The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

In that moment he finally believed her, and she saw that he did. Then, because he couldn’t begin to comprehend why she wouldn’t want him, he knew it had to be because she had given her affection to someone else. He asked, his voice rough in his growing anger, “Then who is the man you want?”

“There is no other man.” Even as she spoke, he saw something in her eyes, something that betrayed her. But there was no other man about for her to—“By God, it’s that damned vicar, isn’t it? You’ve known the man for a week. Just because he is a vicar, a man pledged to God, you, you silly girl, believe he has to be kind, gentle, a soft creature who will always treat you like a bolt of silk. Given who and what he is, well then, that’s probably true. He probably is soft and gentle. Damnation, he isn’t the sort of man a woman needs.”

She jumped to her feet. “Shut up, Erickson. How dare you insult him? I know him and you don’t.”

“I’ll wager the pretty fellow wouldn’t know what to do with a woman even if she were to stand naked before him.”

“That is absurd. He has three children!”

“His wife must have guided him, told him how to accomplish his manly duty.”

“Be quiet.”

Erickson realized he wouldn’t gain anything by continuing on this track. He still wanted to reason with her, gain her compliance. He said more calmly, with a bit of compassion in his voice, “You’re being foolish, Mary Rose, shortsighted. He is the new Lord Barthwick. He comes from a noble English family. He won’t marry you. But even beyond that, I honestly doubt he even comprehends what it is like to feel affection or lust for a woman. He’s a vicar, for God’s sake, he sleeps with his Bible, clasps his hands in prayer when he sees a man who would harm him.”

He saw that her face had turned red, the freckles were standing out against her white skin. “Oh, leave go, Mary Rose. You’re a bastard, for God’s sake. Neither are you anymore a young girl. I’m the only one who wants to marry you.”

“No.”

“Very well,” he said, his eyes on her breasts. She knew there was no hope for it, not with that gleam of pleasure in his eyes, that gleam that bespoke a man’s victory over a woman. Yes, Erickson was looking forward to this no matter her protestations. She shook her head, beyond words now. She knew he would try no more arguments to win her compliance.

“I have no money. A man with your responsibilities does not wed when there is no gain. It makes no sense. It would be very stupid of you. Your mother would not like it. She would forbid it.”

“It doesn’t matter. I will have all that I want. Trust me, Mary Rose. I can give you pleasure.”

“No.”

“Then it will be a bit rough for you. Perhaps you will not fight me overly much once I have given you a taste of lovemaking.” He took a step toward her.

He was twice her size. Mary Rose had no choice. She took a deep breath and jumped into the stream.

She shrieked as she went under. She hadn’t realized how numbingly cold the water would be. It knocked the breath out of her, froze her lungs, numbed her arms and legs instantly. She fought her way to the surface. The current had already swept her a good dozen feet away from him. She saw him standing on the edge of the stream, heard him yelling, and prayed he wouldn’t jump in after her. He looked like he would, then he didn’t. Only a fool would willingly leap into obviously frigid water.

At least the water wasn’t over her head. The rocks were sharp and plentiful, however, the current so strong that she was hurled against every wretched rock in her path. She felt the shock and pain of it to her bones. She prayed that her only punishment for this outlandish action would be bruises, and not a broken neck.

The rocks were shredding her clothing and her flesh, the water freezing her, the ferocious current tossing her about like a rag doll. But at least she wouldn’t drown, not unless she hurt herself so badly on the rocks that she was knocked unconscious.

She knew too that she had to get out of the water or she would die from the cold. Her poor mare, Primrose, was back where she had jumped in. She hoped that Erickson wouldn’t take her with him when he left. Surely he had left by now. She realized then that he could simply ride beside the creek, dry and laughing, until finally, somehow, she managed to get herself out, and he would be right there, grinning down at her.

She saw that there were trees lining the stream along this stretch. He wouldn’t get close enough to see her. She had to get out of the water now to have a chance of escaping him. If he caught her, she would be so weak she wouldn’t even be able to kick at him.

She was swept directly beneath an oak tree branch that was bobbing up and down in the water. She managed to wrap her arms around the thin branch, praying it would hold her weight. Thankfully, it was still attached to the tree. She was sodden and cold, her fingers nearly numb, her body aching, but she wasn’t about to let go of that branch. She took a deep breath and pulled herself slowly, every inch she gained sending waves of pain through her body, up out of the churning water. It frothed around her, pulling, pulling. She didn’t know if she could do it. She saw Erickson in her min

d, pulling her legs apart, looking at her, and she gripped the branch with all her strength. In the next instant, she was free of the water, her legs up and wrapped around the branch. Then she managed to pull herself onto the branch. It was bending dangerously low, nearly touching the water. Please, don’t break, don’t break. She pulled herself along the length of it for at least six feet. She nearly fell, flattened herself on the branch, then pulled herself along again. She made it. At last, she was hugging herself against the tree, taking huge breaths, thankful that she was alive and that Erickson likely wasn’t close by. By now surely he had ridden farther down to where the trees fell away to reveal the myriad waterfalls, all of them at least a dozen feet high. She was grateful she hadn’t had to go over them.

She was shivering violently as she climbed down the tree, going from branch to branch, her feet numb now inside her boots. Her gown kept tangling between her legs, making her slip, making her knees buckle with the weight. She was a mess. Her hair was hanging in her face, sodden and heavy. She pushed it back and kept moving slowly down the tree.

How far downstream had she been swept? A mile, perhaps more? She prayed it was much less. She was so tired and cold she was shaking now, her teeth chattering.

She panted for breath. When she felt the ground beneath her feet, she hugged the tree trunk for a moment. She was exhausted. She was also stupid. She couldn’t believe she had jumped into that raging stream. Actually, truth be told, she would have jumped off the top of Ben Nevis to get away from Erickson MacPhail. Anything was better than being raped by him.

She began to walk back to where she’d left Primrose. Suddenly she heard Erickson yelling, heard his horse pounding through the underbrush. She froze in her tracks. No, he wasn’t close. He was a goodly distance away, thank God. All she had to do now was find Primrose and get away from this place.

But where would she go?

She wondered if her uncle would allow Erickson in the house now when she told him what he had threatened to do to her.

Her head ached ferociously. Finally she found Primrose, lazily chewing on some slimy water reeds. She led her mare away into the thickness of the pine trees. She waited there, even though she knew she risked becoming ill. She couldn’t risk running into Erickson.