Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (20 page)

“I am sorry,” his voice grated in her ear, still raw.

“Sorry for what?”

“I shouldna...I ended it too quickly and didna see to ye, lass.” Slowly, he backed away and lowered her to her feet. Branan’s body continued to quiver and she feared he might collapse.

She glanced at the bed they hadn’t been able to reach. Her lips twitched. “My lord...I am sure you can make it up to me...I do believe we have all night.”

Branan’s eyes ignited with the fire Catriona so loved but rarely saw. A delightfully wicked chuckle rumbled through him.

Hours later, Catriona lay curled in Branan’s arms in well-sated enjoyment. She toyed with his hair, running her fingers through the thick locks, admiring how it shone blue-black in the candlelight.

Unexpected tears clouded her vision. “Branan,” she whispered. “It nearly killed me when you left.”

He blinked at her, startled. “What mean ye, lass?”

“When you left ten years ago. I awoke that night to see you disappear into the darkness. You never said good-bye.”

“Lass...I...yer father said he would tell ye. Uncle Duguald arrived and John thought it prudent I go to Scotland immediately. Strickland’s spies were on the verge of finding me.”

It was her turn to blink at him, stunned. “My father never spoke of it. I waited for you to come home. I had been certain my father would betroth me to you. But as the years passed and you never returned, I thought he was angry with you for abandoning us.”

Branan shook his head, the thick locks of his hair tumbling around his face, making him appear more dark and roguish. “But it was he who sent me with Uncle Duguald. I never wanted to leave ye and the new home I had found. I canna believe he didna tell ye.”

Catriona gazed at him a long moment, struggling to comprehend her father’s actions and reasons, but ultimately failing. Gently, Catriona traced her fingers over the elegant sweep of Branan’s cheek.

“Please,” she said, disliking the desperation in her voice. “Do not leave me like that again. Please.”

He stared at her then took her hand in his, pulling it to his lips. “I vow on my soul,” Branan whispered. “I will never leave ye.”

HHH

A sennight passed and Branan received an urgent message from Edmund. He looked for Catriona, but did not see her. She was probably still in the tower. Moving away from prying eyes, he removed the scroll from its case and broke the seal.

Laird MacTavish,

A law cleric from the bishop’s court arrived this morning and delivered a writ. Strickland does not believe my lady’s marriage is valid and has petitioned the bishop’s court to have it set aside. As we feared, he requests that Brackenburgh, along with the remainder of the de Courcy’s holdings, come under his control as Warden of Inglewood.

The law cleric believes Strickland has also petitioned the king to award all of de Courcy’s lands, money, and holdings directly to him since my lord did not have any living family or heirs. It is doubtful the king will grant Strickland his request in its entirety, but most likely he will gain the majority, with the rest parceled out at the king’s pleasure.

I attempted to convince the law cleric that I have seen with my own eyes the proof their marriage was consummated, but he is unwilling to believe me because my lady is not here. He wishes to speak with her immediately. I told him she is touring her holdings, but I fear this does not sit well with him. As stubborn as my lord was regarding my lady’s adventuresome spirit, the law cleric is even more so.

The chambermaid who cleaned my lord’s solar found proof of their joining and brought it to me. Because there was no bedding ceremony, I thought it prudent to keep it in a safe place rather than allow it to be washed.

I fear we have sore need of our lady to return, forthwith. I strongly believe the largest issue to overcome is that my lady is not in residence. Once people see her, especially if she assumes her duties as chatelaine, this vile rumor of an invalid marriage will vanish.

I pray that you and my lady are well.

Your humble servant,

Edmund

Branan sighed heavily. Catriona was not going to like this news, but he turned and went to find her.

It didn’t take Branan long to locate Catriona, and he led her to the solar. It was quite difficult to remain focused on his goal when a few stolen kisses deepened into intense, passionate ones. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath.

“Catriona,” he said softly. “I dinna wish to tell ye this news.”

She started to lean forward, as if she intended to become the aggressor with her kisses, but stopped, hearing his words. “What’s wrong, Branan?”

“Strickland has petitioned the bishop’s court, challenging the validity of yer marriage.”

Catriona backed away, her face paling. “And he is right.”

Branan shook his head. “Nay. I found a solution.”

A frown creased her brow. “What in heaven’s name—” Abruptly, she stopped, her eyes widening. “So that’s why you were gone and the maid was redressing the bed when I returned.”

“Aye, lassie, I didna wish to trouble ye over it.”

