The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [135]
Leo was indeed dizzy, and so he didn’t argue. Mary Rose touched each of his ribs lightly. None were broken, thank God. She looked up when she heard Max trying to calm Garth. “He will be all right,” she said, and knew even as she spoke that she was praying it was true. He could be injured internally. “Leo, does this hurt?”
She touched him here and there, ending finally by lightly pressing on his belly. No pain, thank God.
“Do you want to vomit?”
“No, even the dizziness isn’t so bad now.”
“Good. Now, how would you like to ride Garth with me back to Grapple Thorpe? Chocolate for everyone. Oh, dear, did anyone bring any money?”
“Meggie always has money,” Leo said.
“She wins it off us,” Max said. “I wish she’d cheat, then we could complain to Papa about it.”
Leo said, “Just yesterday, Papa would have laughed if we’d said that. But not today. Not ever again.”
Mary Rose didn’t know what to say, and so she concentrated on helping Leo to rise. He was a bit shaky on his feet, but he was upright and walking, and then, finally, he smiled. “I’m all right, Mary Rose. Poor old Ricketts, when the fellow blew that silly horn, Ricketts must have thought it was Saint Peter calling him to the horse pearly gates in heaven.”
Meggie laughed. “Oh, Leo, if you ever let anything happen to you, I will kill you.”
Fifteen minutes later, they sat on a long, scarred old oak bench in the taproom at the Golden Goose Inn in the middle of Grapple Thorpe village, right across from a lovely green that boasted a pond and at least half a dozen ducks.
And that was where Mr. Dimplegate found them, that lovely young woman, all windblown, shepherding three children. He was the town bully, drank too much, and believed himself to be God’s special treasure to womankind. When he spotted Mary Rose, he knew this day would work out to be just dandy for him. All jocular, grinning widely, just a dash of ale froth on his upper lip, he walked to their table, hands on hips, and leaned down close to Mary Rose. “Eh, ye a governess, little gal? Ye sure are purty as a picture, ye are.”
Mary Rose looked up at the man, who was surely large, looked strong, and was young enough and drunk enough to be a problem. He was also standing much too close.
“No, I am their mother, sir,” she said and turned away from him. When he didn’t move, she said over her shoulder, “Good day, sir.”
It degenerated from there, beginning with a roar from Mr. Dimplegate. “Ye ain’t bloody well their mother, girl! What are ye, then? A maid seeing them back to their home?”
“Go away,” Mary Rose said.
“No female turns her back on Dimplegate,” he yelled and grabbed her arm. “Me, I’m a grand lover, a man o’ yer dreams.”
“You, sir, are more in the nature of a nightmare.” Mary Rose threw her chocolate in his face. Too bad it had cooled a bit.
Max yelled, “Get away from our mother, sir!”
“Shut yer trap, little sprat!”
Leo jumped up on the end of the table, turned a backward flip and landed on his feet, right in Mr. Dimplegate’s face. Leo shoved him hard, but Mr. Dimplegate had grabbed Mary Rose’s other arm. As he fell over backward, he jerked her up from the bench. They went down together.
The children were on their feet, yelling at him, hitting him. The owner was wringing his hands, having had too many run-ins with Dimplegate to come close. “See yerself home now, Danny,” he yelled. “Hey, you let the lady alone. She didn’t do nothin’. Let her go!” But his voice was swallowed by all the racket.
Mary Rose scrambled off Mr. Dimplegate and backed away from him. But he was fast. He grabbed her hand and held on to her like a lifeline as he came to his feet. “I’m going to wallop that little codshead,” he said, then yelled over his shoulder, “Ye get yer butt here, boy!”
It was Meggie who grabbed up a thick log from beside the fireplace, climbed up on a chair, and bashed Mr. Dimplegate on his large head. He whirled around, blinked up at the little girl who was now his height standing on that