Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (12 page)

She lurched to Richard’s side as Duguald and Gavin eased him face down on the ground. A bright red stain on his back grew larger by the moment.

“Pray it didna break his spine,” Duguald muttered.

Catriona felt for the life beat in his throat and sighed in relief when she found it. “He’s alive.” She examined the wound closely. The edge of the beam had sliced him open from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. “Get me water and clean cloths.”

“Lass, we need tae get him out of here,” Duguald said, looking up at the tower fearfully.

“Not until I know how badly he’s hurt. If we move him too much, we could make the injury worse.”

A young lad ran in with a water bucket and the cleanest cloths he could find. Catriona carefully tended the wound, her fingers gently probing the bone around it.

Richard groaned then coughed, trying to blink open his eyes.

“Richard,” she called. “Richard, can you hear me?”

He tried to look over his shoulder, but groaned again.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked, fear rising within her. “Can you feel your legs?”

“Aye,” he said, his voice rasping. “I can feel my limbs.” He sucked in his breath and groaned again. “Oh God!”

“What?”

“My ribs. It hurts to breathe.”

Catriona quickly checked him and discovered two cracked ribs. If that was the worst of it, he was very lucky indeed. The beam could have easily driven a broken rib into his lung. She looked up at Duguald. “Get him to his shelter; I’ll tend to his wounds there.”

“Aye, lassie.” He and Gavin carefully picked Richard off the ground. As they carried him out, Catriona turned to Branan. Jamie helped him to his feet.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Aye,” he said. “But I vow I pulled every muscle in my back.”

“I’ll tend to you as soon as I finish with Richard.” She gripped his arm and impulsively kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Branan. You just saved the life of a man who hates you.”

He shook his head. “I helped the man who offered his life in place of yours.”

HHH

Catriona followed Duguald and Gavin. They placed Richard on his pallet and she worked quickly, cleaning his wound and stitching it closed. He seemed to fade in and out of consciousness, his eyes opening occasionally to stare at the wall, only to close again and remain that way for a long time. She knew he wasn’t completely coherent as he did not react to pain. Gavin remained with her while Duguald went to check on Branan.

She worked in silence, needing Gavin’s help when it came time to wrap Richard’s broken ribs. When she finished, she brewed a medicant and she and Gavin worked to get de Courcy to drink it. Finally, she finished and Gavin placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“’Tis all right, sister, he is alive. It could have been much worse.”

“Aye,” she replied and called for de Courcy’s steward, Edmund. “He is resting well,” she told the worried man.

His expression eased, but he continued to twist his wool cap in his hands. “We need to get him back to Brackenburgh. If he is gone much longer it will be suspicious.”

“Take him in a wagon. As long as you travel slowly, he should be all right.” She handed him several steeping bundles of the medicant she had used. “Make sure he drinks this three times a day. Do not allow him to get out of bed until his ribs begin to mend. Do you understand me?”

Edmund nodded. “I do not doubt my lord will listen to the wisdom of his betrothed in the matters of healing.”

“I hope so, otherwise I’ll have to clout him over the head.”

“I will make sure he understands that.”

“Good.”

Together, Edmund and his men took Richard to a wagon. Soon they departed and Catriona went to check on Branan.

HHH

“Sweet Jesu,” Branan growled. He knew better than to move, but he had to find a way to ease the agonizing pain in his back. His leg shifted only slightly and his muscles clenched again, sending fire through every part of his body. Branan sucked in his breath, fighting to clear his vision.

“Och, laddie, I keep tellin’ ye not tae move,” Duguald said.

Never had Branan imagined such misery from a strained back. The pain confused him...and worse . . . unmanned him. It was just a foolish muscle spasm. Why then, did it make him feel as helpless as a babe in swaddling? A part of his mind insisted that if he would just ignore the pain, if he could master it, he would be able to move. He wasn’t bleeding to death, a sword had not tried to spill his guts on the ground, he wasn’t fevered into a delirium, he didn’t have a broken bone shoved through his flesh...but in the face of this pain...he was utterly lost.

“Here comes the lassie now,” Duguald said.

