Branded by a Warrior

by Andrea Thorne

  Branded By a Warrior

  by

  Andrea Thorne

  Prologue

  Scottish Highlands

  November 1207

  The lingering smell of blood and smoke was all she could smell. Slumped over the warhorse’s neck, she drifted in and out of consciousness as the snow fell heavily around her. Shivering in the darkness of night, alone and gravely wounded, Elisabeth was the sole survivor of Clan Drummond.

  Clinging to her stallion she ignored the bitter cold penetrating her clothing. There had been no time to dress properly; she had been awoken by the sound of her people being brutally murdered. Dressed in a thin tunic and tartan, she rode hard through the wintery forest towards salvation.

  Everyone was gone. Her family, the younglings of the village, women and children, no one had been spared. Closing her eyes, unable to ignore the tears that stung her face as she thought about each and every one of them. Her heart mourned the lives lost tonight, clinging to the black stallion as he thundered north, she wept for their souls.

  At three and twenty she had escaped death several times in her lifetime, tonight would be one she would never forget. Tonight her family had not been as fortunate. Her beloved parents had been brutally murdered; her brother cut down on the battlefield; her castle burned to the ground as the Douglas warriors declared victory. Clan Douglas had so easily penetrated her father’s walls tonight, the notorious clan had laid siege to her people with bloodthirsty vengeance.

  Her people had been slaughtered like animals, there was nothing left of her beautiful home and people. Women raped and murdered, children brutally slaughtered by the Douglas clan. All were lost, except for her, oh how she wished she had died fighting beside her brother.

  Alone and injured, Elisabeth gripped the reins and saddle tighter as he jumped over a frozen river in the icy forest of the Scottish Highlands. Wrapping her tartan tighter around her chest to stop the flow of blood, she covered herself the best she could and spurred her horse north.

  Completely unprepared for an attack of this magnitude, her father’s warriors were caught sleeping this cold winters eve. The watch had been assassinated with long-range arrows, preventing them from alerting the castle inhabitants of the oncoming army. The Douglas Clan had breached their walls with quiet precision and lowered the drawbridge allowing the hundreds of Douglas warriors to storm the castle.

  It wasn’t until much later that the call to arms was heard, much too late. By the time her father’s warriors were out of their beds, Douglas warriors were storming every inch of the castle and village.

  Her father was Laird of Clan Drummond, murdered in his sleep; his body had been drug through the castle out to the battlements as a trophy, as was his wife’s body. Kincaid had come with vengeance tonight; he had finally snapped. His black heart showed no remorse as he ordered hundreds of innocent lives killed at his feet. He had shown no mercy, no babe or animal had survived his attack. Every structure had been raised to the ground by fire.

  Kincaid’s first wife had been as malevolent as he, dying in childbirth years ago; the countryside rejoiced to see the sadistic woman die. At thirty years old Kincaid had little time or care to mourn his wife. Hours after his wife and child were buried; he turned his sights to finding a new wife. His attention quickly turned to Elisabeth of Drummond, The Warrior Queen of Scotland. She had become his obsession.

  Laird Kincaid was well known in the Highlands for being a vile bastard, he was greedy for land, power and riches. He cared for no one but himself and his possessions, the more he took, the more he wanted. Stories of his depravity swirled around the Highlands, nightmarish tales of his ruthless murders and debauchery.

  To him and his men, nothing was sacred; they had torn through villages and boroughs raping women and murdering the men before setting villages on fire afterward. His hands were stained with the blood of innocent men, women and children long before becoming a laird. Kincaid had come into power by killing the previous laird of Douglas, his older brother years ago. The story was a chilling reminder of his wicked heart, he held nothing sacred, not even his own family. Nothing stood in his way. He refused to accept Elisabeth’s denial time and time again. Each time she refused him the more obsessed he became.

