Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (23 page)

“Welcome to Brackenburgh, Liam. I fear I have not seen your laird in a pair of months.”

His shoulders slumped in dejection.

“Has some mishap befallen the clan?” she asked.

“Nothin’ untoward, lady,” he replied, his voice sounding more weary than before. “But there be things the MacTavish should ken.”

“I see,” Catriona said softly, still uncertain if this man spoke truly. “You appear as if you had a hard go of it.”

He shrugged. “The journey wasna easy and tryin’ tae locate the MacTavish be akin tae trackin’ a kelpie.”

She smiled. “Aye. Allow me this, Liam MacTavish, surely you would do well with a good meal and a place to rest.”

“My lady, this would be a gift.”

“Then please, sir, avail yourself to the welcome of Brackenburgh.”

He bowed. “My gratitude.”

She nodded to Greystoke. “Show him to the barracks and allow him to get cleaned up and get some hot food. Will you join us for dinner this eve, my lord?”

“I would be honored.” Liam replied and bowed again.

Greystoke nodded to one of his men and he escorted Liam away. Greystoke and Edmund both approached Catriona.

“Lady, are you sure this is safe?” Edmund asked.

“We keep him here until Jamie arrives.”

Greystoke grinned. “If he is who he claims, Jamie will certainly know him.”

“Exactly. Until we know for certain, we treat Liam as a noble guest.”

“As you will, lady,” Edmund replied with a bow.

HHH

Jamie arrived two days later, with his usual perfect timing: right as the servants placed the evening meal on the table. He walked in, striding straight for Catriona.

She rose, smiling, and he immediately swept her into a strong embrace and spun her around.

“Och, lassie, how be ye this eve?”

“Just fine, Jamie, thank you.”

He returned her to her feet and handed her a scroll case. “Branan, as always, sends his affection,” he whispered.

“How is he?”

“He is well, although growing most surly in temper. I fear he misses yer pleasant influence. I ken I do, he has been a bear tae deal with.”

She laughed as Edmund approached and offered his hand. “That makes two of them, Jamie,” he said, giving her a wink.

“Edmund!” she gasped in mock outrage.

Jamie smiled, then sighed softly. “Branan wanted me tae ask ye about Beth.”

“Beth?”

He nodded. “Her husband was wounded in our last raid. He battled the fever, but the blood poison killed him yestereve.”

“Oh no,” Catriona said, worry cutting through her. “Beth and her husband were quite fond of each other.”

“Aye, I fear telling her such grievous news.”

“Nay,” Catriona said, her gaze falling on her friend, who sat chatting pleasantly with a merchant. “I will tell her tonight, when we are away from prying eyes. She will be heartbroken.”

“I thank ye, lass,” Jamie said, then looked at the table. “I see I have come at a precipitous time—” Suddenly, he froze, his gaze locked on Liam.

Catriona held her breath, knowing this was the moment of truth.

“Bloody hell,” Jamie whispered. “Liam, ye sorry cur!” He charged.

Catriona’s heart lurched.

The two men collided with a roar. It took a moment for Catriona to realize they slapped each other on the back in friendship, not in anger.

“Jamie, ye ugly bastard,” Liam said. “What witchcraft did ye use tae convince the lady tae open her door tae ye?”

Catriona blinked, watching the greeting that began to appear more like a wrestling contest than a welcome. A giggle escaped her, matched by Edmund’s laugh. Suddenly, she sank into her chair, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

The two men finally stopped trying to bruise each other. “What brings ye here, lad?” Jamie asked.

“I have some messages for the MacTavish.”

Jamie’s smile vanished. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ serious, but the MacTavish should be aware of it.”

Jamie appeared skeptical, but he nodded. “I shall tell the MacTavish when I deliver his lady’s message.”

Liam frowned in confusion and looked at Catriona. “But I thought ye said ye haven’t seen him in a pair of months.”

“I haven’t,” Catriona said, still laughing. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t hear from him regularly.”

His jaw dropped as he looked at Jamie, baffled.

Jamie guffawed and slapped his back. “She foxed ye.”

“Aye,” Liam said, blinking owlishly as he shook his head. “I dinna understand.”

“’Tis caution, Liam,” Jamie said. “The lassie ken I was comin’, and if ye were who ye claimed, I’d ken of ye.”

