“A man in love may be excused many things,” Donnatella said. “A man in love, I have always believed, is singularly stupid. Perhaps I should offer him my assistance in bringing you around. It would be far more efficient.”
“I would that you not, Donnatella.”
Donnatella laughed. “Yes, men in love—or in lust—it is one and the same to all of them. I have seen it several times now. It is really quite amusing to watch. However, Erickson spoke to you earlier. He saw you looking like this, and he still wants to marry you. Doesn’t that convince you that he is blinded by his feelings for you?”
“No.”
Donnatella walked to the long row of windows. She flung one of them open and leaned out. “I have always loved Kildrummy Castle. I knew when I was a little girl that I belonged here, that it had to be mine someday. Isn’t it strange how everything worked out? I thought to marry Ian and be mistress here, but then Ian died. So senseless the way he died. Now there is another master here, and he isn’t married. It’s as if he came here, knowing I was close, knowing this was always what I wanted. I thank God that the vicar is so very handsome. Have you noticed his eyes? They are an incredible blue. He also appears not to have a patch of fat on him, and that is a wonderful thing.” Donnatella turned to look at Mary Rose, who was sitting on the bed, her arms clasped around her knees.
Donnatella went on, “I will think about all this. I will spend time with Lord Barthwick. I will watch him become stupid because he lusts after me. Isn’t that a thought? A vicar, lusting after a woman. Is that even possible? However, I cannot imagine being the mother of a little girl who is only half my age.”
“He also has two little boys, Max and Leo. They are nine and seven.”
Donnatella arched a perfect brow. “Three children? I had no idea that a vicar indulged himself so generously in the marriage bed. I wonder what his wife was like. Has he said anything about her?”
“No.”
“Oh, well, she’s dead, no longer important at all. I think you should come home with me right now, Mary Rose. If you are afraid that Erickson is lurking about Vallance Manor, ready to grab you and haul you away, why, then, I will protect you. You can even sleep in my bed. I won’t let him come near you. Does that make you feel safe?”
Mary Rose felt her heart begin to pound, fast, hard strokes. Donnatella wanted her back at Vallance Manor? Why, for heaven’s sake? Slowly, she just shook her head. “I cannot.”
“So you will remain and ruin the poor vicar’s reputation?”
There was a knock on the door. Mary Rose wanted to run to the door and let whoever it was in, quickly, so she would not have to answer that sticky question, but she just wasn’t up to it, and that had been why Tysen had finally left her. He’d wanted her to sleep, and she had, until Meggie and Sinjun had brought Donnatella to see her.
She didn’t expect it to be Erickson, but nevertheless, she was as rigid as the post at the foot of the huge bed, waiting, waiting. It was Tysen, and he wasn’t smiling.
He nodded to Donnatella. “Mary Rose, I am sorry to disturb your visit with your cousin, but it appears that your mother is in a carriage outside in the courtyard. She wishes to see you. She also refuses to come inside. What do you wish to do?”
“Mother is here, truly? I must see her, Tysen.”
He smiled then. “It is no problem. My back has sufficiently recovered.” He fetched his dressing gown, quite aware that Donnatella was watching his every move, and brought it to Mary Rose. “Can you stand up? Good, I’ll put it on you.”
Donnatella said, laughter lurking, “It is pleasant to see a man occasionally play servant to a lady, sir, but do allow me. I will bring Mary Rose downstairs.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Tysen said, not even turning to look at her. “Keep upright, Mary Rose, don’t collapse on me now. Yes, just hold on to me.” He wrapped her in his dressing gown and tied the belt around her waist. “Your feet are bare, but it is very warm, so it will be all right. Are you ready?”
She nodded.
Tysen picked her up in his arms and simply walked out of the bedchamber, leaving Donnatella to stand by the window watching him and frowning slightly, wondering what was
going on here.
Tysen said as he walked down the long corridor with her, “I don’t mind at all being your servant. Do you know something? You aren’t quite as heavy when I’m walking.”
She laughed. For just a brief moment, she rested her head against his shoulder, her warm breath against his neck. Mary Rose wished at that moment that she could stay in Tysen’s arms for as long as his back held up. She breathed in the scent of him, dark and rich, with a touch of wildness, like the barest hint of white heather in the air.
“Your mother looks quite beautiful,” he said as he carefully walked with her down the main staircase. The front door was open, spilling in bright afternoon sunlight.
“She usually does,” Mary Rose said. “When we wed, what will we do about her?”
“I will give that some thought. Don’t worry, Mary Rose. Everything will work out all right.” But how could it? Her mother was a very odd woman. At worst, she was indeed mad. More than likely, she used madness to gain her what she wanted. Her mother never left Vallance Manor. Her mother also knew who her father was and refused to tell anyone. And now her mother was here, in a carriage. It was hard to believe. What had happened?
17
GWENETH FORDYCE HADN’T ridden in a carriage for six months. Her last time had been that dreadful ride to Aberdeen to her mother’s funeral. She’d hated the old lady, but both she and her sister, Margaret, knew they had to don black and veils and pretend to a bit of grief. Her jaw dropped open when she saw the new Lord Barthwick walk out of the castle with Mary Rose—wearing his dressing gown—in his arms. Her feet were bare. Gweneth knew, knew all the way to her soul, that there was something between this man and her daughter. Nothing illicit, for after all, he was an English vicar. But something, something that was more than a man trying his best to protect a woman. No man that she’d ever heard of carried a woman around with her feet bare.
When the Vallance coachman opened her door, she gave him her hand to assist her down. She stood there, looking at the vicar, at her daughter, and she said, “You will come home with me now, Mary Rose. I am sorry, my dear, but as your mother, I cannot allow you to remain here with an unmarried man. I know he is a vicar, but that doesn’t matter. Spiritual trappings do not matter in a case such as this.”