because I am Raulf’s son and his only issue, the right of claim is mine and mine alone.”
Duguald’s humor faded a bit, his gaze growing melancholy. “Aye, laddie...yer parents...although their time together was brief, they were verra happy. And yer da...yer da would be so proud tae see what a fine man his son has become.”
Branan’s throat tightened and he swallowed hard.
“Aye!” a voice said. “And we stand with ye, MacTavish!”
A chorus of approval resounded.
Master Gordon rose and Branan was surprised to see his eyes liquid. “I remember...” he began and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I remember when Raulf and Raina managed these lands. I was a young man then. Inglewood prospered under their gentle grace. I remember their happiness and they shared it with all of us. I agree with your uncle. Your father would be proud of you.” He cleared his throat again and lifted his cup. “To MacTavish, may he return this Wardenship to the peace and prosperity we once knew.”
“MacTavish!” the group cried.
Startled, Branan lifted his cup in acknowledgment and took a drink, but a tiny hope kindled to life within him. His arm tightened around Catriona. She gazed up at him and smiled. It was an action, he discovered, that cured a world of ills. Perhaps...just perhaps...with the support and strength of those around him, there was a chance his bid would succeed.
HHH
A few days later, Branan worked to help clear the area around the tower, but found himself torn over the increasing discord within him regarding Catriona and her betrothal. His fear that she would end up in a marriage similar to what his mother suffered with Strickland was very real. Only now did Branan realize how much he had missed Catriona in the ten years he had been gone. He craved every moment he spent with her, every word, every smile, every touch.
The work around the tower was advancing well, and Branan’s community at Thistlewood thrived. He heard the long, low whistle of a sentry, warning of more arrivals from Brackenburgh. Branan gazed down the trail.
Through the fog, a knight rode before two wagons. A dozen men and women on foot walked next to the wagons with six mounted knights flanking them. Behind them rode three more knights, but the one in the middle had a lady in his arms. She huddled against him and Branan’s throat tightened, remembering how Catriona had ridden with him in much the same fashion. He dropped his tools and hurried toward them as a crowd gathered.
“Branan,” Duguald whispered harshly.
Branan checked his pace, remembering the plan they had devised. “The lass with the knight,” he whispered back. “What if she’s injured?”
Duguald’s eyes narrowed and he stepped in front of Branan. “Is anyone injured?” he asked, his gaze focusing on the woman.
“Nay,” the lead knight said and glanced over his shoulder. “Weary and footsore, nothing more.”
Duguald nodded and Branan sighed in relief. The lead knights rode fine battle mounts, their armor gleaming in the muted sunlight. The three in back, while their armor was not as fine, appeared to be in good repair and their horses sound.
“I seek the lord of Thistlewood and bring an offering of goodwill,” the lead knight said. Branan noted the man appeared close to his age and size. He had long light-brown hair and blue eyes. He uttered the greeting Branan and de Courcy had agreed upon so Branan could be assured de Courcy had truly sent them. The offering of goodwill could be almost anything, but one part of it would be a special silver coin, notched and scarred in a seemingly random manner. But to Branan, the randomness was exact.
“I am the lord of Thistlewood,” Duguald said, playing his part in their arrangement to protect Branan.
The knight scowled. “I expected you to be much younger.” He removed a small pouch from his belt. “I have been instructed to give you this.”
“And who gave ye the
Duguald’s humor faded a bit, his gaze growing melancholy. “Aye, laddie...yer parents...although their time together was brief, they were verra happy. And yer da...yer da would be so proud tae see what a fine man his son has become.”
Branan’s throat tightened and he swallowed hard.
“Aye!” a voice said. “And we stand with ye, MacTavish!”
A chorus of approval resounded.
Master Gordon rose and Branan was surprised to see his eyes liquid. “I remember...” he began and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I remember when Raulf and Raina managed these lands. I was a young man then. Inglewood prospered under their gentle grace. I remember their happiness and they shared it with all of us. I agree with your uncle. Your father would be proud of you.” He cleared his throat again and lifted his cup. “To MacTavish, may he return this Wardenship to the peace and prosperity we once knew.”
“MacTavish!” the group cried.
Startled, Branan lifted his cup in acknowledgment and took a drink, but a tiny hope kindled to life within him. His arm tightened around Catriona. She gazed up at him and smiled. It was an action, he discovered, that cured a world of ills. Perhaps...just perhaps...with the support and strength of those around him, there was a chance his bid would succeed.
HHH
A few days later, Branan worked to help clear the area around the tower, but found himself torn over the increasing discord within him regarding Catriona and her betrothal. His fear that she would end up in a marriage similar to what his mother suffered with Strickland was very real. Only now did Branan realize how much he had missed Catriona in the ten years he had been gone. He craved every moment he spent with her, every word, every smile, every touch.
The work around the tower was advancing well, and Branan’s community at Thistlewood thrived. He heard the long, low whistle of a sentry, warning of more arrivals from Brackenburgh. Branan gazed down the trail.
Through the fog, a knight rode before two wagons. A dozen men and women on foot walked next to the wagons with six mounted knights flanking them. Behind them rode three more knights, but the one in the middle had a lady in his arms. She huddled against him and Branan’s throat tightened, remembering how Catriona had ridden with him in much the same fashion. He dropped his tools and hurried toward them as a crowd gathered.
“Branan,” Duguald whispered harshly.
Branan checked his pace, remembering the plan they had devised. “The lass with the knight,” he whispered back. “What if she’s injured?”
Duguald’s eyes narrowed and he stepped in front of Branan. “Is anyone injured?” he asked, his gaze focusing on the woman.
“Nay,” the lead knight said and glanced over his shoulder. “Weary and footsore, nothing more.”
Duguald nodded and Branan sighed in relief. The lead knights rode fine battle mounts, their armor gleaming in the muted sunlight. The three in back, while their armor was not as fine, appeared to be in good repair and their horses sound.
“I seek the lord of Thistlewood and bring an offering of goodwill,” the lead knight said. Branan noted the man appeared close to his age and size. He had long light-brown hair and blue eyes. He uttered the greeting Branan and de Courcy had agreed upon so Branan could be assured de Courcy had truly sent them. The offering of goodwill could be almost anything, but one part of it would be a special silver coin, notched and scarred in a seemingly random manner. But to Branan, the randomness was exact.
“I am the lord of Thistlewood,” Duguald said, playing his part in their arrangement to protect Branan.
The knight scowled. “I expected you to be much younger.” He removed a small pouch from his belt. “I have been instructed to give you this.”
“And who gave ye the
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