The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

Finally, when she felt like a pillar of ice, she mounted Primrose. When she neared Vallance Manor, the first thing she saw was Erickson MacPhail’s horse being held by one of her uncle’s stable lads in front of the manor.

She knew then, all the way to her bones, that she was no longer safe here in her own home. No, she thought, it wasn’t her home, it was her uncle Lyon’s home. He wouldn’t protect her.

She didn’t know what to do, but then it didn’t matter. She turned Primrose south, toward Kildrummy Castle.

11

Nunc, vero inter saxum et locum durum sum.

Now, I really am between a rock and a hard place.

“GOODNESS, MARY ROSE, what are you doing out here? You are all wet and shivering. What happened? Did your mare throw you? Oh, my, look at all those cuts on your hands and face! Let me get Papa.”

Mary Rose grabbed Meggie’s arm as she slid off Primrose’s back. “No, no, Meggie. No, please, I don’t want to involve your papa in any of this . . . well, I guess it’s a muddle. Nothing is good right now. I didn’t know where to go. I can’t see your papa, don’t you see? He doesn’t deserve any of this and—”

She knew she wasn’t making sense. Meggie was only ten years old, she shouldn’t be involved in this mess either, but now it was too late. She realized in a flash that this child was probably the only one who could help her. She got a hold on herself and said, “Listen, Meggie, I’m not hurt all that badly, just cut up and bruised a bit. But this isn’t good. I’ve got to hide. Can you help me?”

Meggie didn’t hesitate. She clasped Mary Rose’s hand between hers and said, leaning close, “Yes, of course. First, let’s take your horse to the stable. I will tell MacNee and Ardle to keep their tongues between their teeth. But why don’t you want Papa to help you? At home he is involved in everything. All his parishioners call him whenever they have problems. He’s really quite good at fixing things, even when a wife wants to hit her husband over the head with a board.”

Mary Rose nearly laughed at that, but the hopelessness of her situation was sitting heavy as a board on her own head.

“Actually, Mrs. Crow did hit her husband on his head, and he lost his memory for a while. Papa thought he was just pretending, but it got Mr. Crow a lot of sympathy from his wife.”

“I cannot, Meggie, trust me.” She wasn’t going to spit out that it would compromise him, place him between her uncle and Erickson MacPhail, or perhaps place him against the two of them. No, surely her uncle didn’t know what Erickson had planned to do. Surely he hadn’t given him permission to do what he had to do to gain her agreement to marry him. She just didn’t know, and not knowing, she couldn’t take the chance that her uncle would simply give Erickson the key to her bedchamber and tell him to do what he wanted. Her voice wobbled a bit as she said, “I just need to hide for a little while, until everything calms down. Your papa doesn’t need to know I am even here.”

“All right, Mary Rose. We’ll figure all this out,” Meggie said.

Mary Rose watched her hand over Primrose to Ardle, who just nodded, never stopped staring at her, which wasn’t surprising, since he’d known her forever, and she knew she must look like a madwoman, all frowsy and wet. “Thank you,” she said to him. “Really, Ardle, thank you.”

“I’ll take foin care of ol’ Primrose, Mary Rose. Dinna ye fache yerself now, lass.”

She was very grateful to him. She smiled, remembering Tysen saying the same thing to her in his starchy, clipped English accent. No soft lilt to his voice. “Thank you,” she said again and lightly touched her fingers to Ardle’s brown woolen coat.

Meggie whispered, clasping Mary Rose’s hand, “Come, Mary Rose, you’re terribly wet and cold. I know just where to hide you. You are beyond cold, aren’t you? You’re freezing. I don’t want you to become ill. Hurry.”

Meggie led her up the servants’ back stairs, pausing at each landing to see if anyone was around. They heard Mrs. MacFardle humming a goodly distance away. “That sounds pretty,” Meggie whispered. “I didn’t know any sound she made could sound that nice. I’m glad we didn’t see Pouder. He usually sits right by the front door but you can never be certain. I suppose you already know that.”

“Oh, yes. Pouder has occupied that spot since before I was born.”

“I have nearly tripped over him several times. He is Papa’s valet-in-training, something he says he always wanted to be.”

“I have always liked Pouder. He was always kind to me. He was very old even when I was a small child.”

She wanted to giggle at the thought of Pouder seeing her, clutching his meager chest in shock, and expiring right there in his chair. She was becoming hysterical. It wasn’t a good sign. She drew a very deep breath, trying to calm herself. She realized, of course, that what she really wanted to do was sink into oblivion, simply lie down in some corner and fade into the wainscoting. But she did neither. She docilely followed Meggie Sherbrooke to her bedchamber in the north tower. It was one of Mary Rose’s favorite rooms. As a child she had spent many happy hours playing in this wonderful room. It had been Ian’s bedchamber, but she didn’t tell Meggie that.

“Take off your clothes, quickly, Mary Rose, and climb into my bed to get warm. I’ll find more blankets. Goodness, I don’t think I have anything you can wear. You’re a bit larger than I am.”

“Yes,” Mary Rose said, managing a slight smile. “Yes, I am a bit bigger than you.” She was stripping off her clammy clothes even as she spoke. Within two minutes her boots were on the floor beside all her wet clothes, and she was in the bed, shivering under all the blankets Meggie was piling on top of her. Meggie said, after she gently laid her palm against Mary Rose’s cheek, “I’ll find some clothes for you, don’t w

orry. Yes, I will figure something out. You just stay there and I will fetch some hot tea. Hot tea is many times the best mediator. That’s what Papa says. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I think he’s right. He usually is.”

Meggie slipped out of the bedchamber, closed the door quietly behind her. Mary Rose lay curled up, trying to get warm, but the cold was very deep. Even her blood was cold, the very marrow in her bones was freezing her from the inside. She tried to take deep, slow breaths. She tried to calm herself. She was out of that stream, she was safe, Erickson was nowhere about. Breathe slowly, yes, breathe very slowly. You can do it, Mary Rose. You’re safe now. Breathe.

It seemed like forever until, finally, she began to warm. She realized then that her old riding hat was still atop her head, the plume tangled in her hair. She must look ridiculous. She reached a hand out from under the mound of covers and pulled it off. Then she tried to spread out her hair over the pillow. It required both hands to draw most of the tangles out, and then she was cold again, so cold that she pulled the covers to her nose. Once she was warm, she quickly realized that every inch of her body hurt, fiercely. Well, it wasn’t unexpected. The rushing water had slammed her against every boulder, every rock, every pebble in that wretched stream. She wondered if there’d been some fish she hadn’t seen who’d taken a nip of her when the water had ripped her past them. She hoped none of the cuts or scrapes was bleeding. She didn’t want blood on Meggie’s bedclothes.

Her brain stopped when she heard footsteps outside the bedchamber.

Meggie, she thought. Please, it had to be Meggie. But of course it wasn’t. It was boots, a man’s boots, coming closer, coming to this bedchamber. There was a light tap on the door. Then Tysen’s voice, and her heart nearly stopped along with her brain. “Meggie, are you there?”