Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (15 page)

Suddenly, Branan found his arms and his heart empty as Catriona tore herself away and lunged to her feet. At first she blinked at him, as if trying to come to her senses. Then she lifted a shaking hand to her lips. Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what you are doing? Trying to seduce me so I have no choice?”

Embarrassment flushed his face, but anger quickly replaced it. “Nay,” Branan growled. “I was planning to order you back to de Courcy before I did something as daft as this.”

Catriona’s eyes widened and the blood drained from her face with hurt and betrayal.

Branan cursed himself for his foolhardy words. He couldn’t think in this state. His wits turned to mush and he blathered like an imbecile.

Fury bowed her body and she clenched her fists. “Get out, Branan,” she said, her voice deadly. “Now.”

HHH

Catriona shook with anger and want. But she took an involuntary step back at the furor of emotions that played over Branan’s features. His mouth hardened in rage and a muscle ticked in his jaw. His sea-green eyes were flat and desolate. Slowly, he rose from the chair. Catriona’s throat worked and she reminded herself she had no reason to fear Branan. He might become enraged with her, but he would never, ever hurt her.

He stood glaring down at her, his shoulders hunched, his fists clenched. For an instant, he looked like a wolf ready to pounce. “Catriona,” Branan said through clenched teeth. “Only ye can keep the blackness within me at bay. If I lose ye to de Courcy, I lose myself to the demon in my soul.”

She blinked in confusion. She had never heard him speak of a demon.

Branan snapped a curse and turned on his heel, striding purposefully through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

The tension drained from her body and her hands shook. “I am sorry, Branan.” Catriona lowered her head, her cheeks burning with shame. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She had wanted him to seduce her and she most certainly did not want to return to Richard. “Please, please forgive me.”

First Raid

O
ver the next few days, Catriona worried about Branan, but spoke naught to him, fearing he would order her away forthwith. Her wraith again moved through the world, insubstantial, hovering on the edge of reality. Branan worked hard, as usual, but spoke little and had ceased sitting with her at meals. He no longer participated in the songs and revelry in the evenings, but remained apart from everyone.

One morning, another group of people approached Thistlewood, led by Richard. Catriona stood at Branan’s side, uncertain of what to expect.

Richard dismounted, moving a bit stiffly. He smiled and bowed before Catriona. “My lady, ’tis good to see you again.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Much better, thanks to you. But as you can see, I’m still moving slower than usual.”

“That will improve with time, Richard.”

“Aye.” He turned to Branan and offered his hand. “My steward told me you lifted that beam by yourself. I owe you my life. Thank you.”

Both Branan and Catriona gaped at him. Then Branan grasped his forearm warmly. “Ye saved Catriona.”

She felt her face burn as she looked up at Richard. “Aye, thank you.”

He waved them off, but his smile never faded. “We could stand all day exchanging pleasantries, but my business is urgent. Strickland is growing suspicious about my involvement with you. It seems he’s heard a few rumors about the son of his enemy returning.”

Branan gestured toward the tower. “The hall is almost finished. Come, we can speak there and refresh ourselves.”

Surprisingly, Richard offered Catriona his arm. “Will you join us, lady?”

“Aye,” she said and accepted the invitation and his arm, her head spinning. Why was Richard acting so strangely? Had his brush with death opened his eyes?

Inside the tower, Branan shooed out all the workers. A large table and a few chairs he had built graced the hall. The fresh scent of newly cut wood filled the place with a wonderful aroma. One of the maids brought bread and watered ale.

Gavin, Duguald, and Sir Greystoke joined them, with Jamie standing guard at the door to keep the curious at bay. Richard sat and ran his fingers over the table. “Is this your work, MacTavish?”

“Aye,” Branan replied.

“’Tis very fine, especially considering the short time span. Mayhap when this is all over with, I shall commission you to make a table for me. That is,” he said with a smile, “if you still have time after you become warden.”

Branan chuckled and shook his head. “I shall travel that bridge when I come to it.”

Richard nodded and sat back with a sigh. “As I said, Strickland grows more suspicious of me. He always thought I was behind the raids, but with the rumors of you returning, he is not sure what role you are playing or how I fit into this scheme.” He paused and looked up at the tower. “This place is almost finished. I think it might be prudent if I stepped back from the raids and allowed you to organize them. I will continue to supply you with weapons and the like. We can send messengers, and if you need anything, I will be happy to provide it.”

“Aye,” Branan said. “’Tis time I took control of my own destiny. What we recover from raiding can fill our own stores. You can assume more of a benefactor role, as we had planned.”

