Branded by a Warrior (3 page)

Broderick and Duncan had once been long time friends before Fiona
twisted them against each other. Kincaid had employed the lovely Fiona to capture the men’s hearts and then use her persuasion and lies to cause a war between the two.
The Scottish lass easily
manipulated
each man with the sway of her hips and her promising words of undying love, each thought he was her only lover. The plan Kincaid had concocted
almost worked;
Duncan and Broderick were nose to nose
when Elisabeth had found them so many years ago.

The men had
met at the waterfall on Broderick’s land, preparing to
fight
they had drawn their blades.
She had
ridden
upon the scene
desperate to stop the boiling tensions.

She had
uncovered the truth
, she had tried to speak to Broderick first but that had turned disastrous.
She had ridden to the waterfall, screaming for them to listen to her words, pleading with them to stop.
N
either Duncan nor Broderick
pai
d attention to her as she attempted to push
them away from each other.

She was only a handful of years younger than Laird Broderick and Duncan, yet they seemed like leviathans to her.
Even years later she could remember what
the handsome laird looked
like;
she had threatened his life
in order to save her brother
.
She remembered r
aising her broadsword
to
Broderick
to get his attention
;
he
had
merely
smiled down at her as if she wasn’t a threat at all.

It had been years ago
, so many years ago
. What she wouldn’t give to have her brother by her side now.
Casting her unsteady gaze around the forest, she had never felt such despair and agony in her life. Her heart a
ched for her family and clan; her body had started to grow numb. The bitter cold had taken its toll on her bare fingers and exposed skin. Shivering constantly, the sound of her chattering teeth
was the only sound to be heard in the empty forest.

Desperate to find Castle MacMillan she ran her weary eyes across the mountainous range ahead of her, nothing.
Only trees, snow and ice lay ahead of her.
The craggy mountain range
lay
directly before her, she saw no sign of life, human or animal. She was alone;
h
er heart sank as she bobbed in the saddle.
The world closed in around her, and she saw black.
Her last
lucid
thoughts were on her beloved family as she closed her eyes and fell out of her saddle onto snow covered forest floor. 

The news of the Drummond massacre was swiftly carried to Broderick;
he had eyes and ears in every corner of the Highlands.
As soon as the devastating news reached his ears, t
he
powerful
young
laird
called up
his army
of
warriors
and
quickly
rode south
.
In search of Drummond survivors, the thundering army
approached the distant village within a day.
From the reports he had received, he didn’t know what to anticipate upon their arrival.

Broderick and his men
arrived to find nothing but ash and bone. No animals, no survivors, no structure left standing. All had been lost.
The once beautiful castle and
thriving
village had been raised to the ground, charred remains of homes and people scattered the once beautiful land. Smoke still rose from the rubble,
an
eerie reminder of the battle that had been waged here.
The smell of death was nauseating, even to a seasoned warrior.
Broderick and his men had not seen a massacre like this in many years.

Searching for hours for any sign of life
,
Broderick
and his men departed the scorched village
, sickened by
the
innocent
fatalities
of women and children
.
No one was spared.
To the
MacMillan
clan, there was no honor in killing the innocent. Warriors fought
warriors, not defenseless
villagers,
women and children.

He had spotted several Douglas tartans on a few of the fallen corpses. Without a doubt, Broderick and his men knew who was to blame for this horrendous crime. Laird Kincaid and his clan were well known for their deceit and treachery.

What had brought on such a vicious attack? If there was issued between the two clans, he was sure Laird Drummond would have written him about it, what was he missing?
Why would Laird Kincaid murder so many innocent lives? What had happened? So many questions flew threw his head as he and his men rode out of the crumbling remains of Castle Drummond.

At nine and twenty Broderick had never seen such a savage attack in the ten years he had been laird.
War was common; the slaughter of hun
dreds of innocent lives was not, even in these war torn times.
He had seen his fair share of bloody corpse ridden battlefields, but the sight of charred skeletal remains of wee children made him sick.

Kincaid and his clan would pay.
One did not lay an entire clan low without repercussions; Laird Kincaid would answer for his atrocities.

Broderick
had become L
aird of Clan MacMillan
at only nineteen
years of age
after his
parents had
died;
he too had endured the wrath of war
.
His parents had been murdered
while he and his younger brother were gone at the Highland festival in Inverness. He had taken his father’s spot as the youngest laird Scotland, years ago he could remember the rage and vengeance he felt as he delivered justice to his parent’s murder
s
.
He would see that same justice dealt for the slain Laird Drummond and his family, they had been damn good people. He had always looked up to the elder Laird with respect, he had learned much from him in his youth. Laird Drummond was his father’s c
losest friend
. Now dead and gone, Broderick vowed to see his life avenged.

Broderick
had ruled
his lands
with an iron fist these past ten years. Fair and
fiercely
protective of his clan, he and
his army had never been bested; he was a known favorite of the King.
His lands were vast and his people were plentiful and excellent farmers in such barren land.
His clan was the
largest
in the
Highlands;
his army outnumbered everyone save the King of England.
Laying siege to Kincaid and his men would be easy for his trained warriors.
Brewing tensions between him and Laird Kincaid would soon come to an end, along with Kincaid’s life.

