The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [89]
Where had Meggie learned that excellent word?
And then Tysen thought, two blasted candlesticks! It was too much. He felt laughter bubbling up again, and seamed his mouth together. He said, “I imagine that you needed the candlesticks to live on until your twenty-fifth birthday?”
Mary Rose nodded.
“I suppose you would have written to your mother for the name of the solicitor.”
She nodded again, not a word out of her mouth.
“And then you would have been up bright and early, ready to camp on the solicitor’s doorstep? Then once you had all your wealth, you would have brought your mother to Edinburgh?”
Another nod.
He walked toward the staircase, paused a moment, and called out over his shoulder—actually, over Mary Rose’s bottom—“You’re not fired, Miles, at least not for another two weeks.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll see to the coachman. I’ll take Mary Rose’s valise back to Meggie’s bedchamber.”
“I don’t want your candlesticks,” Tysen said, “just swear to me you’ll keep them hidden from Mary Rose.”
“Yes, I swear, my lord,” Miles said. “I can see now that this is for the best. I won’t listen to her again.”
Mary Rose called out, raising her head from Tysen’s back, “At least you listened to me once, sir.”
Tysen was again picturing Meggie yanking and jerking on that ridiculous valise. Actually, he thought as he walked into the drawing room, he knew what he wanted to do was to simply ease his arms up and splay his hands over Mary Rose’s bottom.
It didn’t occur to him that he was committing sins of lust in his brain, that he was actually compounding sins by the moment. All he was aware of was the closeness of Mary Rose’s bottom. It wasn’t until some time later, after he’d given her over to Sinjun with instructions to sit on her if she tried anything else stupid, that his sins started coming home to roost.
Even while he was contemplating those sins, the list compounding itself by the hour, Pouder informed him of their newly-arrived guests.
When he saw Sir Lyon, he decided he would rather spend eternity cataloguing his sins than be in this man’s company again. However, this time Mary Rose’s mother was with him. It was mid-afternoon, and there were more delicious smells sweeping through the castle. The freshly baked bread had everyone sniffing the air.
Tysen just stood there watching Sir Lyon sniff the baked bread, then escort Gweneth Fordyce into the drawing room. Why had she refused to come into the castle before? Why was she coming in now?
Mary Rose, thankfully, was upstairs, now in Meggie’s bedchamber, being entertained by his daughter, who, at his instruction, was keeping a very close eye on her. Sinjun, he’d been told, was visiting ever so often, just to make sure that Mary Rose hadn’t climbed out a window. As for Colin, he was in the stables determining what stock was needed to purchase.
“Sir Lyon, Mary Rose’s mother,” Tysen said, not knowing what to call her. “Thank you, Pouder.”
“I will adjourn to your bedchamber, my lord, and see to the freshening of your clothes.”
“An excellent notion, Pouder. I wanted to thank you for the fine ironing of my cravats.” He turned to his guests.
“Would you like to be seated? I can have Mrs. Golden prepare some tea.”
“Mrs. Golden shouldn’t be here,” Sir Lyon said, then seemed to realize that this approach wasn’t at all conciliating, and added, chin out, “Mrs. MacFardle, for all her abilities, is a bitch. You’re better off without her. That bread smells delicious.”
“I shall have her bring some bread with the tea,” Tysen said and gave orders to Pouder, who hadn’t yet left his chair by the front door to freshen Tysen’s clothes upstairs.
When he returned to the drawing room, Gweneth Fordyce spoke. “I have many times wanted to poke a knife through her middle. Over the years, she was very unpleasant to my daughter. She wasn’t to me, because she was afraid of me, the madwoman.”
“I don’t doubt that she will find a suitable position,” Tysen said. Once everyone was seated, he stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, and