Nay!
Branan’s thoughts screamed, his shame battering his wounded pride.
Dinna let her see me like this, Duguald, please!

Catriona entered his shelter without so much as a by-your-leave. Branan squeezed his eyes closed, willing her to be gone. Duguald had stripped him and helped him to his pallet. Now he only had his plaid partially covering him.

“And how be Lord de Courcy?” Duguald asked Catriona.

Branan stopped his silent diatribe in order to hear her answer.

“He is doing well, Duguald. Only the cut on his back and two cracked ribs.”

“That be good to hear.”

Branan also breathed a sigh of relief. He may have had his disagreements with de Courcy, but that was no reason to want the man dead. Plus Branan feared what it might do to Catriona since de Courcy had saved her life. She would have been guilt-ridden if he had died.

“And as for you,” Catriona said softly, kneeling next to his pallet.

Branan’s eyes flew open. She gave him a perfunctory glance, but a soft blush highlighted her cheeks. Branan’s embarrassment burned again, his plaid only covered the essentials, and his fruitless struggling to find a comfortable position had shifted the thick wool. Yet he could not help but wonder what she thought of him. Many a lass had complimented his powerful form, and a part of him wondered if Catriona would find his body as pleasing...and a tinier part actually hoped for it. Mentally, he kicked himself—and even that made his back hurt worse.

“Now,” Catriona said, rummaging through the items she brought with her. “Duguald, would you be so kind as to start a pot of water to boil? I have some valerian root that will do wonders for Branan.”

“Aye, lassie,” he replied.

Branan watched Catriona search through the small box where she kept her herbals and medicants. She pulled out a small ceramic jar.

“Branan, can you turn over on your stomach?”

“I’m afraid no’, lass.”

“All right. We will help you.”

“Help me?” he yelped.

“Duguald, when you are finished, I need you for a moment.”

“Of course, lass,” he said and approached.

“Brace yourself in front of Branan. Branan, hold strong to Duguald’s hands and use the strength of your arms to pull yourself on your side. I will help from over here.” She moved to the other side of his pallet.

“From over where?” he asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

“I will brace your back and legs as you turn on your side, keeping your body straight. It will be painful, but not as much as if you twist to do it yourself. Just remember, do not use your back and legs, but the strength of your arms. Duguald, don’t try to pull him, simply act as his anchor and let him do it himself.”

“As ye will, lass.”

Branan, his heart thundering like a drum, stared up at Duguald.

Catriona knelt and placed one gentle, warm hand on his ribs and the other on the outside of his thigh.

Duguald gazed back at him, his eyes glinting knowingly. Damnation, he enjoyed Branan’s discomfiture.

“Lad, I ken how ye feel, but perchance it would be better tae do this quickly and have it finished.”

That was probably the sagest advice he had heard yet. Gripping Duguald’s hands and trying to ignore Catriona’s vibrant touch, Branan managed to turn himself over. But the pain was enough to make him forget the warmth of her hands. He snarled against the agony.

It took a moment for his pain to dull enough to realize that Catriona now sat before him, her fingers lightly caressing his face and hair. She spoke in soothing, gentle tones, words of calm and comfort. His eyes closed and he fought to steady his breathing.

Her voice was hypnotic as she moved away. He heard the clink of glass and the sound of her hands rubbing together, but her voice never stopped and he wondered idly if she’d cast some enchantment over him.

Suddenly, her warm, well-oiled hands descended on his shoulders, kneading the thick muscle stretched taut with pain. Her touch sent a blaze of lust through him. She continued to stroke and caress his back. His heart thundered so hard he was certain she could feel it battering his ribcage. She worked with agonizing yet wonderful slowness. God’s blood, how could he endure this?

Slowly, he became conscious of her words, although her voice continued its soft and soothing cadence.
She could tame the wildest of stallions with her words.

“Branan, did you hear me?” she asked.

He jerked, startled, and pain rocked through him.

“Nay,” she said sternly, but her voice remained soothing. “Do not tense yourself. Relax, Branan.”

He tried, he really did. But her hands on him ignited something so deep that he did not know its source and it tightened him like a ballista.

