Page 8 of Mist Warrior (Legacy of the Mist Clans #1)

Ch apter Seve n

The Hunt

Despite renewing her friendship with Branan, Catriona felt as if she had fallen into a pit of despair. Three weeks had passed since their arrival at Thistlewood, but her nightmares of the burning manor house only grew worse. She slept little and lost her appetite. It was as if a chasm of blackness threatened to engulf her. She joined in the work at the tower each day. Even though more people arrived at Thistlewood regularly, Catriona knew everyone was needed to help. But most days, she struggled to find the strength to rise from the bed. All she wanted to do was sleep—yet that thought terrified her, for when she slept, the nightmares became real.

Richard shocked her, visiting the camp every few days. Catriona did her best to avoid him. She was too weary to argue with him. When he walked in her direction, she usually went the other way. She found Gavin and Branan both watching her closely. Many times, if Richard continued his pursuit, one of them would intercept him and distract him with a trivial matter of building Thistlewood.

Leastways when he was unable to harry her, Richard put himself to good use. He surprised her by stripping off his tunic and working right alongside the other men. Why would he do such a thing? He was strong and fit, mostly from working with sword and shield. Although a business man, he never allowed his fighting skills to suffer. But other manual labors he usually tried to avoid.

The men worked to rebuild the tower and Richard joined them, hauling rotten wood, and moving broken stone. Was he trying to impress people, or prove he could work as hard as the next man...a man such as Branan?

One morning, Richard arrived and managed to corner her while Branan and Gavin were working in the tower. Catriona swallowed hard and stood her ground.

“Catriona,” Richard said gazing at her critically. “Are you feeling well? Your face appears quite pale.”

She shrugged, keeping her attention focused on her work: gathering laundry for delivery to the washer-women.

He sighed softly, his voice taking a gentler tone. “My lady should not be so taxed with manual labor,” he said, crouching before her and putting a tunic into the basket. “I want you to return to Brackenburgh. You will be safer there.” He paused and smiled as if trying to make light of his words. “There is no reason why my betrothed should sully herself with peasants’ work.”

She shrugged. “I enjoy the work, Richard. It keeps my mind occupied. If I returned to Brackenburgh, I would be driven daft with boredom.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Catriona—”

“Catriona?” Branan called.

“Aye?”

De Courcy’s gaze turned flat.

Branan flashed her a bright grin, shoving his thick forelock from his brow. She wanted to laugh—the action reminded her of the mischievous lad who Branan only freed on rare occasion. “I need to speak with ye, lass. As chatelaine, we need to discuss the spinning and weaving.”

“Of course.”

Branan looped his arm in hers. “Excuse us, de Courcy.”

Richard said nothing, but the veins in his forehead grew more prominent.

Branan led her away.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Nay, but I dinna like the way he cornered ye.”

She sighed softly. “He wants me to return to Brackenburgh. He thinks I'm sullying myself with peasants’ labor.”

“And what do ye want, lass? Ye are looking a bit pale.”

“I want to stay here, Branan, with you and Gavin.”

“Then here ye shall remain.”

“Thank you.”

“But I am concerned. Perhaps we shouldna focus so much on work.”

“It needs to be done and I enjoy working.”

“I remember a lass who was a fine shot with her bow. Gavin tells me ye have grown even more skilled.”

She nodded. “But my bow was lost in the fire.”

“The bow-maker from Brackenburgh has arrived. Mayhap we should speak with him.”

Catriona almost clapped her hands in glee. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

“This way, lass. ”

She walked through the camp with him, her heart lighter, and it took a moment for her to realize what he had done. Branan had given her a fine distraction and kept her occupied so Richard would not see her alone again. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Something amiss?” Branan asked innocently.

She laughed again, stepping closer, her arm tightening on his. “You are a cunning man, Branan MacTavish.”

He winked at her. “I’ve heard mention of that afore.”

Catriona grinned. As they passed the door of the tower, Richard emerged, his eyes locking on hers. Branan guided her to a different path, leading her away from the tower and into camp. For an instant, Richard looked confused. Then his expression darkened like a thundercloud as she walked away.

****

Days later, the bow-maker brought Catriona's bow and asked her to try it. She agreed, but moved toward her shelter first.

“Where are ye going, lass?” Branan asked.

“To change. You keep working. I don’t like people watching when I try a new bow until I get a feel for it.”

