Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set by Kathryn Loch Page A

instructions?” Duguald asked as he took the pouch. Branan moved next to him, in position of guard, his hand on his claymore, as did three other Scots.
    “A monk advised me of a penance,” the knight said. “To bring an offer of goodwill to those in need.”
    So far all was well. The knight followed the code exactly.
    Duguald opened the pouch and the contents tumbled into his hand. Branan stole a quick glance at several coins, then spotted the one he wanted. He gave Duguald a slight nod.
    “Welcome to Thistlewood,” Branan said and the knight looked at him in surprise.
    “Who are you?”
    “Branan MacTavish, the true lord of Thistlewood.”
    The knight blinked at him, glanced at Duguald, then chuckled. “I understand.” He dismounted and bowed. “Well met, my lord.”
    Good. He was quick of mind.
    “I am Sir Tristan of Greystoke and I lead a group of six. We are stipendiary knights and specialize in guarding those of noble rank. We pride ourselves on our professionalism and our skills. My men are highly trained, but will not cause offense to nobility with repulsive behavior. We have come to pledge our blades to your service.”
    Branan arched an eyebrow in appreciation. “Greystoke is a large holding if I recall.”
    “Aye, my wife and children still reside there, but . . . ” He hesitated drawing a deep breath, his eyes flinty with rage. “Thanks to Strickland’s bastard, I am near destitute. I make good money as a hired sword, but even that will not cover the ever increasing amounts he claims I owe. If I lose my holding, my family will have nowhere to go.” He motioned to the three knights in the back. They rode forward. “These men, while not part of my mercenary group, are my friends from holdings near mine. In the middle is Geoffrey, with his wife Beth, and the other two are members of his family. We all have suffered mightily under Strickland’s abuse.”
    “Strickland razed my small holding a few days past,” Geoffrey said as he stopped his horse before Branan. “I bring with me my cousin, Guy, and brother by law, Alaric. We also wish to pledge our blades in service to the true Warden of Inglewood. With us are the tradesmen who worked in my holding; we have nowhere else to go.”
    Branan’s throat tightened. “I mean to bring an end to that persecution,” he said, the softness of his voice conveying the power of his determination.
    Greystoke smiled brightly and glanced at Geoffrey, whose shoulders visibly relaxed.
    Branan extended his hand to Greystoke first as the ranking noble. “Well met,” he said. “I offer ye the protection of Thistlewood. Ye are most welcome here.”
    Greystoke accepted his outstretched forearm with a strong grip of his own. “Thank you, MacTavish.”
    “Follow my Uncle Duguald; he will help get ye settled.”
    The young knight nodded and signaled his men to dismount.
    HHH
    Over the next few days, Catriona discovered herself drawn to the small area Branan used for his woodworking. She watched in amazement as he planed a large beam.
    “What’s that for?”
    He glanced up and smiled, running his hand over the oak. “One of the beams for the new roof.” He straightened and motioned to her. “Look at this.”
    She followed him and he hefted a large support block. “This is one of the joists. Even though we are pressed for time rebuilding this tower, I dinna see a reason for things to be plain.”
    Catriona gazed at the wood, her eyes wide. A beautifully carved angel emerged from the grain, its hair, wings, and garments flowing around the support as if it would spring from its perch at any moment.
    “Branan,” she whispered in soft amazement. “This is beautiful.”
    “Thank ye, lass.”
    She looked around the small shed and saw more pieces Branan had been working on: a large table for the great hall, chairs, and many other items. Most had decorative carvings on them. They were not extravagant, nothing that would slow production of the pieces, but they were