“But there was no bedding ceremony, no witnesses—”

“Catriona,” he said, caressing her cheek. “Dinna fash yerself. Granted, there was no bedding ceremony, but a chambermaid at Brackenburgh found the evidence the next morning when she cleaned her deceased lord’s solar. She brought the linens to Edmund and he has kept them safe away. There will be two who will vow the marriage was valid.”

Her cheeks burned bright red and she ducked her head.

“Catriona, forgive me.”

“Who...who knows the truth?”

“Edmund, and he is the only one who does. He vowed on the Rood to say nothing. Edmund’s terrified Brackenburgh with fall to Strickland’s control. He and the other servants would pay a terrible price if that happens.”

“Why? Is it not customary to keep the staff in place?”

“Not with Strickland, and not when it was someone who gave him grief. When I was nine, a landed seneschal died and his holdings fell to Strickland. He and Strickland were constantly at each other’s throats. Strickland made me accompany him when he rode to take control of the holdings, telling me it was time for me to learn for when I would be Warden.”

Branan paused and drew a deep breath, wondering why in the hell he was reliving this memory—one he had thought long buried. He didn’t want to tell her, she didn’t need to hear this. But as her hand stroked through his hair, Branan continued. “The lord was dead and beyond Strickland’s vengeance. So Strickland demanded it from the servants. The steward, constable, chatelaine, and others of moderate rank, he ordered hanged. Then he loosed his soldiers on the rest. They beat and raped the women, tortured and killed the men, and I willna tell ye what they did to the youths...” Branan closed his eyes and shivered. “Strickland forced me to watch the horror. I became violently ill . . . he laughed . . . ”

“Oh, sweet Mary, Branan,” Catriona whispered and wrapped her arms around him.

He held her as tightly as he dared, trying to close the door on the awful memory, but he could not shove the horror back. “For three days after, I couldna keep any food down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. In the silence, I heard their screams. If it hadna been for my mother, I would have thought it the way of things. But my mother told me it was all Strickland’s evil. She tried to allay my nightmares with her stories of the gallant knight. He would never do such a thing. On the contrary, it was his duty to protect those people and keep them safe from harm. He would have demanded Strickland’s blood.”

“Dear God, Branan, I am so sorry. I knew Strickland was a monster, but never had I—”

Branan shook his head and rose, crossing the room to pour two cups of wine. “I shouldna have told ye. No doubt yer father didna, for a lady shouldna ken of these things.” He returned and handed one to her.

He took a long drink, trying to gather himself.

“Edmund, I know, is loyal,” Catriona said. “He was devoted to Richard.”

“Aye,” Branan replied, grateful for her change in subject. “And he adores ye.”

Her lips lifted slightly and he felt his own agony ease.

“So we know the servants would prefer I be their lady.”

“Aye, you must return, but I ken you’ll be safe there, and have the support of the household.”

Catriona downed the contents of her cup. “But you will not be there.”

Branan took her cup and refilled it, handing it back. “I canna, lass. We canna yet stand against Strickland in a full-scale battle. The only reason we are safe here is Strickland hasna yet found Thistlewood. But he will soon, ’tis only a matter of time. Honestly, I prefer ye behind the safety of the walls of Brackenburgh. It is much more defendable.”

She looked up, her eyes liquid with unshed tears, and there was a desolation about her expression that nearly unraveled him. “Branan, you promised. You promised never to leave me again.”

“I am no’ leavin’ ye, lass. Ye just be going to Brackenburgh for a time.”

“Without you.”

Branan sighed, his shoulders slumped. “Ye ken we canna risk it.”

“I don’t care about the risk, Branan. It tore my heart out when you left for Scotland—and I felt that same agony on my wedding day. I don’t want to say good-bye to you again.”

“Ye willna say good-bye. I will be here. We will send messages. I will have Jamie act as herald.”

“You don’t understand, do you? You have no idea what that day did to me. You have no idea how much it hurt to watch you ride away with Duguald, never looking back.”

“Lass, I do ken, for that pain was, and still is, raw in my heart.”

“You never looked back! You never said good-bye. You just vanished into the mist that created you. How do I know you will not vanish again?”

Branan’s heart twisted, he struggled to shove his emotions down so he could think, so he could find the words.

“You gave me your word, Branan, and now you are sending me away.”

“Catriona—”

She waved him off and walked to the door.

“Catriona,” he said, his voice sharper.

Her hand fell on the door and she stopped, her head bowed.

“Catriona that night...I wanted to say good-bye to ye.” His voice thickened with remembered heartbreak. He could barely speak through the constriction of his throat.

She turned around and gazed up at him, wide-eyed.

