The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

Mrs. Griffin never turned to look at her husband, just raised her hand and hit him in the head. “Calm yourself, Mr. Griffin. In this case the man isn’t trying to gain my corporal affections. He’s too far away from me to succeed in any case.”

Mr. Griffin said, “You told me he was a paltry fellow. Are you quite sure there is no attempted seduction on his part, Mrs. Griffin?”

“Yes, Mr. Griffin. You will see that he is keeping his distance. He has stepped only one foot inside our bedchamber. I believe he must have hurt himself—he was holding his foot for a while.”

“My foot is fine now, Mrs. Griffin. Actually, it is my toe that hurts.” Tysen shook his head at himself. He wasn’t making any sense of this.

Seduce Mrs. Griffin?

He nearly fell to his knees with that blow. He cleared his throat, but didn’t go any closer to Mrs. Griffin’s bed. Mr. Griffin’s face was now vaguely illuminated just beside his wife’s. Tysen said slowly, “You believe you saw the Kildrummy ghost, ma’am? Who is this ghost?”

But Mrs. Griffin was now staring over at the commode with its large, flowered ceramic basin set on top, a water pitcher next to it. He followed her line of vision, but there was still nothing there, nothing at all.

“She is gone,” Mrs. Griffin said, furious now that she was no longer afraid. She threw back the bedcovers and jumped out of the bed. She was wearing a dark wool nightgown that covered her from chin to heels. She seemed suddenly to remember that he was there, a man wearing naught but his own nightshirt, a man her husband feared was there to seduce her, and she yelled, “Begone, sir, begone! It is not proper for you to stare at a lady in dishabille. It is enough to raise the beast in any man, vicar or no.”

And she flapped her hand at him. She needed but her griffin-headed cane.

“You heard her, sir,” Mr. Griffin yelled, “begone before I rise out of my bed and thrash you within an inch of your life! Staring at my wife when she is wearing naught but her nightgown. You are not a gentleman, sir.”

“But—”

Mrs. Griffin was looking again toward the commode. “She is no longer here. Ah, but her presence—I can still feel it. It is a moldy essence, and far too old. Can you not smell it? Mr. Griffin, do you not feel the mold crawling on your limbs? She doubtless came because the Englishman has taken over. She is upset, and she found her way into the wrong bedchamber. Do you hear that, ghost? If you want him to leave Kildrummy, you must secure proper directions to his bedchamber.

“Ah, but it is cold in here, like the grave she must spend some time in when she is not here, scaring me. Mr. Griffin and I are leaving this wretched place, right this minute. We will not remain in this room with this long-dead Lady Barthwick watching me from the commode.”

It sounded like a fine idea to Tysen.

And so at dawn, not even an hour later, Tysen, now dressed and shaved, his toe no longer hurting inside his boot, stood on the steps of Kildrummy Castle to watch Mr. and Mrs. Griffin’s carriage drive through the outer gate. He did manage a smile and a little wave. He could hear the driver muttering curses as he pulled the collar up to his ears. He saw Mr. Griffin’s pale face glaring at him from the window. It was a chill morning with fog lying heavy just above the ground.

He walked back into the huge entry hall, shaking his head. Life since his arrival at Kildrummy Castle had not been boring.

“Are they gone, Papa?”

“Assuredly they are, Meggie. I don’t understand it. I don’t believe in ghosts, never did, despite what everyone says about the Virgin Bride at Northcliffe Hall. I never saw her.”

“Uncle Douglas did, several times. He just won’t admit it. He thinks he will be called weak in the head if he does say that he saw her. He says only the ladies claim to see her, and that’s because they thrive on the supernatural, that they gain attention from their claims, that they are, in short, weak in the head.”

“Be that as it may,” Tysen said, his voice testy, “I have never believed in the Virgin Bride or in any other ghost, not even when I was sleeping in that room once and—no, forget that. Whatever, Mrs. Griffin believed she saw a ghost in her bedchamber, and it quite terrified her. She informed Mr. Griffin that they were going back to Edinburgh.”

Now that he thought about that strange sequence of events, he saw the humor in it and smiled, shaking his head. Seduce Mrs. Griffin?

Suddenly, with no assistance whatever from a spirit, Tysen realized quite clearly what had happened. He turned to carefully study his daughter’s face. It did not require a great intelligence to understand what she had done. She was smirking, her eyes brimming with her triumph. He saw it before she could wipe it away.

“Meggie,” he said slowly, “you have grown up with tales about the Virgin Bride at Northcliffe Hall and Pearlin’ Jane at Vere Castle, who supposedly appears with great regularity to watch over your aunt Sinjun.” He stroked his chin, never looking away from his daughter. “I will ask you only one time, Meggie. Were you the ghost in the Griffins’ bedchamber? Were you sitting atop the commode? Whistling, perhaps? Swinging your leg?”

“Papa, it is time for breakfast. Would you like to have some porridge?”

“Meggie?” His voice was very, very quiet. Meggie gulped, then stared down at her feet.

She gulped again and said in a paper-thin voice, “Yes, Papa. I’m sorry, but I had to do it. I was afraid they wouldn’t leave. She is so very dreadful, and he just stands behind her and nods and looks like he’s not even there, and then last night I overheard Mrs. MacFardle tell Agnes that Mrs. Griffin always did exactly as she pleased, that Mr. Griffin never gainsaid her, and there was simply no way she would allow an English vicar who just happens now to be the laird of Kildrummy Castle to dictate to her. Why, this was as much her home as her other home where she lived whenever she wasn’t visiting here. Mrs. MacFardle went on and on, Papa, about Mrs. Griffin’s philosophy of life—she believes she deserves to govern. I was worried she would go head-to-head with you. I didn’t want you to have to lose your temper. I didn’t want you to fe

el guilty over losing your temper. I was protecting you, Papa.”

Meggie came to a halt, out of breath.

“Ah,” Tysen said in an awful voice, one he reserved for members of his flock who had grievously sinned and weren’t repentant, “so Mrs. Griffin is one of those bad people I am too stupid to deal with, perhaps too dull-witted to recognize even when I’m looking them right in the eye?”

“You’re not stupid, Papa, or really unaware, it’s just that you’re too good.”