He smiled and nodded.

Catriona changed into a heavy tunic, breeches, and boots. She found it difficult to shoot in skirts if she had to move with any speed, or if she was hunting in the woods, where skirts became impossible. Her father had actually defended her choice of clothing and she wondered if he had taken pride in her abilities. Thinking of him brought tears to her eyes.

She walked with the bow-maker to a small clearing where he had filled barley sacks with sand. It took her a moment to adjust to the bow, but soon she was sending her arrows through the center of the target with ease.

“Nicely done, lady,” the bow-maker said, retrieving her arrows.

“Thank you. I am most pleased with your work.” She dug into the pouch on her belt for a few precious shillings.

The bow-maker saw her actions and held up his hands. “Lady, ’tis not necessary.”

“But you deserve something for this fine work.”

“Mayhap,” Duguald said as he approached, “the bow-maker would agree tae a meal brought down by this fair weapon.”

Catriona turned and saw the burly Scot standing there with his own bow.

“Branan and I were considering a quick hunt.”

“That is a fine suggestion, Duguald.”

“Come then, lass. Let’s fetch Branan, the day’s wastin’.”

To Catriona’s shock, Branan and Duguald gave her the lead on their small hunt. A part of her wondered if this was some sort of test, but the other part of her didn’t care. She was having too much fun. She spotted the recent track of a deer foraging for grass under the snow.

The musky scent of the creature hung in the still air. She pointed to the track of upturned earth. Duguald nodded and signaled Branan to move out and to the right while he went to the left. Catriona continued straight ahead.

They entered a small clearing and spotted the large stag ripping at the earth with his hoof. Catriona readied an arrow, but the stag stood closer to Branan; he had the better shot.

She sensed rather than saw Branan move, the stag oblivious to them. With deliberate slowness, Branan drew his bow and aimed. Suddenly, the stag’s head shot up, just as Branan released his arrow. The missile buried into the heavy muscle of the stag’s neck, but it wasn’t enough to bring the animal down. The stag turned and bounded away—moving closer to Catriona.

She quickly rose, pulling back her bowstring. For a brief instant, all she could hear was the beat of the creature’s hooves. She felt her pulse thundering through her veins and took a breath to steady it. She sighted down the arrow, waiting for her shot, and slowly exhaled. Her gaze locked on the animal’s neck where the vein of life ran through it. The stag surged into the air, leaping over a bush.

Catriona opened her fingers.

The arrow shot forward, landing solidly in the stag’s neck, and ripped through the vein she had targeted. The creature’s head dropped and its momentum launched its hindquarters over its head, snapping its neck. It plowed into the earth and lay still.

Branan whooped, raising his bow and charging forward. “Och, lassie, a fine shot indeed! We shall feed our camp well tonight.”

“Aye,” Duguald said. “The wee bairns will be glad for new wraps of soft deerskin.”

Catriona blinked. “Babes? There are babes in our camp?”

“Aye, lass. Three women with a haggle of children arrived this morn, begging for sanctuary. Strickland slaughtered their menfolk and they near starved this winter.”

Branan knelt beside the stag, working to remove the key glands. “’Tis a good buck,” he said. “Not sickly like the others we’ve seen.” He glanced up at her, his eyes dancing merrily. “Well, lass, it seems ye proved the tales. Ye can outshoot a man.”

She laughed and crouched beside him. “Only a bit of Providence, Branan, you know that.”

“I dinna think so, lass. Now, let’s hie this beastie back to camp.”

Catriona returned to camp in time to see an enraged Richard gathering men, his sword in hand. The bow-maker cowered before him, his fearful gaze locked on the ground .

“What do you mean she went hunting?” Richard roared. “Women don't hunt!”

“I...I told ye, m’lord, I made her a bow and—”

“Richard,” Catriona snapped, quickly stepping forward. “What is going on?”

He spun, and for a brief instant she thought she saw relief in his eyes, but his anger quickly returned. “What in the hell did you think you were doing?”

“Hunting,” she replied, her own anger rising. “Just like I used to do almost every day at home.”

“Are you daft, woman? What if Strickland’s men patrolled the woods?”

“Richard, I was with Branan and Duguald the entire time.”

He glanced at the two men, his eyes widening when he saw the stag.

“Glory,” Gavin said. “That one is the best I’ve seen yet.”

