The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [85]
Sinjun lifted her nightgown, baring her leg to the knee, and sent her foot into Erickson’s ribs. He moaned, clutching himself. “You’re lying, you paltry—I can’t think of anything strong enough to call you that would fit. Believe me, in the stables at Vere Castle I have heard many singularly wonderful terms for paltry men. It’s obvious that your mother would kill Mary Rose, or you would, and after Mary Rose was dead, then you would have her money and Donnatella. Bloody hell, you are an evil man. As for your mother, she should be taken out and shot. Immediately.”
Mary Rose said against Tysen’s chest, “I can’t believe it. I’m rich then? Why didn’t my mother ever tell me? Why did she make me believe that we were the poor relations, completely dependent upon her sister and Uncle Lyon?”
“Perhaps your mother didn’t think you would believe her,” Tysen said. “Would you have?”
“No, probably not. But she should have tried.” Mary Rose felt pain flow through her. She simply didn’t understand her mother, never had. She said, “But how does Uncle Lyon even know about the money?”
Erickson said, holding his head, not looking at any of them, knowing the rest of it didn’t matter, so why not tell them, “Your uncle told me that he threatened to have both you and your mother kicked out of Vallance Manor. I think he wanted to bed your mother and she refused him. I don’t blame her for refusing him. He’s an old man and his breath is nasty. I guess your mother had to tell him about the money. She assured him there were buckets of it because your father was very rich. She promised she would give him some if he didn’t kick you out and if he left her alone. He came up with this plan after, of course, he went to Edinburgh to make sure she was telling him the truth.” Erickson turned over on his side and very slowly began to pull himself upright, using the wall for support.
“Wait,” Mary Rose said. “If all this talk about an inheritance comes from my mother, then perhaps it doesn’t really exist. My mother has been mad, on and off, for a very long time. Maybe she asked this man in Edinburgh to lie for her.”
Erickson shook his head. “No, she didn’t. Your uncle found and confronted the man who holds the trust for you. He wouldn’t tell your uncle who your father is, but he confirmed that there is a trust in your name, confirmed that it was a lot of money.”
Mary Rose just stared at him, still trying to take it in. She was no longer a poor relation. She had worth.
Colin said, “But you had to marry her before she turned twenty-five or you wouldn’t get a dime?”
Erickson nodded, on his hands and knees now, breathing hard, trying to get hold of himself.
“That’s right,” Sinjun said slowly. “If Mary Rose were twenty-five, then she would get her dowry and she and her mother could go anywhere they pleased, do anything they wished to do.”
“It’s still so hard to believe,” Mary Rose said. “I never knew, never guessed. Perhaps my father loved me, since he left me so much money. I never considered that even possible.”
Tysen wanted to tell her not to consider it now, but he didn’t. He raised his head and looked at Erickson’s neck, his fingers clenching at the remembered feel of choking him. No, he shouldn’t remember that with fondness. He was shaking his head at himself when he looked Erickson right in the eye. “I’m going to wed with Mary Rose, didn’t you hear? She will be my wife. You have lost. It is all over.”
Erickson nodded. “Yes, Mrs. MacFardle has told everyone that you’re marrying the Bastard, and she doesn’t understand it except that she’s saying that Mary Rose planned it all. She wet herself down in the stream, rolled about in some briars, and came here with the purpose of gaining your pity and then seducing you. And because you’re a bloody vicar—you have all this honor and nobility—you’d feel yourself forced to marry her.”
To his own surprise, Tysen threw back his head and laughed. He hugged Mary Rose very close and laughed harder. He said finally to Erickson, “Can