Ena’s Surrender

by Madeline Martin

  My beautiful Ena.

  Pleasure washed over her and dragged her down before lifting her and swirling over every part of her inside and outside. Renault’s thrusts came faster, jerking into her, sending her even higher as a tight groan escaped his throat.

  The euphoria melted away, leaving Ena’s body weak with a luxurious, languid exhaustion and her heart racing as if she’d just sprinted up a hill. Renault slowly pulled out of her and eased his weight off her.

  Together they remained in companionable silence as their breathing returned to normal. Renault pushed himself up and went to the small ewer of water where he wet two squares of linen before returning to her. He handed her one and kept the other for himself, rubbing it over the length of his softening cock.

  A sudden feeling of shyness washed over her and the remnants of the fire that had burned so brightly inside her now heated her cheeks. She thanked him and used the linen to clean away the evidence of their joining.

  He laid the linens aside when she was done and crawled back into bed with her. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  She shook her head and gave a long sigh. “Ye did rather the opposite.”

  He turned toward her and studied her.

  She squirmed under the intensity of his observation. “Why are ye staring at me?”

  “Be my wife,” he said suddenly.

  She laughed. “Surely ye jest. I’m no lady whose honor must be salvaged.”

  “I’m not jesting.” The corner of his lips lifted in that lopsided grin. “I want to marry you.”

  She frowned. “Ye dinna have to—”

  He shook his head. “It isn’t because of what we did.” He circled one large, blunt fingertip over her shoulder as though tracing an invisible whorl. “’Tis because of who you are.”

  Ena gazed at him silently as the impact of his proposal sank in. Marriage.

  She’d never considered being someone’s wife. Not when Bran needed her to tend to the house while he was on raids. Not when she had spent so much of her life focused on surviving that she hadn’t had a chance to truly start living, let alone look forward to the future.

  “’Tis illegal for Scottish and English to wed,” she countered.

  “And yet those unions continue between both borders.” He shrugged with nonchalance. “No one takes those laws seriously.”

  “Why do ye want to marry me?”

  “Because you trusted me with a story that I don’t think you’ve ever told anyone before.” He swept his fingertips down her arm in a slow caress. “Because I find you fascinating and inspiring. You are the strongest woman I’ve ever known, but also the most vulnerable in a way that makes me want to protect you.”

  She quirked a brow at him. “I dinna need protection.”

  “Which makes me want to protect you all the more.”

  Excitement tickled up through her, leaving her giddy. Could she be a wife? To Renault?

  “I’d protect you…and someday our children.” He put a hand to her lower stomach.

  She followed his touch with her eyes, down to her flat stomach. Her hip bones jutted on either side and called to mind the perpetual state of her hunger.

  She sat up and drew the sheets over her breasts, covering her scar. “I dinna want to bring a bairn into this world. There’s naught here but starvation and death. I canna do that to a bairn.”

  He pushed himself up to sitting and didn’t bother with a sheet as she had. “When we are settled, we can discuss it. I’ll not bring a child into a world of hunger either. Nor will I let it suffer the struggles we endured.”

  “Where would we live?” Ena asked.

  “Scotland,” he answered readily.

  “Ye’d sacrifice yer life in England for me?” She asked, incredulous.

  “Aye, I would,” he answered earnestly.

  Her thoughts spun at the turn of events, at what he was willing to give up. For her.

  She was nothing special. A lifetime of struggling had taught her as much. She could handle herself in a fight and kept the home well enough. Men had called her beautiful before, right before she’d kneed the drunken louts in their groins.

  But drunk men didn’t count, did they?

  Renault saw more to her than there was, but rather than correct him, she relished his perspective. He believed in a part of her she’d never thought existed.

  “Bran may be home soon,” she said slowly.

  “And you need time to think,” Renault surmised.

  She nodded, grateful he understood without her having to say a word.

  He got to his feet and pulled his trews on. “I’ll come back to you. It may not be tomorrow or the day after, but I will return for your reply.”

  Ena’s heartbeat quickened at the thought of seeing him again. She got up from her small pallet and retrieved his gambeson for him while he tugged on his shirt.

