Free The Scottish Bride by Catherine Coulter

begin this afternoon. I will write to Aunt Alex and ask her advice. Oh, yes, Papa, MacNee also told me about Lord Barthwick’s cousin, Mrs. Griffin. She sounds rather frightening. She and her husband live in Edinburgh, but they were here much of the time, toward the end. MacNee said she was a real tartar and an old besom. What does that mean?”
    â€œShe isn’t amiable,” Tysen said and thought, Please, Lord, please keep the dear woman away.
    â€œWell, MacNee said everyone prayed she wouldn’t come back for at least ten years.”
    Tysen immediately joined in the prayers. “Donald MacCray didn’t say anything about her,” Tysen said. “I wonder why not?”
    Meggie just shrugged, then said, “Oh, yes, Mrs. MacFardle wanted me to tell you that there is a message from Sir Lyon Vallance. He and his family will visit us here tomorrow afternoon at precisely three o’clock.”
    Tysen was pleased. He planned to speak to the man about protecting his niece from the likes of Erickson MacPhail.
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    Tysen nodded in greeting to Sir Lyon Vallance, a tall man with reddened cheeks, probably from too much drink. He’d once been a handsome man, but now he was runningto fat. He was a bit beyond his middle years, but seemed bluff and good-natured. He pumped Tysen’s hand up and down in a hearty grip. He was bald except for a very thin gray circle around his head. He beamed a long look around the drawing room and made a small sound of pleasure. Tysen nearly smiled at that. He didn’t blame Sir Lyon. It was a cozy room, and he liked it despite its need to have new wallpaper and perhaps some new furniture and draperies as well. He would take care of that soon enough.
    As for Sir Lyon’s wife, Lady Margaret, she was a handsome woman, deep-bosomed, beautifully gowned, nearly as tall as her spouse, more than a glint of intelligence in her dark eyes. She was also quite a bit younger than her husband. Oddly, she was giving the room a rather proprietary look. As for their only child, Donnatella, Tysen realized that she was eyeing him more than was proper. Something of a cynic—a man of God couldn’t escape a measure of cynicism, what with the indignity of human nature—he imagined that the lovely girl was expecting him to sigh over her hand, perhaps hold that delicate hand overlong, perhaps give her a dazed look to show her he was sufficiently bowled over by her charm. Just like Melissande, Alex’s sister, who was, in truth, much more beautiful than Donnatella Vallance. After what Meggie had told him about her, he doubted he’d be bowled over even if he found her utterly charming. He merely nodded to her as he had to her father and mother. He girded his mental loins, and when everyone had a cup of tea in hand, he said pleasantly, “I am pleased to meet my neighbors. I trust Mary Rose’s ankle isn’t paining her too badly today?”
    Lady Margaret arched a sleek black brow. “Her what, my lord?”
    â€œMary Rose’s ankle, my lady,” Tysen said, then took a sip of his tea.
    â€œOh, yes,” Donnatella said, sitting forward in her chair, offering him an excellent display of her cleavage that was, indeed, quite lovely, almost as lovely as Mrs. Drake-more’s, a widow in his congregation who displayed herself to him each and every chance she got. Truth be told, he’d been treated to many displays of feminine ingenuity since Melinda Beatrice had died six years before. Donnatella continued, giving Tysen another smile that surely invited intimacies, “Don’t you recall, Mama? Mary Rose said something about falling into one of the sheep killers. She sprained it.”
    Lady Margaret obviously didn’t recollect Mary Rose’s accident. “She should take more care,” she said, then looked long at Tysen. “You will be delighted to come to Vallance Manor for dinner, my lord. Perhaps Friday evening? Just you