Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (6 page)

De Courcy nodded. “Strickland does not know of this place. It’s part of my overall plan.”

“Plan?”

“Actually my proposition to you.”

“Of what do ye speak?”

“Come, let us proceed. Once you see the place, I will explain.”

A bit later, Branan approached the three-story stone tower in surprise. About twenty men worked in the area around it, clearing trees and dead brush. Fires burned and wagons filled with debris waited to be hauled away. Branan spotted many items that would be used in the repair of the keep—items which had originally come from Brackenburgh’s bailey.

His gaze returned to the tower. Thick vines nearly covered it; bushes and stout saplings grew next to the walls. He approached the ground entrance and saw the doors were gone. It had a second entrance with narrow stone stairs to the first floor, both on the north side. Large hearths graced the east and west walls on each floor. The wooden supports of the roof had rotted away and caved through the top floor, completely destroying it and severely damaging the first floor.

Thick vines also grew in the interior. When the roof had collapsed, it had taken part of the west stone chimney and wall with it. As Branan entered, several birds took flight, exiting through the roof with the sharp snap of wings. He noticed nests in almost every nook and cranny. The workers had not yet begun to clear the interior. A strong, musty odor mixed with the pungent scent of animal dung assailed him.

“You said there was a reason for selecting this place,” Branan said to de Courcy.

“I understand it,” Catriona said, her voice soft with reverence as she gazed up at the tower. “Your mother knew that eventually you would need a haven from Strickland. That’s why she never told him about it. What better place than the tower your parents named after your Scottish heritage?” She looked at de Courcy who nodded, looking at her in surprise.

“Exactly, Branan,” de Courcy said. “John told me about this place and its history. I thought it would be perfect for you.”

“For me?”

“Aye. You correctly noted I am producing enough supplies to outfit an army.” He nodded at the tower. “It will be up to you to lead it.”

“Lead it?” Branan asked, stunned.

De Courcy stepped out of the tower and the others followed. He sat on a log and motioned for them to do the same. “That is what all of this is for.”

“Wait a moment, I dinna see this in its entirety.”

“Aye,” de Courcy replied. “As I said, Strickland suspects me of organizing the raids against him, but he does not have the proof he needs to go to the king. Yet he is a cunning man. If I am to protect my investments, I need to make certain he does not find that proof. That’s why I need you. You will become the head of the asp which strikes his heel. If Strickland discovers my involvement, it will simply be another business deal for me. I may be fined, but I will not lose everything.”

Catriona’s eyes widened as she stared at de Courcy. “You will have Branan take the blame.”

De Courcy shrugged. “He is the one with the true claim against Strickland; he has more to lose over this than I do. I want Strickland out of the Wardenship Branan wants justice. So if Branan is the one leading the rebellion, I will not be blamed. I will simply be judged as doing what I do best—making money.”

Catriona scowled, but said nothing more. Branan understood her concern, for he felt the same way. He worried de Courcy was setting him up as the sacrificial lamb. But the man did have a point. Branan was the one with the greatest claim against Strickland. He should be the one leading this. With their so-called business alliance, Branan would have everything he needed: men, weapons, and a place to shelter them.

“What do you say, MacTavish?” de Courcy asked. “By doing this, I’m offering the pact to you which I promised John.”

“And if I fail in this venture?”

“Then you fail alone.”

Catriona gazed up at Branan, her expression stricken.

“All right,” Branan heard himself say, and without command his hand reached for de Courcy’s. “I accept yer proposal.”

Catriona made a soft noise in her throat as Branan clasped de Courcy’s forearm, sealing the pact.

Black Rage

T
he group returned to Brackenburgh and Catriona excused herself to the solar. She knew Richard was pleased to see her go. She had to admit she was weary, but doubted it had anything to do with overextending herself. The day’s events weighed heavily on her.

She had known Richard only two months and didn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him. His manners were always impeccable, especially around her father, but Catriona knew one didn’t get to his level without being cunning.

