Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (5 page)

“So that’s when Strickland burned some of your holdings?” Gavin asked.

“Aye. But he did not realize what he was jumping into. I have the finances to easily hire some of the best mercenaries available—and I have the finances to keep them most loyal.”

Branan nodded in appreciation.

“For every village and storehouse Strickland destroys, I destroy two of his. He suspects I am behind this, but he has no proof. Tension builds and instead of Strickland paying his taxes to the king out of his own coffers, like normal, he raises the rents and fees against the poor. If they do not have the money, he takes it in food or livestock. I’ve seen the whoreson throw out a family because they had nothing. Right now, the villagers and freemen are bearing the brunt of Strickland’s frustration and greed. I may like making money, but I do not believe in destroying those lower in station to get it. I mean to stop Strickland and bring him down. It is no longer solely a matter of money, but the survival of those who call Inglewood home.”

“How do ye plan to do that?” Branan asked.

“It was not long after this started that I spoke to John and he told me about your heritage. He thought we could work together. If I am to stop Strickland, the best way is to restore the true heir to the Wardenship. Strickland would be defeated, the persecution would stop, and there would be an honorable man managing the lands for the king. I would be able to return to my ventures without worry. Yet while I liked the idea, I was not without concern. I mean no offense when I say I was uncertain about putting a man with such strong Scottish blood into such a powerful position. John told me much about your honor and the strength of your character. But when I voiced my doubt, he sweetened the deal by offering his daughter and her dowry in marriage.”

The blood drained from Branan’s face and even Gavin’s jaw went slack.

“He did what?” Branan asked.

“’Tis in the betrothal contract,” de Courcy said. “By supporting you and your cause against Strickland, I get to take Catriona to wife.”

Horror coiled through Branan and he clenched his fists. What had his foster-father done? John offered his beloved daughter to ensure Branan would have an alliance to defeat Strickland? Anger surged through him. That John would use Catriona like a pawn to guarantee Branan’s future—she should not have to pay so high a price.

“I see,” he said softly, fighting to get his emotions under control.

“But it grows late,” de Courcy said, watching him closely. “We should all get some rest and tomorrow I will show you some of my undertakings. I think you will be impressed.”

Branan nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“De Reigny,” de Courcy said, “in light of your recent loss and the fact you will soon be my brother by law, I hope you know you may stay here as long as you need. I will do everything in my power to help you rebuild Newton Reigny.”

Gavin stared at the signet ring he now wore and Branan clearly saw the grief in his eyes. “Thank you, de Courcy.”

They stood and de Courcy summoned a servant. “Take our guests to their quarters and see that they have everything they need.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Branan followed the servant, still reeling with the shocking insights the past few days had wrought. He could scarcely comprehend it. Catriona’s future had been bartered because his foster-father wanted to guarantee Branan’s victory. Suddenly, he despised the man who had been well-meaning, but absolutely foolish.

The servant escorted them to a large, pleasantly furnished room with four simply made beds. Their bags had been brought in and the three men bedded down for the night. But sleep eluded Branan.

He sighed. The notion that he had found a place with the clan to live in peace had been foolishly romantic. At least he still had Catriona and Gavin’s friendship.

John de Reigny had known Branan’s true father well. Lamed in the battle that had claimed his father’s life, John had told Branan of their many escapades together. Although he walked with a limp and needed a cane, John had once been a fine knight. He had instructed Branan on swordplay and battle strategies. Branan had learned well. Then the day came when Uncle Duguald had arrived and taken him to Scotland in the dead of night. Like a thief, he had stolen Branan away with only John knowing the truth. Duguald then saw to Branan’s training.

After that, Branan had learned never to call one place home for long. Hidden among outlying clan families, Branan had been shuffled around like an unwanted orphan—which he had been. Every time Duguald feared Strickland’s spies might learn of his whereabouts, he appeared and took Branan to another home. Although Duguald visited often to train him in swordplay and battle tactics, every time he rode into view, Branan couldn’t help but wonder if this was the time he would be moved again.

When Branan earned his spurs in a tourney at sixteen, Duguald brought him to the clan seat at Dun-ArdRigh as laird. When he entered the courtyard, the clan members had gaped at him . . . 

