Mist Warrior
Mist Warrior
By Kathryn Loch
Text Copyright ©2012
Karrie Balwochus
Cover Art Copyright
Erin
Dameron
Licensed RFWPU
Books By Kathryn Loch
Historical Romance
By Any Other Name
Blind Impulse
Heart’s Ransom (Heart and Soul)
Mist Warrior (Legacy)
Medieval Fantasy
Primal Entities: Chaos (print only)
Spirit of Dragons (The Dragon Wars)
Contemporary Thriller/Suspense Romance
Whisper to a Scream
Sworn to Protect (Vows of the Heart)
Sworn to Love (Vows of the Heart)
Penrith Castle
Royal Forest of Inglewood
Mid-Summer, 1403 AD
Twelve-year-old Branan held his mother’s hand tightly.
“
You cannot die,
”
he said, his voice choked with tears.
“
Listen to me,
”
his mother, Raina Strickland, whispered. Her green eyes blazed with anger and sorrow. Her grip on Branan’s hand felt weak and the bruise on her right temple appeared dark and angry.
“
I have little time lnd"
”
“
The truth,
”
Branan asked in confusion. The truth was his father, William Strickland, had beaten his mother so badly all knew she would never rise from this bed.
“
Strickland is not your father,
”
his mother said through clenched teeth.
Branan gaped at her
. He
wonder
ed
if the injury to her head, which the healer insisted would end her life, had addled her thoughts.
“
Your father,
”
she continued, her face a pallid gray,
“
is the Scottish-born knight, Raulf MacTavish.
”
“
Nay,
”
Branan blurted.
“
Hush, dear boy,
”
Raina said gently.
“
I was married to Raulf MacTavish. I had just discovered I was breeding when Strickland murdered your father. Strickland hated Raulf.
”
“
A Scotsman?
”
“
Please, Branan, listen well. After Strickland murdered your father, he forced me to marry him in order to gain the Wardenship. I had no choice. If I had not carried you in my womb, I would have willingly died. Instead, I convinced Strickland you were his. I told no one of my breeding until a few weeks after he took me to his bed. If Strickland knew your true sire, he would have killed you the moment you were born.
”
Branan’s eyes burned, but he refused to shed his tears.
“
Why? Why did you not tell me? Why did you let me believe that bastard was my true father?
”
Ever since he’d been little, Branan had wondered how he could be born of such foul stock.
“
I feared for your safety, Branan. I did not tell you because you were not old enough to understand the danger of your heritage. Every day you look more like your father. Soon you will reach the age where Strickland will see his old enemy staring back at him. Forgive me, my son. I never wanted to mislead you, but only now are you old enough to understand the truth.
”
Branan’s mind scrambled to keep up with it all.
“
Who was my father? Who was Raulf MacTavish?
”
“
Remember the stories of the great knight I used to tell at your bedside?
”
Despite his confusion, a tiny smile tugged at Branan’s lips. As long as he could remember, his mother had told him wonderful stories of a gallant knight afore bed. Those stories had taught him chivalry, courage, and honor, for he certainly had not learned them from Strickland.
“
Those tales were not fanciful legends, but the truth about your real father.
”
“
You…you mean…my real father was that knight?
”
“
Aye, my son. There is a family near, a family your father and I once called friends. Seek out John de Reigny at the manor house of Newton. Strickland knows them not, but Reigny can teach you more of your father and your family in Scotland. Lord Reigny was Raulf’s best friend and brother in arms. He also knows your Uncle Duguald.
“
Uncle Duguald?
”
“
Your father’s younger brother in Scotland.
”
Slowly, his mother relaxed and closed her eyes.
“
Forgive me Branan. I do not wish to leave you, but the choice is not mine to make.
”
“
Mother,
”
he whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek.
“
Know this well, my sweet Branan. I told your father, only hours before his murder, of your impending birth. He was overjoyed, Branan. He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms. But Strickland robbed him of that joy and then stole our lives. When I buried your father…I vowed you would one day make Strickland answer for what he had done. Be cautious. Revenge will bourvenge wurn deep within you, but you must learn before you fight. Learn, or you will lie in a grave next to us.
”
Branan’s tears broke free.
“
Mother, don’t leave me.
”
“
Forgive me, Branan. I love you, my son,
but…I am so tired…I must rest for a moment.
”
He waited, praying she would open her eyes. Her hand relaxed on his as she slipped into unconsciousness.
“
Momma, nay,
”
he gasped, resting his head on her shoulder.
But she never moved again.
Three hours later, under the cover of the moonless night, the healer, a priest, and a few servants who had been in the house before the time of Strickland
,
draped Raina in a death-shroud and carried her secretly out of the of the castle.
They led Branan to a small grave site a good distance away from Penrith.
Branan stared in disbelief at the weathered gray headstone. A terrible chill crawled down his spine and pricked his skin.
Sir Raulf MacTavish, died 1391.
His real father.
Branan watched mutely as the servants dug a fresh grave for his mother. He should
have
help
ed
, he should
have
do
ne
something, but all he could do was stare at the granite stone and try to comprehend all his mother had told him.
Strickland is not your father.
The servants lowered his mother’s body into the grave and Branan felt sobs wrench through him. The hard, cold ache of loss wrapped around his heart. The priest spoke soft words, committing his mother’s soul to the Almighty. Surely this was all some strange dream and he would awaken to find his mother alive.
He understood only one thing. The man he had been raised to know as his father had beaten his mother again. This time, he had killed her.
Strickland murdered your father.
I know this is difficult, my son,
”
the old man said.
“
I know the truth of your heritage.
”
He paused and gestured to those around him.
“
We are the only ones who do.
”