The Scottish Bride (30 page)

Still, he said nothing.

“I love you.”

He flinched as if she'd struck him, hard. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No, Mary Rose. Please, don't.”

“You cannot even bear to hear me say that to you?”

“No.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, that does make a difference.” Without another word, Mary Rose left the bed. She grabbed her dressing gown, pulled two blankets off the top of the bed, and without another word, without another look at her husband, she left the bedchamber. Meggie was sleeping in the small sewing room at the end of the corridor. Mary Rose curled up next to her and finally, after a very long time, she fell asleep.

 

“It's all over,” Max said the next morning. He was sitting against the wall, his arms dangling between his bent
knees, two books open on the floor beside him. He looked defeated.

Leo said, “Papa is as he used to be again.” Leo wasn't turning cartwheels or even standing on his head. He was stretched out on his stomach, his chin on his fists, and he looked ready to burst into tears.

“No,” Meggie said, from her perch on Max's bed, “Papa is now even more than he used to be. Before, he wasn't so distant, so set apart from us. He loved us and we knew it. Now he is so far away he can't even see us.”

“That's right,” Leo said. “Before, he would laugh, every once in a while. He hugged us once in a while. He even frowned when we irritated him. But now there's nothing. It's like he's afraid to say or do anything that could be seen as not utterly serious.”

Mary Rose couldn't bear it. She'd come in a few minutes before and listened to them. Now, she said, “Where are all your cousins?”

“They're in the graveyard,” Max said. “Grayson likes the graveyard. He makes up stories about all the dead people. Even though it's cold out there today, no one wants to miss one of Grayson's stories.”

“Except the three of you.”

“Everything is scary enough,” Max said. “We don't need Grayson's stories.”

“All right, then. You three are coming with me. We're going riding.”

They didn't want to, but when Meggie looked closely at Mary Rose, saw her pallor, saw her determination, she nodded slowly. “You're right, Mary Rose. It will put things at a distance for a while. Come on, Max, Leo. I don't want to have to hurt either of you. Move, now.”

There were enough horses, if Mary Rose rode Garth, Douglas's huge stallion. “I'll sing to him, a different ditty this time, since he obviously didn't like the one I sang to
him last time.” Garth was seventeen hands high, a huge black beast, with mean eyes. Mary Rose sang one ditty after the other as she saddled him.

He let her mount him. “He is very big,” she said, her heart thumping a bit faster as she looked over at her three stepchildren atop their own horses.

“You will be all right, Mary Rose?” Leo said.

“I'm a good rider. We won't have any races, all right?”

They rode single file until they were in the countryside. It was cloudy and cold, and Mary Rose felt the chill to her crooked toe. “Is everyone warm enough?”

“Poor old Ricketts is cold,” Leo said, patting the geld-ing's neck. “I hope he lasts through the winter. He's nearly twenty now, you know.”

Mary Rose hoped he lasted too. Actually, she hoped she lasted as well.

After they'd ridden through Grapple Thorpe, a small village very close to the Channel, Mary Rose said, “Who would like to go down to the beach?”

“I think we should go back to that inn in Grapple Thorpe and have some chocolate,” Meggie said. “I'm cold, Mary Rose.”

They would have made it back to Grapple Thorpe had it not been for the mail coach coming at breakneck speed around a corner of the country road.

Mary Rose saw that coach flying toward them, saw poor old Ricketts falter, rear back in panic, then stumble. She watched Leo fly over his head and land in a ditch beside the road.

“Meggie, Max, get out of the way, go! I'll see to Leo!”

She couldn't do a thing until the mail coach passed them, whipping up thick winds of dust in its wake.

Mary Rose slid off Garth's back and ran to Leo. He was pulling himself upright, shaking his head. She didn't touch him, just came down on her knees beside him.
Meggie and Max were right behind her. “Are you all right, Leo?”

“My brains are scrambled,” Leo said, panting a bit. “My ribs feel like they're broken into little sticks, my stomach is jumping into my neck—” He looked up and gave her a blazing smile. “Don't worry, Mary Rose, I'm all right.”