“...Duguald,” one man said, plucking at his uncle’s sleeve, his eyes wide. “Raulf stands in the flesh.”

“Aye,” Duguald said with a smile. “He be Raulf through and through, appearing more like his father than a son has a right tae.”

“Does my appearance offend ye?” Branan asked Duguald.

“Nay, laddie. It does my heart true tae see so much of yer da in ye.”

After that, Branan had discovered the keep where his father grew up to be a wonderful home. One he did not wish to leave. That was until Gavin’s arrival once again turned his world upside down...

The Pact

C
atriona curled under the blankets, shaking, absolutely exhausted, but unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, vivid images of that horrifying night pushed forward. She relived the terror and agony of watching her home burn with her parents trapped inside. Tears burned in her eyes and she forced herself to focus on Branan.

Finally, after years of waiting, of wondering, of agonizing over his mysterious departure, he had returned. She couldn’t deny her joy at seeing him again, but the pain of him leaving remained close to her heart. Why hadn’t he said good-bye? Why had he not sent a note? The uncertainty of not knowing if he was alive or dead remained a thorn embedded permanently in her soul.

Now she was pledged to another, and that knowledge nearly shattered her heart. Why had her father done this? Did he have no idea how she felt about Branan, how for the two years Branan had stayed with them, she had been certain her father would betroth her to him? Of course, when Branan disappeared, her father probably thought he would never return, so he’d had no choice but to secure her future in another way.

But during those two years, Catriona had idolized the gangly but handsome youth—although she was careful never to give Branan a clue. He had a wickedly mischievous nature but rarely gave it free rein. His silent brooding overshadowed it most of the time.

Yet she understood why. He’d been a young man who had no idea of his past except for heartbreak. What he thought was truth had been a lie. Branan needed to find himself.

Catriona had not helped matters much with her childish jests. She smiled as she thought of his words earlier. One chilly morning, she had caught young Branan swimming and hid his clothes. By the time he begged them from her, his lips were indeed turning blue. Then when he accompanied her father and Gavin on a short journey she had left a gift of a dead rat in his pack. How long had it taken him to find it? Mayhap it had grown quite ripe. Those were only two of the many pranks with which she had tormented him.

Seeing him today, how much he had grown and matured, had given her a sense that he had found a part of himself—to a certain extent. She wondered what the past ten years had brought to him in life. What were his joys and passions? What did he like or even hate? Was his favorite food still the honey cakes like her mother made for him? Did he still dislike sweetmeats because of the time he ate too many and became terribly sick?

Did he have a lady waiting for him to return?

That thought knotted her stomach and she forced it away.

Branan was no longer the boy she had known, but a man who was almost a stranger to her. Although Catriona kept trying to ignore it, she had always thought him drawn to her...unless she’d ruined that with her childish games. Of course, it didn’t matter anymore. He left and she was now promised to another. Still, what would it hurt renewing her friendship with him? It could go no further than that, but at least she could get to know him again. She could discover the man he had become.

Richard would probably try to keep her locked away in this fool solar. But the wedding wasn’t for another four months. Perhaps she could use Branan’s status as her foster-brother to her advantage
. I haven’t seen him in ten years,
she could tell Richard.
Do you mean to prohibit me from the only family I have left?
Aye, that was a good argument.

Sudden tears burned her eyes. It was a good argument since it was absolutely true.

HHH

Branan and the others rose at dawn, breaking their fast in the great hall with de Courcy. He was disappointed not to see Catriona.

“MacTavish,” de Courcy said pleasantly. “When we have quit our meal, I would like to show you around. I think you will be impressed with some of my endeavors. Then, if you do not mind a short ride, I will show you a new enterprise I just started.”

Branan nodded. “This sounds interesting.”

“Am I forbidden to enter the great hall?” a distinct female voice shouted from above-stairs.

Those at the table fell into a shocked silence. De Courcy scowled at the stairs.

“Nay, m’lady,” the plaintive voice of a chambermaid replied. “But ye have been through a dreadful time. Ye will be much more comfortable breaking yer fast in the solar.”

“I will break my fast with my betrothed and my brothers.” An instant later, Catriona swept down the stairs, with only a hint of a limp from her battered ankle. She looked regal in her soft blue dress...regal and infuriated.

