The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

“Well, yes.”

“It’s very embarrassing, Tysen. Only I have ever seen myself without my clothes on. Oh, goodness, you’re a man.”

“Well, yes, I am. Mary Rose, if you do not tell me yes very soon now, I just might drop you. Though you are not large, you are beginning to push my limits here.”

Still, her face was full of questions. To his utter relief, she slowly nodded, to herself more than to him. “Very well, then, Tysen. Because I do not want you to be bent over like an old man, moaning and clutching your back, I will say yes.”

“Say it.”

“Yes. I am hopeful. I am also still so embarrassed I want to swallow my tongue. All right, then, I will say all of it. I will marry you, sir, and I pray to God that you will not regret your gallantry.”

He lowered her very slowly, his muscles nearly locking tight at the feel of her against him. To prove to her that he was a man of his word, he kissed her, just as he’d promised.

It was a lovely afternoon, sunlight flowing in through the westerly windows. As soon as Meggie and the countess of Ashburnham had left the room, Donnatella looked down at her cousin and said, “You look perfectly dreadful, Mary Rose. Would you like me to brush your hair?”

Mary Rose only smiled. Not too long ago, had Donnatella said something like that to her, she would have felt like a prune pit ground underfoot. But now she didn’t think anything Donnatella said would faze her. She didn’t doubt at all that her hair had more rats in it than the Kildrummy stables, but it didn’t matter, hadn’t mattered to Tysen. She was so very happy, all she could do was smile stupidly up at her cousin. “That would be very nice, Donnatella. You look very beautiful with the sunlight shining in your hair.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“How is my mother?”

“Mad, as usual,” Donnatella said as she walked over to Lord Barthwick’s dresser and picked up his brush. She said over her shoulder, “She hasn’t said much, really. Mother simply told her that you were visiting the daughter of the house here at Kildru

mmy. Nothing else was necessary. She left the room humming.” Donnatella saw light hairs in the brush. Tysen Sherbrooke was a lovely man, she thought, and obviously in need of a wife. Given he was a vicar, likely without much spine at all, all his thoughts spiritual and not at all to the point, he would be easily managed. It was something to think about, just in case.

She pulled a dark blond hair from the brush, a small smile on her lips as she walked back to the bed. “Mrs. MacFardle tells me that you must leave the vicar’s bed. Indeed, she’s yelping that you should have never been in this bed in the first place, that soon everyone will be talking about it, and poor Lord Barthwick will be quite ruined.”

“Yes, I can well imagine her saying that. I am feeling much better. Perhaps this evening I will move back into Meggie’s bedchamber. Her bed, just like this one, would hold six people without touching.”

Donnatella sat down beside her and lifted a handful of hair. Such a common color, she thought, as she smoothed out the tangles. “Meggie is the vicar’s daughter?”

“Yes, she is precious. And very smart. She loves her father very much.”

Donnatella hit a snag. Mary Rose flinched. Donnatella worked on the knot until it was free. “I saw Erickson just a while ago at Vallance Manor. He is very upset, Mary Rose.”

Donnatella felt the sudden bolt of fear in her cousin, making her all stiff, and she studied more tangles in Mary Rose’s hair. She said, “Really, Mary Rose, being afraid of a man is quite ridiculous. He would never hurt you. I do believe he loves you. Now, what is the matter with you? Marry him, for God’s sake, and then you will control him well enough.”

“I don’t think so,” Mary Rose said slowly, staring straight ahead. “I know you could manage a husband quite well, but I? I’m not sure about that. I have never thought that Erickson loved me. You are wrong about that.”

“Then why does he want to marry you so badly?”

“I don’t know. Even if I did marry him, I cannot imagine controlling him. You could. You are very strong, Donnatella.”

“A woman has to be strong or she will become nothing more than a rug to be trod upon.” She hit another snag, and this time Mary Rose jerked.

“Ah, nearly done. Hold still.”

“When I was your age, I wasn’t so firm about things. I have always admired that in you.” Mary Rose thought about Tysen treading on her, and knew, all the way to the soles of her feet, that he wouldn’t. “I cannot marry Erickson,” she said, lightly closing her fingers about her cousin’s wrist. Her scalp was burning, surely it was enough. Donnatella lowered the hairbrush and said, “Now your hair is mixed with his.”

Mary Rose just shook her head. “I don’t love Erickson, I never have. You’re quite wrong about his feelings for me, else why would he try to rape me?”

“Rape?” Donnatella actually laughed—such a sweet sound, Mary Rose thought. How jarring it was with that awful word that had come trippingly off her tongue.

“Yes, rape. He has tried twice. Thank heaven I managed to get away from him both times.”

“I’ve heard,” Donnatella said, lowering her voice to a near whisper, pulling close to Mary Rose’s ear, “that he is a splendid lover. He has bedded several women in the village, and believe me, they smile like loons when he leaves them.” She gave a delicate shiver. “Perhaps you should simply trust him, Mary Rose. Let him have you. Enjoy him, use him. Men are ever so easy when it comes to that. I will teach you how to do it.”

“I have never felt the slightest desire to let him make love to me. Really, Donnatella, I cannot imagine such a thing.” She frowned, looking toward the now lowering sun through the windows. “I don’t understand why he wants to marry me. It makes no sense. I am a bastard. He truly did try to rape me. He isn’t a good man to so easily want to do that.”