“It’s her kill, Gavin,” Duguald said, but his gaze remained focused on Richard, a scowl creasing his brow.

A soft murmur of surprise rippled through the camp.

Richard ignored the others as he stared at Branan, rage simmering in his eyes. Branan returned the glare equally.

Suddenly, Richard rounded on her. “Never again...you are not allowed to leave this camp. If you do, I will take you to Brackenburgh by force.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

“I’ll not have you throw your life away!”

“Richard, what would you have me do? Sit here and wallow in my own misery?”

“If it keeps you alive, then aye.”

Rage coiled through her, pushing tears into her eyes, but she refused to give way to them. “I’ve had my bloody fill of you, you stubborn, lack-witted barbarian! God’s teeth, why can’t you leave me be?” She spun on her heel and stormed back to her shelter.

****

Branan watched Catriona vanish into her shelter, fury clawing at his reason. His gaze returned to de Courcy and his fury increased. Slowly, he lowered the carcass to the ground and motioned for some men to remove it. As they did, his eyes never left de Courcy’s.

The young man, his face red from Catriona’s diatribe, stepped forward. His body bowed, but for a moment he didn’t move as he attempted to master himself.

“I see ye have learned one lesson,” Branan said between clenched teeth. “Ye willna threaten her with injury in my presence even when she lets loose with her sharp tongue.”

“I’m more angry at you than her,” de Courcy snapped. “Endanger her like that again and I will have your bollocks. ”

“She was never in danger.”

“How do you know? Strickland’s men could have stalked you just like you stalked the deer.”

“I would have ken they were there...and so would she.”

“Mind my orders, MacTavish, I have equal say in our partnership.”

Branan snarled a curse. “And mind that ye dinna continue to slight her or underestimate her talents.”

“You overstep your bounds,” de Courcy snapped and stormed away.

Branan sighed, shaking his head. “Fool,” he muttered.

Duguald looked at him, arching an eyebrow. “Take care, young Branan. De Courcy knows ye have an eye for his lady.”

“She is my foster-sister and I dinna have an eye for her.”

“Ye spend most of yer waking hours with her and ye dinna have an eye for the lass?”

Branan’s shoulders sagged. “All right, Duguald, mayhap I find her a bonny creature and fair of grace. But her future is with de Courcy...and...” He almost choked on the words. “She willna break the betrothal because of me.”

“But ye need the fire of our beloved Catriona, do ye not?”

“Aye, but that be not the reason I do this.”

“Then why, lad? Why court the rage of the lord who finances yer cause?”

“De Courcy is a fool and a coward. Catriona hasna any friends here,” Branan said firmly. “She lost all that was dear to her except myself and Gavin. But de Courcy persecutes her for nary a reason.”

Duguald nodded. “Just see tae it ye dinna push de Courcy too far, or ye may just find yer bollocks on his plate.”

“I'll goad him into raging fits if it causes him to give the lass her due,” Branan snapped.

Surprisingly, Duguald chuckled. “Verra well, lad, ye may be willing to endanger yer family jewels, but see tae it ye dinna lose yer heart as well.”

Muttering, Branan strode away.

****

“Catriona!” Richard barked from outside her shelter. “A word with you.”

She flinched and her heart pounded. She had stayed in her shelter until dark, hoping Richard would give up and leave. Unfortunately, he seemed to be determined to harass her.

Catriona squared her shoulders and purposefully stepped out. “What is it?”

“I insist that you return to Brackenburgh.”

She noticed movement behind him. Branan approached, but in the torchlight, it appeared as if he materialized out of the darkness .

“De Courcy,” he said, his voice laced with warning.

Richard saw him and curled his lip. “She is not safe here.”

Catriona lifted her chin, anger sparking through her. She would not be safe at Brackenburgh either. “I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly secure here. I assure you I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

Richard’s anger faded and he looked genuinely amused. “Taking care of yourself? Please, lady, your words only prove your foolishness. If you had been able to take care of yourself, Strickland’s men wouldn’t have harried you like hounds on a rabbit. They wouldn’t have run you into the ground. Do you have any idea what would have happened if they’d caught you? If it hadn’t been for MacTavish and your brother, you would have been assaulted and probably left for dead.”

Abruptly the memories intruded, stealing her anger and replacing it with terror. She tried to force the horrors from her thoughts, but they remained, their claws buried in her soul. Her memory had been fogged by terror, cold, and exhaustion—she only remembered running. Every night, the memories of all she had witnessed were slowly returning with terrifying clarity, and her nightmares only grew worse.

