Page 11 of Mist Warrior (Legacy of the Mist Clans #1)

Catriona sat next to Branan beside the camp dinner fire, chilled to the bone and weary. She sighed in relief as he automatically loosened his plaid and wrapped it around her.

“Are ye all right, lass?”

“Aye,” she replied, snuggling closer. Although tired, she was happy. Catriona’s grief and her nightmares had finally eased their hold on her. Thistlewood’s community grew and developed a unique and powerful camaraderie of shared hope. Every member worked for the same goal—that the persecution they all suffered at Strickland’s whim would stop with Branan’s success.

She and Branan ate their supper together, but he seemed distant and preoccupied.

“Is something amiss?” Catriona asked after they had finished. Branan stared up at the night sky. “Nay...aye...” He looked at her, his sea-green eyes turbulent. “Walk with me?”

“Of course.”

He rose and pulled her up with him, adjusting his plaid around her shoulders. Catriona couldn’t help but notice how much she enjoyed the simple action.

They moved away from the camp and toward the rapidly thinning trees. As the camp grew, the workers pushed back the tree line and thinned the undergrowth.

Branan finally stopped, leaning his back against a tree, and pulled Catriona in front of him. “I...am...” he paused and frowned, as if searching for the words. “Worried.”

“About what?”

“Yer wedding fast approaches and each day brings the one on which I will lose ye ever closer. ”

She ducked her head; she didn’t want to talk about this. “You know why I must marry him, Branan.”

With a crooked finger, he tugged her chin up. “Aye, I ken yer reasons and try as I might, I have found no good solution.”

“Then what choice do we have?”

“Catriona,” Branan whispered so softly she could barely hear him. “I asked ye afore: break the betrothal.”

Her heart twisted in her chest. “I cannot, Branan.”

Suddenly, he dropped to one knee before her, gripping her left hand in both of his and pulling it to his lips. “Then I shall ask ye again,” he said, his lips soft and his breath warm against her skin. “Nay, I beg ye, break the betrothal.”

“Branan—”

He stared up at her, the agony in his beautiful eyes freezing the words in her throat. “I ask ye to break the betrothal and become my wife instead.”

Shock washed over her and she gaped at him.

“Please, Catriona, stay by my side as my lady.”

Joy and sorrow rose side by side so powerfully she found she could not breathe. She could not see for the tears clouding her vision. “Oh, Branan,” she whispered. With her free hand, she stroked his hair. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the hand he held so tightly.

Catriona’s heart twisted in pain. To marry Branan, to love him...that was all she wanted, but a deep part of her soul remembered agony, the torture of the day he left her for Scotland. If she married him, he would not be able to stay, for he would not have the resources to defeat Strickland. Catriona might accompany him to Scotland, but once again Branan would return to the mist and she would lose him.

“I want nothing more,” she said.

Branan looked up at her, joy in his eyes.

“But I cannot.”

His expression melted into shock, then anguish, then fury. Branan started to rise, but Catriona did have one advantage. She already had her right hand on his head. She pushed down with all her might and stepped closer. “Branan, I cannot marry you, even though my heart screams for me to accept.”

He sank back to his knee, but continued to glare at her. “Ye spoke yer reasons afore,” he growled. “Ye dinna want me to suffer the pain of my past. But that is nothing compared to the pain of seeing ye as another man’s wife.”

The tears clouding her vision broke free, dripping down her cheeks. Until he dealt with his past, Branan could not love her, he just did not want Richard to have her. If Branan said the words...if he told her he loved her, Catriona’s resolve would probably crumble and she would break the betrothal.

Branan’s fury vanished as quickly as it came. “Nay,” he said, his voice strangled. “Dinna cry, lass, please.” Abruptly, he stood and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

She only wanted to fold herself against him and sob like a child. But Catriona had to make Branan understand and turn her thoughts away from the foolish, painful notion of love. “Branan,” she said, trying to control her tears. They slowed, but continued to leak down her face. “There is more you need to know.”

“Then tell me, lass, else I go mad.”

She pulled away enough to cup his face in her hands. “I’ve thought long and hard about this...trying to answer the question why...why did my father promise me to Richard and why do I feel that I must do this for you?”

“Catriona, I would give anything for ye, even this vengeance and this destiny of mine.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears continuing to slide down her cheeks. Branan gently wiped them away.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know what you would give and I cannot ask that price.”