“Oh, Leo,” she said and gently pulled him into her arms. “Just sit very still a moment.”

There was a sharp hitch to his breath, then he eased against her. Mary Rose said to Max and Meggie, “Let's just stay here a moment until Leo gets his brains unscram-bled.”

Leo laughed.

Slowly, Mary Rose leaned away from him. She studied his pale face. “How do you feel? Tell me the truth now, Leo.”

“Just a bit dizzy.”

“No wonder. I want you to lie down a minute. There's no rush, we can stay here as long as you need to. Max, tie the horses so they don't run back to the vicarage stables along with old Ricketts.”

Leo was indeed dizzy, and so he didn't argue. Mary Rose touched each of his ribs lightly. None were broken, thank God. She looked up when she heard Max trying to calm Garth. “He will be all right,” she said, and knew even as she spoke that she was praying it was true. He could be injured internally. “Leo, does this hurt?”

She touched him here and there, ending finally by lightly pressing on his belly. No pain, thank God.

“Do you want to vomit?”

“No, even the dizziness isn't so bad now.”

“Good. Now, how would you like to ride Garth with me back to Grapple Thorpe? Chocolate for everyone. Oh, dear, did anyone bring any money?”

“Meggie always has money,” Leo said.

“She wins it off us,” Max said. “I wish she'd cheat, then we could complain to Papa about it.”

Leo said, “Just yesterday, Papa would have laughed if we'd said that. But not today. Not ever again.”

Mary Rose didn't know what to say, and so she concentrated on helping Leo to rise. He was a bit shaky on his feet, but he was upright and walking, and then, finally, he smiled. “I'm all right, Mary Rose. Poor old Ricketts, when the fellow blew that silly horn, Ricketts must have thought it was Saint Peter calling him to the horse pearly gates in heaven.”

Meggie laughed. “Oh, Leo, if you ever let anything happen to you, I will kill you.”

Fifteen minutes later, they sat on a long, scarred old oak bench in the taproom at the Golden Goose Inn in the middle of Grapple Thorpe village, right across from a lovely green that boasted a pond and at least half a dozen ducks.

And that was where Mr. Dimplegate found them, that lovely young woman, all windblown, shepherding three children. He was the town bully, drank too much, and believed himself to be God's special treasure to womankind. When he spotted Mary Rose, he knew this day would work out to be just dandy for him. All jocular, grinning widely, just a dash of ale froth on his upper lip, he walked to their table, hands on hips, and leaned down close to Mary Rose. “Eh, ye a governess, little gal? Ye sure are purty as a picture, ye are.”

Mary Rose looked up at the man, who was surely large, looked strong, and was young enough and drunk enough to be a problem. He was also standing much too close.

“No, I am their mother, sir,” she said and turned away from him. When he didn't move, she said over her shoulder, “Good day, sir.”

It degenerated from there, beginning with a roar from Mr. Dimplegate. “Ye ain't bloody well their mother, girl! What are ye, then? A maid seeing them back to their home?”

“Go away,” Mary Rose said.

“No female turns her back on Dimplegate,” he yelled and grabbed her arm. “Me, I'm a grand lover, a man o' yer dreams.”

“You, sir, are more in the nature of a nightmare.” Mary Rose threw her chocolate in his face. Too bad it had cooled a bit.

Max yelled, “Get away from our mother, sir!”

“Shut yer trap, little sprat!”

Leo jumped up on the end of the table, turned a backward flip and landed on his feet, right in Mr. Dimplegate's face. Leo shoved him hard, but Mr. Dimplegate had grabbed Mary Rose's other arm. As he fell over backward, he jerked her up from the bench. They went down together.

The children were on their feet, yelling at him, hitting him. The owner was wringing his hands, having had too many run-ins with Dimplegate to come close. “See yerself home now, Danny,” he yelled. “Hey, you let the lady alone. She didn't do nothin'. Let her go!” But his voice was swallowed by all the racket.

