Free The Scottish Bride by Catherine Coulter Page A

and the family. We can become better acquainted.”
    â€œI should be delighted,” Tysen said.
    â€œI shall give you a tour of the area tomorrow morning, my lord,” Donnatella said. “I will come at nine o’clock.”
    â€œI have ridden both south and west,” Tysen said. “I should be delighted to tour the north, perhaps to Stonehaven. I visited the town when I was here before as a boy.”
    He handed around a platter of Mrs. MacFardle’s clootie dumplings, his first sight of them but an hour before. He saw Meggie cramming one into her mouth.
    â€œBarthwick has been too long without a mistress,” Lady Margaret said, her voice proprietary enough for a deaf man to hear. “Far too long.”
    â€œFrom what I have been told,” Tysen said easily, “there has been no mistress here for more decades than I’ve been on this earth.”
    Sir Lyon guffawed in his tea. “A bit of wit, m’dear. Charming, don’t you think?”
    â€œWit is only charming when it doesn’t impede or otherwise obstruct the conversational direction I am taking,” said Lady Margaret. “The furnishings—they are old and out-of-date. It is time a lady saw to things. A lady who has, perhaps, another, more experienced lady, to advise her—in short, her mother.”
    Tysen was afraid of that. Evidently Lady Margaret, after only ten minutes in his company, was ready to offer her daughter as his future spouse. But why him? Certainly Barthwick was a nice holding, but surely Donnatella could have her pick of gentlemen in these parts.
    He had no intention of embroiling himself with any young lady. He did not want or need a wife, his children did not want or need a stepmama. His flock would perhaps appreciate a vicar’s wife who would have their interests at heart. But if truth be told, even his congregation had appeared more content after Melinda Beatrice was gone. No, not content exactly. After all, Melinda Beatrice had always had their interests at heart; indeed, she was always telling him who needed to be fixed and how. It was just that when their interests hadn’t coincided exactly with hers, then she had ground them under. He shook his head. Such thoughts were disloyal, unworthy of him, certainly more than unworthy of a man of God. He forced himself back to the platter of clootie dumplings and selected one. His nostrils quivered, they smelled so good.
    Not ten minutes after the Vallance family had taken their leave, Meggie sidled out the front door to stand beside him.
    â€œMrs. MacFardle says that Donnatella Vallance is the most beautiful girl ever produced in these parts.”
    â€œYou make her sound like a sausage,” Tysen said, turning to face his daughter. “She is fine-looking, I suppose.”Then he shrugged. Perhaps he would have the opportunity to speak to Sir Lyon about Erickson MacPhail Friday evening when he went to Vallance Manor for dinner. He hoped Mary Rose’s ankle would be sufficiently healed by then.
    That evening, Tysen and Meggie stood together on the edge of Bleaker’s Bluff, looking out over the sea, watching the porpoises dive and play, their honking noises filling the evening air. Oystercatchers spun and wheeled overhead, looking for schools of herring the porpoises churned up. The beach below was covered with large, rounded pebbles. Tysen couldn’t begin to imagine how many centuries of tides sweeping over the beach had been required to smooth the pebbles to such perfect roundness. They covered the beach, making it dangerous to walk there. Seaweed wrapped around driftwood lay scattered over the pebbles, the wet green of the seaweed looking nearly black in the fading sunlight.
    â€œDo you wish to sleep in my bedchamber again tonight, Meggie?”
    She shook her head, her eyes on a baby porpoise that was diving madly around its mother. “I’ll be all right, Papa. I am sorry to admit it, but that