The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [82]
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, naturally, 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,