Mary Rose scrambled off Mr. Dimplegate and backed away from him. But he was fast. He grabbed her hand and held on to her like a lifeline as he came to his feet. “I'm going to wallop that little codshead,” he said, then yelled over his shoulder, “Ye get yer butt here, boy!”

It was Meggie who grabbed up a thick log from beside the fireplace, climbed up on a chair, and bashed Mr. Dimplegate on his large head. He whirled around, blinked up at the little girl who was now his height standing on that chair, and yelled not six inches from her face, “Why'd ye
do that fer, little gal? This one, she ain't nothing, jest a maid or a governess, or a nanny, and she needs a man.”

He poked his finger against his chest. “Ye see? All she needs is me. Now I'll jest take her out o' here for a bit and make her all 'appy.”

“She's my mother, you idiot!” And Meggie hit him again with that log, really hard.

Mr. Dimplegate dropped Mary Rose's hand, swayed where he stood, and collapsed finally against Meggie's chair. The chair rocked a bit, then went flying. Mary Rose managed to break Meggie's fall, which could have been nasty, since she would have landed too close to the stone fireplace. It was Mary Rose who landed against the fireplace, carrying Meggie's weight, slamming against the hearthstone.

Leo was on his knees beside them in an instant. Meggie was blinking hard, getting herself together. “Mary Rose, are you all right? Oh, God, Max, do something!”

Leo was patting her face, even as Meggie was on her knees now beside her, frantically rubbing her hand.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” said Mr. Randall, the owner, still wringing his hands.

“Sir,” Max said, “we need you to get us a wagon. We must get our mother home. We live in Glenclose-on-Rowan. Our father is Reverend Sherbrooke, the vicar there. Please, sir, hurry!”

“Yes, yes,” Meggie said, crying now, “Papa will know what to do.”

 
 
 
 

C
LOSE TO AN
hour later, an ancient wagon belonging to Farmer Biggs, quickly emptied of moldering hay, and pulled by a gray gelding that was even older than Ricketts, lumbered to a stop in front of the vicarage gate.

Both Leo and Max were yelling even before the wagon pulled to a halt.

Mary Rose was awake, had awakened before Mr. Randall had carried her to the wagon and carefully laid her on a pile of smelly blankets. All three children had hovered over her on the bumpy ride back to Glenclose-on-Rowan.

She'd been content not to move, to let everything settle, she told the children. She smiled now up at Meggie. “I just feel a bit strange, Meggie, nothing bad, I'm sure of it.”

“You're awfully pale, Mary Rose.”

“Well, I landed against the brick hearth. It was very hard and unforgiving. But I'll be fine. I just feel a bit dull, heavy.”

“If you're all right, then why do you look like you want to cry?”

Shouting voices poured out of the vicarage.

“I won't cry. Please, love, don't make a fuss. We don't want to worry your father.”

But Meggie just shook her head.

Tysen was beside that old doddering wagon in an instant. He saw Mary Rose lying there, covered with blankets, so pale and listless that he knew she was dying. He'd never been so afraid in his life.

He climbed up beside her, studying her face closely before he said, “Mary Rose, are you all right?”

His beloved face was above her. He was worried. She wanted to weep. “It was an accident, a very silly accident, Tysen. I am quite all right, I just landed against a brick hearth at the inn in Grapple Thorpe, that's all, and—” Suddenly she grabbed her stomach and cried out.

The pain lessened. “I don't understand,” she said, and then the pain slashed through her again. This time it didn't stop, just kept on and on, tearing at her insides, making her cry and whimper, making her twist, trying desperately to get away from it. She heard Tysen say, his voice hoarse with shock, “Oh, my God, she's bleeding.” He'd been about to lift her out of the wagon and he lifted his hand. It was covered with blood.

“A miscarriage.”

Was that Sophie who had said that? The pain tore through her again, harder this time, deeper, and she wanted, quite simply, to die.

What was that Sophie had said? A miscarriage? Mary Rose was pregnant? She was losing her babe?

“Tysen,” she said and grabbed at his hand.

“It will be all right, Mary Rose, I swear it to you.” Then she was in his arms, and the pain was twisting and tearing her insides apart.

