Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (17 page)

“What is it, Branan?” Gavin asked, as he and Duguald pulled to a stop beside him.

Branan pointed.

“What the devil?” Duguald muttered.

The number of torches increased and a shiver of warning crawled down Branan’s spine. This was larger than any wedding guest party Branan had ever seen, and moving much too quickly. A low rumbling sound reached him, the sound of heavy horse.

“Branan?” Gavin asked. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that a battle standard?”

Branan squinted, the growing darkness making it difficult to see. But he finally spotted the standard in the midst of the column. He couldn’t see the heraldry, but he didn’t need to.

“Strickland,” he growled.

“De Courcy said Strickland was growing more suspicious of him,” Duguald said.

“Either that or he wants more money,” Gavin added.

Branan’s gaze locked on the open gates and his heart jumped to his throat. “Nothing stands betwixt them and the keep. Most of the guards were drunk when we left. They will storm the bailey without warning.”

Duguald cursed.

“Simon!” Branan snapped, drawing his claymore. “Ride to Thistlewood and bring the mercenaries. Make haste, man!”

Simon galloped off and Branan hauled his horse around.

“Branan,” Gavin said. “We are ill-equipped for battle.”

“So is Brackenburgh, and I willna leave Catriona unguarded.” He touched his spurs to his mount. The animal reared and screamed its challenge. Branan charged toward Brackenburgh with the others close behind him.

HHH

Catriona tried to hold on to her courage, but terror and sorrow raged within her. She had known today would be difficult, but she never imagined saying good-bye to Branan would tear her heart to shreds. She had tried not to look at him, because when she did, she saw her own pain reflected and magnified in his expression.

The hour grew late and most of the revelers were beyond sotted. Richard guided her away from the crowd. “Mayhap now would be a good time to retire,” he said. “I have no stomach for a bedding ceremony.”

He tugged gently on her arm, but Catriona’s feet seemed as if they had suddenly grown roots into the ground.

A slight frown furrowed his brow. “Come, lady, before someone sees us and insists on the ceremony.”

That managed to get Catriona moving up the stairs, although her step was slow. They entered Richard’s solar and he closed the door, bolting it behind him. He revived the fire in the hearth, then rose and stripped off his sword belt, tossing it into a nearby chair. Next he removed his tunic, leaving only his boots and hosen.

His body was lean and strong, but did not have the power of Branan’s. Her heart lurched and Catriona quickly averted her eyes. Why must she keep thinking of Branan? She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, staring at the floor.

Richard sighed softly and poured two cups of wine, moving to hand one to her. She took it, praying he couldn’t see her shaking.

“’Tis been a long day,” he said, sinking onto the divan before the fireplace.

“Aye,” Catriona whispered, managing to take a gulp of wine.

“You are frightened.”

She nodded.

“Worry not, dear wife, I shall be gentle this eve.”

Wife.
The word made the bile rise in her throat, and the thought of him bedding her made her absolutely ill. She took another drink of wine.

“Sit with me, Catriona, please.”

Surprised and uncertain, Catriona joined him on the divan.

He took her hand in his. “Catriona, I am truly sorry. I know you’ve been placed in a very difficult position and I have not made it any easier.”

She stared up at him, her eyes wide with astonishment.

“When I was forced to bed to recover from my injury, it allowed me time to think, to consider you and all I had learned. My upbringing did not prepare me to deal with a woman who can shoot a bow, who does not mind physical labor, who will stand boldly and let me know in no uncertain terms when she is displeased with me.”

Catriona felt her lips tug upward. Richard grinned and pulled her fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. “My harshness with you was mostly due to fear...fear you would be injured or even killed. I thought you were intentionally placing yourself in danger.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “Nay, lady, let me finish, please. When I was abed, I found myself longing to go hunting with my forester, or riding, or even meet with someone to discuss a new venture. I was trapped in my room with no escape, no idea of the happenings around me, and no freedom. Suddenly, I realized that was exactly what I had attempted to do to you. I understood perfectly then why you reacted to me the way you did.” He paused and sighed softly. With his free hand he reached up and gently began to remove the flowers from her hair. “Despite my desire to separate myself from Branan’s quest, I came to Thistlewood so often not only to see you, but because I began to realize the freedom you found there. I felt it too, Catriona, the sense of community, of family, of shared purpose. I know now why you felt comfortable there and why you wanted to stay.”

