The Scottish Bride Read Online Free Page A

nine sermons in his head during those five and a half days, and he had to admit, in his more objective moments, that none of them was presentable enough for God’s hearing. They were, he thought, looking at the mighty castle soaring upward from its craggy ridge in the center of the city, rather—no, he didn’t want to say it. Oh, very well. Truth be told, they were boring. They nearly made him nod off to sleep. Talk of hell’s fires kept the congregation alert, but it never made him feel exalted when he was done, and thus he rarely threatened his flock with brimstone. But these nine sermons, they’d been bland, touching on this or that without much rhyme or reason to any of them. One of them did dwell perhaps overly much on the necessity for a woman’s obedience. He thought of Meggie and shook his head at that. Then he thought of Melinda Beatrice and felt guilty.
    They had both been so very young, so very much in love with each other, and they saw only a life that was narrow, yet filled with hope and goodness and an endless desire to be of service to God. At least that was what he had wanted. He sighed.
    Tysen heard a boy whistle and waved to him. He remembered Edinburgh, but now he saw it through a man’s eyes, not a child’s. The Castle, he thought, oh, how Meggie would have enjoyed the Castle. No, what he’d done was correct. For heaven’s sake, it had rained a full four days on the journey up here. Today, at least, it had ceased raining early in the morning. The sun now glistened overhead, and it was so clear he knew he would be able to see the smudged mountains on the horizon beyond the Lothian plain and the Firth of Forth if he were standing on the Castle ramparts. He clicked Big Blue around a crowd of people who looked to be surly for some reason, and waved his carriage behind him toward the road to New Town, north of the castle. Literally dredged from a malodorous swamp, New Town was a masterpiece, with all the magnificent gardens and squares surrounded by splendid Georgian buildings. He had no idea if Sinjun would be at their residence here in the city. Regardless, he knew Old Angus would let him spend the night. At the west end of George Street, they finally reached Charlotte Square. Another left turn, and they were in Abbotsford Crescent. Kinross House was located directly in the middle, opposite a small, very green park. It was a tall, skinny house, older than its neighbors, but it looked immaculate, flowers planted everywhere, the paint fresh, the shutters hanging straight and proud. There was a new slate roof, if he wasn’t mistaken. The rectangular lawn was freshly scythed, the walkway swept clean. Tysen was tired, but the sight of his sister’s lovely house made him smile.
    Tysen remembered Meggie saying that her aunt Sinjun would have had roads built if needed. Well, she’d certainly made the Kinross town house a work of art. Its newer neighbors were lovely as well, but Kinross House had style—old style—and it was better. It was unique.
    He hoped Old Angus was still in full possession of his wits and thus would recognize him and not shoot him with his blunderbuss—a very valuable weapon, Sinjun had said to him once, and laughed. To his utter surprise, he looked up at a shout from an upper window. Then Sinjun was sticking her head out and yelling down at him. “Tysen! Is it really you? Bloody hell, we just arrived yesterday. Dahling wanted to stroll down the Royal Mile and, well, I wanted to as well. Colin is up at the Castle, speaking to Lord Stallings. Dahling and Phillip are with him, doubtless roaming through all those drafty hallways, asking endless questions of all the poor soldiers. Oh, it is so wonderful to see you. Come in, oh, yes, do come in!”
    Old Angus came out of the house, looking older than the Castle, his homespuns bagging at his knees, his white hair blown all over his head, and a big smile on his seamed face.