you. Now, what is the matter with you? Marry him, for God's sake, and then you will control him well enough.”

“I don't think so,” Mary Rose said slowly, staring straight ahead. “I know you could manage a husband quite well, but I? I'm not sure about that. I have never thought that Erickson loved me. You are wrong about that.”

“Then why does he want to marry you so badly?”

“I don't know. Even if I did marry him, I cannot imagine controlling him. You could. You are very strong, Donnatella.”

“A woman has to be strong or she will become nothing more than a rug to be trod upon.” She hit another snag, and this time Mary Rose jerked.

“Ah, nearly done. Hold still.”

“When I was your age, I wasn't so firm about things. I have always admired that in you.” Mary Rose thought about Tysen treading on her, and knew, all the way to the soles of her feet, that he wouldn't. “I cannot marry Erickson,” she said, lightly closing her fingers about her cousin's wrist. Her scalp was burning, surely it was enough. Donnatella lowered the hairbrush and said, “Now your hair is mixed with his.”

Mary Rose just shook her head. “I don't love Erickson, I never have. You're quite wrong about his feelings for me, else why would he try to rape me?”

“Rape?” Donnatella actually laughed—such a sweet sound, Mary Rose thought. How jarring it was with that awful word that had come trippingly off her tongue.

“Yes, rape. He has tried twice. Thank heaven I managed to get away from him both times.”

“I've heard,” Donnatella said, lowering her voice to a near whisper, pulling close to Mary Rose's ear, “that he is a splendid lover. He has bedded several women in the village, and believe me, they smile like loons when he leaves them.” She gave a delicate shiver. “Perhaps you should simply trust him, Mary Rose. Let him have you. Enjoy him, use him. Men are ever so easy when it comes to that. I will teach you how to do it.”

“I have never felt the slightest desire to let him make love to me. Really, Donnatella, I cannot imagine such a thing.” She frowned, looking toward the now lowering
sun through the windows. “I don't understand why he wants to marry me. It makes no sense. I am a bastard. He truly did try to rape me. He isn't a good man to so easily want to do that.”

“A man in love may be excused many things,” Donnatella said. “A man in love, I have always believed, is singularly stupid. Perhaps I should offer him my assistance in bringing you around. It would be far more efficient.”

“I would that you not, Donnatella.”

Donnatella laughed. “Yes, men in love—or in lust—it is one and the same to all of them. I have seen it several times now. It is really quite amusing to watch. However, Erickson spoke to you earlier. He saw you looking like this, and he still wants to marry you. Doesn't that convince you that he is blinded by his feelings for you?”

“No.”

Donnatella walked to the long row of windows. She flung one of them open and leaned out. “I have always loved Kildrummy Castle. I knew when I was a little girl that I belonged here, that it had to be mine someday. Isn't it strange how everything worked out? I thought to marry Ian and be mistress here, but then Ian died. So senseless the way he died. Now there is another master here, and he isn't married. It's as if he came here, knowing I was close, knowing this was always what I wanted. I thank God that the vicar is so very handsome. Have you noticed his eyes? They are an incredible blue. He also appears not to have a patch of fat on him, and that is a wonderful thing.” Donnatella turned to look at Mary Rose, who was sitting on the bed, her arms clasped around her knees.

Donnatella went on, “I will think about all this. I will spend time with Lord Barthwick. I will watch him become stupid because he lusts after me. Isn't that a thought? A vicar, lusting after a woman. Is that even possible?
However, I cannot imagine being the mother of a little girl who is only half my age.”

“He also has two little boys, Max and Leo. They are nine and seven.”

Donnatella arched a perfect brow. “Three children? I had no idea that a vicar indulged himself so generously in the marriage bed. I wonder what his wife was like. Has he said anything about her?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, she's dead, no longer important at all. I think you should come home with me right now, Mary Rose. If you are afraid that Erickson is lurking about Vallance Manor, ready to grab you and haul you away, why, then, I will protect you. You can even sleep in my bed. I won't let him come near you. Does that make you feel safe?”

Mary Rose felt her heart begin to pound, fast, hard strokes. Donnatella wanted her back at Vallance Manor? Why, for heaven's sake? Slowly, she just shook her head. “I cannot.”

“So you will remain and ruin the poor vicar's reputation?”

There was a knock on the door. Mary Rose wanted to run to the door and let whoever it was in, quickly, so she would not have to answer that sticky question, but she just wasn't up to it, and that had been why Tysen had finally left her. He'd wanted her to sleep, and she had, until Meggie and Sinjun had brought Donnatella to see her.

