Mist Warrior (2 page)

“
Why…?
”
Branan choked.
“
Why didn’t she tell me afore?
”

“
She had no choice. When you are older
,
you will understand.
”

“
What am I to do now?
”
Suddenly Branan felt very lost and alone – and very much a child.

“
Where is she?
”
a
voice roared.

Branan spun. William Strickland
,
mounted atop his huge destrier
, galloped toward him,
along with three knights and a handful of serjants.

The priest crossed himself and muttered a prayer in Latin.

Before Branan could summon his wits, Strickland pulled to a stop before him. His eyes were dark, the planes of his face made even more cruel by a neatly trimmed beard, spattered with gray. Strickland’s gaze locked on the headstone for a long moment…then he stared at Branan.

“
Now, I finally understand,
”
he growled.
“
You are that bastard’s whelp, not mine.
”
Instantly
,
he drew his sword, a large Scottish claymore.

Branan caught a layan caugglimpse of a brass plate hilt. He knew that sword well after gazing upon it almost every day of his life. A few times he had wondered why his father chose to carry a weapon used primarily in Scotland. It had a thistle engraved on the hilt and a deep green emerald set in the pommel.

Reclaim your father’s sword.

Suddenly, Branan understood. Raulf MacTavish, a Scotsman, once bore a claymore. He gazed upon the weapon of his true sire.

Black rage possessed him
.
Branan screamed in fury.

The priest grabbed him and shoved him backward. Strickland cut downward, decapitating the priest. Blood splashed across Branan’s face and soaked his tunic. One of Strickland’s men lifted a crossbow. It thunked
,
and fire burned through Branan’s left shoulder.

“
Run
,
Lord Branan!
”
s
omeone screamed.

Branan hauled himself up, hatred sending fire through his veins. The black rage pounded deep within him. He would kill Strickland for this…for murdering his mother…for the beatings…for his true sire….

A servant tackled Branan just as another knight sh
ot a crossbow bolt at him.
“
Run
,
”
the man growled.
“
Remember your mother’s words.
”

Learn before you fight.

A foul taste coated his mouth
,
but Branan, his thoughts fogged in blackness, picked himself up and ran.

“
Get the bastard!
”
Strickland screamed.

Branan focused on the dense trees a short distance away. Ignoring the agony in his shoulder, he sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him. Crossbow bolts landed near his feet but still he ran, his long legs pumping rhythmically. He threw himself into the forest where the trees and undergrowth grew thick. The dense brush would slow him down
,
but the knights on their horses would be at a severe disadvantage./spisadvan

He seemed to
alternate
between
running and hiding for hours
,
but the knights were not as crippled as Branan
had hoped
. Just when he prayed it was safe to catch a breath, a bolt sent him diving for cover. Now that Strickland had determined the truth, he would never let Branan live.

Branan had broken the shaft to the bolt in his shoulder
,
but the barb remained embedded. He bled terribly and he knew his strength would not last much longer. He plunged under a thicket as a knight galloped past him.

“
There you are,
”
a soft, feminine voice whispered.

Branan almost yelped as a hand closed on his.

“
Be silent,
”
the girl snapped.
“
I’m trying to help you, fool.
”

Branan blinked in surprise. The
girl appeared close to his age with light-
colored hair and eyes
,
but he could see little in the darkness.
“
Who are you?
”

“
I’m Catriona de Reigny,
”
she whispered.
“
I pray your mother told you about our family.
”

“
You know John de Reigny?
”

“
He is my father.
”

“
Aye,
”
Branan said, snarling against the pain radiating from his shoulder and into his chest.
“
But why are you here?
ace="Gad">”

“
My home is not far. We saw your mother’s burial and feared there might be trouble. My parents, brother
,
and I are keeping an eye on you.
”
She paused and sucked in a breath.
“
’Tis my father’s promise to your dead sire.
”

A shudder passed through Branan’s body.

“
I will take you to safety, Branan MacTavish.
”

He blinked at her, stunned.

“
’Tis your true Scottish name.
”

“
Why…why should I trust you?
”

She gestured to his shoulder, still bleeding badly.
“
You don’t have a choice. That wound may kill you yet. Now come on.
”

“
Aye,
”
he whispered and crawled after her.
“
It seems I must put my life in your hands.
”

She flashed him a smile that made him feel strange.
“
No one knows this forest as well as I, not even my brother.
”

Branan followed her, crawling on his belly through the thicket. A terrible chill possessed the core of his being.
Too much blood loss. She’s right, this wound may kill me yet. But I cannot die. Not now. Not until I know the truth of my father. Who was he?

Another thought chilled him even more.

Who am I?

The Summons

Dun-Ardrigh, Scotland

December 1415 AD

“
MacTavish!
”
a lad’s voice cried.

Branan quickly stepped out of the wood shop, wiping the sweat from his face, and saw young Marcus sprinting across the bailey as if the hounds of hell snapped at his heels.

“
Aye?
”
he asked, instantly worried.

The youthli
ng slid to a step, panting,
his eyes wide.
“
Riders comin’. I dinna recognize their arms because of the mist.
”

The sound of galloping hooves reached Branan, echoing with an ominous strength in the thick
,
misty air. The clouds hung low this morn, as if the sky had descended to touch the earth. He scowled and grabbed his inar, a brown
,
snug-fitting leather jacket without sleeves, from its peg. Hastily hauling it on, he straightened his clothing
,
then seized his claymore. Branan stepped into the bailey. Uncle Duguald and several other warriors joined him.

“
Shall we close the gates?
”
Duguald asked.

“
Nay,
”
Branan replied, listening intently.
“
I ken only three mounts.
”

Duguald nodded
,
but his knuckles whitened over the hilt of his claymore.

In moments, an English knight with two mounted serjants broke through the mist and charged up the hill to the keep. For an instant Branan’s rage surged, threatening to leap out of control. Had Strickland finally found his haven?

Branan for"><">Branaced down the emotions. Nay, Strickland would not find him on clan lands. And if he had, he would send a much larger force than this.

“
What the devil?
”
Duguald muttered.

The approaching knight, riding a huge bay, raised his hand in peaceful greeting
,
but Branan’s suspicions did not ease. Others of the household gathered in the yard, many bearing weapons.

The knight pulled his blowing mount to a stop before Branan and jumped to the ground, pushing back his chain
mail coif.

Branan blinked, seeing the man’s smiling face
and sparking blue eyes
,
his
long blond hair in a tattered braid.
“
Gavin?
”
he whispered in shock.
“
Gavin de Reigny?
”

“
Branan, you dog! How are you?
”

Gavin enveloped Branan in a manly embrace that threatened to crack his ribs. His concern vanished and he laughed, thumping Gavin on the back in warm welcome.

Duguald and the other clan members visibly relaxed.

“
Good glory,
”
Gavin said
,
stepping back and gazing up at him.
“
You’ve grown.
”