“Richard nodded. His steward handed him a large map which he rolled onto the table. Everyone stood to get an unobstructed view of it. “All right,” he said. “Let me explain what we’ve been doing.”

Catriona listened carefully to their discussion, but her gaze kept traveling to Branan and her heart pounded.
Now it begins,
she thought and tried to ignore her fear.

HHH

Dawn,
Branan thought as he dressed.
Dawn of the morning on which I truly become a thorn in Strickland’s side.
His belly coiled into a bundle of nerves, but excitement flowed through his veins. Today was the first day of his future.

Despite his urgency to be off, Branan paused before the small table next to his bed. There were two bowls with small stones in them. He removed a stone from the bowl on the right and put it in the bowl on the left as he had done every morning since arriving at Thistlewood. Each stone represented a day—counting down to when Catriona would become de Courcy’s wife. He looked at the first bowl and sighed. There were woefully few stones remaining.

There had to be another answer to this, but try as he might he could not think of one. Branan had purposefully stayed away from Catriona, purposefully hardened his heart toward her—that was the only way he could function from day to day. But the desire was still there and growing. Branan battled many times with the practicality of returning Catriona to de Courcy so he would not be tempted, but that would send her away from him, and the day when Branan would be forced to do that forever was already too rapidly approaching. He could not bear to give her up just yet.

Branan marveled at his growing possessiveness. One would think, after being torn from family after family, he would never be possessive again. But now he clung with all his strength to what little time he had left with Catriona. When the time came, would he be strong enough to let her go?

Forcing down his despondency, he turned away from the table. He had done it before, he could do it again.

Branan picked up his claymore. As he gazed at the weapon, another wave of sadness assailed him. This claymore also had a thistle engraved on the hilt, but the weapon was not plated with brass. The leather on the pommel was well worn. The sword was good, solid, and strong. It had also been his father’s—when he had been young, before he became laird of the clan.

Now the man who had murdered the people dearest to Branan wielded the true sword of the MacTavish. It was time Branan seized what was his. It was time he reclaimed his father’s sword and purified it of the innocent blood staining its blade. Branan donned his armor and gripped his sword tightly. Squaring his shoulders, he strode outside.

Branan was pleasantly surprised to see thirty men waiting for him, fully armored and mounted on good horses, with Duguald and Gavin at the head. A page held his gray war horse, and the women, craftsmen, and children gathered around the column. Branan’s gaze immediately stopped on Catriona.

His breath caught in his throat. She was exquisite, wearing a gown of pale blue that highlighted the color of her eyes. Her red-gold hair was unbound, cascading over her shoulders and streaming down to the middle of her back. The light gray of dawn made her appear as a vision before him. He strode toward her and dropped to one knee. Taking her hand, he pulled her fingers to his lips.

“Ye are radiant inspiration for this humble knight, lass.”

Branan glanced up at Catriona as she offered him a tremulous smile. With her free hand, she stroked his hair. “Branan, I—” Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears, but she did not allow them to escape.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “For my previous indiscretions.”

“As I hope you will forgive mine.” Quickly, she looked away and pulled something from her belt. A blue hair ribbon fluttered in her hand. “I pray you will bear this favor today.”

He smiled, his heart surging in his chest, and took the ribbon. “Gladly, lass, it shall grant me courage and remind me of yer bonny grace.”

Catriona blushed as Branan tied the ribbon to his belt, then rose. “Lass,” he whispered and took a step closer. His body burned with the desire to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. Instead, he traced a fingertip across her cheek. “I will return soon,” he said and lightly brushed his lips across hers. Before his body could compel him to kiss her again, he turned away and mounted his horse.

Lifting his hand in salute to her, Branan spurred his horse forward, the men galloping behind him. He refused to look back, worrying he might see a tear on her cheek or the fear in her eyes that he might not return. “I will return, Catriona,” he whispered. “I vow it on my soul.”

HHH

Branan hefted a torch, pushing his horse to greater speed. Strickland’s pitiful guards ran like scared rabbits in the face of the wild horde descending on them. He approached a large storage barn filled with sacks of grain and bales of wool. Standing in his stirrups, Branan tossed the torch onto the roof, the ancient wood quickly igniting.

He hauled his horse around, watching Gavin and Duguald add their torches. Smoke filled the air. Branan’s men drove the guards away and destroyed everything in their path. The serfs, pitifully abused, stared in shock. Branan spotted a man who looked stronger than the others. He pulled his horse to a stop.

“You there,” he barked. “Fetch that wagon and gather grain and supplies from the building at the far end.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Ye...ye want me to take supplies from Lord Strickland?”

“He has taken them from ye, has he no’? Stolen the food from the verra mouths of yer bairns.”

