Page 6 of Mist Warrior (Legacy of the Mist Clans #1)

Ch apter Fiv e

Black Rage

The 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.

****

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.

****

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.

****

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.”

“We argued.” De Courcy stopped and glared at Gavin. “Your sister is a willful creature. That surly streak within her needs to be curbed.”

“Be grateful for that surly streak,” Gavin said, his own anger growing. “ She stood betwixt you and Branan, otherwise you would be dead.”

“But I never lifted a hand against her. We were arguing and the next thing I knew Branan was in front of her and launching his fist at me from out of nowhere.”

Gavin shook his head, knowing exactly what happened. He had seen it many times in the two years Branan had stayed with them. But only once had Branan actually lost control and used the strength of his rage along with his fists to stop a threat. “De Courcy, you can’t blame Branan for his actions. You know Strickland killed his mother.”

De Courcy shrugged. “I had heard something to that effect.”

“He beat her to death.”

De Courcy stopped his cup midway to his lips. “Beat her?”

“Aye. He persecuted her often, many times severely injuring her. Branan was naught but a boy. Witnessing that kind of brutality for twelve years will affect a man. Then one night, Strickland struck her in the head, and the blow eventually caused her death.”

“Sweet Jesu.”

“We didn’t realize what it had done to Branan until he came to live with us. Catriona was...something of an impulsive child, many times preferring rough games with the boys rather than playing with the other girls.” He paused, smiling. “Some of the lads did not take well to losing to a girl.”

“Losing?”

Gavin nodded. “My sister is like no other girl I have ever seen, de Courcy. But when she did win the games, sometimes a boy would get angry and try to teach her a lesson. That was the first time we witnessed what could happen to Branan. He lost himself to a rage and beat the lad so badly he nearly killed him. The boy raised his hand to strike her, but Branan reacted before the blow could fall. No one has ever been able to touch Catriona with Branan in the same room.”

“But I didn’t do anything. I don’t even think I moved my hand.”

“That’s my point, de Courcy. Branan has seen the signs too many times. He knows what is going to happen before you even realize what you might do. One blow is all it takes to severely injure or even kill a woman, especially one of Catriona’s small stature. Branan will make sure that blow never lands.”

Duguald stepped forward, his expression troubled. “I’ve ne’er seen the lad become so enraged.”

“What do you mean, Duguald?” Gavin asked.

“He doesna like a man striking a woman. Branan will become agitated and aggressive if he thinks it may happen. Usually, he tries to talk to the man. He has stopped beatings afore, but by simply stepping betwixt them—his size and rank as laird is enough to do the rest. I’ve ne’er seen him become violent and I’ve ne’er seen him so out of control. ”

Gavin thought for a long moment. “Perchance it is his regard for his foster-sister. Although he never hit anyone after the lad he beat, I remember seeing him struggle many a time to control himself.”

Duguald arched an eyebrow as if thinking Catriona’s status as foster-sister was too mild a term. Gavin knew Duguald would be right, but prayed he wouldn’t say anything in front of de Courcy.

Fortunately, the Scotsman held his tongue.

De Courcy took another gulp of wine, thinking for a long moment. “Gavin, Catriona challenged me. The Church and our king mandate that I administer discipline to curb her errant impulses.”

Gavin’s jaw tightened. He was well familiar with the status of discipline. But his father had raised him never to strike one weaker than he except to protect an innocent life or in battle. Even growing up, his father never thrashed him or Catriona. Punishment of errant behavior was swift and sure, and usually something that made Gavin wish his father would strike him and be done with it. Something wholly distasteful that lasted for an eternity…cleaning chamber pots or garderobe chutes, his father’s list of punishments was endless and only grew worse.

Gavin took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts. “De Courcy, you are wrong on one count.”

“Wrong?”

“With my father’s death, Catriona is now my ward and any discipline she may require falls to me. She may be your betrothed, but she is not your wife yet. Until you exchange your vows before God and the Church, she is my responsibility, not yours.”

De Courcy bowed again, fury darkening his face. Gavin suddenly feared what would happen to Catriona when she married this man. Dear God, what had his father been thinking? De Courcy would either kill her with his discipline or destroy her spirit. Gavin could not bear to witness either.

“I will not be challenged or accosted in my own home. I may not be Catriona’s husband yet, but you are all here by my leave.”