“That way,” Catriona added, “I could be sure this wasn’t one of Strickland’s plots.”

“I see,” Liam replied. “We have heard little and our clan is worried over our laird, considerin’ what happen tae his da and all. May I travel with ye tomorrow?”

Jamie shook his head. “I’m afraid not, laddie. I have strict orders tae proceed alone. If the sentries see anyone with me, they will shoot with nary a question. I’m sure ye dinna wish tae have that hairy arse of yers prickled with arrows.”

“Aye.”

“I will tell the MacTavish ye are here. If he sends for ye, then ye can pass safely.”

Liam nodded, but Catriona grew concerned over his troubled expression.

“Now,” Jamie said, pulling Liam toward the table. “Tell me of the clan. Does sweet Aislynn still pine for me?”

Liam rolled his eyes. “More like savors the fresh air without the taint of yer sweaty hide.”

Catriona smiled and returned to her food, listening to the rough banter that covered a strong friendship as the two spoke. She held the scroll case in her lap, knowing this evening she would have to reply to Branan’s letter and inform him of recent happenings. “I just wish I could tell you in person,” she whispered to herself.

HHH

Branan, Duguald, and the other members of the clan greeted Liam warmly. Although Jamie had said several times that Liam’s messages were not overly urgent, Branan remained concerned over what could be so all-fired important to send a man all the way from Scotland.

Liam handed him a scroll case and Branan pulled out several sheets of parchment.

“Come, laddie,” Duguald said to Liam. “Join us at the fire and allow Branan to brood over these missives as a good laird should.”

Branan strode upstairs to his solar and closed the door. Catriona’s message remained on his desk, unread. As soon as Jamie had arrived with word of Liam, Branan had sent him back to Brackenburgh first thing in the morning, to fetch him with all haste. It was now barely dawn.

He sat in his chair and moved a candle closer, glancing at the pages. The first was from the seneschal he had left in charge of the clan. Branan scanned the letter, noting it was simply a report of the clan’s production and asking permission to plow a field which had lain fallow for over a year. It also mentioned that they had an extravagant offer for the foal of Branan’s best mare. She was due to deliver in early summer. Branan could not help but chuckle; the foal hadn’t even hit the ground yet and was already demanding a huge price.

Branan set the missive aside, resolving to answer it later, but also pleased that things did seem well.

The second letter was from his chatelaine, noting their wool production and asking for money to purchase more expensive, finer dyes they could not make. Branan nodded to himself. Although costly, the reputation of their weaving would recoup the price quickly. He paused and frowned. Now that Catriona governed the de Courcy holdings, perhaps he could purchase better dyes at a cheaper price than what they could find at the best markets of Edinburgh.

He set the second letter aside and looked to the third.

The laird of Clan Campbell proposed that Branan strengthen their alliance by marriage to his daughter. He sighed. The laird would not be happy to learn Branan was now handfasted to an Englishwoman.

Branan opened Catriona’s letter, but winced when he read about the latest gambit Strickland had tried. He continued through the letter, noting her mention of sending the supplies he needed. Most were readily available, but a few would take time.

Her letter then moved to a more personal nature. Branan’s eyes widened at the realization. For the first time, Catriona gave hint to her feelings. The more he read, the more quickly he gathered that she was weary and disheartened—and missing him terribly.

Finally! Finally, he knew she needed him.

But that thought brought Branan no joy. If Catriona’s stubbornness slipped, what pain did she truly suffer?

Surely, there was something he could do to bolster her spirits, but appearing in the great hall again was out of the question. Only his constant raids against Strickland kept the bastard from attacking Brackenburgh, and Branan did not wish to tempt fate. But her letter sounded so dejected, so unlike his fiery Catriona, that he grew concerned.

Then he spotted a smaller parchment under her missive. He scowled and picked it up. It was from Edmund.

Laird MacTavish,

I must take it upon myself to inform you of our beloved lady. She struggles daily with the powers that rise against her. I fear even her courageous heart has been overtaxed. She faces our enemy alone, although I do my best to help her. I am growing concerned for her health as she is now plagued with constant headaches. Even one as strong as my lady needs to find refuge on occasion.