Branan couldn’t help the grin that escaped him.

Her gaze locked on his for a brief instant. Her anger faded and her lips twitched as if to smile, but she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, moving purposefully for the empty chair next to de Courcy.

“M’lady,” the maid said, hurrying after her. “Please—”

“Leave me be,” Catriona snapped.

The men rose from their chairs as Catriona approached. The maid shot a pleading and somewhat fearful glance at de Courcy.

De Courcy’s expression darkened slightly, but he bowed to Catriona. “My lady, I appreciate that you wish to eat with us, but are you certain—”

Catriona rolled her eyes. “Richard, please, I am fine.” She quickly sat. “I am sure you can understand that I wish to visit with my foster-brother and Gavin, who was in France for months. He only stopped at home for a span of days before he left again.”

De Courcy apparently decided discretion was the better part of valor and clamped his jaw shut, dismissing the maid with a wave and returning to his chair.

Branan inclined his head to Catriona. “Ye are looking bonny this morn. I am glad to see ye so well recovered.”

“Thank you, Branan.”

Branan returned to his meal, but noticed Catriona rarely took her eyes off him. He abruptly realized part of the reason must have been his garb. She had never seen him wearing Scottish clothing. He grinned to himself.

De Courcy remained silent, glowering at his food. Catriona took the opportunity to lead the conversation, asking Branan about his life in Scotland. She seemed very pleased at learning how much he enjoyed woodworking and training horses. It did not matter to her how much money he made in the ventures, only that he found happiness in his work.

“Well now,” de Courcy said, finally bringing their conversation to a close. “We must be off, and I’m sure my betrothed needs to rest after expending so much energy.” He rose and the others followed suit.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Catriona said. “I am well rested.”

“Your fortitude is admirable,” de Courcy replied. “But I mean to give Gavin and Branan a tour.”

“What a wonderful idea,” Catriona said, smiling. “I must admit, I also wish to see more of the land surrounding Brackenburgh. I shall have the servants saddle a palfrey and join you.”

“You will do no such thing,” de Courcy snapped.

Catriona stared at him, her expression gradually changing from defiant to pouting. “You...you mean to keep me from the only family I have left?”

She had schooled her features into the perfect wounded expression, but Branan clearly saw the glint of cunning in her eyes. He almost crowed with laughter. As a child, Catriona had discovered a talent for manipulation, but now Branan witnessed how she had turned that talent into an art.

De Courcy blew out his breath. “Nay, my sweet, I do not mean to do that, but—”

Catriona never let him finish. She laughed in delight and impulsively kissed his cheek. “Oh, thank you, Richard! I knew you would understand. Now, I’ll just have the servants ready my mount and tell the kitchen staff to prepare a wineskin, as well as some bread and cheese to take with us.” She stepped off the dais and headed straight for Branan. Looping her arm in his, she faced Gavin who took her other arm. “We have so much to talk about,” she said cheerfully. “Ten years is a long time, Branan.”

“Aye, lass,” he said grinning down at her. The trio moved purposefully toward the doors, leaving de Courcy spluttering.

“You had me worried for a moment, sister,” Gavin whispered, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “I feared you would disappoint us and not convince de Courcy to allow you to go.”

She gave a soft but very unladylike snort.

Branan chuckled. “Ye havena changed a bit, lass.”

She smiled up at him, an action which caused Branan’s heart to tighten in his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Now let’s go before Richard figures out a way to change his mind.”

While the servants prepared their mounts, de Courcy showed them around the active bailey. Catriona accompanied them, her arm remaining firmly entwined with Branan’s. It seemed no matter what de Courcy thought of it, Catriona wasn’t going to release him. Branan couldn’t blame her, admitting that he enjoyed her company and the feel of her hand on his arm. Plus he had a suspicion if she did release him, de Courcy would find a way to send her back to the keep.

People and animals crowded into the large bailey. Many merchants haggled their wares in Brackenburgh’s famed marketplace. Other people bustled about, tending to the many duties and animals that were the standard business of Brackenburgh as a strong keep. The squawking and baying of numerous creatures, along with the voices of people trying to be heard, created a cacophony of barely organized chaos.

The outer walls of the keep stood tall, their battlements and towers providing a clear, defensive view of the land around them.