“Then mayhap we should find another place.”

“Another place?” de Courcy barked in amusement. “Where?”

An idea pushed forward and Gavin glanced at Duguald. The Scotsman’s eyes sparkled and his lips twitched, trying to smile. Gavin knew Duguald was thinking the same thing.

“Thistlewood,” Gavin finally said.

“Thistlewood?”

“’Tis Branan’s land, part of his mother’s direct dowry,” Duguald said. “As her heir it falls solely to him without challenge, unlike the Wardenship, which is merely a title to govern royal lands. Thistlewood is his alone.”

De Courcy laughed. “He wouldn’t have even known about the place if it had not been for me. ”

“You wouldn’t have known about it if my father had not told you. Either way, does that change the truth of its title?”

De Courcy scowled.

“Then we shall reside with Branan at Thistlewood, until the time Catriona becomes your wife. Only then will you have claim to her.”

“I don’t believe this! You need me to—”

“So do you now plan to renege on your pact with Branan?” Gavin asked. “That would be interesting since it is a key point in the betrothal agreement.” He almost wished de Courcy would default. Without financing, Branan’s cause was lost, but Gavin knew Branan would rather see Catriona safe.

De Courcy muttered a curse, dragging his hand through his hair. “All right,” he said through clenched teeth. “But the date has been set, I expect my bride to be delivered to her wedding on May Day.” He paused, his gaze deadly. “And I expect her to be the virginal bride promised to me.”

Hatred shot through Gavin. This was all because de Courcy doubted Catriona’s honor? Then Gavin remembered how de Courcy watched Branan and Catriona closely. Did he believe Branan would usurp his marriage rights?

“Of course,” Gavin said through clenched teeth, forcing down his anger. He looked at Duguald. “Let us see how my sister and Branan fare and prepare them to leave.”

Duguald inclined his head and gestured for Gavin to lead the way.

****

Catriona managed to grab two cloaks for her and Branan before they left the keep. Branan wore his leather trews and cross-quartered boots with his snug-fitting inar. But he did not wear the sleeves; the ties dangled around his bare shoulders. The powerful muscles in his arms flexed as he walked with his fists clenched.

Catriona guided him into the gardens. Snow piled thick on the ground, but the sky remained clear and the sun bright, casting a beautiful wintry glow. The air was crisp and fresh. She heard Branan inhale deeply as she wiped the snow from a bench and they sat.

His body still shook violently and his breathing remained harsh. Catriona knew only when these signs faded would Branan be truly free of the rage that gripped him. She feared the consequences Branan might suffer for his actions. But in that instant she’d realized Richard was going to strike her, seeing Branan so quickly place himself in front of her and send Richard flying warmed a secret place in her heart. He had always been her defender.

Branan sat with his elbows on his knees, his shoulders bowed and his head lowered. He squeezed his eyes shut, his long black hair streaming around his face. She placed the cloak over his shoulders, then gently stroked her fingers through his hair, tucking a few of the cascading locks behind his ear.

Branan still fought to catch his breath.

She remained silent, knowing from experience her touch would help pull him out of the pit he had fallen into. She turned her hand and lightly caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers.

He made a soft sound, a choking gasp, then suddenly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, stroking her hair with one hand, the other firmly gripping her waist.

Catriona also wrapped her arms tightly around him. The reality of the changes in him assailed her. No longer was he a lanky lad, but a giant of a man. She felt the hard mass of muscle which now comprised his body. His broad shoulders seemed to surround her, his heavily sinewed arms engulfed her. She could not stop her hand as it traveled lightly over his chest down to his flat stomach and narrow waist.

Branan didn’t move, he only clung to her.

Her other hand moved up his back and she marveled at the power she felt there too. Long muscles, corded tight, stretched upward and outward across his shoulders. Never had she imagined the scrawny, wounded youth she had found in the woods would become such a Goliath.

Slowly, his grip eased on her, his breathing growing more steady, but his limbs still trembled. He backed away enough to look down at her. His eyes shimmered, chaotic and turbulent, as if a tempest had struck the core of the sea-green depths. He lifted his hand to trace along her jaw with a calloused finger. It moved lightly up to her temple, where it paused for a long moment, then continued to stroke through her hair. His touch was so tender, so full of compassion, that it proved a complete contradiction to the power she sensed within him. The warmth of his skin sent a tingle through her where it radiated into the depths of her being.