She turned her back on Richard, praying he did not see her tears, and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering with an awful chill radiating from the core of her being.

“I think you should leave, Richard.”

“Catriona—”

“Now! Leave me in peace!”

“Blast, woman—”

Branan stepped forward. “Ye heard the lass. Leave now.” His voice was soft but deadly in its power.

Richard cursed and stomped away.

Catriona held her breath, her body trembling. She kept the terrifying memories at bay by sheer will alone.

A moment later, she heard a horse gallop away.

“He’s gone,” Branan said softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

With his touch, her control dissolved. The tears exploded and she sagged against him. The visions flashed through her thoughts, terrifyingly real.

“Catriona?” Branan asked worriedly as he held her to him.

The memory broke free and Catriona no longer stood before her shelter with Branan, but in her own room as the servants rousted her from bed...

“...M’lady! Dress quickly!” Abigail whispered. “Yer father wants ye in the hall.”

Confused as to what could be happening at such a late hour, Catriona dressed and hurried downstairs. The manor house was in an uproar, the staff hiding valuables and barring doors. Her mother and father stood in the middle of it.

“Papa,” she called. “What’s wrong?”

“Catriona,” he limped forward, leaning heavily on his cane, and swept her into a tight embrace which only frightened her more. Slowly he released her. “Catriona, we just heard that Strickland knows Branan sheltered with us for a time. His men are sacking the village and they are coming this way. I want you and your mother to hide in the forest. Once they know Branan is not here, I will fetch you.”

Catriona’s heart battered her ribs. “Papa no, let me stay here.”

He shook his head. “My dear daughter, I cannot risk your well-being. You are a beautiful girl and once the men see you, they may decide to accost you in order to force me to tell them where Branan is now.”

She swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes.

“I want you and your mother to go to the woods and stay there.”

“But we are defended, Papa, we can close the gates.”

He managed a grim smile. “Close the gates to my overlord? Catriona, you know better than that. It would only fuel his rage and none of us would live to see the sun rise.”

“Then come with us.”

“You also know I cannot run with my lame knee. They would find us in no time.” He embraced her again and kissed her cheek. “Godspeed, Catriona, my heart goes with you.”

Catriona removed the cross Branan had given her and pressed it into his hand. “For luck, Papa.”

He smiled as his hand closed over it.

A servant handed her a cloak while her mother and father said a tearful good-bye. Catriona took her mother’s hand and they hurried to the back gate.

Shouts echoed at the front gate as riders bearing torches arrived. Her mother slid to a halt. “Catriona...”

“Come, Mother, we must do as Father says.”

Her mother shook her head stubbornly, tears streaking her face. “You know I cannot leave him.” Quickly, she kissed Catriona’s cheek and tore her hand away.

“Mother!”

“Go now! If the worst happens, find Gavin!”

“How?” she screamed. “I know not where Gavin has gone!”

Mother shook her head. “He will return. Be safe, my beloved daughter.” She turned and ran back to the manor house.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Catriona ran for the forest. She wanted to go back but did not wish to defy her father.

Finding a sheltered spot from which she could see the manor house, Catriona watched and waited. Strickland’s men entered the small courtyard. Her father and mother greeted them. They exchanged a few words and suddenly the captain backhanded her father, sending him into the dirt. Her mother struggled to help him to his feet. Catriona stared, transfixed in terror, as the men-at-arms forced her mother and father with all of the servants into the manor house. They locked the doors with a heavy chain and boarded up windows that were large enough to crawl through.

Then she watched them set the house ablaze...

****

Confused and worried, Branan held Catriona close as she sobbed against him. She kept trying to speak, but he could not understand her words. He could only hold her and try to calm her.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asked as he hurried toward them.

“I dinna ken,” Branan said tightly. “De Courcy provoked her.”

She took a deep shuddering breath. “I saw it...” she gasped, still sobbing. “Blessed Mary help me, I saw what they did.”

Gavin gently pushed a lock of hair from her face. “Saw what?”

Her sobs abruptly increased.

“Easy, my bonny lass,” Brendan whispered. “What did ye see?”

She continued to cry, but brokenly told them of her nightmares and the horror she had witnessed. “I ran back to the house and grabbed an iron bar from the smithy. I tried to pry the boards off the windows. I heard their screams. I heard mother as she burned.”