  Laird Kincaid Douglas was tall and arrogant; he was a bloodthirsty warrior who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. The redheaded laird was the Highland’s most feared, and temperamental laird for good reason. A large scar marred his face from brow to chin; he had lost his eye during a failed kidnapping attempt. Elisabeth slashed his evil face with her favorite dagger, taking his left eye with it.

  After that attack, Kincaid retreated to his castle southwest of her family’s land. It was over a year before she heard from him again. It was clear his obsession with her had only grown with time; he still wanted her as his bride and refused to stop. Very few stood in his way, those who did, were cut down with ease. The crown turned a blind eye to the strife happening in the distant Highlands, very few, even the King of England dared cross swords with Laird Douglas. With the absence of anyone to stop him, Laird Kincaid ruled the south Highlands in his web of bloodstained villages.

  Kincaid saw her as a challenge, a trophy to take, and break to his will. Elisabeth was well known for her stubbornness and beauty as well as her skills as a warrior. The entire Highlands had dubbed her their warrior queen, and he wanted her by his side, willing or not. The more she resisted, the more he pressed.

  For years she had fended off Kincaid’s threats and kidnapping attempts, both her father and brother had delivered the news to Kincaid over the years. She had been more than vocal to Kincaid; her refusals were cold and short. She never imagined this would happen to her family and clan. Duncan and her father had supported her refusals of Kincaid, they too hated the man, they refused to sacrifice Elisabeth for peace with Kincaid.

  Regardless how many times he was told no, Kincaid’s attempts had grown only grown desperate and elaborate; she had never imagined he would massacre her family and clan over refusing his hand once again.

  Kincaid had come with vengeance tonight, the tall laird and his warriors lay siege to her castle, murdering all in their path. He came to teach her a lesson. There was no doubt in her mind that tonight could be laid at her feet, her constant refusal of Kincaid and out smarting him at every turn had finally cost her. It had cost her more than she could live with.

  Her loving parents were murdered in their sleep, not even given a chance to fight. Their bodies were drug down to the courtyard; the castle was set on fire immediately afterward as Kincaid danced around their corpses. He had covered his hands in her mother’s blood and smeared his face as he screamed for her.

  Her people, slaughtered like sheep as they fled the burning castle, Kincaid wasn’t here to force her out of hiding, he was here to make her suffer and break. He wanted to humiliate and devastate her, to tear apart her world and take away the only things that mattered to her. He wanted her to see the havoc and fear he created, he wanted her to feel responsible for the bodies that covered the bailey.

  The tall laird had taken great satisfaction in watching people suffer; his perversion had led to the suffering of thousands of people over the years. Kincaid wanted her to witness the rape and murder, the torture and ultimate demise of her family and clan. He wanted her to crumble and surrender, he wanted her to beg, to plead with him. He ran through countless Drummond warriors attempting to catch her, lying all low who stood in his way. His eyes blazed red as he bellowed in victory as he slowly gained on her.

  Tonight Elisabeth had ripped from her slumber this winter’s even to the sounds of screams and the delayed call to arms. Quickly shoving the leather away from her tower window, she saw the courtyard and
bailey below on fire, people running from armed Douglas warriors as they were cut down. Slipping a dress on, she heard the commotion in the hall outside her room; quickly she escaped out of her room through a hidden tunnel that adjoined to her brother’s room, meeting in the hidden stairway. Duncan and Elisabeth armed themselves with the hidden selection of weapons that lined the secret passageway and snuck out into the bailey to defend their castle.

  The siblings arrived in the courtyard to see the battle raging between the clans, their warriors were storming out the castle, now armed. Their beloved parents dead, lying in fresh snow, their blood covering the ground around them.

  In the smoke covered battlefield she could hear Kincaid calling for her, his chilling voice made her want to vomit as she fought beside her beloved brother. Unable to focus on her parent’s deaths, she and Duncan fought for their lives as warrior upon warrior came after them. Their people were far outnumbered; the screams of the dying rang through the night as people tried fleeing into the woods only to be cut down.

  Taunting her, Kincaid called as he slashed through men to get to her, “Elisabeth, my love! See the fires you light within me? Your parents died because of you Elisabeth, remember that oh warrior queen!”

