Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (18 page)

Tears pushed forward in her eyes. “Richard, I am so sorry.”

His dark eyes seemed dull with pain, his normally tanned skin gray from blood loss. A wisp of his long mahogany hair escaped its tie and brushed across his cheek. Gently, Catriona smoothed it from his face. To be sure, he was a handsome man. She only wished it did not have to end like this. Not with his death...Christ Almighty....not like this.

“You are my wife now,” Richard whispered, cupping her face in his hands. “All that I have is yours. Help Branan. He will take care of you. He loves you, my sweet.”

Catriona blinked at him, startled.

“Why do you think I was at odds with him so? I see it in his eyes every time he looks at you.” Sadness filled Richard’s gaze. “I had hoped, eventually, we might find love between us...you and I...but now . . . ”

“Catriona!” Branan’s voice roared across the bailey. “Behind you!”

She looked over her shoulder. Strickland had rallied a handful of men and they were coming toward them.

Richard snarled a curse, surging to his feet.

“Richard, nay!” Catriona gasped in horror.

He sagged against the wall, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword, his free hand pulling her closer. Richard’s mouth descended on hers for a hard kiss. Deep within, Catriona sensed his gentling and his sorrow, his lips slid over hers in a tender and poignant farewell.

Richard pulled back, and for a moment his eyes blazed with life. “Go now,” he said hoarsely. “Get to Branan. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.”

“Richard—”

“Silence, woman! Run!” He shoved her away and through an effort of supreme will stood on his own power, brandishing his sword.

Catriona hesitated, watching as Richard crossed swords with the first man. But he was weak from blood loss. He blocked two blows before the third slammed between his shoulder and neck, tearing flesh and cracking bone. A crimson stream spewed from the wound.

“Catriona!” Branan roared. “Run!”

Terror and sorrow cut through her as she saw Richard drop and knew he would never move again. Tears blurred her eyes as she sprinted away.

Another of Strickland’s men saw her. He broke away from the fighting and charged.

“Cruach Mór!”
a voice shouted.

Catriona looked up in confusion, knowing the voice was not Branan’s. Jamie ran toward her. Catriona sprinted to him with all her might, forcing her legs to move.

Jamie dove past her and tackled the soldier just as the man’s fingers brushed the fabric of her dress. They rolled on the ground, but it was Jamie who gained his feet first. His sword ended the man’s fight.

Catriona found herself trapped in a corner with wooden crates of supplies. She cast around for escape as Jamie backed toward her, determined to defend her with his life.

Her foot bumped something on the ground. Catriona saw more weapons strewn about...and a bow. Her gaze took in a quiver of arrows and then a second one caught her eye.

“What the hell am I doing?” she snarled. These bloody whoresons had slain Richard and it was damned sure time she made them pay. Catriona snatched up the bow and arrows. “Jamie,” she barked, moving toward the crates.

“Lass?” he asked, his voice fearful. Jamie spied the bow in her hand and a wry grin creased his face. “Aye, lassie,” he said and moved to give her a boost.

Catriona gained the top of the crates. Jamie spun, readying himself to meet the charge of the next attacker as he closed the distance. She drew a deep breath and expelled it to still her shaking limbs. Catriona nocked an arrow, pulled back the bow string, and sighted along the shaft. Just as the soldier raised his sword to attack Jamie, she opened her fingers.

The arrow buried in the man’s chest with such force it knocked him backward. His dead eyes stared at nothing. Wasting no time, Catriona nocked another arrow and loosed again, killing a second man. Then she spied the bastard...a third time an arrow flew. Unfortunately, it missed its target, but it forced David to make a frantic dive for cover behind a wagon. Two more arrows followed and buried in the wood.

She heard Branan whoop and caught his eye as he gazed up at her, grinning like a little boy. But she saw movement behind him and her humor vanished. Catriona aimed and before Branan could realize what was happening, her arrow zipped past his head, so close it stirred his long hair. He jerked away and spun around just as the missile killed the enemy lunging for his back.

Branan stared at the dead man on the ground. Wide-eyed, he faced her again.

Catriona winked at him.

Shouts arose. With the advent of an archer picking them off on a whim, many of Strickland’s men threw down their weapons and ran for the gates. A horse squealed loudly. From her vantage point on the crates, she saw David mount the beast and spur it forward, trying to escape.

