The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [134]
“No,” Meggie said, from her perch on Max’s bed, “Papa is now even more than he used to be. Before, he wasn’t so distant, so set apart from us. He loved us and we knew it. Now he is so far away he can’t even see us.”
“That’s right,” Leo said. “Before, he would laugh, every once in a while. He hugged us once in a while. He even frowned when we irritated him. But now there’s nothing. It’s like he’s afraid to say or do anything that could be seen as not utterly serious.”
Mary Rose couldn’t bear it. She’d come in a few minutes before and listened to them. Now, she said, “Where are all your cousins?”
“They’re in the graveyard,” Max said. “Grayson likes the graveyard. He makes up stories about all the dead people. Even though it’s cold out there today, no one wants to miss one of Grayson’s stories.”
“Except the three of you.”
“Everything is scary enough,” Max said. “We don’t need Grayson’s stories.”
“All right, then. You three are coming with me. We’re going riding.”
They didn’t want to, but when Meggie looked closely at Mary Rose, saw her pallor, saw her determination, she nodded slowly. “You’re right, Mary Rose. It will put things at a distance for a while. Come on, Max, Leo. I don’t want to have to hurt either of you. Move, now.”
There were enough horses, if Mary Rose rode Garth, Douglas’s huge stallion. “I’ll sing to him, a different ditty this time, since he obviously didn’t like the one I sang to him last time.” Garth was seventeen hands high, a huge black beast, with mean eyes. Mary Rose sang one ditty after the other as she saddled him.
He let her mount him. “He is very big,” she said, her heart thumping a bit faster as she looked over at her three stepchildren atop their own horses.
“You will be all right, Mary Rose?” Leo said.
“I’m a good rider. We won’t have any races, all right?”
They rode single file until they were in the countryside. It was cloudy and cold, and Mary Rose felt the chill to her crooked toe. “Is everyone warm enough?”
“Poor old Ricketts is cold,” Leo said, patting the geld-ing’s neck. “I hope he lasts through the winter. He’s nearly twenty now, you know.”
Mary Rose hoped he lasted too. Actually, she hoped she lasted as well.
After they’d ridden through Grapple Thorpe, a small village very close to the Channel, Mary Rose said, “Who would like to go down to the beach?”
“I think we should go back to that inn in Grapple Thorpe and have some chocolate,” Meggie said. “I’m cold, Mary Rose.”
They would have made it back to Grapple Thorpe had it not been for the mail coach coming at breakneck speed around a corner of the country road.
Mary Rose saw that coach flying toward them, saw poor old Ricketts falter, rear back in panic, then stumble. She watched Leo fly over his head and land in a ditch beside the road.
“Meggie, Max, get out of the way, go! I’ll see to Leo!”
She couldn’t do a thing until the mail coach passed them, whipping up thick winds of dust in its wake.
Mary Rose slid off Garth’s back and ran to Leo. He was pulling himself upright, shaking his head. She didn’t touch him, just came down on her knees beside him. Meggie and Max were right behind her. “Are you all right, Leo?”
“My brains are scrambled,” Leo said, panting a bit. “My ribs feel like they’re broken into little sticks, my stomach is jumping into my neck—” He looked up and gave her a blazing smile. “Don’t worry, Mary Rose, I’m all right.”
“Oh, Leo,” she said and gently pulled him into her arms. “Just sit very still a moment.”
There was a sharp hitch to his breath, then he eased against her. Mary Rose said to Max and Meggie, “Let’s just stay here a moment until Leo gets his brains unscram-bled.”
Leo laughed.
Slowly, Mary Rose leaned away from him. She studied his pale face. “How do you feel? Tell me the truth now, Leo.”
“Just a bit dizzy.”
“No wonder. I want you to lie down a minute. There’s no rush, we can stay here as