Page 70 of Irish Rebel
It skidded over her temple instead, sending a shocking ribbon of pain across her skull, and a haze of pale red over her vision. As she staggered, stumbling around to defend herself and her horse, Brian came through the doors like a vengeful god.
Instinctively Keeley grabbed Finnegan’s bridle, to calm him, to balance herself. “It’s all right. It’s all right now.”
But hearing the unmistakable sound of fists against flesh and bone, she ran out.
“Brian, don’t!”
His face was blank, a mask without emotion. It seemed all sharp bones and cold eyes. He had Tarmack braced against the wall with a hand over the man’s throat, an arm cocked back to deliver another blow. Tarmack’s mouth and nose were already bleeding. Keeley grabbed Brian’s arm, and hung on like a burr. It felt like gripping hot iron.
“That’s enough. It’s all right.”
Without even a glance, so much as a flicker of acknowledgment, Brian shook her off, rammed a ready fist into Tarmack’s gut. “He put his hands on you.”
“Stop it.” Panting, she grabbed his arm again, and wrapped both hers around it. “He didn’t hurt me. Let him go, Brian.” She could hear Tarmack struggling for air through the hand Brian had banded around his windpipe. “I’m not hurt.”
Very slowly, Brian turned his head. When his eyes, flat and cold with violence met hers, she trembled. “He put his hands on you,” he said again, carefully enunciating each word. “Now step back.”
“No.” She could hear the shouts behind her, see out of the corner of her eye the crowd already forming. And she could smell the blood. “It’s enough. Just let him go.”
“It’s not enough.” He started to shake her off again, and Keeley had an image of herself flying free as he flicked her off like a gnat.
She hadn’t feared Tarmack, but she was afraid now.
“What’s the problem here?”
She could have wept with relief at the sound of her father’s voice. The crowd parted for him. She’d never known one not to. He took one long look at her face, skimmed his gaze over the torn sleeve, and though the hand he laid on her shoulder was gentle, she’d seen the edge come into his eyes.
“Move back, Keeley,” he said in a voice of quiet steel.
“Dad.” She shook her head, twined around Brian’s arm like a vine. “Tell Brian to let him go now. He won’t listen to me.”
Brian rapped the gasping Tarmack’s head against the wall, a kind of absent violence as he once again spoke with rigid patience. “He put his hands on her.”
The edge in Travis’s eyes went keen, sharp as silver. “Did he touch you?”
“Dad, for God’s sake.” She lowered her voice. “He’ll kill him in a minute.”
“Let him go, Brian.” Adelia hurried in, took in the situation with one glance. Gently she touched a hand to Brian’s shoulder. “You’ve dealt with him. There’s a lad. You’re frightening Keeley now.”
“Her shirt’s torn. Do you see her shirt’s torn?” He continued to speak slowly, as if in a foreign tongue. “Take her out of here.”
“I will, I will. But let that pathetic man go now. He’s not worth it.”
Perhaps it was the voice, the lilt of his own country that broke quietly through the rage. Brian loosened his grip and Tarmack wheezed in air.
“He had her trapped in the stall. Trapped, you see, and his hands were on her.”
Adelia nodded. Her gaze shifted briefly to her husband’s. A lifetime ago he’d dealt with a drunk who’d had her trapped. She understood the barely reined violence in Brian’s eyes. “She’s all right now. You saw to that.”
“I’m not finished.” He said it so calmly, Adelia could only blink when his fist flashed out again and had Tarmack sagging to his knees.
“Stop it.” Seeing no other way, Keeley stepped between the two men and shoved Brian with both hands. She didn’t move him an inch, but the gesture made a point. “That’s enough. It’s just a torn shirt. He’s drunk, and he was stupid. Now that’s enough, Brian.”
“You’re wrong. It won’t ever be enough. You’ve tender skin, Keeley, and he’ll have marked it, so it won’t ever be enough.”
Tarmack was on his hands and knees, retching. In an almost absent move, Travis dragged him to his feet. “I suggest you apologize to my daughter and then be on your way, or I might let this boy loose on you again.”
His stomach was jellied with pain, and he could taste his own blood in his mouth. Humiliation struck nearly as hard as he saw the blur of faces watching. “You can go to hell. You and all the rest. I’m bringing charges.”
