The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [66]
Meggie had no idea what was happening here, but she knew it was something very important, something between her papa and Mary Rose. Mary Rose knew Latin? Goodness, what would Max have to say to that? She nearly leapt off the bed and took her aunt’s hand.
Colin calmly folded his paper and rose. He gave Tysen one long last look, then lightly touched his hand to his wife’s shoulder. Tysen heard Sinjun say, “We don’t have to see that dreadful woman, do we?”
“No, we won’t go near the drawing room,” Meggie said. “I want to show you the hidden garden behind Papa’s library. I believe Mr. MacNeily is working in there. He’s Papa’s estate manager, you know. He is very nice. I wish he would stay, but he is leaving Kildrummy soon now. Oliver is coming to take his place, at least Papa hopes he will.”
Colin said, “That will make Douglas gnash his teeth.”
He heard Sinjun laugh. “Oliver would do marvelously well here at Kildrummy.”
Tysen closed the bedchamber door, locked it. He said as he walked back to the bed, “Just forget this nanny business, Mary Rose. Forget teaching Latin to Phillip and bagpipes to Dahling. You aren’t going anywhere.”
Mary Rose had scooted up, feeling more strong and fit than she had even five minutes before. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him. As he spoke, she noticed, for the first time, that stubborn jaw of his. “I must,” she said, and it hurt to say it, but there was no choice. “Surely you see that.”
“No, I don’t see anything of the kind. Listen to me. We all do what we must. The must to be done in this situation is this: you must marry me. You will be the mistress of Kildrummy Castle in Scotland and you will be a vicar’s wife in my home in England. I live in a village called Glenclose-on-Rowan. My house is officially called the Old Parsonage, but it’s been known for years and years as Eden Hill House.”
“That is a very romantic name for a parsonage.”
“I suppose so.”
He thought inconsequentially that even with that awful pallor, she looked quite lovely sitting there in his nightshirt, her red hair in soft curls around her head and over her shoulders. Her mouth opened again, but nothing came out. He waited. He was good at waiting. Many times it took a parishioner a goodly number of minutes to screw up his courage to confess a sin.
“I cannot. Surely you know that, Tysen.”
“You cannot what? Marry me? I don’t see that there is anything else for you to do.”
“I will not do that to you,” she said, and her voice had firmed up now, and color was coming into her cheeks. “I came here because I wasn’t thinking straight, because I was afraid to go into Vallance Manor with Erickson’s horse wandering around outside the house, just like he was used to being there, as if he belonged there.
“But no matter. I was wrong, very wrong, to come here and involve you and Meggie.” She drew a very deep breath. “I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself because I was a fool.”
He smiled, a calm, clean smile that showed his lovely white teeth and lit up his blue eyes even more. “Forget this sacrifice business. It is nonsense. I should have told you this sooner. I have three children. Max, my scholar and wit, is nine; Leo, who sings like an angel, gets into more mischief than a devil’s spawn, and stands on his head, is seven. You already know my precocious Meggie. They are all good children, but perhaps you wouldn’t wish to be saddled with three stepchildren.”
“Meggie has told me all about Max and Leo.” Then she seemed to fold down. She just sat there, shaking her head back and forth. “No, you are purposely misunderstanding me. Please, Tysen, you know I would love your children dearly. I had accustomed myself to not having children. No, I won’t speak of that. You are