“I wanted to promise ye I’d return.” Branan struggled to steady himself, the pain of this memory no less agonizing than the one of Strickland’s horror. “I didna look back because I knew...if I did...I’d never leave ye.”

Catriona choked on a sob and Branan knew she wavered between darting out the door and remaining. She flung herself at him, sobbing terribly. Branan held her and felt his own tears escaping. It was only now that he realized how deeply that night had wounded them both.

“I love ye, Catriona,” he whispered. He held his breath. Would she answer in kind?

She sobbed harder, but took a deep breath. “And I love you, Branan, that is why this hurts so much.”

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. Branan gripped her left hand and sank to one knee before her. Her rejection not long ago remained raw in his heart and he prayed she would not reject him again.

“Catriona, I shall ask a second time, will ye marry me?”

So great was her shock, her tears stopped. She simply stared at him.

“I understand why ye denied me afore.”

She took a breath to speak, but his free hand moved and he held his fingers to her lips.

“Hear me out first, lass. I ken it willna be wise to marry now. Should Strickland hear rumor of it, he will attack Brackenburgh with all he has. But I ask for your promise to marry me with a tradition the Scots recognize as far more binding than a betrothal.”

“More binding?” Catriona asked in confusion.

“Tonight, before God, we shall have the priest perform a handfasting ceremony.”

“Handfasting?”

“Aye lass, ’tis a binding promise two lovers share, far greater than any contract written on parchment, and more precious than any amount of coin or land.”

Suddenly, she smiled through her tears. “Then a handfasting we shall have.”

Grief

C
atriona approached Brackenburgh with Greystoke’s mercenary group as her personal guard. Branan’s threat of death if they failed in their duty hung over their heads. She was not allowed to go anywhere outside of Brackenburgh without an armed escort.

Greystoke rode easily beside her, his men ranging around them in a loose diamond formation, and she discovered he was an intelligent and highly educated young man who enjoyed good conversation. “I have found,” he said, when Catriona asked him about the formation, “this grouping is very fluid and works extremely well for quick adjustments, depending on what challenges we face. With me riding beside you, I can take control of your horse if I need to.”

Catriona arched an eyebrow at him.

Greystoke chuckled. “Although, I strongly doubt I will have to do that. It also doesn’t hurt that attackers have a tendency to ignore me in this position, believing I’m preoccupied with my ward. That opportunity allows me to relieve them of their heads before they know what’s coming.”

“An interesting strategy, Sir Greystoke.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He fell silent for a moment, his expression pensive.

“What’s wrong?”

“I . . . I fear you may think me too forward . . . but . . . ” He drew a deep breath and sighed. “You know I was at Brackenburgh during Strickland’s attack.”

She shivered. “Honestly, Sir Greystoke . . . ”

“Nay,” he replied. “I know that was a terrible day for you, but I did see your archery skills firsthand. My lady, you were quite impressive.”

She gave him a halfhearted smile. “Thank you, Sir Greystoke.”

He smiled and nodded.

Brackenburgh loomed closer and Catriona rubbed her temples.

“Are you feeling all right, my lady?”

“Nay,” she said tightly. “The closer I get, the worse my headache gets.”

“Aye. Please tell me if it becomes too much for you.”

Unfortunately, Catriona’s conversation with Greystoke did not distract her for very long. Her heart ached at leaving Branan behind. Last night, he had briefly toyed with the idea of disguising himself as a mercenary in order to oversee her arrival, but ultimately decided against it. Tears blurred her eyes. She felt utterly alone—more so than when she stood at the doors of the chapel and exchanged vows with Richard. But the handfasting ceremony with Branan last night had been beautiful and poignant. Needless to say, Catriona did not get much sleep, both of them knowing they would not see each other again for a long time.

Catriona’s stomach curled into a sickening knot as she entered the bailey. Her head pounded mercilessly. She saw Edmund and several servants standing at the base of the stairs. Her hands suddenly felt clammy and sweaty. The realization that she knew no one struck her. Catriona had no friends here...she had left everyone behind. She had only exchanged meaningless pleasantries with Edmund and a chambermaid.

As much as Catriona wanted to haul her horse around and gallop out of the gates, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, determined to face the challenges before her with courage.

Edmund grinned broadly as she pulled her horse to a stop He quickly moved to assist her, the mercenaries allowing him to pass unquestioned.

“My lady, ‘tis wonderful to see you. I trust your tour went well?”

“That it did, Edmund.”

“Excellent, my lady.” He offered her his arm. “You have returned at a precipitous time. If you are not too weary from your journey, there is someone here who seeks audience with you. I fear it is quite urgent.”