This agreement with Branan frightened her. Truly, Richard was at odds with Strickland and stood to gain by having him removed. But just how far would that gain go? Would circumstances change in the future so that Richard would find it more profitable not to support Branan?

If Branan failed at this, Strickland would kill him.

She shivered, pulling a blanket from her bed and wrapping it around her shoulders.

What if Richard decided it would be more profitable to betray Branan to Strickland? She had not seen the wording of the betrothal contract. What loopholes existed that Richard could exploit?

What if Branan succeeded? Would he claim his inheritance only to discover himself with a massive financial debt to Richard? Would Richard use the power of that debt to gain control of Branan and the Wardenship of Inglewood?

Catriona knew Richard would only support Branan as long as he found it profitable to do so. If that should change, Branan’s life was forfeit.

What could she do to see that Branan succeeded?

Catriona sighed, rubbing her eyes. She could think of only one solution. She would have to keep an eye on Branan and her betrothed. If she involved herself, then the fact that Strickland could persecute her as well as Branan might keep her betrothed from doing something foolish. It wouldn’t be easy, especially considering Richard’s slight regard of her and his desire to shut her off from everything. But she had to do this. Strickland was dangerous enough to Branan; she had to make sure Richard did not become a danger as well.

HHH

Branan, Gavin, Duguald, and de Courcy sat in the small study late that evening, enjoying a pleasant fire in the hearth and good wine in their cups.

“As foster-brother to my betrothed,” de Courcy said to Branan, “you may stay here as long as you wish. I have the workers building temporary shelters at Thistlewood. Eventually, you will move to the tower as I do not wish to direct too much suspicion to Brackenburgh. I will help as much as I can, but this plan will take a lot of organization and I cannot afford to spend too much time at Thistlewood.”

Branan nodded. “Our goal is to divert attention away.”

“I must say, learning you are a laird has allayed my previous reservations of your organizational skills, but I remained concerned as I do not know your military experience. Currently, the mercenary raids I am conducting against Strickland are keeping him quite busy. Our ranks grow daily. Do you have the skill to organize these fighting men into an army?”

“Of that,” Duguald said before Branan could reply, “I havena doubt. I trained the lad myself.”

De Courcy nodded.

“And I will be with you too, Branan,” Gavin said.

“But what of the manor house, Gavin? Surely, ye need to rebuild it.”

Gavin winced, his jaw flexing. “I fear rebuilding the manor house will only draw Strickland’s eye back to us...and to you.” He paused and shook his head. “Nay, Branan, the manor house will wait until the true heir of the Wardenship returns to his proper place.”

Branan nodded, seeing the wisdom in Gavin’s choice.

“Tomorrow,” de Courcy said, “I will fetch my steward and you can look at the records. They will give you a solid grasp on what I have started.”

“We willna be able to do much against Strickland until spring. But I plan on putting the time until that day to good use.”

“Well said, MacTavish. With you taking over the endeavor, I will be able to turn my attention to planning my wedding. I have a feeling four months will prove shorter than we think.”

Branan fought down the chill clenching his gut and managed a nod.

HHH

The next morning, de Courcy and his steward, Edmund, left Branan in the great hall with a mass of journals and ledger tallies piled around him. They had discussed the basics, but other duties called de Courcy and Edmund away, leaving Branan to fend for himself.

Duguald and Gavin had also abandoned him in favor of working in the lists for a short time. Branan discovered he would much rather be with them. The sheer volume of organizing something like this was overwhelming.

“Is it safe now?” a soft voice asked from behind him.

Branan turned, blinking at Catriona in surprise. “Safe?”

She nodded and stepped next to him. “I don’t feel like arguing with Richard about being cooped up in the solar.”

He chuckled and gestured to a chair. “De Courcy is tending some business at the moment. I would verra much enjoy yer company.”

She smiled brightly as she sat then stared at the journals. “Oh dear, they left you with everything.”