Catriona felt a bit of her fear ease. If Richard could understand that, perhaps there was hope for them. Perhaps he would not lock her away and forbid her any joy in life.

“I know I have been a beast, Catriona, and I pray, just give me an opportunity. I am trying very hard to open my eyes to new possibilities. I know I will make mistakes, but I vow, for the sake of your happiness, I will try to be the husband you need and give you the home you deserve.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, his dark eyes glittering.

Her throat tightened with emotion. She had never expected this sort of response from him. “Richard, thank you. I will—”

A terrible crash resounded through the keep and they both jumped.

Screams echoed up the stairs with noises Catriona could not define. Richard lifted his head, his nostrils flaring and the planes of his face hardening in anger. “God’s bonnet,” he snarled. He rose and seized his sword from the chair. “If this is that fool Scotsman of yours, I will have his head on a pike.” Richard strode past her and opened the door.

Catriona heard the sound of steel clashing against steel. What was happening? Had Branan and Gavin done something daft? She didn’t know if she should shout grateful praises or terrified curses.

Richard stepped through the door, his bared blade gleaming in the firelight. She thought he might charge forward, but suddenly he froze. “Bastard of Strickland,” he growled.

What?

Richard reached into the room. “Catriona! To me, quickly!” The urgency in his voice drove her to his side without question. “Stay behind me. Back up to the end of the corridor.”

Catriona thought she had been terrified before, but it was nothing compared to this. Three men stood before her new husband, fully armored. Two were giant knights and the third was smaller, but built like a bull. He had sandy blond hair and a beard, but Catriona could make out little else in the poorly lit corridor. Was he David...Strickland’s bastard heir?

One of the knights cut at Richard. He easily parried. Fortunately the corridor was too narrow for them to attack two at a time. “Back up,” he growled again.

Instinctively, Catriona placed her hand on his back, so he would know where she stood. In a fighting retreat, they slowly withdrew down the corridor.

Richard continued to parry sword blows, going on the offensive only when the knights closed the distance. He was a good warrior, but he fought without armor.

They reached the end of the corridor. “The floor,” he snapped, his breath short and sweat rolling down his body. “Move the rug.”

Catriona quickly did so and spotted a bolted trap door. An escape route! She frantically tried to free the bolt.

Richard battled to fend off an attack and avoid stepping on her. “Hurry!”

Catriona snapped a curse as the bolt abruptly came free and she ripped her knuckles on the latch.

Richard glanced down at her for an instant.

“Nay!” she screamed, seeing the knight seize the opportunity. His sword drove deeply into Richard’s gut.

Richard bellowed, cutting down the knight and opening his throat. Blood spouted from the wound, showering Richard and spattering Catriona. The second knight attacked and Richard, clutching his gut with his free hand, barely managed to block the blow, but he countered with a kick to the man’s groin. With a muffled gasp, the man staggered, plowing into David and knocking him back a few paces.

Catriona tossed open the trap door. “Come on!” she screamed, grabbing Richard’s shoulder and tugging him toward her.

“Go! Down the ladder.”

She scrambled down. It was pitch-black, but within a few steps she felt a solid floor beneath her. Richard descended, fighting to hold on to his sword and the ladder with his right hand, his left still clutching his belly. “Stand against the wall, Catriona. I’ve got to drop my sword.”

“All right,” she called back. She heard a clatter in front of her. Richard slammed the trap door closed and bolted it. An instant later, sharp blows echoed against the heavy wood and a loud cracking sound resounded.

“That will only slow them down,” Richard said as he descended. “We’ve got to move fast.”

“I can’t see a bloody thing.”

“Give me a moment,” he replied. His labored breathing echoed harshly in her ears. Suddenly a spark flared to life and Richard lit a small lantern, pulling it from a shelf against the wall. She spotted the glimmer of sword blades on weapon racks. “I like to be prepared, but I never thought I’d really have to use this escape route.”

