The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [131]
Douglas said, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Tysen?”
Wearily, he turned to face his brothers. Both Douglas and Ryder were standing not six feet away, their posture aggressive, their faces hard.
“Yes, that was some performance,” Ryder said after the silence had continued for too long. He looked at Tysen, his confusion and frustration plain. “You gave a ringing sermon about sin and the dreadful consequences of sinning and wickedness and man’s duties and obligations to God. Endless and unforgiving, all those duties. Then you offered up a thundering prayer in that god-awful cold voice of yours, exhorting everyone to forget everything but their obligations to God. All else, you said, was sacrilege.
“Then, you damnable ass, you leave your wife, ignore both her and your children and the rest of your family, to go off by yourself to greet your parishioners. What the devil does God say about your duty to your wife? What the hell is wrong with you? What were you thinking, you damned prig?”
More unblinking silence.
Douglas said as he took a step toward his brother, “Alex said that Mary Rose was stunned, that she was very hurt by your actions. For God’s sake, I myself saw what you did, saw her shock, her utter surprise. I saw how all your parishioners looked pleased when you did that, nodding their bloody heads because their vicar of old was back, the man who had no humor, but nonetheless, they knew him, didn’t want him to change.
“And your children—no, that can wait. Tysen, I’ve a good mind to knock you down and smash your bloody face into the dirt.”
Ryder said, stepping forward to stand again by his brother, “You marry her and now you treat her like she’s some sort of unwanted stray who happened to wander into your house. An unwanted, foreign stray. You ignore her. You simply cut her in front of all your parishioners. You’re acting like a bloody ass.”
“I know,” Tysen said, and he said nothing more because, simply, there was nothing more to say.
“What the hell do you mean by those idiotic words?” Douglas said, and now his hands were fists.
“I mean only that I know how I’m acting. I am at last acting the way I am supposed to act. The past three months have been an aberration, a mistake. I am back to being myself now. All is as it should be.”
“An aberration? A bloody mistake?” Douglas said, a thick black eyebrow slanted upward. “Aberration? Damn you, what sort of bloodless word is that? Tysen, Mary Rose is your wife. We have observed how much she adores you, seen the smile light up her eyes when you come into a room. We have seen how you idolize her, how you laugh when you’re with her, how you play with your children now, how you have finally found joy.”
Ryder said, “We’ve seen how much you laugh now, how you hug your children for no good reason at all, how you simply play. Play? Neither Douglas nor I had seen you play since you turned eighteen and decided to become a complete and utterly pious prig.”
Douglas said, “Oh, yes, Max sidled up to me when we arrived back here at the vicarage a while ago, and said, his head bowed, his voice all sad and hopeless, that something must have happened, that you were his old papa again. I thought he would start crying. Damn you, Tysen, what the hell is going on with you? Even that first short letter you wrote to Ryder and me was filled with humor and excitement. It was filled with your love for a woman. And then you brought your family to see us. We realized that you finally saw the beauty, not only in life but in the open love for your wife and your children. You finally realized the importance of them to you, and you gloried in it. All of us marveled. We were excited, so pleased that you had finally met a woman who could give you joy, show you her deep love, a woman who could teach you to smile and maybe even kick up your heels.”
Ryder said, “Now it’s all sucked