Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (10 page)

Abruptly the memories intruded, stealing her anger and replacing it with terror. She tried to force the horrors from her thoughts, but they remained, their claws buried in her soul. Her memory had been fogged by terror, cold, and exhaustion—she only remembered running. Every night, the memories of all she had witnessed were slowly returning with terrifying clarity, and her nightmares only grew worse.

She turned her back on Richard, praying he did not see her tears, and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering with an awful chill radiating from the core of her being.

“I think you should leave, Richard.”

“Catriona—”

“Now! Leave me in peace!”

“Blast, woman—”

Branan stepped forward. “Ye heard the lass. Leave now.” His voice was soft but deadly in its power.

Richard cursed and stomped away.

Catriona held her breath, her body trembling. She kept the terrifying memories at bay by sheer will alone.

A moment later, she heard a horse gallop away.

“He’s gone,” Branan said softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

With his touch, her control dissolved. The tears exploded and she sagged against him. The visions flashed through her thoughts, terrifyingly real.

“Catriona?” Branan asked worriedly as he held her to him.

The memory broke free and Catriona no longer stood before her shelter with Branan, but in her own room as the servants rousted her from bed...

“...M’lady! Dress quickly!” Abigail whispered. “Yer father wants ye in the hall.”

Confused as to what could be happening at such a late hour, Catriona dressed and hurried downstairs. The manor house was in an uproar, the staff hiding valuables and barring doors. Her mother and father stood in the middle of it.

“Papa,” she called. “What’s wrong?”

“Catriona,” he limped forward, leaning heavily on his cane, and swept her into a tight embrace which only frightened her more. Slowly he released her. “Catriona, we just heard that Strickland knows Branan sheltered with us for a time. His men are sacking the village and they are coming this way. I want you and your mother to hide in the forest. Once they know Branan is not here, I will fetch you.”

Catriona’s heart battered her ribs. “Papa no, let me stay here.”

He shook his head. “My dear daughter, I cannot risk your well-being. You are a beautiful girl and once the men see you, they may decide to accost you in order to force me to tell them where Branan is now.”

She swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes.

“I want you and your mother to go to the woods and stay there.”

“But we are defended, Papa, we can close the gates.”

He managed a grim smile. “Close the gates to my overlord? Catriona, you know better than that. It would only fuel his rage and none of us would live to see the sun rise.”

“Then come with us.”

“You also know I cannot run with my lame knee. They would find us in no time.” He embraced her again and kissed her cheek. “Godspeed, Catriona, my heart goes with you.”

Catriona removed the cross Branan had given her and pressed it into his hand. “For luck, Papa.”

He smiled as his hand closed over it.

A servant handed her a cloak while her mother and father said a tearful good-bye. Catriona took her mother’s hand and they hurried to the back gate.

Shouts echoed at the front gate as riders bearing torches arrived. Her mother slid to a halt. “Catriona...”

“Come, Mother, we must do as Father says.”

Her mother shook her head stubbornly, tears streaking her face. “You know I cannot leave him.” Quickly, she kissed Catriona’s cheek and tore her hand away.

“Mother!”

“Go now! If the worst happens, find Gavin!”

“How?” she screamed. “I know not where Gavin has gone!”

Mother shook her head. “He will return. Be safe, my beloved daughter.” She turned and ran back to the manor house.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Catriona ran for the forest. She wanted to go back but did not wish to defy her father.

Finding a sheltered spot from which she could see the manor house, Catriona watched and waited. Strickland’s men entered the small courtyard. Her father and mother greeted them. They exchanged a few words and suddenly the captain backhanded her father, sending him into the dirt. Her mother struggled to help him to his feet. Catriona stared, transfixed in terror, as the men-at-arms forced her mother and father with all of the servants into the manor house. They locked the doors with a heavy chain and boarded up windows that were large enough to crawl through.

Then she watched them set the house ablaze...

HHH

Confused and worried, Branan held Catriona close as she sobbed against him. She kept trying to speak, but he could not understand her words. He could only hold her and try to calm her.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asked as he hurried toward them.

“I dinna ken,” Branan said tightly. “De Courcy provoked her.”

She took a deep shuddering breath. “I saw it...” she gasped, still sobbing. “Blessed Mary help me, I saw what they did.”

Gavin gently pushed a lock of hair from her face. “Saw what?”

