Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (16 page)

Catriona also found herself dreading the day of her wedding, which seemed to loom before her all too quickly. She had only another sennight of freedom.

And freedom was the only way she could describe living at Thistlewood.

She loved this place, and more importantly, she was needed here. But after Catriona married Richard, she would no doubt be locked in his solar. She would go mad with worry, not knowing what was happening or how Branan fared. Would he be able to visit her on occasion, or would Richard hide her away like a leper?

She sighed and forced her attention back to her work. Thinking about her fate only made her weary and sad.

Until Death Do Us Part

T
he sennight passed. Branan’s knees ached, but he remained in the small chapel, where he had been praying all night. The chapel near the tower was crude by most standards, made of rough-hewn wood. Recently, Brother Gregory had joined them as their priest. The cross Branan had made for his foster-parents’ memorial adorned the basic altar. Unfortunately, the quiet solitude of the tiny place gave Branan no solace.

The dawn brought with it Catriona’s wedding day.

Branan had been on his knees all night, begging God not to awaken the sun. With the earnestness of Christ in the Garden, he prayed for a miracle—that Catriona would somehow avoid this fate, that he would not lose her to another man.

But the Almighty remained silent, and as dawn grew in strength, Branan felt the approach of destruction as clearly as Christ knew when the soldiers came for him...and when he suffered Judas’s betrayal.

John de Reigny had betrayed Branan by sealing his daughter’s fate in favor of his foster-son’s future.

Branan heard the first stirrings of life outside and slowly rose, his muscles and joints throbbing. But nothing matched the agony in his heart. Branan had vowed to escort Catriona to her wedding today, and although it would mean the devastation of his spirit, he would uphold that oath. He would not abandon Catriona, and he would not pass on his last chance to spend time with her before she became another man’s wife.

Branan trudged out of the chapel and returned to the tower solar, where he cleaned himself up and changed into his finest garb. He, Gavin, Duguald, and the Scotsmen who accompanied him, would escort Catriona to the chapel at Brackenburgh. Although he dreaded this day, he vowed it would be perfect for Catriona.

An hour later, Branan critically reviewed the entourage. Horses and armor gleamed in the pale sunlight. He had found a small palfrey for Catriona, which was so gray it was white, without a dark hair on it. The ladies had woven flowers in its mane, but right now it strained against the page holding it, trying to nibble on a tender shoot of grass. The Scotsmen flanked the palfrey. A few paces behind stood the horses for Catriona’s ladies-in-waiting.

Branan tore his gaze away and looked up at the sun. The morning aged and Catriona had not yet emerged from the tower. Did she find it as necessary to delay as he did?

The members of Thistlewood gathered, waiting expectantly. Finally, Branan spotted movement at the door of the tower as Catriona and her maids emerged.

She was so beautiful she brought tears to his eyes.

Her under-dress was made of a fine white linen which de Courcy had acquired in his business dealings. The quality was greater than anything Branan had ever seen. An expensive blue brocade, also from de Courcy, made her over-dress. It was belted with a gold-beaded girdle. A small gold coronet woven with tiny white flowers adorned her hair, which flowed freely down her back. Long trails of flowers descended with the red-gold locks. She moved with grace and beauty.

Catriona approached and her gaze locked on his. Her blue eyes, reflecting the deep color of her brocade, appeared as intense as a summer sky. But as she stared at him, he saw them mist with tears. Branan had to force himself to look away, lest the sorrow in her eyes shred his heart and force him into an action which would destroy them both.

All he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and ride away, never to be seen again.

Somehow, Branan managed to curb the insane desire, which increased in power with every heartbeat. Summoning his courage, he strode to her.

“My lady,” he said, his voice thick as he bowed. “Ye are radiant this day.”

Catriona offered a hesitant smile, then her teeth nibbled at her lower lip.

Branan reined in his emotions as violently as he would a wild stallion. From his pouch, he pulled a small item wrapped in a cloth made of the same weave as his plaid.

“This is for ye, lass,” Branan whispered, stepping closer, even though he demanded that his feet remain in place. “Carry it with ye and ken that ye carry my heart.”

She blinked in surprise, then took the bundle and slowly opened it. Nestled in her palm was the tiny cross he had given her for her birthday, the one he had found in the ashes of her home.

“Oh,” Catriona breathed, her free hand traveling to her lips. She looked up at him, a single tear finally escaping. “My cross. Where did you find it, Branan?”