  The bailey was thick with battling men; his path to her was too obstructed, the smoke prevented Kincaid from finding her. His words stuck her deep, looking over at her older brother she began to lower her weapon.

  Duncan locked eyes with her and shook her, “Don’t you dare believe him Elisabeth, focus on the battle Sister!”

  Nodding to her brother, she shook her head and swiftly refocused on the war raging around them. Fighting side by side, she and Duncan carved through Douglas warriors as the merciless slaughter ensued around them. Smoke and fire enveloped the keep and bailey as she and her brother stood their ground and fought off attack after attack.

  Everything around them was burning to the ground; smoke billowed from every thatched roof. Bodies covered every inch of the bailey, the moans of the dying echoed across the cold night sky.

  More than an hour after the attack began, it was clear to Duncan and Elisabeth the battle had been lost; the Douglas clan far outnumbered the surviving Drummond clan.

  Duncan grabbed her and ran towards the burning stables, under the mask of the billowing smoke he pulled her towards his frightened warhorse.

  Duncan ordered her flee without him, to survive, there was no way of winning the night. He refused to allow her to continue fighting, instead, he begged her to escape and seek help from the neighboring clan to the north. Duncan refused to leave his father’s castle, instead he wanted his little sister to leave him behind and escape before Kincaid got his hands on her. He extracted a promise out of her in the last minutes of his life, to run, to survive, to find Laird Broderick MacMillan.

  Elisabeth had vehemently argued with her brother, she wanted to stay and fight by his side, she was not afraid to die. She refused to leave him behind, pleading with him to escape with her. Duncan’s words broke her heart as he begged her to go. He reminded her that Kincaid would not kill her; death would be too swift of punishment for her. Kincaid would torture and do unspeakable things to her; he would keep her alive so he could punish her every day of her life. Duncan refused to allow his only sister a life of being raped and beaten daily, he begged her with his entire heart to flee into the north woods.

  It was his last wish to see her survive.

  Duncan had quickly kissed her on the forehead, “I love you Elisabeth Rosslyn Drummond, promise me you’ll ride like the devil to Broderick?”

  Nodding as tears welled in her eyes, “and I’ll love you forever my Brother, I will find him,” hugging him tightly, knowing this would be the last time she would ever see him again.

  Quickly throwing her onto his warhorse, Duncan slapped the horse on the ass sending it galloping toward the hidden tunnel in the dead of night.

  Spurring the horse she galloped away towards the hidden entrance know only to her family. Turning to look at him one last time, she saw a solid group of Douglas warriors advance on her brother. A goliath of a man charged at Duncan with his battle-axe.

  In a blur, looking over her shoulder as her horse galloped towards the hidden entrance she saw her beloved brother cut down by the gigantic Douglas warrior. Her scream pierced the night air as tears ran down her face as she watched him drop in horror.In shock, blinded by tears, she was completely numb when she heard the battle cry. A searing pain ripped through her shoulder and chest as a Douglas warrior rode past her, delivering a grave wound with his broadsword. Instinct kicked in as she righted herself in the saddle, spinning around she eyed the bald warrior who was turning his horse back towards her. Holding herself steady in the saddle, she strung her trusty bow and shot, piercing the warrior’s heart, dropping him to the ground. Her shoulder screamed in pain as she lowered her bow, clasping her hand over the wound she looked back at Duncan.

  Taking one last look at her beloved brother dead on the cold winter ground, she looked over her burning village and castle one last time. The smell of death and smoke filled her lungs as tears stung her eyes. She could hear screams of pain and victory cries float into the cold night sky. Her eyes stung from the smoke and tears; coughing on the thick clouds of smoke she spurred her horse onward before she was found. It would only be a matter of time before Kincaid realized she was not among the dead. She did not doubt he would search each body looking for her. Soon enough his men would be after her.

