The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [49]
Oh, God, what to do?
Then she heard Meggie say, her voice all delighted, so falsely full of pleasure that surely no one would be fooled by it, “Papa! Whatever are you doing here? Did you need me? Is there something you want me to do for you?”
Tysen hoisted an eyebrow and looked down at his daughter. “Actually I wanted to see if you would like to play a game of chess with me before dinner.”
Absolutely nothing came out of his daughter’s mouth, which was so unusual that, so far as he could recall, it had never happened before. Tysen said slowly, eyeing that tea tray, “Well, now, why do you have a tray with tea on it? Are you having a party in your bedchamber?”
“Yes, Papa, I would love to play chess with you.”
“Meggie—”
“Oh, the tea tray. Well, you see, I was trying to write a song and decided that my throat was too dry to sing.”
There was a moment of silence, and Mary Rose, whose brain was still frozen, wondered if Tysen would believe that nonsense. Naturally he didn’t.
“Meggie, what is going on here? No more of your storytelling. The truth, if you please.”
Mary Rose knew she’d spill her innards if he asked her anything at all in that calm, utterly gentle tone of voice. She was getting cold again at the power of that voice. She held her breath, knowing that he would stride in at any moment and see her, and ask himself why the devil he had ever come to Scotland in the first place. If she’d had the strength, she would have slithered out of the bed and crawled under it. But she didn’t have the strength. She just lay there, the covers now nearly to her eyelids, staring at that bedchamber door.
Silence, far too much silence, then a very small voice, Meggie’s voice, saying, “Papa, don’t make me tell you, all right? It’s a promise I made to someone, a secret, and my soul will surely be damned to that bad place far below my feet if I tell anyone, even you.”
More silence, then Tysen said, a hint of approval in his voice, “I suppose you will eventually let me know what you are up to?”
“As soon as I can, Papa. I swear.”
He believes it is something inconsequential, Mary Rose thought, a little girl’s whim, and she nearly yelled with the relief of it. She still didn’t move, and evidently neither did Meggie, not until Tysen’s footfalls had faded away down the long corridor.
Meggie was flushed to her eyebrows when she came back into the bedchamber. Mary Rose watched her turn the large key in the lock, then carry the tray over to set it on the small table beside the bed.
“Thank you, Meggie. I’m very sorry.”
“I didn’t have to lie to him,” Meggie said, slowly pouring the very hot tea into a large, heavy mug, “and that’s a relief. I hate to lie to Papa because he feels it so very much when I do, do you know what I mean?”
“Yes. His disappointment makes you want to sink into the ground, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Meggie said, handing her the mug, “it does. One would think that if you lied enough, you would not feel it so much, but it doesn’t change. Oh, my goodness, Mary Rose, look at your poor hand, and your face. There are scratches all over you.”
“Yes, I know, but they’re not that bad.” Actually Mary Rose didn’t want to look. She just wanted to down every drop of that delicious, scalding tea in the chipped mug that Meggie had doubtless filched from a kitchen cupboard. She didn’t say a word, just poured it down her throat. When she finished, she lay her head against the pillow again and sighed. “That was delicious, Meggie. I believe you have saved my life. You see, I jumped into a very fast-running stream and got swept over rocks. I got some cuts and scratches here and there, nothing to worry you.”
Meggie poured her another cup of tea. She didn’t say anything, just watched Mary Rose sip slowly. “It’s Mrs. MacFardle’s favorite mug. It’s the biggest one.” Meggie saw that Mary Rose’s awful pallor was lessening and breathed a sigh of relief. “How long were