They stepped away from the horses and toward the stairs, Greystoke and one of his men flanking them.

“Of course, Edmund. Allow me to get cleaned up and I shall receive him this evening.”

“My lady,” a young man said. He wore expensive finery as befitted his station. He would have been reasonably good-looking except for a peculiar dent in his nose as if it had been badly broken at one time. A law cleric involved in fisticuffs? Perhaps it had happened before he joined the church. Among the nobility, unless the lands were extensive, the firstborn son would gain the inheritance, leaving second and third sons with nothing, so they often entered the church. The young man pushed his way forward and rudely stepped into Catriona’s path, forcing her to stop.

The ring of steel sounded and two swords suddenly appeared out of nowhere, crossed in front of Catriona and blocking the man’s advance. She nearly leaped backward, they startled her so badly. But she realized Greystoke meant his words. The young man had intruded and her guards would not allow him to get within arm’s reach of her.

As startled as she had been, the young man was even more so. He staggered backward, his face draining of color. “What is the meaning of this?”

Sir Greystoke stepped forward. His expression was flat and his body bowed as if with rage. He spoke calmly, but Catriona realized his jaw was clenched so tightly it was a miracle he could form the words. There was something here she was not seeing. A knight as professional as Greystoke would not demonstrate such anger in the face of a bumbling sod who stepped on etiquette.

“My lord, you will maintain a respectful distance from the lady.”

“I am on urgent business on behalf of the bishop’s court. This cannot wait.”

“You will wait until my lady is prepared to grant you an audience.”

“Who do you think you are? This is outrageous! Once my superiors hear of this—”

Edmund discretely whispered in Catriona’s ear. “His lordship, Rhys of Gloucester, law cleric for the bishop.”

“Hear of what, your lordship?” Catriona snapped. She did not move from behind her two guards, suddenly grateful they were there. “Will they hear how Strickland attacked and murdered my husband the night of my wedding? How I barely escaped with my life?” She felt tears burning in her eyes. “Will they hear how after the attack, my household garrison did not have enough men to guard the walls? I certainly hope they hear of it in detail! Do you have any idea what it is like having the sword of Damocles hanging over my head every time I set foot on the king’s road? These guards are not just a luxury, your lordship. If I wish to continue breathing, they are a necessity.” She looked up at Greystoke. “My thanks to you, sir.”

“You are most welcome, my lady.” He hesitated and whispered something to the knight who stood guard at her other side. Catriona did not catch his words, but she heard the urgency. The knight nodded once and barked a command to another mercenary. He moved out of the way as the man took his place. He then sprinted back to his horse before the page could lead it away.

Confused at his odd behavior, Catriona looked up at Greystoke in surprise when he again spoke to her. “May I escort you inside? I am sure you would like to refresh yourself after your journey.”

Sir Greystoke pushed past the outraged law cleric and led the way up the stairs. Edmund remained beside her, her hand still light upon his arm. The replacement guard fell in step behind, and the remaining three mercenaries stood and glared at the law cleric, as if they were a pack of wolves and he nothing more than a rack of meat. For a moment, Catriona thought the cleric might try to follow, but he thought better of it.

“Overstuffed, pompous arse,” Catriona muttered under her breath.

Greystoke choked and shot a glance at her over his shoulder. Catriona realized he had just bitten back a laugh and Edmund was staring at her wide-eyed.

She purposefully gazed at Greystoke with an innocent expression. He tried to keep a straight face, but suddenly barked a laugh, his blue eyes sparkling merrily. “My lady, I should be paying you for the honor of witnessing that.”

Catriona finally allowed herself to smile, hoping that with people around her like Greystoke and Edmund, she wouldn’t be so lonely. “Nay, Sir Greystoke I’m increasing your stipend. If this is any indication of the troubles awaiting me at Brackenburgh, you and your mercenaries will earn every farthing.”

“Thank you, my lady, but it is not necessary.”

Her humor faded as quickly as it came. “Nay, Greystoke, it will be. Trust me. Strickland is only getting started and no doubt will do everything in his power to make my life a living hell.”

HHH

Hours later, Catriona sat in her chair in the great hall and tried not to stare at the empty one beside her. The horror of that night came roaring back as clearly as if it had happened only moments ago. She fought to still her shaking hands. Catriona had not wanted to marry Richard; she had not loved him, he had a lightning quick temper when provoked, and at times could be obnoxiously overbearing. But the week before her wedding, when Richard had returned to Thistlewood, he had been polite and kind. On her wedding day, he had been gracious, especially in her regard. He said he knew Branan loved her. Catriona wondered how much of his kindness was due to the fact he understood how hard it was for her to say good-bye and become another man’s wife. Richard had his faults, but in his heart he was a good man.

