Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (7 page)

“We argued.” De Courcy stopped and glared at Gavin. “Your sister is a willful creature. That surly streak within her needs to be curbed.”

“Be grateful for that surly streak,” Gavin said, his own anger growing. “She stood betwixt you and Branan, otherwise you would be dead.”

“But I never lifted a hand against her. We were arguing and the next thing I knew Branan was in front of her and launching his fist at me from out of nowhere.”

Gavin shook his head, knowing exactly what happened. He had seen it many times in the two years Branan had stayed with them. But only once had Branan actually lost control and used the strength of his rage along with his fists to stop a threat. “De Courcy, you can’t blame Branan for his actions. You know Strickland killed his mother.”

De Courcy shrugged. “I had heard something to that effect.”

“He beat her to death.”

De Courcy stopped his cup midway to his lips. “Beat her?”

“Aye. He persecuted her often, many times severely injuring her. Branan was naught but a boy. Witnessing that kind of brutality for twelve years will affect a man. Then one night, Strickland struck her in the head, and the blow eventually caused her death.”

“Sweet Jesu.”

“We didn’t realize what it had done to Branan until he came to live with us. Catriona was...something of an impulsive child, many times preferring rough games with the boys rather than playing with the other girls.” He paused, smiling. “Some of the lads did not take well to losing to a girl.”

“Losing?”

Gavin nodded. “My sister is like no other girl I have ever seen, de Courcy. But when she did win the games, sometimes a boy would get angry and try to teach her a lesson. That was the first time we witnessed what could happen to Branan. He lost himself to a rage and beat the lad so badly he nearly killed him. The boy raised his hand to strike her, but Branan reacted before the blow could fall. No one has ever been able to touch Catriona with Branan in the same room.”

“But I didn’t do anything. I don’t even think I moved my hand.”

“That’s my point. Branan has seen the signs too many times. He knows what is going to happen before you even realize what you might do. One blow is all it takes to severely injure or even kill a woman, especially one of Catriona’s small stature. Branan will make sure that blow never lands.”

Duguald stepped forward, his expression troubled. “I’ve ne’er seen the lad become so enraged.”

“What do you mean, Duguald?” Gavin asked.

“He doesna like a man striking a woman. Branan will become agitated and aggressive if he thinks it may happen. Usually, he tries to talk to the man. He has stopped beatings afore, but by simply stepping betwixt them—his size and rank as laird is enough to do the rest. I’ve ne’er seen him become violent and I’ve ne’er seen him so out of control.”

Gavin thought for a long moment. “Perchance it is his regard for his foster-sister. Although he never hit anyone after the lad he beat, I remember seeing him struggle many a time to control himself.”

Duguald arched an eyebrow as if thinking Catriona’s status as foster-sister was too mild a term. Gavin knew Duguald would be right, but prayed he wouldn’t say anything in front of de Courcy.

Fortunately, the Scotsman held his tongue.

De Courcy took another gulp of wine, thinking for a long moment. “Gavin, Catriona challenged me. The Church and our king mandate that I administer discipline to curb her errant impulses.”

Gavin’s jaw tightened. He was well familiar with the status of discipline. But his father had raised him never to strike one weaker than he except to protect an innocent life or in battle. Even growing up, his father never thrashed him or Catriona. Punishment of errant behavior was swift and sure, and usually something that made Gavin wish his father would strike him and be done with it. Something wholly distasteful that lasted for an eternity . . . cleaning chamber pots or garderobe chutes, his father’s list of punishments was endless and only grew worse.

Gavin took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts. “De Courcy, you are wrong on one count.”

“Wrong?”

“With my father’s death, Catriona is now my ward and any discipline she may require falls to me. She may be your betrothed, but she is not your wife yet. Until you exchange your vows before God and the Church, she is my responsibility, not yours.”

De Courcy bowed again, fury darkening his face. Gavin suddenly feared what would happen to Catriona when she married this man. Dear God, what had his father been thinking? De Courcy would either kill her with his discipline or destroy her spirit. Gavin could not bear to witness either.

“I will not be challenged or accosted in my own home. I may not be Catriona’s husband yet, but you are all here by my leave.”