She didn't expect it to be Erickson, but nevertheless, she was as rigid as the post at the foot of the huge bed, waiting, waiting. It was Tysen, and he wasn't smiling.

He nodded to Donnatella. “Mary Rose, I am sorry to disturb your visit with your cousin, but it appears that your mother is in a carriage outside in the courtyard. She wishes to see you. She also refuses to come inside. What do you wish to do?”

“Mother is here, truly? I must see her, Tysen.”

He smiled then. “It is no problem. My back has sufficiently recovered.” He fetched his dressing gown, quite aware that Donnatella was watching his every move, and brought it to Mary Rose. “Can you stand up? Good, I'll put it on you.”

Donnatella said, laughter lurking, “It is pleasant to see a man occasionally play servant to a lady, sir, but do allow me. I will bring Mary Rose downstairs.”

“That isn't necessary,” Tysen said, not even turning to look at her. “Keep upright, Mary Rose, don't collapse on me now. Yes, just hold on to me.” He wrapped her in his dressing gown and tied the belt around her waist. “Your feet are bare, but it is very warm, so it will be all right. Are you ready?”

She nodded.

Tysen picked her up in his arms and simply walked out of the bedchamber, leaving Donnatella to stand by the window watching him and frowning slightly, wondering what was going on here.

Tysen said as he walked down the long corridor with her, “I don't mind at all being your servant. Do you know something? You aren't quite as heavy when I'm walking.”

She laughed. For just a brief moment, she rested her head against his shoulder, her warm breath against his neck. Mary Rose wished at that moment that she could stay in Tysen's arms for as long as his back held up. She breathed in the scent of him, dark and rich, with a touch of wildness, like the barest hint of white heather in the air.

“Your mother looks quite beautiful,” he said as he carefully walked with her down the main staircase. The front door was open, spilling in bright afternoon sunlight.

“She usually does,” Mary Rose said. “When we wed, what will we do about her?”

“I will give that some thought. Don't worry, Mary Rose. Everything will work out all right.” But how could it? Her mother was a very odd woman. At worst, she was indeed mad. More than likely, she used madness to gain her what she wanted. Her mother never left Vallance Manor. Her mother also knew who her father was and refused to tell anyone. And now her mother was here, in a carriage. It was hard to believe. What had happened?

 
 
 
 

G
WENETH
F
ORDYCE HADN
'
T
ridden in a carriage for six months. Her last time had been that dreadful ride to Aberdeen to her mother's funeral. She'd hated the old lady, but both she and her sister, Margaret, knew they had to don black and veils and pretend to a bit of grief. Her jaw dropped open when she saw the new Lord Barthwick walk out of the castle with Mary Rose—wearing his dressing gown—in his arms. Her feet were bare. Gweneth knew, knew all the way to her soul, that there was something between this man and her daughter. Nothing illicit, for after all, he was an English vicar. But something, something that was more than a man trying his best to protect a woman. No man that she'd ever heard of carried a woman around with her feet bare.

When the Vallance coachman opened her door, she gave him her hand to assist her down. She stood there, looking at the vicar, at her daughter, and she said, “You will come home with me now, Mary Rose. I am sorry, my dear, but as your mother, I cannot allow you to remain here with an unmarried man. I know he is a vicar, but that doesn't matter. Spiritual trappings do not matter in a case such as this.”

“Hello, Mother. Forgive me for coming to you like this, but I'm still not feeling quite the thing again.”

“You look just fine, Mary Rose. There is color in your cheeks, you are the very bloom of health. Even your toes look healthy. You needn't worry about clothes. We will go directly back to Vallance Manor and you can stay in your bed there. Vicar, please put my daughter in the carriage.”

“I don't think so, ma'am,” Tysen said. “Mary Rose doesn't feel safe at Vallance Manor.”

“That is absurd. It is also unimportant. I am her mother and she will obey me. There is no chaperone here. Come along, Mary Rose.”

“Hello, ma'am. I am Lady Ashburnham. I am his lordship's sister and he invited me here to chaperone Mary Rose.”

Excellent, Gweneth Fordyce thought, smiling at the lovely young woman striding toward her, long-legged, full of energy, looking quite a bit like the vicar. Yes, she had the same dazzling blue eyes as her brother.

What an absolute relief. She'd kept her promise to her sister and to Lyon. She'd argued and ordered, and now this. It was hard not to laugh her pleasure aloud. Now she didn't have to say anything more. She'd been trumped by the appearance of Lady Ashburnham, and even Lyon at his most critical would have to agree that she'd done all she could.