“Aye,” Branan said, rubbing his eyes. “This is becoming most difficult.”

“How so?”

“I’ve organized and managed many things as laird of my clan, but I’ve never been involved in building a keep. The weapons and materials are reasonably constant and easy to predict. The other things can be more difficult.”

“I understand,” she said and looked over his shoulder at one of the ledger tallies. “Now that will never do.”

“What’s that?”

“Your foodstuffs.”

“We have enough for forty men, right now there are only thirty.”

Catriona arched an eyebrow. “But look here, Branan, a few lines down, there are bales of raw wool to be sent to Thistlewood. Who will card and spin it, then weave it?”

Branan blinked. “Aye, that will require the knowledge of women.”

“There are many things here that will require women. Even though the tower is not complete, you must think of it as a community already. You know the men will probably want to bring their womenfolk, so you will have hands to do the work, but you need to make sure you have enough supplies for them. It doesn’t stop with just food items used in the kitchens; you will have to monitor medicines and other basic needs.”

A chuckle rumbled through him as he realized her point. “In other words, I will need a chatelaine.”

“Exactly.”

He took her hand in his, marveling at the soft warmth of her skin, and lightly kissed it. “Then my bonny lass, mayhap I can impose upon ye. Unless ye spent too much of yer youth hunting in the forests to have gained knowledge from yer mother’s guidance.”

“Aye,” she said with a laugh. “I nearly drove my mother to distraction, but I did learn all she had to teach me. As you know, she was a very good chatelaine.”

“So ye will help me?”

“I’d love to Branan.”

He squeezed her hand gratefully, enjoying the blush that highlighted her cheeks. Their heads close together and their shoulders touching, they poured over all the details in the journals.

Branan wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but he knew he was tired. He and Catriona had developed a list of all the things they needed right away, items they would need shortly, and projections for a pair of months.

Through it all, Catriona had been immeasurably helpful. Branan had always known she had a sharp intelligence as a child, but now he saw just how strong it had grown. Thanks to her, he was confident in all aspects of planning the rebuilding of Thistlewood.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head to stretch the muscles in the back of her neck. “I think that’s about everything.”

“Aye,” he replied, looking at the list he had made. Instinctively, he reached out and rubbed her neck with his fingers. Catriona groaned and nearly melted under his hand.

“Thank ye again for yer help.”

She smiled, but did not move. “I enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed what?” de Courcy’s voice asked flatly.

Branan looked up in surprise. De Courcy stood at the door, his dark eyes glittering in anger. Although he had done nothing wrong, Branan instantly moved his hand away from Catriona.

Catriona, a slight frown blurring her brown, gazed at de Courcy. “I was just helping Branan with a few things.”

“Helping?” he asked, stepping forward. “And what, pray tell, could you help him with?”

Branan did not appreciate the tone of his voice.

“We were just going over some of the records. Branan has need of a chatelaine.”

“Then he should have requested the aid of my steward.”

“Oh, there was no reason to bother him, I was able to—”

“Get above-stairs,” de Courcy snapped. “Your assistance is not necessary.”

Catriona rose, bristling like a little cat. “Not necessary? I’m perfectly capable—”

“I am aware of what females are capable of and I will not have it happening here with my betrothed,” de Courcy said as he strode toward her, his boot heels slamming against the stone floor.

Anger at de Courcy’s poorly veiled insinuation shot through Branan. He clenched his fists and rose, but said nothing.

Catriona turned bright red. “So not only are you questioning my intelligence, but my integrity as well, sir?” she spat.

As Branan gazed at de Courcy’s cruel expression, a warning shiver slithered down his spine. The man stood over Catriona, trying to cow her with his larger stature. His body bowed, every muscle coiled, the veins in his neck stood out, and his face turned florid. His eyes gleamed with a primal fury. In a heartbeat, Branan was twelve years old again, watching Strickland’s fist descend on his mother.