“I was saying,” she continued, her voice dulcet. “This oil is specially made to relax the muscles. It has a tiny bit of ginger in it, so when I finish it will create its own warmth.”

Right now, the heat of her hands alone seared his soul. Despite his rebellious body, which he now cursed for being so faithless to its owner, her touch gradually succeeded in unclenching his muscles. She seemed able to find each knot and work with it, moving her fingers along the length, encouraging it to stretch out and relax. Catriona never exerted too much pressure, working lightly and gradually increasing her strength as the muscle eased its terrible hold.

She started at his neck and shoulders and moved ever so slowly down to the small of his back. That was where it really hurt. But her hands worked with confidence, judging the reaction of his body with simply the knowledge of touch. Branan closed his eyes and groaned in sheer pleasure.

“Ah,” she purred and he heard a distinct note of satisfaction in her voice. “’Tis where I thought the problem would be.”

Abruptly, Branan stopped caring. Her hands worked magic on him. Despite the feral desire coiling through him, he never wanted her to stop. His body began to loosen, sinking deeper into the pallet, the pain eased considerably. She continued, finding every protesting muscle and gently working it, until it surrendered to her touch.

“Lass,” he murmured, “God has blessed ye with healing hands.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Branan cracked open one eye and saw her blushing furiously. He could not help but smile.

Her hands continued to glide over his back and Branan squeezed his eyes shut.

Mind ye dinna lose your heart,
Duguald had said.

If only she hadn’t put her hands on him, if only he had not discovered how her gentle touch could ease his pain and soothe his spirit, he would have been just fine.

HHH

Branan’s strained back restricted him to bed for the next two days. He hated being so helpless. Needing assistance simply to answer the demands of nature was too much to bear. He decided if he ever became this decrepit in his old age, he would open a vein with a glad heart.

Catriona tended to him daily, continuing to work her magic with her hands. Although her touch still ignited a fire within his loins, Branan found himself enjoying her visits. Many times, after settling him and giving him his medicant, she would sit beside him, her fingers stroking his hair and face, and talk softly until he drifted off to sleep.

It was late afternoon when she settled beside him again. Branan’s lips tugged upward, feeling her fingers caress his brow.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked.

His smile grew. “How much I am beginning to enjoy this.”

“Do not grow too fond of it. Once you return to your surly self, I won’t feel sorry for you anymore.”

He stared up at her, wounded. “I am no’ surly.”

She chuckled and shook her head, sighing softly as her humor faded. “Tell me about Scotland.”

His brow traveled upward in surprise. “What do ye want to know?”

She shrugged. “Anything...everything...I feel, somehow cheated out of knowing the man you’ve become in the last ten years.”

“Aye,” he replied, understanding exactly how she felt. Branan had left a bonny, wild lass behind only to return and discover a beautiful, spirited woman. One who could never be his.

“’Twas difficult at first,” he finally said. He took a breath, unwilling to dredge up the pain of his memories, but also unable to stop himself. “I felt almost like a wraith floating in nothingness. The world moved around me, but I wasna part of it.” Branan scowled, trying to find the words. “I had gone from a lad with a heritage, to one had no idea who he was.”

“But you do have a heritage, Branan.”

“Aye, but no’ the one I expected. I didna understand anything. I was so grateful to learn that bastard Strickland had not sired me, that I had no’ of his foul blood in my veins, but a part of me almost wished I was his son. I couldna understand how I longed for such a terrible thing. Eventually, I realized one truth. If I was Strickland’s, then leastways I would have known about a part of who I was. I may have hated him, I may have feared I might become like him, but I also could have worked to make sure that never happened. But I would have ken.”

Catriona’s brow furrowed slightly. “But you do know about your true father.”

Branan shook his head. “Only Duguald’s stories and tales, and I vow they grow greater with each telling. It...is like I am the son of a legend, not a man.”

She gave him an arched look, her lips lifting slightly. “Aye, I can understand how you might feel that way.”

He smiled up at her, enjoying the way the soft light of a nearby lantern fell on her face, highlighting the dusty rose of her lips. Her fingers continued their wonderful journey through his hair. For a moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep, contented breath.