Her sobs abruptly increased.

“Easy, my bonny lass,” Brendan whispered. “What did ye see?”

She continued to cry, but brokenly told them of her nightmares and the horror she had witnessed. “I ran back to the house and grabbed an iron bar from the smithy. I tried to pry the boards off the windows. I heard their screams. I heard mother as she burned.”

“Sweet Jesu,” Gavin whispered, staring at Branan in horror.

“The smell, sweet Mary, I’ll never forget that smell...”

Branan’s soul shriveled against the agony of learning what his foster-parents had suffered.

“But...but the men spotted me. I didn’t want to leave them. I screamed for father. He kept shouting at me to run...to get away. I didn’t want to...but I abandoned them when I was the only one who could save them. I left them to die!”

“Nay,” Gavin said forcefully, his voice thick with unshed tears. “You didn’t have a choice Catriona, you had to run. You did all you could, you were braver than anyone, you tried to free them.”

“I kept trying to go back to help them...but the men chased me. Just when I thought they lost my trial, I would try to return to the house and they would find me again.”

Branan blinked in shock. “That’s why ye didna lose yer pursuers in the forest...ye were only trying to go back.”

She nodded.

“And de Courcy’s words,” Branan continued. “He mocked ye for being pursued, when all ye wanted to do was help yer parents.”

Another nod.

Fury clawed at Branan and he wanted nothing more than to strangle de Courcy. The stupid sod! How could the man do this to her?

“Catriona” he whispered, holding her so tightly it was a wonder he didn’t squeeze the breath from her. “’Tis all right, lass.” He took a deep breath and simply stood with Catriona, trying to offer her a bit of solace and allowing her to cry all she needed.

Branan wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but finally Catriona’s sobs turned to hiccupping gasps. One of the women approached with a medicant. “This will help calm her,” the stout matron said.

Catriona managed to drink the medicant and Branan took her inside, placing her on her bed. He gently stroked the hair from her face. Her sobs eased, but she kept her eyes squeezed closed and tears continued to flow.

“M’lords,” the woman said. “If ye wish, I will settle her in bed.”

Branan nodded. “’Twill be all right, Catriona,” he said.

She squeezed his hand, but otherwise didn’t respond.

With a sigh, Branan left the shelter with Gavin. “Now I understand.”

“What?” Gavin asked.

He quickly explained Catriona’s refusal to end the betrothal. “And mayhap with what she witnessed, she needs to find justice with Strickland as well. Right now, I am the only one who can accomplish that.”

Gavin nodded mutely.

Anger and helplessness surged through Branan. Strickland had destroyed so much. Now de Courcy was prodding Catriona into a breakdown. His arms felt empty and he only wanted to return to Catriona, to hold her close again. Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

The rage in his heart turned blacker as he walked, and it tangled with the deep need coiling through him. For a moment, Branan squeezed his eyes shut in confusion. Never had simply being near a woman provoked him so. He had known lust; he had experienced passion and pleasure.

Branan was a man who savored experience; sensations reminded him he was alive, not lost in the void where his soul constantly seemed to remain. A dim memory of his mother’s stories hinted there was more. She always spoke of the love the legendary knight possessed for his beautiful maiden and how she returned it with devotion. As a lad, Branan marveled at the fact the two had found love, unlike in the popular tale of Arthur. Now that he knew the knight in the stories was his father, that would make the maiden his mother.

Yet as he grew older, Branan had been unable to find that love. He feared the part of him that could love had died a long time ago, beaten out of him by Strickland’s fists.

Vengeance was a cold bedfellow. He snorted to himself. As cold as some of the women he had known.

Surely there had to be something more.

Now there was Catriona. Wild, willful Catriona. She was not meek or unassuming. She was rarely quiet. She was strong, but also soul-wounded and vulnerable. She needed him and turned to him for shelter...for comfort. Just thinking of her sent the blood thundering through his body.

But he could not have her.

“Blood, fire, and damnation,” he snarled, continuing his rapid pace.

He had lost Catriona to de Courcy all because of Strickland. First his own parents and now his much loved foster-parents. How many lives would Strickland destroy to torment him?

Branan’s rage burned brighter, and with a savage growl, he lifted his claymore and cleaved through a branch blocking his path. The action ignited his blood and he stepped forward, hacking through another branch.