“Then mayhap we should find another place.”

“Another place?” de Courcy barked in amusement. “Where?”

An idea pushed forward and Gavin glanced at Duguald. The Scotsman’s eyes sparkled and his lips twitched, trying to smile. Gavin knew Duguald was thinking the same thing.

“Thistlewood,” Gavin finally said.

“Thistlewood?”

“’Tis Branan’s land, part of his mother’s direct dowry,” Duguald said. “As her heir it falls solely to him without challenge, unlike the Wardenship, which is merely a title to govern royal lands. Thistlewood is his alone.”

De Courcy laughed. “He wouldn’t have even known about the place if it had not been for me.”

“You wouldn’t have known about it if my father had not told you. Either way, does that change the truth of its title?”

De Courcy scowled.

“Then we shall reside with Branan at Thistlewood, until the time Catriona becomes your wife. Only then will you have claim to her.”

“I don’t believe this! You need me to—”

“So do you now plan to renege on your pact with Branan?” Gavin asked. “That would be interesting since it is a key point in the betrothal agreement.” He almost wished de Courcy would default. Without financing, Branan’s cause was lost, but Gavin knew Branan would rather see Catriona safe.

De Courcy muttered a curse, dragging his hand through his hair. “All right,” he said through clenched teeth. “But the date has been set, I expect my bride to be delivered to her wedding on May Day.” He paused, his gaze deadly. “And I expect her to be the virginal bride promised to me.”

Hatred shot through Gavin. This was all because de Courcy doubted Catriona’s honor? Then Gavin remembered how de Courcy watched Branan and Catriona closely. Did he believe Branan would usurp his marriage rights?

“Of course,” Gavin said through clenched teeth, forcing down his anger. He looked at Duguald. “Let us see how my sister and Branan fare and prepare them to leave.”

Duguald inclined his head and gestured for Gavin to lead the way.

HHH

Catriona managed to grab two cloaks for her and Branan before they left the keep. Branan wore his leather trews and cross-quartered boots with his snug-fitting inar. But he did not wear the sleeves; the ties dangled around his bare shoulders. The powerful muscles in his arms flexed as he walked with his fists clenched.

Catriona guided him into the gardens. Snow piled thick on the ground, but the sky remained clear and the sun bright, casting a beautiful wintry glow. The air was crisp and fresh. She heard Branan inhale deeply as she wiped the snow from a bench and they sat.

His body still shook violently and his breathing remained harsh. Catriona knew only when these signs faded would Branan be truly free of the rage that gripped him. She feared the consequences Branan might suffer for his actions. But in that instant she’d realized Richard was going to strike her, seeing Branan so quickly place himself in front of her and send Richard flying warmed a secret place in her heart. He had always been her defender.

Branan sat with his elbows on his knees, his shoulders bowed and his head lowered. He squeezed his eyes shut, his long black hair streaming around his face. She placed the cloak over his shoulders, then gently stroked her fingers through his hair, tucking a few of the cascading locks behind his ear.

Branan still fought to catch his breath.

She remained silent, knowing from experience her touch would help pull him out of the pit he had fallen into. She turned her hand and lightly caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers.

He made a soft sound, a choking gasp, then suddenly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, stroking her hair with one hand, the other firmly gripping her waist.

Catriona also wrapped her arms tightly around him. The reality of the changes in him assailed her. No longer was he a lanky lad, but a giant of a man. She felt the hard mass of muscle which now comprised his body. His broad shoulders seemed to surround her, his heavily sinewed arms engulfed her. She could not stop her hand as it traveled lightly over his chest down to his flat stomach and narrow waist.

Branan didn’t move, he only clung to her.

Her other hand moved up his back and she marveled at the power she felt there too. Long muscles, corded tight, stretched upward and outward across his shoulders. Never had she imagined the scrawny, wounded youth she had found in the woods would become such a Goliath.

