The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

They went down, Erickson falling on his back, half on top of her. Mary Rose yelled, Colin came to a stop to stand over them, and Sinjun, her white gown fluttering about, was holding a candle over them.

“He’s smashing me,” Mary Rose gasped, trying to breathe, then, “Thank you both for coming out for whatever reason I don’t yet know.”

“It is no problem,” Colin said, coming down to his knees beside Erickson, who was just lying there, staring up at him. “You’re bare-assed, man,” Erickson said. “Have you no sense? There is a lady present.”

Colin looked briefly over at Mary Rose. “Close your eyes.” She did. Colin jerked Erickson off her, and Erickson came up fighting. He was strong, a dirty fighter, and he would have had a chance if it hadn’t been for Sinjun. She gave a low growl when Erickson sent his fist into Colin’s belly. She threw the candle at him. The iron base hit him in the jaw, then bounced onto the wooden floor, sparking flashes of flame as it hit.

“You asinine idiot,” she yelled, “trying to steal Mary Rose,” and she joyfully jumped at him.

Erickson knew he was in very deep trouble. He was doing his best to hold the woman off, even as he realized that she smelled wonderful, a sort of violet smell, before the naked man was ripping his arm out of the socket. He smacked his fist against the woman’s shoulder, sending her reeling back into the naked man, who let him go to catch his wife. Then Erickson was on his feet again, running as fast as he could. The only thing was, he didn’t know of a way out of the castle that lay in this particular direction. But it didn’t slow him.

And then directly in front of him, a door flew open and a man came running out, fastening his breeches as he moved. This time it was the damned vicar. At least he wasn’t altogether naked.

“I don’t have her,” Erickson yelled. He briefly considered trying to knock the vicar senseless, but thought better of it. It was ridiculous for a man of God to look strong and mean, but this one did. Erickson turned quickly, only to run into both Colin and Sinjun. All three of them went down. Tysen looked up to see Mary Rose running toward them, his dressing gown held in one hand above her knees so she could run faster, the other hand carrying the candle that thankfully hadn’t set the castle on fire or even gone all the way out. It was flickering wildly, but hanging on.

“He tried to steal her, Tysen!” Colin shouted, coming to his feet, giving Sinjun his hand to pull her up as well. “Ah, it’s you, Mary Rose. Close your eyes again.”

Instead, Mary Rose quickly shrugged out of Tysen’s dressing gown and thrust it toward Colin, her eyes shut tightly. Colin laughed as he put it on and belted it around his waist. Then the three of them stood over Erickson MacPhail, who, in truth, was too smart to stand up and get pounded. He didn’t like this, couldn’t believe he’d failed, cursed himself, cursed Mary Rose for her damned stubbornness, and cursed Mary Rose’s damned uncle for getting him into this in the first place.

Tysen, legs spread, stared down at the man, well aware that he was getting less calm, less reasoned, by the moment. In a very low voice that didn’t sound like him at all, Tysen said, “Did he hurt you, Mary Rose?”

“He hit my jaw to keep me quiet, but it’s not bad.”

Tysen looked back at Erickson. “You were going to steal her and rape her?”

“No, damn you,” Erickson said, flat on his back, not moving. “I was going to ask her to marry me. Again. Don’t you understand? I am wild for her. I must have her. I will not rape her if only she will see reason and agree to become my wife. Damnation, I want her. No one will dare call her a bastard when she is my wife. She will be safe. She will be protected.”

The blood was pounding through Tysen’s head. He did something he’d never done as an adult—he lost all control. He leaned down and grabbed Erickson by his shirt collar, jerked him upright. He pulled him close. “That is all nonsense and you know it. I don’t know why you want her so badly, but I will find out before I let you leave Kildrummy. Now, you miserable excuse for a man, I’m going to kill you.”

He didn’t hear Mary Rose’s yell or Sinjun’s voice telling him to calm down, to remember who and what he was. But he did hear Colin saying, quite clearly, “Let me kill him when you’re through with him, Tysen.”

Tysen hadn’t struck another man since he’d left home. There, natura

lly, he’d fought every day of his life with his brothers. He’d learned to fight as dirty as they did in order to survive. He hit Erickson in the face, then in the belly, in the kidneys. He threw him against the wall, smiling when he heard his head hit hard against the oak. Erickson shook his head and came out fighting, fists pounding into Tysen.

“Oh, yes, come on,” Tysen said, and grabbed his right arm, bending it back until Erickson managed to kick him in the leg and pull free.

“I didn’t do anything, damn you,” Erickson yelled and sent his fist toward Tysen’s face, but he didn’t make it because Tysen blocked him at the last instant.

“You bastard,” Tysen said, and he was on him again, this time beyond himself, hitting and hitting him until he felt hands dragging at his arm. He tried to shake off the hands, and then he realized it was Mary Rose, and she was crying.

Mary Rose crying? Why was she crying? They’d saved her, and he was in the process of killing MacPhail, who should have been strangled at birth. He shook her off and grabbed Erickson again, who, having caught his breath, came back swinging. He got Tysen in the belly, and the two men went down, rolling over and over, slamming their fists, hurling yells and groans of pain. Finally, Tysen managed to twist Erickson onto his back and hold him down. The moment he straddled him, Tysen felt thunderous joy roar through him. He smiled down at Erickson, then slammed his fist into his jaw, once, twice.

“That’s enough,” Mary Rose yelled in his ear. “Stop it, Tysen.”

“Yes, it’s nearly my turn,” Colin said, striding up. “She’s right, Tysen. You’ve pounded him enough. You’ve probably even pounded him more than your share. Now give me a go at the bastard.”

Tysen didn’t even look up. He hit Erickson again. The man was nearly unconscious, not fighting back now.

“No,” Sinjun said. She was standing over her brother, her eyes wide, still trying to understand what had happened. Tysen had bashed the man, bashed him good, but he hadn’t stopped. He was holding him around his neck now, not trying to strangle him, thank God. She could tell that at last he was calming down, that finally he was gaining control. No, she was wrong. He was strangling him again. She laid her hand on his bare shoulder and said very gently, “Tysen, my dear, you must stop now. It’s over. You’ve punished him quite well enough. Stop or you won’t like yourself very much. I know you very well, so believe me. I don’t want you wallowing in guilt, con-signing your own soul to hell. Stop. Now.”

It was her last words that finally cleared away all the rage from his brain, made him aware of the nagging and various pains in his own body. His blood was no longer furiously pumping through him. Everything was slowing now. He felt his heart steadying, slowing back to normal. He rose to his feet and stood over Erickson MacPhail. He said very calmly, as he stared down at the man, “If I ever see you again within fifty feet of Mary Rose, I will kill you. Do you understand me?”

“All of us will kill you. We will take turns, each with a gun or fists or a knife,” Sinjun said. “God will forgive my brother his violence toward you because you are such an evil fraud that you deserve to be sent to hell.”

Colin said, “Now, like my brother-in-law, I want to know why you want Mary Rose so desperately. A man who truly loves a woman doesn’t try to coerce her, doesn’t try to rape her, certainly doesn’t steal her away in the middle of the night. Why do you want to wed her? Come, tell us the truth and perhaps we will let you live.”

Erickson, his nose bleeding, his lip split and oozing blood, his belly caved in, his neck and jaw so sore he could barely talk, said, “You’re wrong about all of it. I have no base motive. I love her. I must have her for my wife. I am not lying, there is no other reason, just my sincerest affection for her.” Then he looked over at Mary Rose, standing there, pale, the vicar’s nightshirt nearly covering her toes and her fingers. “You must marry me, Mary Rose, you must. My life cannot continue if you do not.”