She had only caused him grief with her stubborn foolishness, and then she had caused his death. If she had not distracted him with the trap door when he was trying to defend her . . . Catriona swallowed hard. Gavin and Branan had begged her to break the betrothal, and in retrospect, she realized that’s exactly what she should have done. If Catriona had listened to them and broken the betrothal, there was a chance Richard would be alive right now.

Catriona sighed miserably, tears pushing into her eyes. Her head ached and a chill seemed to grip the core of her being. She couldn’t get warm, even though the temperature was comfortable in the great hall. Catriona battled to regain control of her rampant emotions. People filled the great hall to capacity. She dare not cry in public. But her shaking increased, the room spun around her, and she felt her control slipping.

“My lady,” Edmund whispered. “What is wrong? Are you ill?”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. An unseen force drew her gaze inexorably back to Richard’s chair. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Dear God, nay! She was going to fall apart in a storm of tears. Catriona longed for Branan. Why wasn’t he here? She needed to feel his arms around her. She needed his strength in the face of her weakness.

“What’s wrong?” Greystoke whispered to Edmund. “The herald is preparing to open court.”

Edmund urged her to rise, helping her to her feet. “I should have realized this would be too much for her.” He escorted her across the dais to the step.

“Is it your desire for me to invalidate this marriage?” a voice barked.

Catriona froze on the steps, her head bowed, her body trembling violently.

“Gloucester,” Greystoke snapped. “Shut up before I shove my sword down your throat.”

Catriona stared at him. Never had she imagined Greystoke would say something so rude. It was the antithesis of everything he and his group represented.

“Can’t you see she is still grieving?” he continued. “She was widowed only hours after speaking her vows. She saw her husband murdered on what should have been the most joyous day of her life.”

Her control snapped like rotted wood. Sobs wrenched through her, nearly buckling her knees. If it had not been for Edmund holding her arm, she would have collapsed. Hearing the blatant words, each and every one of them true, made it real. It was as if memory became a physical object and struck her more powerfully than any weapon.

If only she hadn’t distracted Richard, if only she had held her sharp tongue, his attention would have remained focused on the knight before him. Instead Richard had died because of her.

Edmund tried to hustle Catriona off the stairs, to get her out of the room before the painful words could destroy what little strength she had left. But somehow she managed to stop her feet. Her head throbbed, her ears rang, and dizziness assailed her. She couldn’t run from this. She had to find her courage. Catriona had to put an end to this before the law cleric really did invalidate her marriage.

Edmund gazed at her in concern then pressed the back of his fingers against her cheek. His eyes widened. “My lady, you are fevered.”

She frowned at him.

“My lady, you are ill. No doubt that is why you are struggling.”

“There was no bedding ceremony,” Gloucester snapped, jerking her attention back to him. “No one can corroborate that the marriage was ever consummated.”

“Your lordship,” Edmund said, “I told you the chambermaid brought me the evidence when she cleaned my lord’s solar the next morning.”

“And you still have not shown it to me.”

“I also told you I would grant you a private audience.”

“What do you fear that you wish to hide the truth?”

Oh, dear God, nay! This couldn’t be happening. Catriona’s thoughts raced, but she couldn’t grab a single one. How could she respond? What should she say? Her anguish wrapped around her mind.

“Here,” a female voice cried. Catriona saw a bloodstained bed linen held up for all to see.

“Oh God,” she gasped. Humiliation completely possessed her. She felt her skin burning as she covered her face with her hands. She no longer fought the sobs wrenching through her. What was the point? She would never be able to set foot in Brackenburgh’s hall again. Her knees buckled and she sank onto the stairs.

The hall echoed with hoots and catcalls, shouts and laughter roared in her ears, but over the din, Catriona heard Edmund and Greystoke bellowing at the fool chit to put the damned thing away. Catriona risked a quick glance at the law cleric. He watched her for a moment, his gloating smile growing broader by the moment.

“Why?” Catriona screamed at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Damnation!” a voice roared, silencing everyone in the hall.

Catriona jumped violently and looked to the door. A giant shadow stood in the frame, blocking most of the light. She fought to blink away the tears clouding her vision. His outline was broad-shouldered, his chest massive, leading down to a narrow waist and long legs. He stepped forward into the torchlight of the hall. His long black hair streamed around his shoulders. His sea-green eyes blazed with a rage he barely held in check.