“Ye are no’ askin’, I am offering.”

“Listen, please. There are answers you must find within yourself, and in order to do so you must travel the path put before you. I have learned that now. Don’t you see why my father did this? It is not only because of his love for you, but his regard for your sire.”

“My sire?”

Catriona took a deep breath, trying to control her emotions so she could speak sensibly. “My father blamed himself for your father’s death.

Branan’s eyes went wide with horror. “What?”

“’Tis something I learned when I was little, just after you came to stay with us. You know my father was never given to drink, but on rare occasions, Papa tried to drown his pain. What no one knew, except for my mother, is the agony he would vent during those times. He would sob like a child, Branan. I overheard them one night.”

“What did ye learn?”

“You know my father was lamed in the battle that claimed your father’s life.”

“Aye.”

“My father swore an oath to guard Raulf’s back.”

Branan blinked at her.

“I heard the sorrow and agony in his voice. My father protected yours without fail through most of the battle. A knight on horseback attacked Father. He did what any man on the ground would do when facing a mounted opponent—he killed the horse. But the animal fell awkwardly, its hooves flailed and destroyed my father’s knee. He fell and saw Raulf move away from him. Raulf was prone to the same battle rages you are. He did not realize my father no longer stood with him.” Catriona paused, fighting to gain control of the horror she felt. “Branan, you must know the anguish my father suffered. I have never heard anything like it before as he related the tale to my mother. He cried out to Raulf, trying to tell him he no longer covered his back...trying to warn Raulf to withdraw and gather his men. But your father was lost to his battle rage. Raulf never heard him. My father—” Her voice broke and she tried to steady it. “My father, his knee shattered, rose and went after Raulf.”

“He did what?” Branan whispered, his voice hoarse.

“He used his sword like a cane and went after him. He said that he tried...he tried so hard. Raulf was a brother to him and he watched him die because he could not reach him afore Strickland. My mother tried to soothe Papa, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. But my father refused her council. He spoke of how Strickland cut your father down.”

“How?” Branan asked, his voice strangled. “How did he die?”

“Has no one told you?”

“Nay. Duguald was not there for the battle. He didna hear of it until after my father died and my mother was forced into marriage to Strickland. I only know what my mother told me: that Strickland murdered him. But if he died in battle, it canna be murder. I dinna understand it to this day.”

Catriona’s tears renewed and she cursed herself for her lack of control. She knew her tears only made things worse for Branan.

“Your father did not fight against Strickland, but against a large group of knights errant turned brigands. They had been poaching in the Royal Forest and plaguing the king’s road. Your father, as Warden, had to move against them. Branan, he wasn’t facing Strickland across the battlefield, Strickland was one of his allies.”

Branan’s face drained of color.

“Raulf fended off two blades in front of him. Strickland approached from behind and drove his blade through Raulf’s back without warning.” Catriona stared up at him. “My father, on his shattered knee, fought to return to his place at your father’s back. As my father lunged to put himself betwixt Raulf and Strickland’s blade, your father died, impaled from behind, never seeing or knowing who killed him.”

Branan froze. Catriona blinked up at him, expecting a much more powerful response, but he only stared at her.

Fear cut through her. This was not right. Catriona touched Branan’s face; his skin felt ice-cold under her fingers. Suddenly, he released her and walked away, vanishing into a thicker part of the forest.

“Branan!” she cried. Her feet started moving after him.

“Nay,” she heard his voice growl. “Leave me be. ”

“Branan, please, I don’t want to leave you alone. I don’t want to be alone.”

“We must travel the path afore us.” His voice echoed through the night.

Catriona stopped, shaking to the core of her being. Her warrior had returned to the mist.

****

Branan walked only a short distance, listening for Catriona’s footsteps behind him. Strange, he almost wanted her to follow him, but when he didn’t hear her, he stopped and sank to his knees, his hands covering his face.

His body quivered with the power of his heartbreak. A vibrant picture of the battle bloomed in his mind. Branan clearly saw his father fighting, driving back his enemies. He saw the sword tip explode through his chest, blood showering from the wound and streaming from his mouth. Branan witnessed his father’s shock and confusion, trying to understand what had happened at the same time realizing he was dying. He sensed his father’s sorrow, that he would leave behind the woman he loved, that he would never see his bairn.

Branan clenched his teeth, raising his face to the heavens. He felt a hot tear slide down his cheek. The demon within him raged. He forced the image from his mind before it could shred his sanity. But that only brought to mind a new agony.