For a moment, he heard the screams of his mother suffering another beating at Strickland’s hand. The sounds mixed with the memory of Catriona’s sobs. He relived the stench that had assailed him when he found the smoldering ashes of his beloved foster family.

The smell,
Catriona had said.
Sweet Mary, I’ll never forget that smell.

Neither would he.

Mourning

B
ranan’s worry over Catriona increased. Since the night de Courcy provoked her, she seemed to become more withdrawn. His gaze automatically searched for her. Within moments he spotted her. She stared at nothing, appearing as if she would dissolve into a storm of tears at any moment. Branan was not sure what to do.

“I see you share my concern over my sister,” Gavin said softly as he stepped next to Branan.

“Aye, brother,” Branan replied. “This behavior is most unlike her. I fear that terrible night weighs heavily on her.”

“Aye, Branan. That may be part of it, but not the root.” He paused, his gaze growing distant. “Always she had a fire in her soul I could not define, but I admired it, even though I teased her mercilessly in our youth.”

Branan felt a ghost of a smile play upon his lips. The two siblings had rankled each other constantly and Catriona always gave as good as she got. But underneath that rivalry was a bond of love and family so strong it would never be broken, even in death. That was why his foster family had been exactly what young Branan needed for those two short years. Abruptly, his head came up as understanding dawned.

“Gavin,” he said, gripping his foster-brother’s shoulder. “Mayhap I ken the cause of this . . . and ye both suffer it.”

“Both?”

“Aye, I ken because it happened to me. Yer parents . . . ye werena granted the ability to bury them . . . to mourn.”

Gavin’s face turned a terrible shade of gray and Branan knew he was right.

“Because of the urgency of our situation,” Branan continued, “ye havena acknowledged yer grief.”

“Aye,” Gavin replied, his voice cracking. “We dare not return to the manor house . . . besides . . . there is nothing left to bury.”

Branan winced, the pain of loss once again a hot barb through his heart. He loved the de Reignys as much as if they had been his own blood kin. “A memorial,” he whispered. “I will speak to Uncle Duguald and we shall plan a memorial.”

Gavin’s blue eyes misted, but he continued to stare at his sister. “Aye, Branan, ’tis a good plan.”

“Now go talk to yer sister. I’ll guard yer back and make sure de Courcy doesna accost ye.”

Later, Branan found Uncle Duguald and together they planned the memorial. Duguald offered to lead it, but Branan knew that duty needed to fall to him, although it would be one of the most difficult things he had ever done. He then announced the plan to all to hold the memorial in two days. There would be no work on the tower on that day, only on the meal planned for afterward. But for Branan, the work on the tower ceased immediately as he turned his woodworking skills to an item that would be essential.

HHH

The morning of the memorial dawned gray and cold, but at least it was not snowing. Branan awoke before the first stirrings in the camp. Fortunately, even though he’d had to work late into the evening, he had finished his project. Duguald had located a suitable clearing nearby with a small, gently moving stream next to it. This worked perfectly for Branan, as long as he could find the last element. He wrapped his plaid firmly around his shoulders and covered his work in a plain woolen blanket. Carrying it out of his workshop, he silently made his way to the clearing.

Duguald had set up a small table with a few short candles. Branan moved them aside and sat his creation in the center of the table, removing the blanket. He gazed critically at the wooden cross, intricately carved to the best of his ability. It was to be the centerpiece. He moved the candles to flank it, then stood back and examined his handiwork. If only he’d had more time, but this needed to be done quickly for Catriona and Gavin. He shook his head. It would have to do.

They did not have a priest at Thistlewood, and Branan resolved to rectify that as quickly as possible. But it was his responsibility as laird, and as the de Reigny’s fosterling, to lead the memorial. He hurried into the woods, praying he could find the last item he needed. It would be up to the forest to provide it, and thankfully, it did.

Branan quickly returned with two white winter flowers—Christmas Roses, they were called. He arranged them before the cross. He heard a soft gasp behind him and spun.

Catriona, with Gavin by her side, stared at the small display.

Branan’s heart twisted when he saw the tears in her eyes. “Forgive me,” he said softly ducking his head. “I ken this is a poor—”

“Nay,” Catriona said, hurrying forward and embracing him. “It’s beautiful, Branan.” She pulled away enough to gaze at the table. “You know Mother loved those flowers.”