  She helped him into it, then rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I’ll have yer answer for ye.”

  He drew her toward him. “I look forward to the reply.”

  His mouth settled on hers, chaste and sweet. Her body sang out in delight at the meeting of their lips. Even as she rejoiced at what they had shared, the carnal craving returned, rising up inside of her.

  She wanted more. Him. All of it.

  His wife?

  Her heart missed the next beat.

  “Until we see one another again.” He bowed low over her hand and graced it with a delicate kiss.

  With that, he straightened and departed through the door leading to Maribel’s pen with Moggy trailing at his feet. It wasn’t until he was gone that Ena could truly breathe again. As though he captivated her so completely that her lungs forgot to fill with air.

  Marriage.

  It was too soon. And mayhap that was what made it so alluring. Or mayhap it was the ripples of pleasure still whispering through her body that made her long to repeat the actions again and again and again.

  Regardless, even though she’d said she needed time, she knew well what her answer would be.

  She’d spent far too long hurting, embroiled in the past and not looking toward the future. Now was her chance at happiness and she would not let it slip through her fingers.

  A body lay on the other side of the door. A man Renault had killed. An Englishmen. One of his own.

  Renault hesitated in Maribel’s pen. She stared up at him with a benign expression as she chewed a mouthful of hay. The cat who had followed him outside pounced on a stalk of hay and rolled over it with wild abandon.

  He glanced over his shoulder to the other door, the one leading back to Ena.

  How he wished he could go back and stay with her, lost in the dream of a fantasy. He wanted to be in her arms again, breathing in her sweet, feminine scent of sunshine and flowers.

  He’d never had a family, at least not one he could remember. And while he’d been with many women, never had he found one he wanted as his wife. But Ena…she was brave and beautiful and clever. She captured his thoughts and made his heartbeat quicken. She was a woman who would ensure their children remained safe, cared for and loved.

  She’d felt her maidenhead had low value, but he considered it with high esteem. Curs took a woman’s virtue and left her. He was no cur, especially when it came to a woman like Ena. Especially when she filled a part of his soul he’d never known before. He wanted her in his life. From the moment he realized a woman had fought him as well as a man, from that glint in her eyes and the passion emanating from her, he’d known she was the one to complete his life.

  He’d learned how to get what he wanted a long time ago, when he discovered manipulation was better than begging. If he wanted to, he could return to Ena and slowly break down the walls of her reluctance. She would agree to marry him before the night was out.

  But he wanted her to come to the decision on her own. If she would.

  Something nipped at the back of his mind. Doubt?

  He clenched his hand into a fist. He had to face the
man he’d slain. His own bloody brethren. But he’d done it to save Ena.

  I did it to save Ena.

  He flicked up the latch on Maribel’s pen and pushed through the solid door to where the fallen Englishman remained in front of Ena’s hut. Renault carefully latched the door shut once more, putting off going to the man for as long as was possible.

  A horse whinnied nearby. The dead man’s, no doubt. Renault reclaimed the beast so he could return the man’s body to his family.

  Renault hesitated in front of the body lying motionless, face almost pressed to Ena’s door. He took several deep breaths to focus his thoughts.

  I did it to save Ena.

  Renault had been involved in the war between England and Scotland long enough to know what happened beyond broken down doors. Theft. Rape. Murder.

  He couldn’t have let that happen to Ena.

  I did it to save her.

  In a single motion, he squatted at the man’s side and pulled the shoulder, so the dead man rolled onto his back. A cry stuck in Renault’s throat.

  The man was Walter. He had killed Walter. His only true friend in the world.

  Bile rose in Renault’s throat as he staggered back. The hit to Walter’s head was supposed to knock him unconscious, not kill him. Mayhap the way he had struck the door…or mayhap how he’d fallen.

  Walter’s eyes fluttered.

  Renault froze. Even his heart had ceased to beat.

  He dropped to his friend’s side. “Walter?” he asked.

  A low groan sounded in the back of Walter’s throat.