“Catriona!” Branan shouted. He pointed at David with his sword. She was the only one who had a chance.

Again, she drew back her bow. Her arrow slammed into David’s shoulder, almost knocking him from his horse, but somehow he held on, continuing his mad charge for the gate.

She cursed and fired again, but missed.

Her third arrow hit the horse’s hip as it galloped through the barbican and she could no longer see her target.

“Bloody cod-sucker!” she screeched. She leaped from the crates. Her feet hit the ground and Branan’s arms enveloped her.

Lady de Courcy

B
ranan wrapped his arms around Catriona and lifted her from her feet. “Praise be,” he whispered. “Ye are safe.”

She clung to his neck and breathed a ragged sigh.

He released her just enough to return her to her feet. “Ye still amaze me, lass. Ye were bloody fine with that bow and turned the battle for us.”

Branan waited a moment and frowned when Catriona didn’t respond. His fingers gently tugged on her chin until she looked up at him. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

“Richard...” she choked.

He sighed softly. Catriona was not callous or cold, of course Richard’s death while defending her would hurt her heart. “Lass, I ken yer heart burdens ye, despite yer grief ye kept yer head, gained a weapon and rained death on the tosspots.”

Her arms tightened around him. “Please, Branan, I just want to go home.”

Home? He gazed down at her stunned. “To Thistlewood?”

“Aye, Branan. Thistlewood is my home, and by the rood, I can’t bear to be away another moment.”

The anguish he had suffered this day vanished in a heartbeat. “Aye.” He turned to find Jamie still standing next to him. “Jamie, lad, ye did well today. I thank ye for defending Catriona.”

He made a strange noise in his throat. “She didna need much defending.”

Branan laughed. “Aye. But we are still unstable here. I will return Catriona to Thistlewood. Tell Duguald to keep as many men as he needs to defend this place and send the rest home.”

“Aye, MacTavish.” Jamie hurried away.

Branan lifted Catriona into his arms and carried her to his horse.

His heart fairly sang as Branan returned with a small armed escort to Thistlewood. Those who had remained behind gathered around the riders as they dismounted, fearful because of the call for mercenaries to defend Brackenburgh and confused as to why Catriona returned.

Branan said nothing, his attention solely on Catriona. He helped her from his horse and again lifted her into his arms. Instead of going to her shelter, he passed it by and headed for the tower—and straight into his own solar.

He knew she was exhausted and the day’s events wore heavily on her, but there were still things he needed to discuss with her and they would not—could not—wait until tomorrow.

Branan sat Catriona on the edge of his bed and crouched before her. “Lass, can I get ye anything?”

She stared at nothing, the haunted misery in her eyes twisting his gut.

“Wine?” he asked.

Catriona nodded.

He sighed and rose. The servants kept a carafe of fine wine and two goblets on the table for him. Branan poured them each a glass.

Catriona strangled out a cry.

Branan spun, expecting to see Strickland charging through the door, but there was nothing there. Catriona moved violently, hauling her over-dress over her head. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

He set the cups down and lunged to her side. Before Branan could reach her, Catriona had hauled off her under-dress as well, wearing only a thin chemise. “The blood! Get it off me!”

Fear cut through him. What was wrong? Catriona was a healer, blood did not bother her. She stood, staring at her bloodstained hands, shaking violently.

Richard’s blood—the blood of her husband. Suddenly he understood.

Branan gently gripped her hands. “Catriona,” he said softly but firmly, snapping her out of her panic. He guided her to a basin on another table and poured water over her hands from the ewer. Branan cleaned the blood from Catriona’s hands and his own, but her shaking did not ease.

“My ill wishes crossed him,” she whispered so softly he barely heard her. “’Tis my fault he is dead.”

“What? Catriona, nay, that no’ be true.”

“You don’t understand. Before Strickland attacked, Richard...he begged my forgiveness. He said he only acted as he did because he feared for me. Richard had realized his mistakes and was trying to correct them. Branan...all he wanted was to be a good husband to me...his only hope was that love might grow between us. Then he died defending me.”

Branan crushed her to his chest. “Nay, Catriona, if anyone crossed him, ’twas me,” he murmured and described his time spent in prayer the night before. “This was no’ yer doing.” She still trembled against him. He reached over with a long arm and snagged the cup he had poured for her, pressing it into her hands. “Drink, it will help calm ye.”