“A babe? Tysen, am I losing our babe?”

“Hush, Mary Rose. Please, it will be all right.” Tysen carried her to their bedchamber, aware that Sophie and Alex were running ahead of him, yelling out orders to Mrs. Priddie. Sophie was spreading towels on the bed.

He laid his wife down, only to have her clasp his hands so tightly she hurt him. “It's all right,” he said over and over. She was lost to him for several moments. He felt the dreadful pain in her. He knew the exact moment when her body expelled the babe. Blood, so much blood, on his hands, his arms, covering her gown, weighing it down, stark red against the white towels.

She was crying, and he was holding her tightly against him, rocking her, talking nonsense, really, but he just couldn't stop himself.

He heard Alex yell, “Fetch the doctor, Douglas, quickly! She's bleeding too much!”

Tysen simply pulled away from her. “Hold still,” he said, his voice harsh enough to get through to her. Then he was between her legs, jerking away the bloody gown, tearing away her petticoats and chemise. So much blood, and it was nearly black now, that blood, and it was not only her blood but also the bloody waste that had been their babe.

“Mary Rose, listen to me.”

She forced herself outward at that hard voice, saw Tysen between her legs at the foot of the bed. “Stay with me,” he said, then pressed a towel wrapped around his fist as hard as he could against her. “I mean it, Mary Rose, you will stay with me, look at me. Damn you, don't leave me. Open your eyes. That's right.”

He knew little about childbirth, even less than that about miscarriage. He'd prayed with many women who had lost their babes, but he'd never seen it happen. He'd consoled men who'd lost their wives to childbirth. Oh, Jesus. He was the father of three children, yet he'd never been in the same room when Melinda Beatrice had given birth. He remembered her yelling. And now he shuddered.

So much blood, covering his hands. He pulled away the towel and took another one from Sophie and pressed
it against her again.

“It will be all right, Mary Rose.” It was his litany, he thought. Oh, dear God, what else should he do?

It seemed a lifetime had passed and another begun before Dr. Clowder ran into the bedchamber, took in the situation at a glance, and very gently pushed Tysen away.

Tysen realized that his brothers and their wives were in the bedchamber. At least they'd kept the children outside. But he knew that they had heard her screaming, that they knew what had happened.

Tysen gathered Mary Rose against him and held her while Dr. Clowder plied his instruments. He felt her shock, her pain, her deadening sorrow. He felt it all deep inside himself.

He just held her, his bloody hands pressed against her, his face pressed against her tangled hair. She was still wearing her riding hat. He gently pulled it off and flung it to the floor. He saw Alex slowly pick it up and lay it on a table. Anything, he thought, anything anyone could do to keep all this pain at bay.

“I didn't know,” she said, her voice hoarse from her yelling. “I didn't even know I was pregnant.”

“I didn't either,” he said. “It's all right, Mary Rose. Please, my love, it will be all right.”

She stilled, utterly. And he realized then what he had said, and it filled him with quiet joy. At that exact moment, he knew that if he didn't have her, he wouldn't have anything at all. In those minutes, feeling her blood dry on his hands, feeling her tears wet his linen shirt, prickle against his neck, he knew to his very soul that without this woman, his life was meaningless.

No, not that, never that, but that his life would have no more importance to him. And if he was of no importance to himself, then how could he possibly serve God?

In that instant, holding this precious human being
against him, realizing that he could so easily have lost her, still could lose her, he finally understood. Everything fell into place. All the confusion, all the chaos and uncertainty, it was gone as if it had never existed in the first place. He felt peace flow through him, fill him, and he knew it was all right now, all of it.

He smiled as he kissed her forehead, her nose, and finally her mouth. “We are together,” he said against her dry lips. “I love you, Mary Rose. I love you with all my heart, I will love you all my life and beyond, and together we will bring joy to this damned town and to ourselves and to our children. Please tell me that I haven't lost you. If I lost you, it would be all over for me. And for my children, too, I suspect.”

Mary Rose looked at his dearly loved face through the tears that blurred her sight. “Tysen,” she said, “I'm so glad you came back to me. I love you so very much. I don't want to ever leave you.”