Your humble servant,

Edmund

Branan rubbed his eyes, his concern growing into worry. Edmund spoke truly. Catriona needed refuge, a brief time of peace. Yet it was too dangerous to bring her here. The departure of the lady of Brackenburgh would be witnessed by Strickland’s spies. That was why he sent only Jamie to her. Because of the de Courcy holdings, many people entered Brackenburgh’s gates without note of the spies. Jamie could walk without remark, as could a trader bearing missives to a household which survived on trade...

Branan blinked, then a slow smile tugged his lips upward.

HHH

Catriona collapsed into bed, exhausted, but unable to sleep. Jamie was overdue. Although she was never quite certain when he would arrive, Jamie never went beyond a sennight unless they planned something against Strickland, and Branan was very good about informing her. Catriona had stayed up late, hoping Jamie would appear, mayhap at the postern, but she had been disappointed.

She sighed, her head aching again. It wasn’t Jamie she wanted to see, but the letter he would deliver to her. Even with just words on vellum, she heard Branan’s soft brogue speaking as she read. The letters helped pierce the walls of loneliness around her.

And Catriona finally had to admit she was terribly lonely. She hated staying at Brackenburgh with nothing to distract her. The memories of her wedding night remained terrifyingly real. Many times she had nightmares about the attack, but it was Branan they slew, instead of Richard.

She shivered and pulled Branan’s brat over her, inhaling deeply. But the wool only held a faint memory of his scent. Catriona squeezed her eyes closed.

The door rattled and Catriona’s heart lurched, chasing away her thoughts. She listened carefully, but heard nothing more. Probably one of the many drafts moving through the stairwell.

Catriona sighed, not wanting to return to the morose path her thoughts continued to travel.

The door rattled again and her heart fair jumped to her throat. That was definitely not a draft.

Her hand dove under her pillow where she kept a wickedly sharp stiletto. Catriona sat up slowly and opened the bed curtains, peeking through. The fire in the hearth was small, but it continued to cast a dim glow. She wasn’t sure if the door actually moved or if the flickering flames just made it appear that way. Catriona’s heart slammed against her ribs, her palms suddenly sweaty. She clutched the hilt of the stiletto. She had bolted the latch, she was certain of it.

Hadn’t she?

Terror rose as the memory of swords clashing through the hall assailed her ears. Strickland’s bastard had gained entrance to Brackenburgh once, he could do it again.

The door creaked and Catriona flew out of bed, holding the dagger in front of her. Trapped. How could she escape?

Slowly, the door opened, revealing a dark cut of blackness. A giant form moved silently, heavily cloaked, with the cowl pulled low over his face.

Death’s specter was coming for her.

Catriona opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged.

The figure froze. “I didna mean to frighten ye, lass,” a deep voice whispered.

She blinked in confusion, trying to think through her terror.

Slowly, a hand pulled the cowl down and the firelight fell on the graceful planes of his face. Rich black hair shimmered in glossy waves.

“Branan?” she gasped, her body suddenly shaking. The stiletto slipped from her numb fingers and landed on the rug with a muffled sound. Catriona threw herself at Branan’s chest.

His powerful arms wrapped around her and he lifted her from her feet, burying his face in her hair. “Forgive me, lass,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m sorry I gave ye such a fright.”

Her arms tightened around him and she breathed a ragged sigh.

Branan moved enough to rid himself of his cloak, letting it slide into a heap on the floor. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a large chair before the hearth. Branan sat and pulled her onto his lap, keeping her tucked firmly against him, his hand gently stroking her hair. He spoke soothingly, whispered words she didn’t understand, but she didn’t care. It was enough to hear his wonderfully deep voice and feel his strong body against hers.

She looked up at him and caressed his elegant cheek. Catriona couldn’t resist a smile when she realized he was freshly shaved.

“Forgive me,” Branan whispered. “Ye are near spent with all of this. It was my wish only to surprise ye, not frighten ye to death.”

“Branan, be silent and kiss me.”

He flashed her a bright, wicked grin that sent her pulse racing. With a fingertip, he traced a line from her cheek to her jaw. Branan’s gaze locked on Catriona’s, holding her frozen for an endless moment. Her heart rattled in her chest, the feral desire she saw in his eyes sent heat rushing through her body. He stared down at her, his eyes moving over her face as if drinking in the sight before him.