Bloody hell! What possessed him to think he could marry Catriona? He knew he could not marry her. But the proposal had fallen out of his mouth, and all of his reasons abandoned him. Good God, was he losing his sanity completely? How could he think Catriona would give up anything to live as his wife in Scotland? How could she have any respect for a man who allowed his father’s murderer to go unpunished?

Branan was a man who had fought against the shackles of marriage so hard in the past that he had angered other lairds allied with his clan—now he was nearly tripping over himself to marry Catriona so she would not pay so terrible a price.

Catriona was right. Branan had to travel this path, he had to find the answers to the rage burning within him, but he could not do it at the price of her future. She would not break the betrothal because she thought this her duty. Catriona did it out of respect for him and her own sire. Branan wished he had known how John felt. John had not been to blame—Strickland was.

Understanding this brought him no closer to an answer. Branan would have to see this through and lose Catriona in the process. What kind of future was that? The price of justice was too high to pay.

Branan also had to admit to himself one solid truth. He wanted Catriona with a lust that burned so powerfully, it frightened him .

Catriona provoked in him such powerful emotions...an intense physical response that was like nothing he had ever experienced. God's wounds! Why was this happening? He could not have Catriona, and without her his future proved worthless.

His anger faded and the pain of her rejection grew like a hot blade in his heart. The one time his resistance to marriage crumbled, the last thing on God’s creation that he wanted, and when he offered it, his offer was thrown back in his face. There had to be a lesson in the folly of it all. In his male vanity, he had been so sure she would accept.

Branan stood, still no closer to an answer. He shoved his tangled mass of emotions into a dark corner of his soul and slowly returned to camp.

****

Catriona grew more concerned over Branan. He seemed to withdraw deeper into the mist. She prayed her refusal to marry him had not hurt his heart, that it would not cause him to fall into the void beyond her reach. The more he withdrew, the more she worried over him.

The men worked in the tower again this morn. She forced her attention to her own duties. Catriona and Beth worked on some mending by the large campfire. Catriona tied her thread and bit it off.

“Glory,” she muttered, threading her needle. Catriona turned the shirt to mend another hole. “I think these men are putting more work into tearing their clothes than building the tower.”

Beth looked up at her, smiling brightly. In the short time she had been at camp, she and Catriona developed a friendship. Beth was an intelligent young woman, perhaps not as bold as Catriona, but definitely fun-loving.

Catriona spotted Branan walking toward them. He wore only his trews and boots, and for a brief instant, Catriona’s heart pounded in her chest. He was beautifully made—that she could never deny. Her gaze traveled slowly over his heavily muscled shoulders to his massive chest. His ribs were wide and covered with thick sinew, narrowing to an ironclad stomach and lean hips. Good God, he had long legs. His thighs were well-muscled, but not bulky, the power seeming to accent their length. His fluid stride remained balanced and graceful. As she watched him, a tiny breathless sigh escaped her.

She realized what she was doing and mentally kicked herself. Catriona’s gaze snapped to his face. Branan’s sea-green eyes stared at her steadily, darkening with a feral spark. Sweet Mary, he had seen her admiring him. She felt her face grow warmer.

Then she saw his jacket in his hand and groaned. “Not another one.”

Beth looked up in confusion.

Catriona gestured to Branan. “He ripped his last good inar.”

Beth looked over her shoulder and froze. Catriona saw her hands tremble and fought down a smile. Branan would have that kind of effect on any woman. Beth quickly turned back to her work, her cheeks rosy. Catriona almost burst out laughing, suddenly feeling as if she had a comrade in arms. She wasn’t the only one who Branan addled.

Catriona looked back to him, but Branan’s eyes had remained locked on her, as if he never even acknowledged Beth’s presence. A strange feeling knotted Catriona’s stomach and she battled to force it down.

Branan stopped before Catriona, giving a brief nod to Beth, but otherwise ignoring her. Catriona rose as he held up his inar. His expression changed from intense to rueful. The right side dangled, attached by only a few threads. “I fear I have more work for ye, lass.”

Catriona sighed then dug through the mending she had just completed. “Here,” she said, handing him a leint. “And try to keep this one intact for more than a few heartbeats.”

His lips tugged upward and he inclined his head. “I shall do my best.” For a long moment, Branan just stood there, gazing at her in the most disconcerting fashion.