“Sweet Jesu,” Gavin whispered, staring at Branan in horror.

“The smell, sweet Mary, I'll never forget that smell...”

Branan’s soul shriveled against the agony of learning what his foster-parents had suffered.

“But...but the men spotted me. I didn’t want to leave them. I screamed for father. He kept shouting at me to run...to get away. I didn't want to...but I abandoned them when I was the only one who could save them. I left them to die!”

“Nay,” Gavin said forcefully, his voice thick with unshed tears. “You didn’t have a choice Catriona, you had to run. You did all you could, you were braver than anyone, you tried to free them.”

“I kept trying to go back to help them...but the men chased me. Just when I thought they lost my trial, I would try to return to the house and they would find me again.”

Branan blinked in shock. “That’s why ye didna lose yer pursuers in the forest...ye were only trying to go back.”

She nodded.

“And de Courcy’s words,” Branan continued. “He mocked ye for being pursued, when all ye wanted to do was help yer parents.”

Another nod .

Fury clawed at Branan and he wanted nothing more than to strangle de Courcy. The stupid sod! How could the man do this to her?

“Catriona” he whispered, holding her so tightly it was a wonder he didn’t squeeze the breath from her. “’Tis all right, lass.” He took a deep breath and simply stood with Catriona, trying to offer her a bit of solace and allowing her to cry all she needed.

Branan wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but finally Catriona’s sobs turned to hiccupping gasps. One of the women approached with a medicant. “This will help calm her,” the stout matron said.

Catriona managed to drink the medicant and Branan took her inside, placing her on her bed. He gently stroked the hair from her face. Her sobs eased, but she kept her eyes squeezed closed and tears continued to flow.

“M’lords,” the woman said. “if ye wish, I will settle her in bed.”

Branan nodded. “’Twill be all right, Catriona,” he said.

She squeezed his hand, but otherwise didn’t respond.

With a sigh, Branan left the shelter with Gavin. “Now I understand.”

“What?” Gavin asked.

He quickly explained Catriona’s refusal to end the betrothal. “And mayhap with what she witnessed, she needs to find justice with Strickland as well. Right now, I am the only one who can accomplish that.”

Gavin nodded mutely.

Anger and helplessness surged through Branan. Strickland had destroyed so much. Now de Courcy was prodding Catriona into a breakdown. His arms felt empty and he only wanted to return to Catriona, to hold her close again. Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

The rage in his heart turned blacker as he walked, and it tangled with the deep need coiling through him. For a moment, Branan squeezed his eyes shut in confusion. Never had simply being near a woman provoked him so. He had known lust; he had experienced passion and pleasure.

Branan was a man who savored experience; sensations reminded him he was alive, not lost in the void where his soul constantly seemed to remain. A dim memory of his mother’s stories hinted there was more. She always spoke of the love the legendary knight possessed for his beautiful maiden and how she returned it with devotion. As a lad, Branan marveled at the fact the two had found love, unlike in the popular tale of Arthur. Now that he knew the knight in the stories was his father, that would make the maiden his mother.

Yet as he grew older, Branan had been unable to find that love. He feared the part of him that could love had died a long time ago, beaten out of him by Strickland’s fists.

Vengeance was a cold bedfellow. He snorted to himself. As cold as some of the women he had known.

Surely there had to be something more .

Now there was Catriona. Wild, willful Catriona. She was not meek or unassuming. She was rarely quiet. She was strong, but also soul-wounded and vulnerable. She needed him and turned to him for shelter...for comfort. Just thinking of her sent the blood thundering through his body.

But he could not have her.

“Blood, fire, and damnation,” he snarled, continuing his rapid pace.

He had lost Catriona to de Courcy all because of Strickland. First his own parents and now his much loved foster-parents. How many lives would Strickland destroy to torment him?

Branan’s rage burned brighter, and with a savage growl, he lifted his claymore and cleaved through a branch blocking his path. The action ignited his blood and he stepped forward, hacking through another branch.

For a moment, he heard the screams of his mother suffering another beating at Strickland’s hand. The sounds mixed with the memory of Catriona’s sobs. He relived the stench that had assailed him when he found the smoldering ashes of his beloved foster family.

The smell, Catriona had said. Sweet Mary, I'll never forget that smell.

Neither would he.