When they were alone, Sir Lyon eyed the young man on his right and said, “Is there some sort of problem here, my lord? You need my assistance perhaps in some estate matter?”
8
TYSEN SAID SLOWLY, relieved that Sir Lyon hadn’t drunk any more wine, “No, sir. There is no estate problem. It is much more serious. You see, the reason Mary Rose hurt her ankle was because she was running from MacPhail and tripped into a sheep killer. I believe he at-tempts to get her alone. He will probably rape her if he isn’t stopped. You are her uncle; it is your responsibility to warn him off. It was imperative that you knew what was happening. I wish Mary Rose had told you, but since she did not, I have.”
Sir Lyon looked at him for a very long time, no expression at all on his face. He rubbed his knuckles over his cheek. He drank more wine. He said finally, “And just what would your point be, my lord?”
Tysen could only stare at the man. “My point is that you are her uncle, sir.”
“Listen, my boy,” Sir Lyon said, sitting forward, his hands clasped beneath his chin. “You do not understand the way of things. I know you are a man of God. That particular calling perhaps sharpens your sensibilities, makes you question, perhaps, the means necessary to gain a needful end. Aye, Donnatella whispered to her mother that you were a vicar, and my Margaret whispered it to me right before we came in to luncheon. I am sorry that I forgot to have you invoke God’s blessing upon our meal. The haddock was on the dry side. Perhaps a prayer from a vicar would have made it more tender. Now, my lord, you do not understand the situation here. You believe Erickson to be dishonorable. You wish, because you are a vicar, to question his motives, to deplore his actions, perhaps to flay him as a sinner.”
“As a man of God, certainly I question his motives and condemn his actions. He is unnatural. His behavior is beyond the line. As a man, I also find that I would like to flatten him if he bothers her again. I am, however, no blood relation to her. You, on the other hand, are her uncle, her only male relative. It is your duty to stop him. She is very afraid of him.”
Sir Lyon frowned into his remaining wine. “I know that he wants her, he has told me so. I don’t know why, but he does. She is, after all, nothing compared to her cousin. What’s more, she carries The Taint and it will always be there. Yes, Erickson will rape her if he must, but only if he must. He has assured me of that. He wants her. I have given him my permission. He can have her. She’ll get no better offer.”
Tysen felt as if he was listening to a language he had never heard before. He simply didn’t understand. He rose slowly and placed his palms on the tablecloth. “I will not allow this man to rape an innocent young lady.”
“I told you that he would rape her only if he were forced to. I have knowledge of this. I don’t approve of it, but Mary Rose is very stubborn. She doesn’t appear to accept what she is. Well, she does, I suppose, in a sense, but she has this stubborn pride that is completely misplaced. She gives herself airs. She believes herself to be above Erickson, which is utter nonsense. She won’t listen to him. She won’t acc
ept him. She insists that she will not have him. She must be made to realize that Erickson MacPhail represents a tremendous triumph for her. Even her mother—when her wits are unclouded, which isn’t often nowadays—hasn’t said anything against Erickson.
“Perhaps you can assist us, my lord. Mary Rose must be made to see that if she weds him, mouths will be closed. All talk of what she is will stop. Erickson, as her husband, would ensure that all talk would end. If the lad has to force her, why, then, that is what will happen, and the consequences—namely, her marriage to him—will, by far, outweigh the rough-and-tumble methods.”
“Of course I will not assist in this. She doesn’t want to marry him. Trust her, she isn’t being coy. I tell you, she is terrified of him. Do you really want your innocent niece to be raped? To be forced into a union she fears?”
“You grow melodramatic, my lord. Erickson wants to marry her. It is a wondrous thing for her to wed with him. To gain that end, I approve whatever it is he must do.” Sir Lyon cocked his big head to one side, frowning until the light dawned. “My God,” he said, blinking at Tysen, “you don’t fully understand her situation, do you?”
Tysen was as baffled as he was angry. His voice was as cold as his brother’s when he donned his magistrate’s robes. “Understand what? This entire business should be distasteful to any civilized man.”
Sir Lyon threw back his head and laughed and laughed. He took a sip of wine and spewed it out, and still he laughed. Finally he managed to say, “I apologize for not realizing that you are new here and thus do not understand. Ah, it is amusing. Of course Mary Rose is my niece, but here is where you labor under a severe misapprehension, my lord.