A deep tremor echoed through her body, as if she could feel his hands touching her, his lips soft brushing over hers, his...

Branan’s lashes lowered slightly, giving him a hooded look. His muscles tightened, standing in sharper relief under his tanned skin. His sensual lips parted imperceptibly and his nostrils flared, as if he could scent the betrayal of her body like a predator. And Catriona suddenly felt like prey locked in his hypnotic gaze.

The muscles in his arm contracting subtly, he reached out and lightly ran a fingertip across her cheek. The contact sent a blaze of hot energy coiling through her body, so intense she almost flinched. His lips tugged upward in a tiny smile that was absolutely wolfish. Suddenly, he dropped his hand and spun on his heel, striding smoothly away.

Catriona remained rooted, trembling like a leaf and fighting to regain her breath.

“Catriona?” Beth called. “Are you all right?”

She blinked at her. “Aye.”

Beth scowled and shot a glance at Branan as he departed.

Catriona’s gaze was drawn to him again, locking on his back. Sweet Mary, have mercy, even his back was pleasing to look at. Long powerful muscles moved with strident grace. His buttocks were tight, in perfect proportion to the size of his body.

Abruptly, Catriona spun and walked away.

“Catriona?” Beth called again.

Catriona ignored her, increasing her pace until she was running back to her shelter.

****

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Branan’s thoughts raged. It had taken every ounce of control not to pull Catriona into his arms and kiss her senseless.

He had never seen such raw, impassioned desire in a woman’s eyes. She had gazed at him brazenly, seemingly unaware of her impropriety. To call the action innocent was completely inappropriate, but Branan knew, after watching so many women calculate their advances and responses to him, Catriona’s actions were wholly opposite from theirs. Unfettered, unplanned, uncontrollable.

That had sent the blood roaring to his loins. He was abruptly grateful he carried his leint, for leastways no one else would see his swollen cock standing upright and feeling as if it would burst. Damnation, the intensity of the throbbing need within him nearly drove him brainsick. His blood thrummed between his temples. A light sheen of sweat formed on his body and he abruptly turned away from the tower. He didn’t want anyone to see him, not in this madly aroused state.

It was cold outside and Branan wandered half-naked, but the heat from his body made small wisps of steam rise from his skin. If he didn’t think he’d catch a lung fever, he’d jump in the icy stream—that would shrink his bloody bollocks.

He paused, leaning against a tree, trying to force the lovely vision of Catriona from his mind. Branan had to get his body under control. But her face remained emblazoned in his thoughts. Her blue eyes wandering over him in blatant appreciation, turning darker with unfeigned desire as she stared at him. The subtle, unconscious straightening of her back, which had lifted her soft, round breasts ever so slightly, as if they were longing for his touch. How her lips had parted slightly and her tongue unwittingly dampened them in a lightning-quick movement.

“Sweet Jesu,” he snarled, feeling himself grow even harder. He was on the verge of doing something insane. To bloody hell with the lung fever. Abruptly, he turned and stalked toward the stream.

****

This is madness , Branan thought as he moved silently toward Catriona’s shelter. It was late at night and everyone was abed. After dunking himself repeatedly in ice-cold water that should have frozen his cock clean off, he had barely managed to get through the day in a state of agonizing half-arousal. He couldn’t take it any longer. Perhaps he should send her back to de Courcy before he lost control.

A man’s pride and his cock could only take so much.

But the thought of sending her away sickened him.

Christ Almighty, why was he doing this to himself? Perhaps he should seek relief with one of the whores in camp. And there were whores already, make no mistake. Branan had turned to a few in his youth, first out of curiosity, and later, very rarely, out of just plain need. But the thought of taking a whore doused his arousal almost immediately. Branan hesitated. Now that may be an idea. If thinking of a whore eased his state, he might be able to survive.

But the image of Catriona surged forward again. This was ludicrous.

Branan realized he stood before Catriona’s door, his hand half-raised to knock. It was time to put an end to this madness. He had to send her back to de Courcy, no matter how much he detested the thought, before he ruined her honor.

Summoning his courage, he rapped lightly, regretting waking her.

The door opened much more quickly than he expected. Catriona stood before him, wearing only a chemise, a blanket wrapped around her, and her gorgeous red-gold hair unbound.

Branan,” she whispered in surprise. “Is everything all right?”