  Riding through the long ivy, she galloped through the small tunnel as she left the burning castle behind her. She had nothing left. No home, no family, no clan, all were lost.

  Elisabeth felt the warm blood running down her shoulder and over her breasts. The wound had been the worst she had ever taken; ignoring the pain she lowered herself in the saddle and rode through the tight tunnel. Galloping away from the burning village, she struggled to wrap her shoulder with a strip of her tartan; she knew she’d bleed out if she didn’t stop the blood flow. She had no idea how far MacMillan castle actually was, no knowledge of how long it would take her to traverse the snowy landscape north towards Broderick’s isolated castle nestled in the mountains. She only knew the general direction.

  Galloping through the tunnel and out the secret exit into the northern forest, she urged her mount more rapidly into the night. Brushing the tears off her face she vowed to avenge every soul that died here tonight, she would see Kincaid die by her hand. He would pay for what he had done, and this time he would not walk away. He had taken the only thing she had ever truly loved, her family.

  Elisabeth Rosslyn Drummond would see justice for her people or die avenging them. Promising herself she’d spend the rest of her life fulfilling revenge upon Kincaid and his men, she rode long and hard through the dark northern forest.

  With her heart set on killing Kincaid with her own hands, she knew before revenge could be sought, she would honor her brother’s last wish and find Broderick, her clans’ long ally. Riding with the cold snow in her face, she stampeded north, unsure if she was being followed or if Kincaid had placed men outside the castle. She was paranoid and nervous, she had no weapons left, no strength to fight, and the forest shadows played tricks on her tired mind.

  Continually looking over her shoulder for someone following her, Elisabeth urged her mount faster. Tears for the fallen fell down her face as she held the reins tight, her beloved parents and brother were gone. Murdered in cold blood by a power hungry Laird who wanted her. Why? Why did he have to kill the babes, the women and defenseless children who slept peacefully in their beds?

  After the first full day of riding north, the sun had come up and her speed slowed considerably due to her injury. The blood loss and sleepless night was slowing costing her life. Duncan’s strong horse marched through the deep snow due north as Elisabeth continued to mourn her family. She had gone from rage to sadness, agony to anger as she rode in the eerie forest. Morning and afternoon soon slipped back into night as she
traversed the rugged terrain.

  She had never experienced pain or sorrow of this magnitude; the deep heartache tore through her as she continued to ride. The sights and sounds she heard that day would stay with her soul forever, when she closed her eyes she could see their faces. The smell of burning flesh and the screams of the dying haunted her.

  Thirsty and in severe agony, she had never sustained an injury of this magnitude before. The blood loss was draining her as she continued to ride north. She was unprepared for her ride to Castle MacMillan and weak, both things she had never experienced before. Elisabeth was used to having Duncan with her when she rode out of her castle; she had never ridden alone before. Sure she had taken short jaunts outside her castle alone, but never had she ridden so far unescorted. Scotland was a treacherous place for a lady unaccompanied, even her. With no one to talk to but herself, she prayed she could find Castle MacMillan before the massive snowstorm caught her.

  The pain managed to keep her awake through the second day of riding north, the screaming agony of her wound refused to let her sleep. For two days she had been upon Duncan’s stallion and had yet to dismount the horse. In her weakened condition she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get back in the saddle. She was weak and tired, her eyelids felt like iron as she swayed in her saddle. Many times she had caught herself slipping off the saddle when fatigue claimed her. Thirsty and hungry, she struggled to stay in the saddle, as the tired horse kept moving.

  Over the past days she kept her ear out for any sign of being followed, she was positive that if anyone had followed her, they would have caught her by now. The heavy snow following her must have kept her tracks hidden enough to deter Kincaid and his trackers. She was traveling far too slow to outrun a healthy warrior; any strong rider would have easily overtaken her. Without a weapon, she was at the mercy of the land. She couldn’t defend herself against human or animal attack if need be. She had no arrows; her bow had fallen off her days ago. Wounded and weak, she prayed for a miracle as she struggled to remain on the horse.