Then she simply closed her eyes. She was unconscious, that or asleep. He touched his forehead to hers, not moving.

“The bleeding has nearly stopped, Reverend Sherbrooke. Your wife will be all right. You did well.”

Tysen realized he was praying again, and it was a prayer filled with hope and endless gratitude, a prayer of promise and soul-deep joy.

 

Tysen stepped to his pulpit. Brilliant sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows. He felt the warmth of it on his face. He paused a moment, looking out over the many faces he'd known for eight years, all of them focused now on him, wondering at his silence, starting to get nervous because they didn't understand.

Tysen looked at his brothers and their families, then at his own family—his boys, Meggie, and Mary Rose, who
was still too pale, too thin, but she'd insisted she was well enough to come. And she was smiling at him, the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen in his life.

He felt a smile tugging at his own mouth. He wondered if he would ever stop smiling. He leaned forward, clasped his hands atop the pulpit, and said, “I have been here for eight years. I was a very young man when I came to Glenclose-on-Rowan, given this living by my brother, the earl of Northcliffe. You have, all of you, seen me grow to my full manhood amongst you. You have held me and my children close to you. I know each of you and I cherish what you are, what you doubtless will come to be.

“As you all know, I am now Lord Barthwick of Kildrummy Castle in Scotland. I went there solely out of duty, but God must have been directing my steps, for what I found was a very special woman who has shown me the absolute wonder of life, the glory of being a man who is beloved not only by God, but by a woman that He fashioned just for me.

“Through her, my dearest wife, Mary Rose Sherbrooke, I finally realized how very lucky I am. I finally saw what was right in front of me. I finally saw my children as the precious beings they are. I found that life could be filled with joy—endless joy. All I had to do was embrace it. I did.

“Now, however, I see that many of you wish that I would return to being that very devout and sober man you were used to, that very serious young man you had nurtured and watched grow in his faith and his self-belief. Since you had never seen him as a man filled with contentment and laughter and so much love he threatened to burst with it, you did not know that person, and thus he made you uncomfortable, and thus you did not want him.

“He was a stranger to you. He made you uncertain because where he once was stern in his admonishments to
you as God's creatures, once told you in no uncertain terms that a sin would blight your soul, he now wanted you to see the simple pleasure of just being alive, to feel the sun on your face and to smile under its warmth, to hear the sound of your children's voices, knowing that they are yours and you will love them into eternity. This man now wants you to believe with all your hearts that God loves you, wishes you to be devout and loyal and honest, to worship Him with all the joy in your hearts, to be grateful to Him and to each other for the happiness we find here, on His magnificent earth.

“Our Lord created us, all the men and women who are sitting here today. And what he gave us, what he placed deep within each of us, is the capacity to love and honor and know in our hearts that there is meaning in our lives, meaning that allows for us to come together and give each other boundless happiness.

“I stand before you this morning a man who has been given one of our dear God's greatest gifts. God has blessed me, opened my heart to know more pleasure than a simple man deserves.

“All of you know that I returned from Scotland with a wife. Her name, as you well know now, is Mary Rose Sherbrooke. She and I and our three children are a family, and we will remain a family who loves God and each other, a family that rejoices that we are together, that we care endlessly for each other.

“This will be my last service as your vicar. Mr. Samuel Pritchert, a man you all admire and respect, will be here to advise you and assist you in any spiritual matters. I do not know who will come to Glenclose-on-Rowan as your vicar, but I know that the earl of Northcliffe will give it serious and careful thought.

“I thank you again for my eight years as your vicar. I will think well of all of you for the rest of my days.”

And he smiled again, at everyone, and stepped back from the pulpit.

The silence was deafening.

Meggie said, her voice delighted and spontaneous, reaching to every pew in the church, “Oh, my, Mary Rose, just imagine. We're all together. You can have babies and I can teach them what's what, just as I have Max and Leo.”

“I will teach them how to tell ghost stories,” Grayson Sherbrooke said.

Ryder Sherbrooke shouted with laughter.