“A pleasure, my lady,” she said to the young woman, who also had a sparkling smile. A handsome pair they were. The vicar was very smart indeed. “Now I must go. Mary Rose, attend me. You will endeavor not to be a burden to his lordship.”

“No, Mama, I'll try not to be. Won't you stay for a cup of tea?”

“Oh, no,” Gweneth said and nodded to the coachman,
who quickly assisted her back into the carriage. She straightened her shawl, smoothed the ribbons on her bonnet. She looked toward the people standing not six feet away from the carriage. The last sight she had of Mary Rose was her smiling shyly up into the vicar's face.

Be happy, my darling, she thought, and waved to her daughter.

The carriage rolled out of the inner courtyard.

“That is your mother, Mary Rose?” Sinjun asked.

“Yes,” Mary Rose said, and she was frowning at the carriage dust billowing into the clear air. Her mother had said all the right things at first, all with the objective of getting her to go back to Vallance Manor. But the fact was, her mother hadn't wanted her to return to Vallance Manor with her, not at all. But why?

Tysen said thoughtfully, “At the beginning, I didn't care much for your mother, but this time, after she spouted the nonsense, she was genuinely pleased with things just as they are. Yes, I like your mother, Mary Rose. She isn't like all that many mothers I've met to date, but she loves you. I wonder what she would have done if Sinjun hadn't chosen to show herself?”

“Meggie came into the drawing room and grabbed me. She told me I had to be a chaperone, quickly, because she was just a trifle too young to have anyone take her seriously, and so she pushed me out the front door.” Sinjun looked thoughtfully after the coach that had disappeared through the front gates. “She didn't want you to go with her, Mary Rose, despite everything else she said. Now, isn't that strange?”

“No,” Tysen said. “She knows that Erickson MacPhail would probably be invited into Vallance Manor and allowed to carry Mary Rose out over his shoulder. She's protecting her. It was well done.”

Meggie wandered out now, but she wasn't looking at
them, she was looking at the gaggle of geese that were now honking loudly at the sight of her. They'd been hovering close by her for the past three days. Just yesterday, they'd come right up to her, honking just as loudly, and she had given them all the bread she could steal from Mrs. MacFardle's kitchen. Now she knew them. In minutes, they would be surrounding her, their chicks hovering close. “Oh, dear,” Meggie said, picking up her skirts and running back into the castle. She called over her shoulder, “I'll be right back with some bread for them!”

Tysen laughed. “Maybe they can nibble on that crooked toe of yours, Mary Rose.”

“What crooked toe?” Sinjun asked and picked up Mary Rose's foot.

“Oh, my, don't, please, Sinjun. Tysen has already seen my toes.”

“He has, has he? Now isn't that interesting?”

“Be quiet, Sinjun. Oh, here is Donnatella. I'm glad she came down. I believe you have enjoyed quite enough of her delightful company?” He cocked a brow at her.

“Yes. She wanted me to come back with her to Vallance Manor. It seems that everyone wants me back there. How is your back?”

“I believe I will put you down in the drawing room and pour tea down your gullet. I am too blown to make it back up those stairs carrying you.”

Sinjun could but stare after her brother as he walked back up the steps into the castle. He wasn't acting the way he usually did. He wasn't being depressingly serious with nary a smile anywhere near his mouth. He was actually smiling, a beautiful smile, and it seemed to suit him very well.

Now he was amusing, he seemed to understand wit very well. But the most remarkable thing—he seemed happy. He was overflowing with it. So many years since
she'd seen him like this, nearly more years than she could remember. She'd been so very young when he'd decided he wanted to be a man of God and had become as serious as an abbot and so pious she'd wanted to shoot him. Sinjun decided on the spot that she would kill for Mary Rose if ever the need arose.

When they walked into the drawing room, there was Colin standing next to Donnatella, who was leaning toward him, her hand on his sleeve.

Sinjun recognized the signs immediately. Donnatella was extraordinarily lovely, however, and it appeared to Sinjun that Colin wasn't looking at all hunted, like he usually did when the ladies tracked him down and cornered him.

Sinjun said, “Would you mind if I stuck my fist in your cousin's face, Mary Rose?”

“Perhaps you'd better not. You know, Sinjun, his lordship is very handsome,” Mary Rose said. “Donnatella very much likes handsome gentlemen.”