“Aye,” he lied. “I...I just wanted to talk.” But he studied her face, noting a sadness in her eyes. She certainly didn’t appear as if she had been sleeping. “Catriona, are ye all right?”

She nodded, but her shoulders slumped in a telling fashion. Branan’s arousal faded as his concern grew.

“Come in,” Catriona said and closed the door behind him. Branan spotted a chair near the hearth with a cup full of wine on the table.

“I’m sorry to wake ye.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” she replied, confirming his suspicions. She sank into the chair. “Pull a chair to the hearth and pour yourself some wine, Branan.”

He obeyed, sitting closer to her than he probably should. “What's wrong, lass?” Gently, he took her hand in his. Branan’s plan tangled with his concern. Something troubled Catriona, and right now she needed a friend, not a beast in rut, nor a foolhardy male ordering her away.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Everything.”

He swallowed hard and caressed her hair with his free hand. She bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Without realizing what he was doing, he pulled her into his lap and held her. Branan pressed her tightly against him, murmuring soft words into her hair.

He felt tears dampen his skin and his heart twisted. Was she still grieving her parents, or agonizing over her betrothal, or both?

Nothing, everything.

Sorrow rose within him. He closed his eyes and rocked her gently as he allowed her to give vent to her anguish.

Catriona cried for a long time then gradually fell silent. Branan continued to hold her, staring into the hearth as its flames snapped and popped. She grew so still, he wondered if she had fallen asleep. Moving cautiously, he looked down, bending his neck until he could see her face. Her eyes remained open, staring at nothing.

“Do ye wish to speak of it?” he asked softly.

“Nay. ”

Branan scowled, but decided not to push. “I should let ye rest.”

“Nay,” Catriona said, her voice stronger. Her arms tightened around him. “Don’t leave, please. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

His concern grew into worry.

They remained silent for a long time, then Branan became aware of a peculiar sensation. Abruptly, he realized her fingers were toying with the opening of his jacket. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

As if taking a cue from the movement of his throat muscles, Catriona’s fingers lightly caressed his skin, then slowly descended to the small hallow at the base of his throat, brushing over his collarbone.

Branan closed his eyes and shivered. His arousal blossomed again, but he battled it back, still concerned about what troubled her.

Catriona’s fingers slid up his throat again and Branan suddenly felt weak. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing her free access. His pulse quickened as she continued to lightly caress and explore. Dear God, never had such a simple action felt so intimate.

Her fingers descended again, touching his chest as far as the opening of his jacket would allow. Branan’s breath caught. He wanted nothing more than to haul the bloody thing off and allow her fingers to explore all she wanted.

Gently, Branan took her fingers in his and kissed them. “Catriona...”

Her expression fell and Branan wanted to kick himself. Without command, his hand released hers and moved to her chin, gently tugging upward. He felt his loins tighten as he gazed at her. Branan lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers, intending only a light kiss. But her fingers suddenly fisted into his jacket. His mouth eased onto hers, fitting so wonderfully. His tongue lightly traced over her bottom lip. So delicate, so soft.

He moved gently and slowly, gradually increasing the strength of his mouth against hers, coaxing her to respond, vowing if she did not encourage him, he would not continue.

But respond she did, timidly returning his kiss at first, then growing more confident and instinctive. He lightly slid his tongue between her lips, hinting at his desire for her to open them. With a soft gasp she did, and Branan plunged inside, a riot of sensation exploding within him.

He cupped Catriona’s face in his hand, his fingers weaving through the silk of her hair. Her sweet taste dizzied him, the velvet softness of her mouth ignited his blood. She responded to his gentle ministrations, encouraging the deepening of his kiss. Branan joyously obliged, his body acutely away of hers pressed against him.

His hands traveled over her, pulling her closer. Catriona released his jacket, laying a gentle hand on his chest, sending a wave of fire across his skin .

A tiny moan curled up in the back of her throat and Branan’s arousal was complete, reaching deep within him. The blanket slipped from her shoulders. Branan’s hand trailed over her back and under her arm. His fingers lightly caressed the soft swell of her breast. Gently, he followed its form, his thumb brushing the hard bud that formed under his touch. He teased it lightly, feeling it tighten even more. Catriona suddenly took the initiative in their kiss, her tongue battling with his.

