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abroad.
    “We are also woodworkers. When I am not at the lathe, I am training horses.”
    De Courcy arched an eyebrow. “You sound like a very busy man.”
    “Aye, but I enjoy the work.”
And my sanity,
he thought.
    De Courcy sighed, his expression turning wistful. “I can hardly remember the days when I performed various labors. Now these trade endeavors are so extensive, I barely have time to manage them.”
    Branan’s brow furrowed. Were de Courcy’s words an affront or a compliment to the fact that Branan still performed physical labor?
    Gavin cleared his throat. “Yet, de Courcy, I hear you have time to take on a relatively new matter, one that requires strategy and the use of weapons rather than just profits.”
    De Courcy chuckled, his eyes glittering. “Aye, de Reigny. I like making money, that is no secret, but when something...or someone...threatens my ventures, I find it prudent to seek other means of recourse.” He paused, studying the others for a long moment before his gaze locked on Branan. “I understand, MacTavish, that there is no love lost betwixt you and Warden Strickland.”
    Branan’s jaw tightened. “Aye.”
    “John told me that by all rights you should be the heir to the Wardenship.” He paused and scowled. “I am not sure if I am clear on this, but John explained you are not Strickland’s son, that you were begotten of Lady Raina’s first husband—the Scotsman, Raulf MacTavish, whom Strickland murdered. In truth, you are of Scottish blood; what I’ve seen thus far has proven it.”
    “’Tis sooth. My mother only claimed me as Strickland’s son because she feared he would kill me the moment I uttered my first squall.”
    De Courcy nodded, surprising Branan with an expression of approval. He motioned the servants to quickly refill their cups then lifted his as if in a toast. “To the wisdom of your mother, Branan MacTavish, for protecting what she held most dear.”
    “Well said,” Gavin replied, lifting his cup.
    “Aye,” Branan said and acknowledged the toast.
But my mother paid such a terrible price because of her love for me.
    “Strickland,” de Courcy continued, “and I had a...disagreement. It seems the expense of maintaining the Royal Forest of Inglewood is increasing.”
    “Increasing to line his pockets, you mean,” Gavin muttered.
    “Brackenburgh answered the challenge in stride and we paid our due. Remember making money is my talent, so I was still able to show a profit even after the hefty increases.” De Courcy paused and sighed. “Unfortunately, many townships were not able to do that. Strickland punished them by burning their stores and their homes. I tried to help those Strickland persecuted, but he grew suspicious of me, thinking I was holding back.”
    “He not only bites the hand that feeds him, but he lops it off,” Branan muttered.
    “Strickland’s bastard delivered a message from his father. He threatened my standing and my profits if I did not give them more.” De Courcy’s lip curled. “When I asked why Strickland did not come himself, the whelp replied that he was collecting his due from another village. The idiot was too busy pillaging to come threaten me. He had to send his by-blow to do it.”
    Gavin shook his head. “One would think if a man has the bollocks to threaten one with financial backing such as yours, he’d leastways do it in person.”
    “Aye,” de Courcy replied, his disgust poorly veiled. “There is a point where a man must take a stand, otherwise Strickland would have bled me dry. I flatly refused the cur and told him he could get only what we had been giving, not a farthing more.”
    “So that’s when Strickland burned some of your holdings?” Gavin asked.
    “Aye. But he did not realize what he was jumping into. I have the finances to easily hire some of the best mercenaries available—and I have the finances to keep them most loyal.”
    Branan nodded in appreciation.
    “For every village and storehouse