“It matters not,” he said, brushing the tear from her cheek. “Dinna cry lass, ’tis your wedding day.”

Suddenly, she looked as if she would lose control completely.

Branan wanted to scream his frustration to the heavens. All of their discussions, all of the arguments and reasons not to go through with this, stampeded through his mind like a wild herd. Yet he kept his jaw clamped shut. They had already said all they needed to say, and he would not add more weight to her shoulders.

Instead, Branan took a deep breath. “Allow me to assist ye.”

She nodded, fisting her hand around his gift. He gently gripped her slight waist and helped her mount.

Catriona settled herself in the saddle and Branan backed away as her maids arranged her skirts. He watched her, but she refused to look at him again, holding the necklace so tightly her knuckles turned white. Slowly, he turned and walked to his destrier.

Branan mounted and glanced over his shoulder. Gavin approached his sister and gently gripped her hand. He spoke to her, but Branan could not hear what he said. Yet he saw Catriona’s face pale even more and she gave Gavin a slight, but firm shake of her head. Branan scowled. What words had Gavin spoken?

Her brother squeezed her fingers, Catriona’s expression eased, and Gavin walked to his horse. Branan led the party from Thistlewood on the path to Brackenburgh.

He purposefully kept a slow pace, his fool war horse chafing against the bit. The animal arched his neck and lifted his hooves in an exaggerated prance. All too quickly, Brackenburgh came into view. Branan glanced over his shoulder at the entourage, still in fine form, then looked down at his mount, who was acting as if he led the queen’s royal party.

Branan lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. No doubt they all made an impressive sight. He only wished the circumstances were as such that he could truly enjoy it.

They entered the gates of Brackenburgh and Branan immediately spotted de Courcy waiting with his own entourage at the door of the keep. Branan felt a fierce stab of pride as de Courcy’s eyes widened upon seeing them.

Branan’s emotion quickly melted into primal jealousy. He suddenly wished he had ordered Catriona dressed in sack-cloth with straw in her hair and a surly mule to ride. He chastised himself; even presented thusly Catriona would still be beautiful. This day deserved to be hers alone. Everything would be perfect, even if he had to brain a few people to make it happen.

His gaze locked on de Courcy, whose expression had changed from impressed to gloating. Branan suddenly knew on which skull he had to start.

They stopped in the bailey and Branan dismounted, moving to Catriona to help her from her horse. He wrapped his arm about hers and Gavin stepped forward, taking her other arm. Branan felt her shaking so hard he feared she might collapse. They stepped away from the horses, her maidens following.

De Courcy approached and bowed.

Gavin spoke, his voice low and strained. “I present to you my beloved sister, Lady Catriona de Reigny, for marriage as agreed in the betrothal contract signed by my father.”

De Courcy bowed again and extended his arm. “Well met, and thank you for coming.”

Branan willed himself to step back and release Catriona’s arm, but he couldn’t. De Courcy blinked at him in confusion and somehow Branan compelled his body to move.

De Courcy usurped Branan’s place, but surprisingly, Gavin delayed even longer than Branan. He stared down at Catriona, and for the first time, Branan saw concern and worry in his eyes. He offered a smile, but it was halfhearted. Dear Lord, Gavin’s hesitation would make things even harder on Catriona.

Finally, Gavin released her and moved next to Branan. They hovered right behind the couple, like two guardian angels.

“What did ye say to her afore we left Thistlewood?” Branan whispered.

Gavin’s jaw tightened. “I told her again, if she changed her mind, you and I would support any decision she might make.”

“I dinna wish her to do this.”

“Neither do I. But de Courcy has fulfilled his part of the betrothal contract. If Catriona decides not to go through with this, de Courcy has the money to petition the bishop’s court. She might find herself without a dowry, and I may lose a substantial amount of de Reigny holdings.”

“And Catriona willna risk that.”

Gavin nodded firmly.

They stopped on the steps of the chapel in the bailey. Branan stood strong as the priest performed the ceremony, but he felt short of breath—as if someone were standing on his chest. He wanted to scream for this to stop. He wanted to draw his claymore, grab Catriona, and pull her out by force.

But he remained mute and unmoving.