Abruptly, Branan tore his mouth away, sliding his lips along her jaw and fighting to catch his breath at the same time. He had experienced pleasure before, but never had he known such intense, exquisite sensations. Catriona lifted her head and Branan kissed the tender flesh of her throat, he nibbled with his lips, lightly brushing her skin with his teeth. Delicate strands of her hair caressed his face. His hand cupped and fondled her breast while his other hand moved lower, down her back, feeling the soft curve of her buttocks and pulling her even closer.

Catriona’s leg moved against his shaft, sending brilliant glory through his body. “God,” he growled, his voice sounding primitive and feral even to himself. “Catriona...” He could barely think to form the words. “I need ye...touch me please.”

Her hand caressed his chest with a greater purpose. Branan gently took her hand and guided her to firmly stroke her palm over his shaft, still painfully trapped in his trews.

Catriona gasped in surprise, but her hand slid over him with exquisite pressure. Branan threw his head back, fighting to breathe, his eyes squeezed shut as he savored the perfect torture.

“Branan,” she breathed. She buried her face in his hair, nuzzling his ear.

Branan shivered in delight as her hand kept moving.

“What are we doing?” Catriona murmured.

His hands moved to her breasts, teasing her nipples into a wonderfully hard response. “What we both have always wanted,” he growled.

She shuddered against him. “Branan...please...we can’t.”

A low growl rose in his chest. Branan slid one hand down, his fingers trailing over her ribs, her waist, her hip, then her thigh, where he caught the hem of her chemise and moved under it. He caressed her soft skin, slowly tracing his fingers upward to her hip.

“Branan, we must stop.” But her hand kept stroking him.

“God forgive me, I cannot.”

Suddenly, Catriona lifted her head, her eyes a deep sapphire reflecting her desire. “But I must be a...” she stammered, fighting to find the words which they both already knew. “Richard will...I mean...you will lose everything, Branan.”

He cupped her face, trying to pull her to him for a kiss. “I care not. I have all I want right here. I will give up everything for ye.” He found himself surprised at the desperation he heard in his own voice.

That was the wrong thing to say, Branan belatedly realized. A slight stiffening of her body destroyed the wonderful connection between them, replacing it with enraged tension. Catriona’s eyes sparked angrily and she hauled herself back. “I won’t let you,” she snarled with the power of a lioness defending her cub.

Branan battled to sort his thoughts through the tangled haze of lust surging within him. “I care not,” he repeated stubbornly. “I want ye, Catriona. We were meant to be together.” He seized her arm and drew her to him for a powerful kiss. He would brook no refusal. She was stiff against him, but as he teased her lips with his own, Branan heard her tiny pant and Catriona relaxed, surrendering to him and returning his kiss. Branan’s heart soared; she may be able to refuse his words, but she could not refuse his body. “I will make ye mine,” he growled.

Suddenly, Branan found his arms and his heart empty as Catriona tore herself away and lunged to her feet. At first she blinked at him, as if trying to come to her senses. Then she lifted a shaking hand to her lips. Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what you are doing? Trying to seduce me so I have no choice?”

Embarrassment flushed his face, but anger quickly replaced it. “Nay,” Branan growled. “I was planning to order you back to de Courcy before I did something as daft as this.”

Catriona’s eyes widened and the blood drained from her face with hurt and betrayal.

Branan cursed himself for his foolhardy words. He couldn’t think in this state. His wits turned to mush and he blathered like an imbecile.

Fury bowed her body and she clenched her fists. “Get out, Branan,” she said, her voice deadly. “Now.”

****

Catriona shook with anger and want. But she took an involuntary step back at the furor of emotions that played over Branan’s features. His mouth hardened in rage and a muscle ticked in his jaw. His sea-green eyes were flat and desolate. Slowly, he rose from the chair. Catriona’s throat worked and she reminded herself she had no reason to fear Branan. He might become enraged with her, but he would never, ever hurt her.

He stood glaring down at her, his shoulders hunched, his fists clenched. For an instant, he looked like a wolf ready to pounce. “Catriona,” Branan said through clenched teeth. “Only ye can keep the blackness within me at bay. If I lose ye to de Courcy, I lose myself to the demon in my soul.”

She blinked in confusion. She had never heard him speak of a demon.

Branan snapped a curse and turned on his heel, striding purposefully through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

The tension drained from her body and her hands shook. “I am sorry, Branan.” Catriona lowered her head, her cheeks burning with shame. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She had wanted him to seduce her and she most certainly did not want to return to Richard. “Please, please forgive me.”