Mary Rose turned slowly, not releasing Tysen, holding him, perhaps, even more tightly. “What about Donnatella? She’s the one you have always wanted, isn’t she?”
Erickson rubbed his aching jaw, felt blood from his nose and split lip, as he said, his voice filled with dislike now, “Yes, you’re nothing compared to Donnatella. You’re not stupid, Mary Rose, you have eyes. Since you live at Vallance Manor, you see every day how beautiful she is.”
Mary Rose didn’t pull away from Tysen at all, just continued to look at Erickson. “If you married me then you couldn’t have Donnatella. She would never be your mistress. You know that, Erickson. None of this makes any sense. You would have my money, but surely you would be miserable married to me and not her.”
Erickson said, “My mother is very strong-willed, you know that. She said that all would be well, in the not-too-distant future. She said she would have the money and I would have all that I wanted. That would have to be Donnatella, wouldn’t it?”
“You mean your mother planned to kill Mary Rose?” Sinjun was staring down at the man, revolted, but yet not wanting to believe such evil existed.
Erickson only shrugged, which was a difficult movement since every bit of him hurt, even his knee he’d hit when he went to the floor with the damned vicar. He said, furious, “That is bloody lunacy. My mother wouldn’t kill anyone. I don’t know what she planned to do, but she wouldn’t kill anyone.”
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 you even begin to imagine Mary Rose seducing anyone?”
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.