At the end of the ceremony, the priest commanded de Courcy to kiss the bride. Red spots appeared in Branan’s vision as de Courcy brushed his lips over Catriona’s. Branan clearly recalled the fire a kiss from Catriona could ignite in a man. Only ironclad willpower kept him in his place.

After Mass inside the chapel, the wedding party entered the castle for the feast and revel. Branan knew he would not be able to eat, but wondered if he could drink himself into oblivion with de Courcy’s fine wine.

His gaze returned to Catriona. Her jaw remained clenched and her face appeared pallid. At some point, she had used one of her hair ribbons and returned the cross he had given her to her throat. She had not spoken a word except to state the vows and voice her assent to the marriage. Branan grew more concerned over her.

Afternoon aged to evening as the revel commenced. The gates of the castle remained open to allow the revelers to come and go as they pleased. Torches lit the bailey and the guests feasted and danced. De Courcy and Catriona accepted the congratulations of well-wishers. De Courcy no longer seemed overbearing, but neither did he seem to notice that Catriona appeared close to collapse.

Branan’s jaw tightened, but it was not his place to protect her. It was her husband’s duty to mind her welfare, and Branan had no say in the matter.

His shoulders bowing, he decided he could remain no longer. He had to leave and try to salvage what was left of his heart. Moving with purpose toward the couple, he bowed, then dropped to one knee before Catriona.

“Lass,” he said taking her hand in his. “I must beg yer leave on this evening. Know I wish ye happiness and prosperity in the future.”

She blanched then smiled, squeezing his hand firmly.

Fortunately, another guest, well into his cups, distracted de Courcy with slurred congratulations.

Catriona leaned forward. “Thank you, Branan,” she whispered into his ear. “Know my heart will always be yours.”

A sharp pain cut through his chest, and he quickly rose. Branan kissed Catriona’s cheek and for a moment he remained frozen, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. He tried to commit every detail to memory: her gentle beauty, her wonderful scent, and the feel of her hand in his. “Be well, my sweet,” he whispered, then quickly walked away. Motioning to the others, he waited impatiently at the door as those from Thistlewood bid their farewells to her.

The last was Gavin. Branan’s throat tightened as her brother swept Catriona into a strong embrace that lifted her from her feet. She clung to him, and Branan feared she would burst into a storm of tears. Gavin released her and kissed her cheek. He joined Branan and the other men, who were all quickly moving into the bailey.

The sun had set, leaving a faint orange glow on the western horizon. The sky turned a deep velvet blue, with only the brightest stars visible. The pressure in Branan’s chest grew worse as he mounted his horse and they rode through the gates.

They descended from the high motte that formed the castle’s foundation and rode across a flat field before traveling up a rise and turning onto the trail that would take them back to Thistlewood. Branan paused on the rise, looking back at Brackenburgh. The glow of the torches was still visible. The keep, though built for war, looked warm and inviting with its gates open and people passing in and out. But Branan knew that was only because he had left the one who meant the most to him behind its walls.

“Laddie,” Duguald said, moving his horse next to his. Gavin flanked him on the other side. “Are ye well? Ye appear rather gray.”

Branan shook his head, forcing his gaze back to the trail. He sighed and winced as the pain in his chest increased. “I’ve faced many difficult trials in my life, but none so great as this.”

Duguald scowled. “I dinna think—”

“Duguald, ye told me not to lose my heart, but I didna listen.” He paused, locking his uncle in his gaze. “I love her.” Branan turned his mount and kicked it into a trot.

Duguald and Gavin made no move to catch up, and he put two lengths between them before slowing to a walk. He heard them talking quietly, but could not make out their words.

They approached the tree line and Branan could not resist one last look back. He shouldn’t, it would only cause more pain, but he couldn’t stop himself.

As he stared at the huge keep, he wondered if his heart would ever heal. Branan had been so daft not to realize the aching desire within him was not simply lust, but a much more powerful emotion. He had ignored it, because he had thought that part of him was dead, but now he realized the truth too late. Would he ever be able to love again? Would he ever find a woman he could love as much as Catriona?

Branan muttered a bitter curse, ready to turn away, for he knew the answer to that question. The flicker of a torch caught his eye. He blinked and focused his vision. This torchlight was not coming from the castle, but moving toward it over the dark land. Late-arriving guests? Then he saw more torches, at least half a dozen. Branan scowled and jerked his horse to a stop. The animal snorted in protest, lifting its hooves off the ground. He ignored the beast. More torches joined the first group.