“We received a license to crenellate a few years ago, so the merlons and embrasures are brand new,” de Courcy said. “Despite Brackenburgh’s reputation as a trading center, we are also quite defendable.”

On the east side of the bailey, the river helped form part of the defense. It was wide and surged angrily, a mass of white foam and dangerous rapids, moving too forcefully to freeze in winter.

Branan also noticed the small door in the wall. He frowned. “Why do ye have a passage in the wall? The river looks too treacherous to ford.”

“Correct, MacTavish,” de Courcy replied. “The passage is simply to afford workers access to repair the walls on the river side. Spring flooding can sometimes undermine the stone, and it would not do to have my walls topple around my ears.”

“Aye,” Branan replied, chuckling.

“Come, there is more to be seen.”

They stopped first at the blacksmith’s shed. To Branan’s surprise, de Courcy had four smiths working over the forges. Their main production: weapons.

“I equip my mercenaries with only the finest steel,” de Courcy said, hefting a well-crafted broadsword. “What I have that is extra, I sell for a nice profit.”

Branan gazed at the stockpile of weapons. “This is more than simply equipping a raiding party,” he said softly. “Ye seem able to outfit a small army.”

De Courcy said nothing, his smile cryptic.

They passed woodworkers and tanners, armorers and bow makers, all producing a large amount of equipment. They moved toward the stables and Branan quickly spotted many horses which would make fine battle mounts. He took an unconscious step forward.

De Courcy chuckled. “Understanding your experience with horses, I wondered how you would react to these.”

Branan’s gaze beheld only the fine steeds.

Catriona leaned closer. “Careful, my lord, afore you begin salivating. If Richard sees it, he will only increase their price.”

Branan swallowed reflexively, blinked, then glared down at her as he realized he had once again fallen neatly into her jest.

Catriona rewarded him with an impish smile.

“Good, solid stock,” he said to de Courcy, pushing down his annoyance at the mischievous sprite on his arm.

“Aye,” de Courcy said. “We will have need of them, but there is still more to show you. Come, let us fetch our mounts.”

Branan nodded, still wondering exactly what de Courcy plotted.

The small group traveled northwest on the king’s road for a few hours. The forest grew thick around them. Catriona remained relatively quiet, riding in the middle of the group, but still next to Branan.

He noted that both of them became the object of de Courcy’s attention and began to worry over the man’s darkening expression. They turned on a smaller road, traveling straight north along the Roe Brooke, then stopped for a quick meal of the bread and cheese Catriona had brought.

Catriona dismounted, stretching her back with a small sigh. She glanced around and scowled.

“I could be wrong, but are we not near Thistlewood?”

Gavin looked up sharply, also gazing at the surrounding woods. “Aye, sister, you have it aright.”

She flashed him a bright grin and Duguald chuckled. “Och, lassie, ye are a godsend.”

Branan scowled. “I have never heard of Thistlewood.”

Gavin, Catriona, and Duguald looked at each other as if sharing some secret jest. Branan found it rankled him to no end.

De Courcy stepped forward, looking at Catriona in surprise. “I have selected Thistlewood for a reason, but I did not expect you to have determined it.”

“Anyone with knowledge of Thistlewood’s history would be able to see your reasons.”

Branan tried to curb his frustration. “This is the first time I’ve heard of the place.”

“That be good to hear, lad,” Duguald said, “for if ye didna ken of it, Strickland willna either.”

“I dinna understand.”

“Thistlewood was a part of ye mother’s dowry when she married yer da.”

Branan arched an eyebrow.

Duguald chuckled. “Yer grandsire, as Warden of Inglewood, was quite a wealthy man. Your mother was his only issue. The tower here had fallen into disrepair, but when your parents toured their holdings, they fell in love with the place. In honor of their marriage, they decided to rebuild it, and yer da chose the hall and tower to be built in the Scottish fashion, calling it Thistlewood.”

Branan blinked, remembering a dim flash from so long ago; Strickland wielding a huge Scottish claymore with a thistle engraved on the hilt.

“Just as the building began at a good pace, yer da was murdered and the tower abandoned. I’d wager me whiskers, if ye didna ken of it, yer mother ne’er told Strickland about it.”