“Not this handsome gentleman,” Sinjun said and marched right up to her husband and the little hussy who was clutching at his sleeve, laughing overly much at something Colin had said, something that probably wasn't all that amusing at all. Still, he was looking down at her like he indeed was the most charming, the wittiest male in the known world.

She said sweetly, “Colin, my dearest love, the love of my life, the man who praises my beauty endlessly. Do you remember how you promised me that we would visit that cave Meggie told us about? The one that is quite hidden, ever so private? The one where we can—well, never mind that. I do not wish to be indelicate. I am quite ready to please you now.” She moved closer until she actually pushed Donnatella away from him. She stood on
her tiptoes and whispered in his mouth, “I have plans for you that will curl your toes.”

“You are transparent, Sinjun,” Colin said, caressing her cheek. “The truth is that you are jealous. No matter the amusement I am currently enjoying, your jealousy still pleases me. A cave, you say? You will curl my toes?”

“Harrumph,” Sinjun said, grabbed his hand and turned to face Donnatella, a sunny smile on her mouth that would, hopefully, offset the murder in her eyes. “Do forgive us, but we are still newlyweds and must hie ourselves off to dark, cozy places. My husband is a demanding gentleman. Good day to you, Miss Vallance.”

“I thought they had several children,” Donnatella said, staring at the now empty doorway. “I shouldn't mind making love with him. He is a beautiful man. Ah, well. Mary Rose, you are looking ever so well again. Are you ready to come back with me to Vallance Manor?”

“Miss Vallance,” Tysen said easily as he lowered Mary Rose onto a dark-blue brocade settee, “not just yet. You will have to amuse yourself without your cousin's company.”

“For how much longer, sir?”

“I haven't yet decided,” Tysen said. “We will see. I will send a message when Mary Rose is ready to return home. You may return home now.”

Donnatella looked undecided, an expression that Mary Rose had hardly ever seen before on her cousin's face. Donnatella always knew what she was doing—but not now. She merely nodded to Mary Rose and walked out of the drawing room.

Nothing much was said until Pouder, leaving his post by the front door, walked sedately into the drawing room and cleared his throat. “My lord, Mrs. MacFardle is in a snit. I don't know what to say to her. Your lordship is required to deal with the situation.”

“Thank you, Pouder, I shall.” Without thinking, Tysen took the old man's arm and gently steered him back to his chair. It was well padded, a good thing, since Pouder looked to be all bones.

Tysen called out over his shoulder, “Mary Rose, you converse with my daughter when she returns from feeding the geese.”

“I will speak with her as well,” Miles MacNeily said, walking toward them. He gave Tysen a small salute and smiled at the sight of Pouder, whose head had already fallen forward to his chest.

Tysen tracked down Mrs. MacFardle in the vast Kildrummy kitchen. With no preamble, he said in a calm, very cool voice, “Mary Rose is lying on a settee in the drawing room. She is doubtless hungry. If you are not carrying a silver tray loaded with delicious cakes and nicely hot tea to her in the next ten minutes, you will leave Kildrummy Castle. If you are not smiling and respectful to Mary Rose when you deliver that tray to the drawing room, you will also leave in the next ten minutes. Do you quite understand me, Mrs. MacFardle?”

“But she is a bastard, my lord! She doesn't belong here. She doesn't belong anywhere where there are respectable people. Folk hereabout will believe you too democratic, too lax in your morals—er, no, that isn't quite right, is it? Perhaps, because you are a vicar, you have to continually watch yourself not to care too deeply about people who don't deserve it. Yes, it is a matter of having too much kindness, my lord. It isn't what Lord Barthwick should do. Mary Rose mustn't sleep in your bed. If she is still too ill to return home, then she may sleep in the servants' quarters, up just one short flight of stairs to the third floor. There is this quite charming room that—”

Tysen felt waves of anger washing through him, and it appalled him, this emotional reaction that came from deep
within him, destroying his control. “You have said quite enough, Mrs. MacFardle. Mary Rose Fordyce has agreed to marry me.”

Her mouth gaped open. She looked utterly horrified.

“Either you will accept her as your mistress, as Lady Barthwick of Kildrummy Castle, and treat her with respect, or you will leave, in the next minute, actually. The decision is yours. Now, we await tea in the drawing room. Ten minutes, Mrs. MacFardle, no longer.” He said not another word, not even when he heard her suck in her breath behind him.

He turned at the doorway and said over his shoulder, “You are the first person to hear our news. It might be a very polite thing if you were to congratulate me on my good fortune.”