Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  18

  Id imperfectum manet dum confectum erit.

  It ain’t over ’til it’s over.

  MARY ROSE HEARD the whisper of sound so very close, nearly in her ear. It was a man’s voice, soft and low, telling her something, but what? Then she jerked awake, realized it wasn’t a dream, and opened her mouth to yell. A fist slammed into her jaw, and she fell back against the pillow.

  Erickson smoothed the hair off her face and just looked down at her for a moment in the dim light of the one candle. He had to do this, there was simply no choice. He cursed under his breath as he pulled the covers off her. She was wearing that damned vicar’s nightshirt. It didn’t take him even a moment to realize that she would also shortly be wearing the damned vicar’s dressing gown as well.

  Once he’d wrapped her in the dressing gown he hauled her over his shoulder, then walked quickly to the bedchamber door, cracked it open, and looked out. Nothing. No one. It wasn’t all that dark, since several of the bedchamber doors were open and bright moonlight poured through the windows and out through the open doors. He didn’t need a candle.

  All he had to do was get her back down to the library, out the door that was covered with draperies, and into the garden. Then it was easy, just through that narrow ivy-covered gate and to his horse, tied a good hundred feet from the castle. Everything was going splendidly. He had known immediately that it was an excellent plan. It was a pity that he’d had to tap her on the jaw to keep her from yelling, but it wasn’t much, after all, and surely she would forgive him. A new bride, perforce, had to forgive her husband. He wondered for a moment if his mother had ever forgiven his father anything. No, that was impossible. He firmly believed that his father had died to escape his mother.

  It was just past midnight, and everything was quiet. Erickson paused a moment, listening. He thought about his mother telling him at dinner the previous evening how simply everyone in the area now knew that the new Lord Barthwick—a vicar!—had kicked out not only the Griffins but also poor Mrs. MacFardle, who had surely worked there longer than anyone could remember. Erickson remembered that he’d always hated Mrs. MacFardle, the old witch, for the way she’d treated Mary Rose. He frowned as he thought about that. Actually, she’d been a witch to most everyone, particularly the children. He felt Mary Rose’s limp weight over his shoulder, felt her bouncy hair touch his face. No, he refused to feel guilt about what he was doing. He had no choice.

  One step at a time. He was very quiet. Mary Rose didn’t weigh much, so that didn’t bother him. Then, with no warning at all, he heard giggling. Good Lord, giggling? From the room just down the hall.

  There was obviously a woman in that room, and she was awake and giggling. Only one thing that could be about. Then he heard a man shout, not loud, then laugh, and another damned giggle. He heard bare feet running across a wooden floor. He stood, frozen, in the middle of the corridor, waiting, wondering what to do, when a door flew back and a woman, dressed in a flowing white nightgown, ran out of the room, still giggling, looking over her shoulder at the man who was running after her. The man who came out of the bedchamber was naked. For an instant, Erickson thought it was the vicar, and he was chasing a woman. But it wasn’t. It must be the vicar’s sister and her husband. They were the only ones left in the castle that the vicar hadn’t kicked out. But what were they doing, running around out here in the corridor? For God’s sake, wasn’t there a bed in that bedchamber?

  Suddenly the woman eased back into the shadows and stood still as a statue. She wasn’t more than ten feet away from him.

  The naked husband ran beyond where she was standing silent and still, then pulled up sharp, held a candle high, and looked right into Erickson’s eyes.

  It wasn’t fair, dammit, just not fair. Erickson cursed, ripe, full-bodied curses. Damnation, his was an excellent plan, and it had gone perfectly until he’d had the rotten luck to have an amorous couple want to play in the corridor.

  “She’s mine, damn you!” He was so furious, so frustrated, that he yelled right in Colin’s face, “I’m taking her!”

  For a moment, Colin couldn’t believe his eyes. “My God, you puking little bastard, you’ve got Mary Rose. Sinjun, come quickly!”

  Erickson saw the flash of a white nightgown, saw the man hand her the candle. Erickson didn’t wait. He turned on his heel and ran down the long corridor as fast as he could with Mary Rose bouncing up and down on his shoulder, the naked man nearly on his heels.

  Then Mary Rose groaned, reared up, and shouted, “No, Erickson! This is madness! Let me down, you fool!” She stiffened right up, knocking him off balance. She grabbed his hair and kept pulling even as she leaned as far back as she could.

  “Damn you, Mary Rose, stop it! Trust me. We’re leaving this place, together.”

  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, 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, 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.”

  Colin frowned. “You are lying. I want to know why you must have Mary Rose as your wife.”

