The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [86]
Erickson was forced to shake his head. His belly was starting to roil and ache. His ribs pulled and poked against the inside of his skin. He held himself perfectly silent. He wasn’t going to bear the humiliation of vomiting on the corridor floor of Kildrummy Castle. He moaned and rolled back, hitting the wall, his eyes tightly shut. “That’s why I had to act quickly. If Mary Rose were to marry you very soon, then all would be lost.”
“I see,” Tysen said. “Or you could have tried to kill me too.”
“No, I’m not a murderer.”
“I’m rich,” Mary Rose said, wonder in her voice. “Now,” she said, not loosening her hold around Tysen’s back, perhaps squeezing him even more tightly, “now you don’t have to marry me.” Slowly, she leaned back against his arms and looked up at him. “I release you, sir. You are free of me now.”
“Actually,” Tysen said, “no, I’m not.”
Erickson was holding his belly, lying on his side. He felt a small surge of hope. “That’s right, Mary Rose, you don’t have to marry him now. Now you can think more clearly about this. You’ve only known the vicar for a week. You’ve known me all your life. I’ve always been kind to you, never baited you about being a bastard. You swam with the porpoises, and I taught you, remember? Listen to me—a vicar doesn’t need money. A vicar needs only to have a roomful of captive people for him to exhort about their endless string of sins. That’s why there are churches. Once they file in, they close those huge doors. No one can get out. Then the vicar yells at them, makes them feel guiltier than dirt. Once they fill the collection plate, he pats them on the head and they feel all right again, and he feels superior.”
“I cannot believe that you and your mother have survived this long without someone trying to murder the both of you,” Colin said.
“My mother means no one harm. She just wants me to be happy. However, she wants herself to be happy as well. She wants to attend balls and routs in Edinburgh, rub elbows with Society. Mary Rose, listen to me, the vicar doesn’t need you, not like I do. He’s a man of God, and even though he nearly killed me—something he’ll roast in hell for doing—he isn’t really a man, as in a man a woman would find pleasure with and—” He stopped cold, shook his head at the possible further pain his words just might bring down upon his body, and said, desperation bubbling very close to the surface, “Please, marry me, not him. Be free of him, don’t let him talk you out of it. I’ll only force you if I have to, only if you refuse me and—”
Sinjun kicked him again.
19
THE FOLLOWING MORNING at the breakfast table, Miles MacNeily told everyone about his adventure escorting Erickson MacPhail back home, there to be dealt with by his fond mother. “He didn’t even have a chance to explain,” Miles said. “She started yelling at him from an upper window. If I hadn’t wanted to pound him into the ground some more, I would have felt sorry for him.” Miles shook his head and looked at his eggs, which had been cooked so long they looked like clumps of yellow rocks. “The woman’s a terror. I heard her call him an idiot, loose-mouthed, a rotten seed of her womb. I left as quickly as I could. It’s strange. Erickson has the reputation of being very strong, very determined. But, evidently not with his mother.” He eyed the eggs again and forked down a bite, choked, and grabbed for a glass of water.
Mary Rose winced as she watched him. No one else had as yet touched the eggs. She said, “I’m sorry, Miles. I’ve never made eggs before. I suppose that I did fry them a bit too long.”
“Perhaps just the slightest bit, Mary Rose. Don’t worry about it. You tried,” Miles said, but he smiled at her, and it was a very sweet smile, Tysen saw. He felt something vaguely like jealousy rolling around in his gut, and it shocked him. Shocked him so much he just stared down at his dirty boots. Miles MacNeily was old enough to be her father.
Tysen said finally, “Miles is right. Don’t worry about the eggs. We are all grateful.”
Sinjun said suddenly,