The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

Tysen said, “Old Tyronne’s melancholy is understandable. Every one of his heirs was dead. Still, it is a pity that he died so embittered.”

“Oh, no, he wasn’t sad about that, Papa, at least according to MacNee and Ardle. They said he was angry at Miss Donnatella Vallance because she wouldn’t marry him. Ranted that he could get another boy child off her and it was all her fault for being so selfish. Not his fault, never his. He’d done his best, but now he claimed he didn’t care, and that was why he wanted to burn Kildrummy Castle. He wanted to burn it to the ground, make it hot enough so the devil would accept it in hell.”

“Donnatella is Mary Rose’s cousin, I believe.”

“Evidently she is also a handful, at least according to MacNee, who is quite a handsome man, and I think perhaps he would like to flirt with her himself.”

“Meggie, you will not delve into those particular matters, all right?”

“I was just listening, Papa.”

Tysen let that go. He said, “I remember Old Tyronne as quite amiable. Of course, that was at a time when he had more heirs than any man I’ve ever known of.” He wanted to know what else she’d learned, but he was her father, a vicar, and he didn’t believe in gossip, really he didn’t. And then his sweet daughter said, “Mary Rose and her mother live with Donnatella. Mary Rose’s mother is mad, has been for nearly forever. Evidently Donnatella is very lively and terribly beautiful. She is spoiled, but she is so beautiful that no one minds too much when she throws a tantrum.”

Tysen stared, mesmerized. Meggie’s sources of information never ceased to amaze him. She’d learned all this just by distributing almond sweetmeats?

“Donnatella is younger than Mary Rose,” he said slowly. “The old man was well into his eighties, and he actually expected a young girl to marry him?”

“That’s right,” Meggie said, and sidled farther into the room, sniffing the air. “Ardle said that Lord Barthwick believed Donnatella had the finest pair of hips in all of Scotland and was sure that birthing more heirs would be no problem for her. He also said that Lord Barthwick had more self-confidence than a man with two brains. Papa, I think we should open those windows. It is dreadfully close in here.”

“You’re right,” Tysen said, knowing he should say something to Meggie about speaking of a woman’s hips and childbirth, but he just wasn’t up to it. Instead, he walked to the bank of heavy velvet draperies and jerked them open. Dust billowed into the air, setting him to sneezing. It took him a while to get the latch to open on the large glass doors. Finally, with a creak and a groan, the doors flew open, and father and daughter stood side by side looking out into a small garden, no more than the size of the library. It was completely overgrown—wild rose bushes, yew bushes, ivy, daffodils, and bright-red rhododendron bushes were all tangled together, choking each other to gain the bit of available sunlight.

“I had thought the entire manor formed a large square, what with the enclosed inner courtyard,” Tysen said as he walked slowly out onto moss-covered stones outside the library. He turned and looked back. “Oh, I see. The library was simply cut in half to make this garden. Because it is facing the sea, it isn’t obvious that it’s here. A pity it has been let run wild. I wonder how many years since those glass doors have even been opened? Probably longer than you’ve been on this earth,” he added, smiling down at her.

As for Meggie, his smile meant that he was no longer upset with her. It was a vast relief. He had, she thought, smiled more since they’d arrived here at Kildrummy than he had during than the entire past month in England. She said as she studied the tangled vines and branches, “There are many flowers buried under here, Papa. I’ll be able to clean them up and then replant them around the castle. What do you think?”

“I think you are much like your aunt Alex. When she walks around the Northcliffe gardens, the bushes, plants, and flowers all come to attention. Douglas says the plants stand taller than his troops ever did when they were on parade.”

Meggie was already rubbing her hands together. “I will begin this afternoon. I will write to Aunt Alex and ask her advice. Oh, yes, Papa, MacNee also told me about Lord Barthwick’s cousin, Mrs. Griffin. She sounds rather frightening. She and her husband live in Edinburgh, but they were here much of the time, toward the end. MacNee said she was a real tartar and an old besom. What does that mean?”

“She isn’t amiable,” Tysen said and thought, Please, Lord, please keep the dear woman away.

“Well, MacNee said everyone prayed she wouldn’t come back for at least ten years.”

Tysen immediately joined in the prayers. “Donald MacCray didn’t say anything about her,” Tysen said. “I wonder why not?”

Meggie just shrugged, then said, “Oh, yes, Mrs. MacFardle wanted me to tell you that there is a message from Sir Lyon Vallance. He and his family will visit us here tomorrow afternoon at precisely three o’clock.”

Tysen was pleased. He planned to speak to the man about protecting his niece from the likes of Erickson MacPhail.

Tysen nodded in greeting to Sir Lyon Vallance, a tall man with reddened cheeks, probably from too much drink. He’d once been a handsome man, but now he was running to fat. He was a bit beyond his middle years, but seemed bluff and good-natured. He pumped Tysen’s hand up and down in a hearty grip. He was bald except for a very thin gray circle around his head. He beamed a long look around the drawing room and made a small sound of pleasure. Tysen nearly smiled at that. He didn’t blame Sir Lyon. It was a cozy room, and he liked it despite its need to have new wallpaper and perhaps some new furniture and draperies as well. He would take care of that soon enough.

As for Sir Lyon’s wife, Lady Margaret, she was a handsome woman, deep-bosomed, beautifully gowned, nearly as tall as her spouse, more than a glint of intelligence in her dark eyes. She was also quite a bit younger than her husband. Oddly, she was giving the room a rather proprietary look. As for their only child, Donnatella, Tysen realized that she was eyeing him more than was proper. Something of a cynic—a man of God couldn’t escape a measure of cynicism, what with the indignity of human nature—he imagined that the lovely girl was expecting him to sigh over her hand, perhaps hold that delicate hand overlong, perhaps give her a dazed look to show her he was sufficiently bowled over by her charm. Just like Melissande, Alex’s sister, who was, in truth, much more beautiful than Donnatella Vallance. After what Meggie had told him about her, he doubted he’d be bowled over even if he found her utterly charming. He merely nodded to her as he had to her father and mother. He girded his mental loins, and when everyone had a cup of tea in hand, he said pleasantly, “I am pleased to meet my neighbors. I trust Mary Rose’s ankle isn’t paining her too badly today?”

Lady Margaret arched a sleek black brow. “Her what, my lord?”

“Mary Rose’s ankle, my lady,” Tysen said, then took a sip of his tea.

“Oh, yes,” Donnatella said, sitting forward in her chair, offering him an excellent display of her cleavage that was, indeed, quite lovely, almost as lovely as Mrs. Drake-more’s, a widow in his congregation who displayed herself to him each and every chance she got. Truth be told, he’d been treated to many displays of feminine ingenuity since Melinda Beatrice had died six years before. Donnatella continued, giving Tysen another smile that surely invited intimacies, “Don’t you recall, Mama? Mary Rose said something about falling into one of the sheep killers. She sprained it.”

Lady Margaret obviously didn’t recollect Mary Rose’s accident. “She should take more care,” she said, then looked long at Tysen. “You will be delighted to come to Vallance Manor for dinner, my lord. Perhaps Friday evening? Just you and the family. We can become better acquainted.”

“I should be delighted,” Tysen said.

“I shall give you a tour of the area tomorrow morning, my lord,” Donnatella said. “I will come at nine o’clock.”

“I have ridden both south and west,” Tysen said. “I should be delighted to tour the north, perhaps to Stonehaven. I visited the town when I was here before as a boy.”

He handed around a platter of Mrs. MacFardle’s clootie dumplings, his first sight of them but an hour before. He saw Meggie cramming one into her mouth.