The serf stared at him another moment. “Ye...ye are the MacTavish...the true heir of the Wardenship.”

“Aye, laddie. I mean to take back what is mine and ye need to do the same.”

A slow smile creased the man’s face. Abruptly, he turned and barked at the people, taking the wagon to the remaining storehouse.

Gavin pulled to a stop beside Branan. “We have done well this day.”

Branan nodded. “What’s the count?”

“Two wagons of grain, flour, and wool. Along with a very large cask of ale. But we have to hurry. Strickland’s guards hied themselves off for reinforcements.”

Branan pointed to the serfs. “They’ll make short work of the rest.”

Gavin chuckled. “Look, they are even tearing apart the building for us.”

“Aye, mayhap we shall just leave them to it.”

“They will be long gone by the time reinforcements arrive.”

Branan grinned and nodded. “Let’s go.”

HHH

Catriona tried to distract herself with work, but her gaze kept wandering toward the trail. Branan had been gone for hours. How long would this take? What if something happened? What if he was killed or captured? How would they learn his fate, how would they know what to do?

She rubbed her eyes. She was going to drive herself insane like this.

A faint sound of voices reached her. Catriona looked up, blinking in confusion. Down the trail, a large group of men and wagons approached. It took a moment for her to realize the voices were singing.

Singing?

She dropped her work and sprinted. Branan led the group, grinning like a little boy. Soot streaked his face and clothing, but he appeared hale. Catriona found herself running toward him.

He saw her and laughed, vaulting from his horse. Catriona threw herself into his arms and he spun her around. Suddenly, Branan kissed her powerfully. Catriona’s senses reeled in surprise and pleasure. He pulled away, his eyes once again sparkling vibrantly. “Lassie, a fine time we had.”

“I can see that.”

Branan touched her nose with his finger. “Och, I shouldna have done that. I’ve mussed ye.”

She giggled at the thickening of his brogue.

“The wagon and men rumbled past them. Catriona spotted a large cask that had already been tapped. “Now I know the reason for the song and celebration.”

He winked at her. “I found myself quite parched on the trail, and the lads deserved it.”

She laughed and Branan looped his arm over her shoulders. “Come, love, let us enjoy the fruits of our first successful labor.”

HHH

Branan’s head pounded mercilessly. God’s wounds! What had he been thinking? He hadn’t gotten that roaring drunk in a long time. Branan couldn’t remember exactly what happened last night, but he did recall laughing and enjoying himself. Perchance the headache was worth it.

A feminine form stirred next to him and he blinked in shock, then horror. “Catriona?”

She groaned, burying her face against his chest. “My head hurts.”

What...? When...? His thoughts scrambled. Wait, they still had their clothes on. That was a good sign. They were next to the smoldering campfire. In fact, Branan noted many others had not been able to reach their beds. He wanted to kick himself. What had he done? He wanted nothing more than to love Catriona, but he didn’t want to be so blinding drunk he couldn’t remember anything.

“Catriona...I...”

She blinked up at him, her eyes red. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you. I was just so warm and comfortable under your plaid.”

He whispered a small sigh of relief. His arms tightened around her and he found he didn’t want to let her go.

“I should get cleaned up,” she said and stretched luxuriously next to him.

Branan gritted his teeth as his body suddenly came alive.

“MacTavish!” a voice cried. “A messenger from de Courcy approaches.”

He was abruptly grateful for the distraction, quickly rolling to his feet as Catriona stood.

“You have leaves in your hair,” she whispered, brushing them away.

Branan glanced down at himself. “I’m a mess.”

She laughed and hurried off to her shelter.

Branan did his best to dust himself off and approached the messenger, who handed him a small scroll.

I understand your first raid went very well. Strickland wasted no time and destroyed some of my stores in retaliation. Remember, for every one of mine, I want two of his gone.

It was unsigned, but that didn’t surprise Branan. He growled a curse. “Ye may be my benefactor, but I’ll no’ be yer mastiff.”

“What was that my lord?” the messenger asked.

“Nothing. Tell yer lord I have received his message.” He turned on his heel and strode away, his voice booming over the camp. “Get up, ye sorry louts! We’ve got our marching orders.”

HHH

Catriona always worried when Branan left, and she chided herself. After a month of constant raiding, she should be accustomed to this.

The raids progressed well and Strickland was feeling the pinch. Very rarely some of their group returned wounded, but the injuries were usually minor. Still, Catriona put her knowledge of herbs and bandages to good use.

She had to admit she enjoyed being able to help. Their community possessed a strong camaraderie and she knew it was because of Branan. She briefly wondered what life in his clan would be like. It would not be surprising if it was akin to this.