She did so, draining almost half the cup.

He snagged his own and guided her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Richard told me all he owned was now mine, and that I was to help you in your cause. He said you would keep me safe because...because you love me.” Catriona looked up at him, her tear-filled sapphire eyes reflecting anguish, but also a spark of hope.

Branan wanted to turn away, but hiding from the truth had brought naught but pain—he had learned that today when he gave Catriona’s hand to another man. “Aye, my bonny lass, I love ye. Since the night ye found me bleeding in the forest, I have loved ye.” Branan lowered his head and kissed Catriona with the passion that had been burning for so long it had nearly torn him apart.

A soft groan escaped her and she relaxed, timidly returning his kiss. Her hand moved to grip his tunic. He pulled her closer, but at the same time moved her toward the center of the bed. His body covered hers and he gradually lowered himself, his swelling shaft pressing against her thigh.

Fire roared through Branan as Catriona’s lips parted and he swept his tongue across hers, exploring her mouth with wondrous abandon, savoring her sweet taste and the gentle scent of jasmine that surrounded him. Branan’s desire threatened to rage out of control, but he knew he had to move slowly, to counter each of her doubts with love and passion, to firmly put her fears away from her one at a time. Only then would he truly be able to touch Catriona’s heart.

Slowly, her hands slid up his chest, then languorously over his back. He pulled away enough to haul his tunic off and quickly returned to kiss her again. Branan shivered as he felt her firm breasts against him through her thin chemise. He desperately wanted to rid Catriona of the flimsy garment standing in his way, but feared moving too quickly for her. Branan slid his hand under its hem, caressing the soft silk of her leg. Lightly, he traced his mouth down her throat, pleased at the breathy sigh that escaped her and how she lifted her head to give him free access.

Catriona’s fingers continued to move over his chest, brushing his flat nipple and caressing each cut and curve of muscle. Despite his best intentions to move slowly, Branan discovered he couldn’t stand having anything between him and her bare skin. He backed away from the bed, standing, and tugged her chemise over her head. His breath caught as he gazed at Catriona’s beauty, her naked body on his bed before him, her red-gold hair fanned out around her. Her lashes lowered, her eyes dark and smoky with desire, her gaze wandering over him in blatant lust. The golden light of the hearth fire and the candles danced and shimmered over her skin. He quickly shucked the rest of his clothing. Her gaze fell on his upright, swollen cock and her eyes widened.

“Nay,” Branan said, before fear could replace her passion. He took Catriona’s hand and guided her to stroke him. His groan rumbled low and savage as she fondled him. Her hand moved timidly at first, but her confidence grew and she sat up. “Aye, Catriona,” he said, his voice so hoarse he barely recognized it as his own. “Explore my body as it pleases ye.”

Suddenly, her mouth closed on his cock and she powerfully drew on him. Branan threw his head back, strangling on a cry as shock and pleasure roared through him and his vision exploded with color. He nearly spilled his seed with the glory of her heated mouth suckling him. His hands touched Catriona’s head, his fingers weaving through the soft wealth of her hair. His body moved on its own, thrusting his hips forward, his fingers tightening in her hair. Damnation, never in his life had he experienced such pleasure. Branan’s lust grew to a fever pitch and he realized if he didn’t pull away from her, he would spill his seed in her mouth and be finished in moments, but Branan could not move, never wanting it to stop. Somehow, he found the strength to back away, only to return and bear her down on the bed. His mouth ravished hers, his right had found her breast and he pushed his right leg between her thighs, pressing against her mound of curls. He felt her damp heat, her femininity slick with desire.

Branan feared he would hurt Catriona when he breached her maidenhead, but her mouth on his cock had rendered him nothing more than a rutting beast. He had to be inside her, he had to bury himself, there was no way he could stop now. “God be merciful,” he growled.

Catriona grew more aggressive. Branan’s heart took wing as she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him forcefully, this time her tongue teasing his lips, requesting entrance. He happily acceded to her request, startled as she took full advantage of it. Catriona arched her back, pressing herself more firmly against him.

He trailed soft kisses down her neck and then her shoulder and moved away to gaze upon her. Branan’s breath caught at the wonderful sight before him. Slowly, reverently, he kissed her soft breast.