“Are...are ye sure yer all right, lass?” he asked. His voice, a bare whisper, grated harshly in his throat and his Scottish brogue sounded almost as thick as Duguald’s.

She smiled up at him. “I am fine, Branan.”

He closed his eyes again, inhaling another deep breath. The shaking of his limbs lessened considerably. “I...I thought he’d strike ye,” he said as if trying to explain his actions, not only to her but to himself.

Catriona understood exactly what had happened and why. “I know, Branan,” she said and impulsively traced her fingers over his well-shaped lips.

For an instant, Branan remained frozen, but then caught her hand. He brushed his lips across her fingers then softly kissed her palm. She gasped at the sudden shiver that shot through her.

Branan seemed to come more to his senses, releasing her hand and gazing down at her. For a long moment he stared, his eyes moving over her face as if to memorize every detail. Then he pulled her against his chest again.

“Catriona, forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” she asked. “Richard was being a beast for no reason.”

A low chuckle rumbled through him and Catriona breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he was once again in control. All she had to do was keep him away from Richard.

Branan continued to hold her, remaining silent. Catriona didn’t move, simply enjoying the wonderful peace and the warmth they shared without words.

She heard voices approaching and silently cursed as Branan pulled away. She straightened and looked at the gates.

Gavin and Duguald entered and Catriona was grateful to note Richard was not with them.

“Are ye all right, laddie?”

“Aye, Uncle.”

“Good,” Gavin said. “It seems there are to be a few changes.” Quickly, he explained all that had transpired with Richard.

Catriona swallowed hard. Gavin had made clear his concerns about her impending marriage. She looked at Branan. His expression darkened, but his anger did not reappear.

“Aye, Gavin,” he said, his brogue still thick. “I must hie myself to Thistlewood afore I strangle the sod.” He stood and extended his hand to Catriona. “Will ye accompany us, lassie?”

“Gladly,” she said, forcing a smile, though her relief was very real. Four months was all she had left of freedom and she planned to savor every moment of it.

Catriona was grateful to arrive at Thistlewood that afternoon, but her attention remained focused on Branan. He became quiet and withdrawn, as if he once again stood between reality and the void, unable to return completely. Workers, mercenaries, and craftsmen all approached and greeted him. He returned the pleasantries easily enough, but Catriona knew his heart wasn't in it.

She sighed and took her pack with her meager belongings and found an empty shelter to call her own. It had a small but comfortable pallet for a bed, clean blankets, and a ewer and basin with fresh water waiting on a table for her. She quickly put her things away and stepped out. She looked for Branan and saw him duck away from the cleared area, his expression troubled. He vanished into the woods. Terribly worried, she darted after him.

****

Branan strode a few paces into the tree line then stopped. His body still shook. He squeezed his eyes closed. What was wrong with him? The rage had passed, but he sensed it was still there...lurking in the black corners of his mind, like a wolf stalking a hart. This had never happened before. Since the time he had nearly beaten that lad to death, he had managed to control the demon within him, but now it was stronger than ever, and it had no desire to release its hold on him.

He opened his hands and stared down at them, noting their size, strength, and roughness. “Damnation,” he whispered. “If I dinna control this bloodlust, I will kill an innocent.”

A small, feminine hand appeared and gripped his fingers with surprising strength. “Nay, Branan,” Catriona said softly, stepping next to him. “No matter your rage, you will never, ever hurt an innocent.”

“Catriona, how can ye say that? I was ready to kill de Courcy, but he never touched ye.”

“You did what was right, Branan, he was going to hit me.”

Branan scowled, desperately trying to remember, but his rage had fogged everything. “I dinna think he actually raised—”

“Branan, I remember watching you and Gavin in the lists. One thing my father taught you early on was that if the sword is in motion before you think to block, then it’s already too late. Your block has to be there first.”

“Aye,” he replied, his thoughts scrambling. “A warrior needs to act instinctively.”

“The signs were there but they were subtle, your training as a knight...your instincts…prompted you to act, and I thank God you did.” She pulled his hand up and cradled his palm against her cheek.

He swallowed hard and hauled her into his arms. “I canna stop shaking, Catriona,” he whispered, his lips brushing her hair. “For an instant, the thought ye'd share the same fate as my—” His voice cracked and he drew in a ragged breath. “Since the day she died, I’ve never felt fear like that...until today.”