  Erickson shut his mouth so fast he bit his tongue.

  Colin said very quietly, “Mary Rose, bring the candle over here so I can see this idiot very clearly. Yes, that’s good. His nose is bloody. It adds interest, don’t you think?”

  “No,” Mary Rose said.

  Colin stood right over him. “She’s right. Now, we will have all the truth out of you, or I will hold you down while Tysen finishes stomping you into the floor. Do you understand me, you treacherous sod?”

  Erickson sighed very deeply, he looked defeated and desperate. Then shook his head. “No, I won’t say any more. There is nothing more to say. I am innocent of anything except my passion for Mary Rose.”

  Colin came down on his haunches, grabbed Erickson’s shirt collar, lifted him up a bit, then, with no warning, no hesitation, he pounded his head against the floor. Erickson moaned.

  “There is not a dollop of love in you for Mary Rose, probably not a bit for any woman. The truth, all of it. Now, or I will kick your brains into the wainscotting.”

  Tysen was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, saying absolutely nothing.

  Erickson yelled at him, “You’re a bloody vicar! How can you allow this man to smash my head? I’m already half-dead since the lot of you attacked me. Stop him, for God’s sake.”

  “Not unless you tell us the truth,” Tysen said, examining his sore knuckles.

  “There is no bloody truth to tell you, damn it.”

  “Would you like me to take over, Colin?” Tysen said, taking one step toward them.

  Both Mary Rose and Sinjun crowded in, keeping Tysen back, both of them staring down at Erickson as if he were a slug that was peering up at them from under a rock.

  Colin leaned forward again, grabbed his collar.

  Erickson groaned. “No, not again. Damn, I can feel one of my teeth loose in my mouth. I have nothing to say. If you kill me, then you will hang for it.”

  “Tysen, where are you going?”

  “It’s all right, Sinjun. I’m going to get my gun. I can’t take the chance that he will try tomorrow or the next day to rape Mary Rose and force her into marriage. I have to kill him. He won’t tell us why with all this dramatic charade we’re playing. There’s just nothing else to do.”

  “We’ll draw straws,” Colin said.

  “I want to draw a straw as well,” Mary Rose said. “I don’t want to be afraid of him anymore. They can’t hang all of us, can they?”

  “No, they cannot,” Sinjun said. “Get the gun, Tysen.”

  Erickson looked from one grim face to the next. He believed them. He felt defeat fill his craw. There was no way out of this. He drew a deep breath, swallowing his pain, and said, “All right, damn all of you to bloody hell. I must marry Mary Rose because she isn’t poor. She’s rich, very rich. She’s got a trust from her father—no, I don’t know
who he is, only her mother knows, since she would surely remember pulling up her skirts for a man. There is evidently a lot of money in the Bank of England in a sort of trust for her. Mary Rose receives it when she is either married or turns twenty-five. Damn you all, I must have that money!”

  Erickson looked up at Mary Rose, whose face was in the shadows since she was holding the candle. “You will be twenty-five next month, Mary Rose. You must marry me before your birthday so I may have the money. I need it. Donnatella only has five thousand pounds—it simply isn’t enough.”

  “How much money?” Sinjun asked.

  “I don’t know. Sir Lyon said it was thousands upon thousands. He said this old man who is the trustee wouldn’t tell him the amount, just that it was more than even a greedy man could imagine.”

  Tysen was sucking in air hard again because he nearly couldn’t breathe. He shoved Sinjun and Mary Rose out of his way, leaned down, jerked MacPhail up and began hitting him as hard as he could, which was very hard indeed since this new wave of rage had turned his vision red, made his heart pound so hard it should burst through his chest. It was Colin who grabbed Tysen and pulled him off. Tysen turned to hit him, but Sinjun yelled, “Stop it, Tysen! Calm down, it’s all over. At least now we know the truth. Stop it! The little worm has lost, well and truly lost.”

  Mary Rose walked slowly between the two men. She pressed herself against Tysen and locked her arms around his back. He felt her mouth against his bare chest, her warm breath. Slowly, so very slowly, he lowered his arms, and squeezed her to him. He rested his face on the top of her head. He breathed in her scent, tasted her hair, curls bouncing into his mouth.

  “Did you have some sort of agreement with Mary Rose’s uncle?” Colin said now, standing over Erickson, his hands fisted, but he knew the man wasn’t going to try to get away. He knew Tysen might just snap again and this time he might just kill him. He knew deep in his soul that he couldn’t allow that to happen. Such an act, he knew, would destroy Tysen, crush his soul, damn him forever.