“Mary Rose isn’t a lady. She is as far from a lady as it is possible to be.” Sir Lyon just shook his head at the young man’s obtuseness.
“Mary Rose is a bastard, my lord. She is an embarrassment. She has no worth, no value. She is not a lady, she can never be a lady. For reasons unfathomed by either myself or her aunt, Erickson MacPhail is willing to marry her. Since she refuses to have him, I have told him he may do what he must to bring her to the altar. If she does not wed him, she will never have anything, never be anyone, never have respect or recognition or even a civil nod from the local gentry. Nothing. Don’t you understand? She is and always will be a bastard.”
“She will have her mother and her good name.”
“She never had a good name.”
“Of course she does. Just because her parents were not man and wife, she isn’t to blame. Why can’t you leave her be? Let her do what she wishes to do? Respect her for the good and honest person she is? Perhaps, if her situation is so very dreadful here, and will grow only worse as she grows older, then she and her mother could live elsewhere, where no one would ever know about her being a bastard.”
Sir Lyon looked at Tysen with pity. “You are an optimistic man, my lord. You have high ideals. You believe the best of your fellow man. I, however, am not so sanguine. In my experience, some rare men are truly worthy, even selfless upon occasion, but usually men are weak and greedy and brimming with ill will toward those more vulnerable than they are.
“Ladies, too, aren’t all that benevolent, my lord. They are malicious, they will shred the reputation of any female who strays outside the rules they themselves have set. It would not matter where Gweneth and Mary Rose chose to live. She would become known soon enough for what she is.
“Leave be, my lord. Let Erickson have her. All will be well. She will not be abused. He will treat her kindly—why should he not? He is a good man, I swear it to you. He will also be sympathetic to her mother, see that she has nurses, and surely you must agree that this is something to admire in him. Her mother, Gweneth Fordyce, you see, is quite mad, has been for years. She is my wife’s younger sister, and she has lived with us since before Mary Rose was born. Leave off. Let the situation resolve itself in the way that it should. It is not your affair. Keep out of it, sir.”
Tysen looked Sir Lyon right in his very sincere face and said, “Why did Donnatella say that MacPhail wished to marry her? That makes no sense.”
“Ah, my little beauty,” said Sir Lyon, now at ease again, twirling the lovely crystal wineglass between his fingers. “She told me that she turned Erickson down. It was then, she told me, that he went on to Mary Rose. So Mary Rose is his second choice. Perhaps that is why she is teasing him so. She is upset that she is second in his affections. But it has always been so. Donnatella is very beautiful, and even as a child her beauty drew the boys from all around. Now, about Erickson. I suppose it must gall Donnatella, just a bit, you understand, to have the young man so very quickly change the, er, recipient of his affection. My little beauty has hinted to me that perhaps Erickson wants to be close to her, and thus his willingness to wed Mary Rose. Well, let Donnatella believe what she will. Erickson is very fond of Mary Rose. Now, do not worry about her, there is no need. It is a play with a happy ending. Let it work itself out.” And Sir Lyon smiled, replete with his lunch and with his wine, and more than pleased that he had so admirably performed his duty.
Tysen said, drawing himself straight and tall, “I will not allow this, Sir Lyon. If she doesn’t wish to wed him, why, that is the end to it. If you will not speak to the man, then I will. I will not allow Erickson MacPhail to rape her.”
Meggie was lying in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, for she had one of the long narrow windows open a bit and the evening air was cool. She said to her papa, “You are upset, Papa, and it is no longer about my sins.”
Tysen forced his attention back to his very precocious daughter. “It is an adult sort of problem, Meggie. It is about Mary Rose and the man you met last night—Erickson MacPhail. I must deal with a problem that involves the two of them.”
“Mrs. MacFardle said Mary Rose was a bastard. I overheard her talking about Mary Rose to Mr. and Mrs. Griffin when they were at luncheon. I asked Mrs. MacFardle later what that meant, and she said that Mary Rose’s mama hadn’t been married to her papa, that no one even knew who her papa was. Is that why there is a problem? Because Mary Rose doesn’t have a father?”