The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [93]
There was one additional guest at the wedding besides Miles MacNeily, and that was Donald MacCray, the Barthwick solicitor, from Edinburgh. Given, however, that this was Reverend Tysen’s wedding day and Mr. MacCray had no wish to intrude, he merely said to Tysen, “There is no reason for you to worry. As it turns out, Sir Lyon was never your wife’s guardian. He lied to you. As for your, er, deception, it proved to be a sound deduction.” Whenever Tysen happened to look at Mr. MacCray, he was drinking champagne and staring at Gweneth Fordyce. Meggie whispered to her father that she’d wager their solicitor had drunk at least one whole bottle by himself.
Late that evening, Meggie happily followed her father and Mary Rose into his huge bedchamber, chattering, never taking a breath, laughing very gaily.
“Your aunt Sinjun gave you a bit of champagne, didn’t she, Meggie?”
“Well, yes, Papa, just a bit, yes. It’s nasty stuff and I can’t seem to stop talking.” She beamed at him, then hugged Mary Rose tightly. “We will all do very well together. You are not to worry, Mary Rose. Max and Leo will believe I did well to bring you home. Now, shall we talk about your new duties as Papa’s wife?”
And Meggie sat down in the middle of the great bed, her legs crossed, beaming at her father and her new mother.
He didn’t know what to say. Neither did Mary Rose. Tysen finally was preparing to open his mouth when there came a knock on the bedchamber door.
“Yes?”
Gweneth Fordyce peered around the door. “Ah, Meggie, dearest, there you are. I am very much in need of your assistance. I have this wretched headache, brought on, I daresay, from excessive attention from Mr. MacCray. Would you bathe my forehead for me?”
Meggie was torn. She looked from her father to Mary Rose’s mother, then sighed. “Papa? Mary Rose? Do you mind if I see to your mother? She’s now my grandmother, you know. I shouldn’t wish her to suffer if there is something I can do.”
“No, Meggie, we don’t want her to suffer, either. That would be very nice of you.” Tysen kissed his daughter. “Mary Rose and I will see you in the morning.”
Meggie frowned a bit over that and cocked her head to one side in question, identical to the way her father did it. “Mary Rose, aren’t you coming with me to your bedchamber? Why did we come to Papa’s bedchamber at all?”
Tysen said, very carefully, “Meggie, Mary Rose is now my wife. That means that she will stay close to me, both during the day and during the night. She will be staying with me now in this bedchamber.”
“But Papa, I—”
There was laughter, muted, from the doorway. Then Gweneth Fordyce came in and held out her hand to Meggie.
“Meggie, dearest, this headache of mine grows severe. Now, your new mama has to get used to your papa. That’s what marriage is all about. This means that they will spend a lot of time together, get to know each other much better, talk about so many things. You are not to worry about anything, all right?”
“I suppose so,” Meggie said. “Do you want to stay here with Papa, Mary Rose? Do you want to talk to him all night?”
“Yes, Meggie, I do.”
Meggie raised on her tiptoes, and Tysen held her against him, kissed her forehead. “Good night, sweetheart. Mary Rose and I will see you in the morning.”
And they were gone.
Tysen said, six feet away from his bride, “That wasn’t terribly romantic, was it?”
Mary Rose didn’t say anything at all. He saw that she was scared witless.
He was too, he thought, and quickly walked to the fireplace and built up the fire. It was chilly tonight, yet it was only the first of September and shouldn’t have been.
When he turned back to her, she still hadn’t moved a bit.
He walked to her, took her shoulders in his hands and said, “There is no reason for you to be afraid of all this. If you don’t wish to have me with you tonight, you have but to say so.”
The instant those words were out of his mouth, Tysen wanted to slit his own wrists. He waited, in agony, while she