In the faint light, Catriona saw blood streaming through Richard’s fingers and down his leg. The blood appeared too dark, almost black. A deep enough gut wound would be fatal. “Blessed Mary,” she whispered and tore her skirts into long strips.

“We must hurry,” Richard said through clenched teeth.

“This will only take a moment,” Catriona said. She wrapped the strips of fabric around him, binding the wound tightly. Richard sucked in his breath, muttering curses against the pain.

“’Tis the best I can do.”

“Good enough,” he said with a bitter smile. “Hand me my sword, lady, please. In the corner, you’ll find another trap door, we will follow them all the way to ground level.”

She quickly found the trap door and opened it. The blows against the door above them continued. Catriona took the lantern from Richard and quickly descended. Richard paused only long enough to bolt each door, but she heard the others breaking through the one above just as Richard would secure the one below.

Finally on the ground floor, Richard bolted the last and staggered against the wall, his face ashen.

“Come on,” she said urgently, grabbing his arm and tugging him forward.

“Straight ahead,” he gasped. “There is a heavy oak door which leads to the bailey.”

Catriona hauled Richard’s arm over her shoulders, but he could barely stand. His weight threatened to drive her into the ground. She found the door and opened it. They lurched through into the chill of the night air. In the bailey, she saw men fighting; not far from her lay bodies with various weapons strewn around them.

Richard fought to close the door behind them, but he staggered, almost falling.

The door crashed open, knocking him back three paces where he slammed into the dirt. The knight and David charged through. Catriona’s gaze desperately scanned the ground. She saw a crossbow, the quarrel still in place, and lunged for it. Seizing it in shaking hands, Catriona turned and aimed. The knight lifted his sword to kill Richard.

She squeezed the trigger.

The bolt struck the man full in the face, killing him instantly. As he toppled over, Catriona charged, swinging the crossbow with all her might. It smacked David in the jaw and knocked him on his back.

“Richard!” she screamed and grabbed his arm. Somehow, Catriona hauled him up. He used his sword like a cane and lurched forward. They entered the bailey and Catriona heard a familiar voice bellowing a war cry.

“Cruach Mór!”

Her gaze locked on Branan in the middle of the bailey, fighting like a man possessed. Blood soaked his inar and plaid, but he continued to move with fluid grace. His claymore swept outward, dealing death with every stroke, smashing through armor and bone. Beside him fought Gavin and Duguald, their weapons also mowing through Strickland’s men.

“Praise the saints,” Richard whispered. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see that man.”

“MacTavish!” another voice roared.

Catriona spotted Simon galloping through the gates, the mercenaries of Thistlewood behind him.

“I take back everything I ever said about your foster-brother,” Richard said and laughed. He gasped in pain, his knees buckling. Catriona managed to pull him toward a wall, away from the immediate fighting. She eased him down, his back against the stone.

“Branan!” Catriona screamed, wondering how her small voice could carry over the din of the fighting.

But Branan’s gaze locked on hers. He killed the man he fought and cut his way toward her.

Catriona sent grateful praises to the heavens. But too many fought between her and Branan. She and Richard were trapped.

Terror raged deep within her. She forced it down and began tearing strips from her skirts, trying to bind Richard’s wound. He panted, his eyes glazed with pain.

“Nay, Catriona,” he whispered hoarsely. “You know it’s mortal.”

“Nonsense,” Catriona snapped, but in her heart she knew...he was right.

Richard grabbed her hands with surprising strength. “Listen to me,” he growled. “I am dead. My only concern is for you. Get to Branan. He will keep you safe.”

She tore her gaze from his and looked over her shoulder. Branan still hacked through the enemy, trying to get to her, but he made slow progress. There were just too many.

“Catriona,” Richard said, his voice gentling. He touched her cheek with bloodstained, shaking fingers. “I pray you forgive me.” He paused and smiled bitterly. “We would have had a good marriage, my sweet, as soon as you pounded some sense into my thick skull.”