“Aye,” he said with a sad smile. “I remember the manor hall being adorned with them at Christmastide.”

“The cross,” Gavin said, stepping next to them so they both flanked Catriona. “Did...did you make it, Branan?”

Branan felt embarrassment heat his face. “Aye,” he said. “’Tis the best I could do in so little time.”

“It’s exquisite,” Gavin replied. “I wondered why you were working until the wee hours of the morning the past two nights.”

“It’s gorgeous, Branan,” Catriona said. “Thank you.”

“Anything for ye, Catriona.”

The others from the camp slowly gathered in the clearing, many murmuring praises over the small but beautiful arrangement. With the cold, Branan did not wish to take too long, less one of the youths catch a chill. He stood with Catriona and Gavin beside the table.

As the rest of Thistlewood gathered, Branan spied de Courcy hovering at the edge of the clearing. His expression remained dark and his gaze shot daggers at Branan. Biting back his anger, Branan stepped away from Catriona and Gavin, motioning to one of his Scotsmen, Simon.

“Keep an eye on de Courcy,” he said softly. “If he does anything to disrupt this memorial, hie his arse out of here. I willna have Catriona any more upset than she already is. Lock him in a shelter if ye must, but keep him away from her until the memorial is finished.”

“Aye, MacTavish.”

Branan returned to his place. He caught Duguald’s eye and nodded. Duguald called the people to order and said a short prayer.

Branan stepped up, clearing his throat, but it closed so tightly he feared he would not be able to speak at all.

“We gather to remember the lives of John and Isolde de Reigny. Ten years ago, a wounded lad discovered a warm and loving family within their house. They took me in and treated me as their own. I was lost, without a home, I didna know who I was. But they grounded me, set my feet upon the path and gave me the strength to walk. Without them,” he paused and looked at Catriona and Gavin. “Without ye, I dinna ken what would have happened to me.”

Catriona, tears streaming down her face, threw herself into his arms.

“Ye are my family,” he said, his voice growing thicker. Gavin stepped forward too and Branan hauled him into a rough embrace. He glanced at the cross. “Thank ye, John and Isolde, for giving me a gift far greater than lands or gold.” He closed his eyes, trying to gather himself. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he suddenly realized he could not.

With great effort, Branan released Catriona and Gavin. His throat tight and unshed tears burning his eyes, he handed one of the flowers to Catriona and then the second to Gavin. He escorted them toward the small stream and instructed them to gently place the flowers in the water. Catriona knelt, releasing her flower with a gentle push. Gavin did the same, and the second flower moved slowly with the first toward the current.

Branan stepped forward, placing one arm around Gavin’s shoulders and the other around Catriona’s. He drew a breath and spoke a Scottish prayer, his deep voice echoing through the snowy trees:

“Go forth upon your journey from this world,

In the Name of God the Father who created you;

In the Name of Jesus Christ who died for you;

In the Name of the Holy Spirit who shines through you;

In friendship with God’s saints;

Aided by the holy angels.

May you rest this day in the peace and love of your eternal home.”

The current caught the flowers and they floated downstream and out of sight. Catriona turned to Branan, sobbing against his chest. Gavin wrapped an arm around Branan and around his sister, tears streaming down his cheeks. Branan embraced his foster siblings tightly, his own tears escaping.

After a long moment, Branan finally found some semblance of control, and so did Gavin. Catriona, unfortunately, had a much more difficult time and the two of them knew exactly why.

“Come, Catriona,” Branan whispered into her hair. His arms still firmly around their shoulders, he escorted both Catriona and Gavin back to the tower. The clan followed silently, and he heard Jamie’s fine tenor rise in a hymn as they walked. It was a bittersweet but beautiful memorial.

As they approached the tower, de Courcy abruptly appeared. Branan hissed a warning through his teeth. De Courcy’s expression was no longer one of anger, but of sadness. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “I have been such a fool. Please...all of you...please accept my deepest condolences for your loss and my sincerest apologies for my behavior.”

Gavin looked at Branan, his eyes red-rimmed and misted. But it was Catriona who lifted her head. She reached out to de Courcy, her hand shaking, but her fingers tightly gripped his. “Thank you, Richard,” she said and then released him and turned back into Branan’s embrace.

“Join us for the meal,” Branan said tightly. He did not wish de Courcy anywhere near Catriona, but since she had accepted the man’s olive branch, he would support her.