The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [118]
He said, his eyes so intimate that she wanted to throw sand in his face, “Actually, your husband is very well occupied at this moment, ma’am. Does he perhaps bore you and thus you sent him away on an errand? I know you saw me, and so you sent him away. Ah, I have been watching you, and I saw how you looked at me. Perhaps you and I could get to know each other. Perhaps we could meet later?”
“Are you related by any chance to Erickson MacPhail, sir?”
“No, that is a foreign name, ma’am. Surely I would not be related to a foreigner. Now, perhaps—”
“Mama!”
It was Meggie, covered with wet sand, her hair in tangles around her face, and on her heels were Max and Leo, looking windblown, sunburned, and quite alarmed. Meggie planted herself in front of Mr. Sanderford, hands on her hips, and demanded, “Sir, who are you?”
“Meggie, love, this is Mr. Sanderford. He was just paying a bit of a visit.”
Max said, “Our mother doesn’t entertain gentlemen when our father isn’t available.”
“Surely,” Mr. Sanderford said, appalled, “you are not the mother to these children? You are far too young.”
“Mama is nearly thirty-five years old, sir,” Leo said. “She just looks young. She says that we keep her looking young. She’s very happy with Papa and with us. She tells us that all the time, don’t you, Mama?”
“At least twelve times a day,” Mary Rose said.
“I see,” Mr. Sanderford said slowly and rose. Even though he was young, his knees creaked a bit. He dusted off his knit britches, looked at each of the children, and said, “I never loved my mother as you do yours. You are fortunate to have her.”
“Yes, sir, we know,” Leo said, and waited there until Mr. Sanderford had left them. When he was sure the poacher was gone, he sped away to turn a series of cartwheels right down to the water’s edge.
Mary Rose laughed.
“He reminds me of Erickson MacPhail,” Meggie said thoughtfully as she watched him walk back up the beach to the path.
“Odd you should say that,” Mary Rose said. “You three were right here. How ever did you know that he wasn’t being a gentleman?”
“Pompous Max might be a blind looby,” Meggie said, eyeing her brother, “but he knows when a flash cove has the light of wickedness in his eyes.”
Mary Rose could have handled Mr. Sanderford, but she was pleased to her bones that the children had been so possessive of her. “Thank you all,” she said.
Then Tysen was back, his hands filled with cakes and tarts, apples and oranges. “Who was that man speaking to you?”
“Father,” Max said, “that was no gentleman. He was trying to flirt with Mary Rose.”
Tysen blinked at that. Slowly, he lowered himself to the blanket. “What happened?” he said to Mary Rose.
“He is very much like Erickson MacPhail,” she said matter-of-factly, “and I could have dealt with him, but Max, Leo, and Meggie came running to protect my virtue.”
Tysen wanted to bash the man’s face in. He was on his feet in an instant, his face red with outrage, but Mr. Sanderford was nowhere to be seen. Then he cursed under his breath. Meggie heard him and stared, her mouth dropping open.
“I’m sorry,” Tysen said. “I should not have said that.”
“Papa, we didn’t let him do anything at all,” Max said. “Here comes Leo. Just ask him. There is nothing to worry about.”
“Yes,” Mary Rose agreed as she picked up an apple. “Just a small drama. Now, Max, I do believe you have a nasty scratch on your foot. When we return home, you must let me put some ointment on it.”
“Num mihi dolebit hoc?” Max wanted to know.
“What does that mean?” Meggie asked.
“That means ‘It won’t hurt a bit,’” Mary Rose said. “Unless, of course, I want it to.”
“Abeo,” Max said, and ran toward the frothing waves.
“Abeo? What does that mean?” Meggie said, shading her eyes from the sunlight to watch Leo, who was now walking on his hands down the beach.