The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

Tysen realized his own hands were fisted at his sides. Slowly, ever so slowly, he forced himself to ease. He was a vicar, and he believed firmly in God’s strength, in God’s compassion, but more than that, he was his father’s son and he was like his brothers. Neither Douglas nor Ryder would lose his head and erupt in senseless violence whenever it pleased him to do so. And neither would he.

Erickson stepped toward him and said without preamble, “Dr. Halsey has told us that Mary Rose is here. He said he attended her. He said that she will be all right, that she is merely bruised a bit from getting knocked about in that damned stream. I was excessively worried about her. I am here to fetch her home, to Vallance Manor.”

Tysen walked to one of the tatty old gold brocade set-tees and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. He wished his Hessians were polished more brightly. Old Angus had last polished them in Edinburgh. He eyed Mary Rose’s nemesis for a moment, then said mildly, “Actually, you have saved me a good deal of trouble. I was on my way over to your home again to speak to you. About Mary Rose.”

Erickson took a violent step forward. “Damn you, vicar, you will not put me off. Take me to her now, or vicar or no, I will beat you until you crawl to do my bidding.”

Tysen arched an eyebrow, smiled pleasantly at Erickson, whose face was becoming alarmingly red. When he was older, Tysen imagined, his face would slowly become that unbecoming shade of red that results from too much choler. He said on a shrug, “I suppose you could try.”

There was a marked sneer about Erickson’s mouth that Tysen thought was singularly unattractive. “You dare to bait me? To set yourself up against me? You, a man who isn’t really a man at all, but a gutless creature who exhorts real men from the pulpit? You threaten them with hellfire if they don’t swallow their righteous anger and choke on it? You order them to become as weak-willed and spineless as you are? You tell them they are cursed unless they grovel before you?”

Tysen rose slowly to his feet. His heart had speeded up, but—strangely perhaps—he felt quite calm. All this litany of insults he had heard before, a number of times, beginning when he was at Oxford.

It made little impact, really, for it was naught but ignorant words, cruel words, sparked by unreasoning anger. There was, he had learned, too much unreasoning anger in this world. He said, “Do you love Mary Rose Fordyce?”

Erickson stopped dead in his tracks, a sleek dark brow up a good inch. “Good God, man, I want to marry her!”

“I see. So to convince her of your sincere regard, of your lasting affection, you were going to rape her? To escape you, she had to jump into the stream?”

“Damn you, there was never a question of rape. You’re a vicar. You don’t understand how females behave, what lengths they will go to in order to make a man grovel at their dainty feet. Mary Rose is very much a female. She is coy, she teases, she pretends to become hysterical, all to get her way. All her denials, her small dramatic gesture of jumping into that ridiculous stream, it was just a simple performance, a show of melodrama. She wants to marry me, to give her status, to give her a real name, for God’s sake. She’s through with her fun. She will marry me now. I will speak to her and you will see that she has quite changed her mind.”

“All right, then,” Tysen said, rising. “I will take you to see her. However, I will remain to ensure that you do not try to coerce her or bully her. I would say, though, that her jump into that stream—although you prefer to believe it merely a girl’s teasing gesture—rather proves to me that she would do just about anything to escape you. No, you will not rant further. Be quiet and listen to me.

“She has been quite ill. You will not try to threaten her in any way, is that perfectly clear to you?”

Erickson stared at the far-too-handsome man, damn him, who was a bloody vicar, who was looking at him as if he was worth very little and full of naught save wind. He wanted to bash his face in, break that nose of his. Make him ugly. Yes, he wanted to beat him until he was so ugly Mary Rose wouldn’t want to ever look at him again.

Was that why Mary Rose didn’t want him? She wanted the bloody vicar who was also Lord Barthwick? He said slowly, “Why did she come here, to Kildrummy Castle?”

“To escape you yet again. Now, would you like to speak to her, to assure yourself that she indeed improves? I will give you five minutes, no more. She must rest. She is still very weak.”

Mary Rose wasn’t alone. Meggie was curled next to her on the bed, one of her small hands on Mary Rose’s arm, both of them fast asleep. At the sound of her father’s low voice, Meggie jerked up and blinked. She pushed her hair out of her face.

She shot a quick look at Mary Rose and whispered, “Papa, I wanted to guard Mary Rose, but I fell asleep. She is all right, isn’t she? Oh, my, isn’t that Mr. MacPhail with you? Why is he here?”

“He wants to speak to Mary Rose,” Tysen said, his voice as emotionless as he could make it. He saw the change in his daughter’s posture, in the expression on her small face, and wanted to smile. She drew herself up and said, “Very well—if she awakens. I believe she is now stirring. He may speak to her, but I will remain. He will not distress her.”

“Well, MacPhail?” Tysen asked, turning to face the man, who looked both furious and bemused.

“For God’s sake, man, she is a child. Make her leave.”

“Oh, no, she considers herself Mary Rose’s protector. Ah, yes, Mary Rose just opened her eyes. Remain where you are a moment and I will tell her that you are here.” He paused, adding, “Naturally I will reassure her that you can attempt nothing that she would dislike.”

He heard Erickson MacPhail cursing under his breath behind him. Rather vivid and varied animal parts, but not as colorful as his brother Ryder’s Beloved Ones, who could spit out the most rank curses, even better than sailors raised in the king’s navy. He walked to the bed, smiled down at Mary Rose, and took her hand between his. “Do not be alarmed.

You have a visitor, but he will not upset you in any way. Both Meggie and I swear it to you. He simply wishes to assure himself that you are all right.”

“I don’t want to see him. Please, Tysen, he will—”

Tysen touched his fingertips to her lips. “Let him speak, Mary Rose, and then that will be the end to it.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “you’re perfectly right. I must speak to him and then it will be the end to it.” She drew a deep, steadying breath and said, “May I have some water first?”

“You’ll get through this in fine style.” He lifted her head and put the water glass to her lips. He thought he heard MacPhail say something, but he ignored him. When she’d finished drinking, she sighed and sat up as Tysen fluffed a pillow behind her. Meggie moved even closer to her now, snuggling against her side.

Mary Rose watched Erickson walk toward her, every step announcing his anger, his frustration, his absolute bafflement that a vicar was standing at his elbow and a ten-year-old girl was squeezed next to her on that huge bed. She wondered if he still saw her as the woman he fully intended to have. She realized that yes, he did. She wondered if more men were like him, believing that any woman they wished to have was theirs. She also knew that Meggie was giving him a look that clearly said she would leap on him if he tried anything. She felt immense gratitude for the little girl plastered to her side.

Erickson stopped at her bedside and stared down at her, not saying a word for a very long time. Then, “You have a black eye.”