Riding
back
towards MacMillan castle, he thought of his long time friend Duncan, his life woul
d be avenged
as well
.
After their falling out so many years ago, they had never regained their friendship like it had been before Fiona had torn them apart.
Gritting his teeth
,
Broderick swore a blood oath to his deceased
friend;
he would see th
e attackers pa
y with their life.

The winter storm
that followed Broderick and his men
continued to grow in strength as
they
moved
north;
heavy snow covered the forest floor
.
Winter would soon lock him and his clan away from the outside world until the thaw, situa
ted
in the extreme north of the Highlands; his castle would be isolated for many months.

His army moved with such efficiency it
hadn’t taken long before they crossed borders back into MacMillan territory. The
icy forest was eerily quiet as he and his men crunched through the fresh snow towards his castle
.
They still had a tremendous
amount of riding to do tonight before they’d arrive home to the warm castle.
Broderick
cast his eyes ahead and
noticed a lone
faint
set of
horse tracks
, a solo rider.
Following the tracks,
h
e
gave a silent
signal for his
men
to
meticulously
scan the woods.

Shadows and darkness made it hard to see anything, s
ignaling to his wolfhounds
to search the area
,
Broderick watched as they
picked up the
scen
t
easily
.
His
two
large hounds tracked the scent
an
d took off into the dark night in search of the rider.

Hearing their telltale barks moments later
,
he
ordered his men to stay
in formation
as he
turned his stallion
in search of his hounds
,
his brother
Kendrix
broke away from the pack and followed
closely behind.
Their weapons drawn, they galloped towards the sound of the wolfhounds.
Someone was on their land
that
did n
ot belong, and the dogs had found the intruder.

Maneuvering quickly through the
snowy
forest,
t
he
two brothers saw the
hounds
barking at a magnificent black stallion with no rider.
Cornered behind a large rock wall, the horse was spooked by the dogs, rearing up on its hind legs it kicked at the wolfhounds.

Quickly spotting the Drummo
nd plaid on the horse’s back, Broderick
scanned the
ice-covered forest
around him
for the fallen rider. Looking past the defensive horse he saw a small figure slumped on the ground, clearly not moving.
The warhorse
was protecting its rider who laid face first in the fresh snow.

With one swift whistle, he signaled for his wolfhounds Conn and Isla
to halt their insistent barking; he did not want the fallen rider trampled by the flighty horse.
The hounds stopped immediately
and return to his side in seconds.
Watching the fallen rider for movement he leaned over towards his brother,
“
Kendrix,
see if the rider is alive,
”
nodding his head towards the horse and fallen rider.

Broderick stayed seated on his tall stallion, hand on the hilt of his broadsword should something occur. He watched his only sibling
dismount and
approach the horse, attempting to calm the beast.
Snorting and stomping the ground in agitation
the horse was
clearly
a warriors’ horse.

A
t seven and twenty, Kendrix was the captain of the MacMillan
army;
he was Broderick’s next in command
and his closest friend
and only sibling
.
Known for his skills as a leader and a warrior, Kendrix
was Broderick’s right hand man, and the only family he had left.
The brothers stuck together; rarely did you see one without the other.
Only two years apart, they were inseparable.
Alike in size and look, the brothers could easily be mistaken for twins by a passerby.

At over six feet tall
Kendrix briskly
dismounted
his horse
,
his booted feet crunched in the icy covered snow. H
is
breath visible in the cold
night
a
ir
and he flicked
Broderick
his rei
ns.
Approach
ing the stallion
with caution
he calmly talked to the horse as he drew closer. Kendrix
saw the small figured
lying
in snow, her l
ong red
hair
stood out against the fresh snow, as did the pile of blood she lay in.
Watching her from a short
distance he saw
the faint rise of her
ribs
, looking back at his brother, “Tis
a woman Broderick, barely alive
!
”

Broderick dismounted his horse
instantly
and tied
their horses securely
to a tree as he watched Kendrix secure the
fallen rider’s horse away from the fallen woman.

“Do ye believe she’s a survivor Brother?”
Kincaid asked as they walked back over to the fallen lady.

“Aye,
tis a
Drummond plaid Kendrix, she’s wounded, she must have escaped undetected,”
Broderick answered
, mystified how o
ne single woman could survive the
bloody
slaughter
they had just left
.
Kneeling down he couldn’t see her face; her long red hair covered her pale face from recognition.

The brothers had
both
seen the pool of blood that she lay in; her hands were deathly pale and
her breathing extremely shallow, both stunned she was still alive.

“Roll her over
Kendrix;
shall we see the face of
the lone survivo
r of Drummond?”

Broderick watched as
his brother
gently
rolled the small lass
over to reveal a breathtaking face
, a face that
he
recognized instantly.

“Could it be?” he asked
in astonishment
,
his voice barely a whisper as he leaned
closer to the young
woman
in
the snow.
Reaching out he gently brushed back her coppery hair to fully reveal her face.
He scanned her pale
face and her skin
, she appeared to be
nearly frozen solid; but there was no doubt in his mind. He remembered her, she had aged, but she had only grown more stunning.
Pure shock and joy flowed through
him as he gazed upon her.

“Do you know t
his woman Broderick?”

“Aye, and you know
of
her
too
Brother.
”

Pulling back the tartan plaid
around her ivory neck
to revel a necklace bearing the Drummond family crest
,
he
was sure, “Tis Duncan’s sister
.
”

“
Laird
Drummond’s
only
daughter
?
The Warrior Queen of Scotland
?”