She gasped as he gently drew it into his mouth. Catriona pushed herself up a bit more on her elbows and Branan risked a glance up at her. Her head was back, her eyes squeezed shut, and her lips parted as she fought to catch her breath. His lips and tongue teased the delicate bud in his mouth, he lightly brushed his teeth over the sensitive skin, then it was his turn to draw on her powerfully.

“Oh!” she breathed, startled, but she did not try to pull away. Catriona simply froze under him, her only movement the uncontrollable quivering of her body.

Branan moved to her other breast and repeated his actions. This time when he drew on her, her body nearly convulsed.

He continued to feast on her body, his hands sliding downward. Branan reveled in the feel of Catriona’s soft skin and her graceful curves. He inhaled deeply the heady scent of her femininity, which seemed to grow stronger with each moment. Branan felt a light sheen of sweat on her skin, which fueled the searing fire burning in his loins. He released her breast and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her ear. He slid his fingers down to toy with the thick curls of her mound. Catriona squeezed her eyes shut and moved her hips toward his hand.

Branan sat back slightly, unable to resist a smile of very masculine satisfaction, and firmly stroked her slick, hard nub.

She gasped her eyes flying open, not in fear, but in surprise and wonder. He leaned forward a fraction. “Let yerself feel, lassie. Give yerself to the pleasure. Offer yerself to me and I shall love ye like a goddess.”

Catriona moaned in response, a breathy, feminine gasp, her body instinctively opening to him. Branan simply savored the sight of her. The lust within him bordered on agony, his body demanded release, but he stayed his course with a savage resolve.

He stroked and caressed her, listening to her soft moans of pleasure. He moved his thumb over the swollen nub and carefully thrust his finger inside her.

She cried out, her hands reaching up and clutching the pillows; she lifted her hips, her body trembling. A second finger followed the first. Branan caressed her walls, gently stretching and molding, trying to prepare her body as much as he could. Saints have mercy, but she was gloriously tight, her body slick and heated. She moaned again, her control crumbling. Her fingers threatened to impale the pillows as her body writhed in response to his touch. Catriona murmured his name, her breath coming in tortured gasps.

Branan summoned every ounce of resolve he had left. He felt a tremor move deep within her. He stroked himself with his free hand, feeling moisture bead on the top of his cock. Not yet, not yet. He fondled her, he teased her, he brought her to the edge and left her suspended. Before he could question the wisdom of his actions, he placed himself between her legs, and with one quick, deep thrust, he tore her maidenhead asunder.

In the instant of Catriona’s pain, Branan’s thumb pressed hard on her slick nub and her fulfillment possessed her. She cried out as her body became a slave to her own pleasure. Catriona screamed his name as he buried himself hard and retreated only to thrust again. Branan’s control shattered and he pushed deeper and harder. He prayed she would forgive him, but he couldn’t stop himself, his need was a primal force so deep he could no longer deny it. Catriona’s body tightened around him as waves of pleasure rocked through her.

Her hands reached for him, her legs wrapped around him, her body eased, and he suddenly realized she didn’t want it to. Branan pushed hard again and shuddered as the tip of his cock crested the deepest part of Catriona’s body. He could go no further and instead ground his hips against her, his hands pulling her against him. Branan watched in amazement as Catriona cried his name and her pleasure struck a second time, a violent tempest, her body convulsing around him and demanding his seed. It ripped from the deepest part of his being, and he threw himself after her, calling her name and following her over the edge.

HHH

Branan awoke slowly, the hazy dawn in the room melting into clarity. It all seemed like a dream, but feeling Catriona curled in his arms with her head on his chest made everything wonderfully and powerfully real. An emotion rose within him, terrifying in its intensity. Was this love? He suddenly felt as helpless as he had as a child. As if he rushed headlong into something he could not hope to control, and it was more dangerous than his destiny. His arms tightened around Catriona and he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head.

There was one thing he could not deny.

The awful blackness within Branan had eased, replaced by a peace he had never experienced. He marveled at the change, that he had found the answers not in battle, but in Catriona’s arms.

Catriona stirred, sliding her hand languorously across his chest, then muttered something under her breath.

“Good morrow to ye too,” he said with a grin.