“Branan, I am so sorry.”

“Nay, ’twas not yer fault.” He paused and blew out his breath, weighing his words. “Catriona, I want ye to break the betrothal.”

She blinked at him, stunned. “Branan, you know I can't. Father—”

“Yer father didna realize what kind of man de Courcy is. I know if he were here, he wouldna wish ye to be in danger.”

****

Catriona couldn't help the shiver of dread that skittered up her spine. She understood his worry. Richard would have struck her if Branan had not intervened. She didn't know why, but Richard seemed to think Catriona's only purpose was to lure men with her feminine wiles, and any thought of intelligence was only imagination on the part of other men.

Branan released her, but then took her hands in his. “Catriona, listen to me. This marriage may put ye in danger. If ye decide ye dinna want this, I will support ye. I know Gavin will go to the Church and request the betrothal be ended.”

A bitter pang swept through her. If she did not marry Richard, she could remain with her family. And perhaps...just perhaps...Branan might see something more within her.

But the memory of Branan's shadow disappearing into the depths of the night returned. He had vanished for ten years. Her heart twisted. Despite her pain, her fingers lightly caressed his cheek and moved to his hair. If he did not regain his legacy, he would return to Scotland. Her father had betrothed her to Richard for a reason. Her future would be secured with a man who would not abandon her in the dead of night.

Branan closed his eyes and shivered, moving instinctively closer to her hand.

“Branan, I cannot.”

His eyes flew open and he gaped at her. “What?”

Her heart nearly shattered at the surprise and worry in his expressive eyes. “Branan, we know now why my father arranged the betrothal: to guarantee your alliance with Richard.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “He wouldna have done this if he ken the kind of man de Courcy is. He would never want to see ye hurt.”

“I think he had an idea of Richard's temper, Branan, and I do not think Papa did this out of ignorance. Mayhap he thought me strong enough to endure, or intelligent enough not to be harmed.”

“Catriona—”

“Branan, listen to me. You need this alliance to have any hope of defeating Strickland.”

“Nay, I canna do this at the price of yer safety.”

Her heart melted with his words. “Don't you understand? I know you must do this. For two years, I saw a lad struggle with his pain. Every time I looked at him, I saw him trying to find himself, trying to discover who he was. Even now I feel the hurt within you, the wound on your heart that will not heal no matter what you do.”

“Catriona, please, I canna sacrifice ye...”

“You are not doing this—I am. Without Richard's alliance, your cause will fail. Until you find justice, you will never find relief from the pain within you. I would give anything to stop your hurt, and if my marriage will bring you one step closer to accomplishing that, then I will gladly do it.” She did not speak the fact that she firmly believed if Branan succeeded at this he would find the courage to remain instead of disappearing without a trace.

His eyes widened and he cupped her cheek in his hand. “Ye…ye do this for me? ”

“Aye, Branan, and with a glad heart.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against hers. Catriona felt the power of him wrap around her, his strength and his sorrow. She savored the scent of him, of sandalwood, leather, and sweet wood smoke.

Slowly he lifted his head. “Thank ye, Catriona, yer words mean much to me. I need the men and finances, but surely there is another way.”

She grinned at him. “I must admit that I am open to suggestions.”

He smiled, his face brightening and his fingers toying with a wisp of hair on her cheek. Then his gaze locked on hers. She shivered under the intensity of his stare. Slowly, he lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

Catriona nearly melted under the softest caress she had ever received from him, the feel of his lips against hers. His mouth slowly eased onto hers and he traced her lips with his tongue. The world spun with the heady pleasure rioting within her. She returned his kiss, a tiny voice in her head warning her to stop, but she couldn't.

Branan's kiss became more demanding. He pulled her closer, his body pressed firmly against hers. But too quickly he ended the kiss.

“I shouldna have done that.” But even as he spoke his eyes blazed with a feral spark, a fire of hope burning bright within him. The intensity of it stole her breath. Since first meeting him on that terrible day, she had seen the fire only on rare occasions. He had been so badly hurt by his past, lost and confused. Sometimes she feared the fire permanently snuffed, but here it was again, burning so brightly it quickened her pulse and tingled her skin.

“I did not mind,” she said, blushing furiously. “Not in the least.”

A low chuckle rumbled through him.