De Courcy’s weight shifted and Branan saw muscles contract as he lifted his arm. Sheer terror coiled through him. “Nay!” he bellowed, stepping forward, his actions no longer under his control. In his memory, he so clearly saw his mother, but before him stood Catriona, and he could not allow the same to happen to her. The black rage possessed him, red tinting his vision.

He stepped in front of Catriona and launched his fist into de Courcy’s jaw with a savage cry. De Courcy flew backward a good three paces, where he landed in a heap on the floor.

Branan started to step forward, the red haze still clouding his vision, but he suddenly felt a small hand gripping his arm.

“Branan, nay,” Catriona said, standing beside him.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision, his breath coming in rapid gasps. His hands shook with the fury still coursing through him.

Catriona gazed up at him, her eyes wide. “Branan, he didn’t touch me.”

Branan tore his gaze from her and glared at de Courcy. He couldn’t think through the rage possessing him. He wanted nothing more than to snap the bastard’s neck.

Catriona pushed around in front of him, placing both hands on his chest. “Branan, stop,” she said, her voice low and soothing, but also firm. “It’s all right.”

De Courcy sat up, shaking his head. “What in bloody hell?”

Branan’s body instantly coiled again. For so many years he had stood helpless as Strickland beat his mother. He had tried to stop him, God knew he had tried. But what was a youngling compared to a full grown man? He had watched, powerless, as Strickland struck the blow which would send his mother to her grave. But now, Branan was no longer helpless.

“Branan, please,” Catriona said urgently, her hands pressing more forcefully against his chest. “It’s all right.”

He felt every muscle in his body trembling violently. Just as he had always done when faced with his mother’s pain.

“I should have you beaten from this keep,” de Courcy growled, rising to his feet.

Branan took another step forward. “Raise yer hand against her again and I will kill ye.”

De Courcy scowled, his eyes still radiating hatred.

“Branan, please!” Catriona cried.

He looked down at her and realized she had thrown her weight against his body in a futile attempt to keep him from moving. His fury eased only slightly. Once again, she reached through the blackness, trying to pull him back to sanity.

“What in bloody hell are you talking about?” de Courcy snapped. “I didn’t do anything to her.”

Catriona spun, planting her back firmly against Branan’s chest. “Richard, you don’t understand. He thought you were going to hit me.”

“He struck me without cause.” De Courcy’s anger grew and Branan found his own coiling again. A low growl rumbled through him.

“Saint’s blood!” Catriona snarled. “Just be silent, Richard. Can’t you see I’m the only thing keeping him from killing you right now?”

De Courcy stared at Branan, his face paling.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Branan blinked his vision clear and saw Gavin and Duguald, still fully armored, standing at the door.

“Gavin,” Catriona said, relieved. “Branan thought Richard was going to hit me.”

Gavin looked at Branan in understanding. “Take him to the gardens, Catriona, until it passes. I’ll talk to de Courcy.”

Branan hunched his shoulders, glaring again at de Courcy, unwilling to allow his prey such an easy escape.

Catriona turned and firmly wrapped both of her arms around one of his. “Come, Branan,” she said and took a step forward.

She clung to him so tightly Branan knew he couldn’t disengage himself or resist without hurting her...and he would never, ever do that. He tried to gulp air into his lungs and that made him dizzy. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

Catriona looked up at him and smiled. Branan’s rage eased considerably. There was no blood on her face, no bruises, no injury...that was all that mattered. Slowly, his limbs still quivering, he followed her out of the keep.

HHH

Gavin sighed as Branan and Catriona left.

“Bloody, bleeding hell!” de Courcy roared. “Bring me some wine.” He faced Gavin. “I will kill that bastard.”

“Doubtful,” Gavin replied, trying to keep the humor from his voice. “Branan could rip you apart with this bare hands.”

A servant handed de Courcy a cup and he drank deeply.

“Catriona said Branan thought you were going to hit her.”