Slowly, his grip eased on her, his breathing growing more steady, but his limbs still trembled. He backed away enough to look down at her. His eyes shimmered, chaotic and turbulent, as if a tempest had struck the core of the sea-green depths. He lifted his hand to trace along her jaw with a calloused finger. It moved lightly up to her temple, where it paused for a long moment, then continued to stroke through her hair. His touch was so tender, so full of compassion, that it proved a complete contradiction to the power she sensed within him. The warmth of his skin sent a tingle through her where it radiated into the depths of her being.

“Are...are ye sure yer all right, lass?” he asked. His voice, a bare whisper, grated harshly in his throat and his Scottish brogue sounded almost as thick as Duguald’s.

She smiled up at him. “I am fine, Branan.”

He closed his eyes again, inhaling another deep breath. The shaking of his limbs lessened considerably. “I...I thought he’d strike ye,” he said as if trying to explain his actions, not only to her but to himself.

Catriona understood exactly what had happened and why. “I know, Branan,” she said and impulsively traced her fingers over his well-shaped lips.

For an instant, Branan remained frozen, but then caught her hand. He brushed his lips across her fingers then softly kissed her palm. She gasped at the sudden shiver that shot through her.

Branan seemed to come more to his senses, releasing her hand and gazing down at her. For a long moment he stared, his eyes moving over her face as if to memorize every detail. Then he pulled her against his chest again.

“Catriona, forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” she asked. “Richard was being a beast for no reason.”

A low chuckle rumbled through him and Catriona breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he was once again in control. All she had to do was keep him away from Richard.

Branan continued to hold her, remaining silent. Catriona didn’t move, simply enjoying the wonderful peace and the warmth they shared without words.

She heard voices approaching and silently cursed as Branan pulled away. She straightened and looked at the gates.

Gavin and Duguald entered and Catriona was grateful to note Richard was not with them.

“Are ye all right, laddie?”

“Aye, Uncle.”

“Good,” Gavin said. “It seems there are to be a few changes.” Quickly, he explained all that had transpired with Richard.

Catriona swallowed hard. Gavin had made clear his concerns about her impending marriage. She looked at Branan. His expression darkened, but his anger did not reappear.

“Aye, Gavin,” he said, his brogue still thick. “I must hie myself to Thistlewood afore I strangle the sod.” He stood and extended his hand to Catriona. “Will ye accompany us, lassie?”

“Gladly,” she said, forcing a smile, though her relief was very real. Four months was all she had left of freedom and she planned to savor every moment of it.

Catriona was grateful to arrive at Thistlewood that afternoon, but her attention remained focused on Branan. He became quiet and withdrawn, as if he once again stood between reality and the void, unable to return completely. Workers, mercenaries, and craftsmen all approached and greeted him. He returned the pleasantries easily enough, but Catriona knew his heart wasn’t in it.

She sighed and took her pack with her meager belongings and found an empty shelter to call her own. It had a small but comfortable pallet for a bed, clean blankets, and a ewer and basin with fresh water waiting on a table for her. She quickly put her things away and stepped out. She looked for Branan and saw him duck away from the cleared area, his expression troubled. He vanished into the woods. Terribly worried, she darted after him.

HHH

Branan strode a few paces into the tree line then stopped. His body still shook. He squeezed his eyes closed. What was wrong with him? The rage had passed, but he sensed it was still there...lurking in the black corners of his mind, like a wolf stalking a hart. This had never happened before. Since the time he had nearly beaten that lad to death, he had managed to control the demon within him, but now it was stronger than ever, and it had no desire to release its hold on him.

He opened his hands and stared down at them, noting their size, strength, and roughness. “Damnation,” he whispered. “If I dinna control this bloodlust, I will kill an innocent.”

A small, feminine hand appeared and gripped his fingers with surprising strength. “Nay, Branan,” Catriona said softly, stepping next to him. “No matter your rage, you will never, ever hurt an innocent.”

“Catriona, how can ye say that? I was ready to kill de Courcy, but he never touched ye.”

“You did what was right, he was going to hit me.”

Branan scowled, desperately trying to remember, but his rage had fogged everything. “I dinna think he actually raised—”

“Branan, I remember watching you and Gavin in the lists. One thing my father taught you early on was that if the sword is in motion before you think to block, then it’s already too late. Your block has to be there first.”