The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

A vicar? Ah, a vicar gave sermons.

Mary Rose looked at the beautiful man who sat at the head of the long dining table. She’d only met two vicars in her entire life, both of them ancient relics, one of them smelling of nutmeg and the other of cedar. This man smelled of fresh air and warmth.

“My daughter exaggerates,” Tysen said calmly. Then he smiled at her. “Ah, Meggie,” he added, “you forgot to mention the richness of my metaphors, so rich, evidently, that many of my congregation don’t understand what I said. I shall have to think about that.”

Meggie giggled. “Papa is known widely for his metaphors as well. It’s only a few people who will admit to not understanding your oratory, Papa.”

Tysen said to Mary Rose as he handed her a bowl, “Would you care for some soup? I have no notion of what it could be, but it smells quite good.”

“Cock-a-leekie soup,” Mary Rose said, still staring at him, and she breathed in deeply. “You are truly a vicar?”

He nodded and watched as Mrs. MacFardle ladled some cock-a-leekie soup into her bowl. “It is made with chicken and leeks and a lot of pepper. You may sneeze, but then you will smile with pleasure.”

She had practically accused him of being profligate, like Erickson MacPhail. “I am so very sorry,” she said aloud as she watched Mrs. MacFardle ladle the soup into his bowl then Meggie’s.

“Why ever for?” Meggie asked Mary Rose as she took a small taste of her soup.

“I was somewhat rude to your father,” Mary Rose said. “I thought he might be another bad man.”

“Papa?” Meggie looked down the table at her father and smiled. “How could you ever believe Papa to be a bad man? Goodness, the problem is that Papa is too good, much too straight and proper, and—”

“Meggie,” Tysen said, pointing his spoon at her, “that is quite enough. Try the dish Mrs. MacFardle is holding out to you.”

Mary Rose grinned. “Those are very English—potatoes boiled until they are mush, with butter running through them.”

“Aye,” said Mrs. MacFardle, “a lot of butter. My granny said that Englishmen thrived on plain, solid food. We want ye to thrive, my lord. Too many young Barthwick men dead. Don’t want ye to be amongst them, because if ye do croak it, then what will become of us here in the castle?”

“Thank you, Mrs. MacFardle. I should just as soon not join them either. The luncheon is delicious.”

Mrs. MacFardle turned to Mary Rose. Where there was only disapproval aimed toward Tysen, toward Mary Rose there was downright dislike. “Ye’ve eaten quite enough, my girl. Oglivie will drive ye back to Vallance Manor.”

Tysen was appalled at his housekeeper’s rudeness. He opened his mouth, only to be forestalled by Mary Rose, who said calmly, “I am ready to leave, Mrs. MacFardle.”

6

TYSEN WAS SITTING in a large cushioned chair behind the battered oak desk in the musty, dark library that was filled with so many books he was struck dumb with pleasure at the sight of all of them. Then he’d discovered that most of them had yet to have their pages cut. The Barthwicks weren’t, evidently, much for reading. Ah, but now they were his books. He’d rubbed his hands together as he took down Homer’s Iliad, a dark-red book so old the leather was cracked and peeling. He would have to have someone go through the books very carefully and oil them. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Max’s face when he walked into this room. Max would want to be the one to restore this magnificent, gloomy library. He could also see his son carefully cutting each of the pages, smoothing them down, pausing to read every few pages, unable to stop himself. Tysen rose slowly when he saw his daughter peering around the door.

“What is it, Meggie?” he asked, smiling at her, wondering why she was just lingering there and not dancing through the room right up to his desk.

“You’re smiling, Papa. It’s very nice. I don

’t mean to bother you, but I want to know why Mrs. MacFardle was so mean to Mary Rose.”

“That is an excellent question. I don’t know. She just shook her head and pursed her lips when I upbraided her. At least we saw Mary Rose off in the dogcart with her foot resting on three pillows. Oglivie told me he took her right to the front steps of Vallance Manor.”

“She has a lot of curly red hair, just like Aunt Alex.”

“Yes, she does.” Her hair had smelled of roses, he thought, and unconsciously drew another deep breath, but this time there was only the musty odor of a room left closed up for far too long. Tysen shook his head. “These wretched accounts. I will need help with them. I know Mr. MacCray told me about an estate manager, but I don’t remember his name. Where is the man?”

“His name is Miles MacNeily. His mother died and he had to go to Inverness to see to things. He will be back in three or four days.”

“Meggie, how do you know this?”

“I was out in the stables, making certain that Big Fellow was being taken care of properly, and I overheard MacNee and Ardle speaking of it. You know that servants know everything, Papa. When I offered them both some almond sweetmeats that Aunt Sinjun gave me, they told me how the old laird wanted to burn down Kildrummy Castle after Ian died, but none of the servants would let him do it. Pouder, they told me, flung himself on top of the old laird and pinned him down on the floor until the other servants dashed in to help him.”

“Pouder? It is hard to imagine that. I can’t see Pouder even able to flatten a fly. Of course, Old Tyronne was eighty-seven, but Pouder can’t be more than a decade younger.”

“I shall ask Pouder about it,” Meggie said, grinning. “It must have been quite a sight.”