  Renault gave a sob and exhaled with relief. He grasped his friend’s gambeson and hauled him onto the back of the horse. Walter offered no protest or made any other sound as he was slung over the beast’s haunches. His arms and legs hung limp over either side, his head lying aside into the velvety brown fur.

  An ache splintered open in Renault’s chest and rage spilled out. Why had Walter been trying to get into the cottage in the first place? He’d never been one for stealing from homes. He’d never been one for attacking unarmed women. Had he?

  Renault had been so consumed with trying to impress the Earl of Bothbury that he hadn’t spent as much time with Walter as he had in their youth. Guilt tugged at his heart. He should have been there to stop Walter from such actions. Then Walter would never have been at Ena’s cottage. Then Renault would never have hurt him so badly.

  He walked the horse forward and peered back at his friend again. Sorrow squeezed Renault’s throat.

  I did it to save Ena.

  It would have been so different if Renault hadn’t been there this night. What if Walter had gotten in? Would he have raped Ena? Killed her?

  Anger lashed through Renault and he knew with certainty that if he had to do it all over again, he would.

  He needed to get Walter back to Kershopefoot to be tended to by the healer.

  Saving him would come with the risk Walter would identify Renault as his attacker, but it was one Renault was willing to take. He would do everything in his power to save Walter.

  Eventually the village came into view with the castle standing like a sentry in the distance. Except the castle no longer seemed in his grasp. For the first time since Renault could remember, he didn’t fear he was not good enough to be a guard; he knew he was not.

  He had held back information that might have helped his brethren. He had attacked one of his own, an Englishman who had loved him like a brother. He had lain with the enemy and gladly given her his heart.

  Pieces of him had slowly broken away until he was left with the stark understanding of what he had become: a traitor.

  8

  Ena slept so deeply that she did not hear Bran enter. When she awoke the next day, she found him asleep on his pallet with Moggy curled contently in the crook of his arm.

  It was perhaps the first time in their life Ena had missed his return home from a raid.

  She nestled beneath her covers, savoring the trapped heat under her blanket and the hot memories playing in her mind. The way Renault had loved her, cherished her, pleased her.

  A slow, steady thrum of desire hummed to life between her legs. She crossed her thighs and squeezed, just enough friction to heighten her recollection of Renault’s touch.

  He wanted to marry her.

  A jolt shot through her heart. Her, a wife. A mother. Seeking more than survival in the bare life she’d carved out of tragedy. Finally seeking happiness.

  Did such a thing even exist?

  She hugged her arms closer against herself, as if she could cradle her hope and encourage it to grow into reality. She wanted that hope, for it was the first of its kind she’d ever possessed.

  “What happened to the door?” Bran asked, his voice gravelly thick with sleep.

  “How do ye know I wasna asleep?” Her irritation at having the loveliness of her thoughts interrupted left the question sounding petulant.

  “Ye werena snoring.” He grinned at her.

  She sat up and threw her pillow at his face. Moggy darted from the pallet, hissing with displeasure in Ena’s direction. Bran caught the pillow before it could strike him and held it back, brows lifted. “Do ye truly want to start a war with me?”

  She widened her eyes and shook her head. “Nay.” Then she leapt up and tossed the full length of her blanket at him. Laughing, she ran past him as he reached for her, easily evading his grasp.

  The chill of the morning air was sharp, and she immediately reached for her battered robe to throw over her sark while Bran disentangled himself from the bedding. The playful smile on his face died away as his focus went to the door again.

  “What happened last night?” he asked.

  Ena pulled the top off the bread pot and drew out a small loaf. “The English raided Castleton.”

  “There was blood in front of the door.” Bran pushed himself up off his pallet and began making his bed. “Did ye go out during the raid?” He looked at her, his brow furrowed with worry.

  “Nay,” she said honestly. “I dinna go out in raids.”

  They both knew what happened when women left their home in the middle of a raid, though neither wished to say as much out loud.

  “Someone came to our hut.” Ena sliced the bread with her dagger and opened the small crock of butter. Its salty, sweet scent rose up to greet her and left her mouth watering. “They tried to break down the door. They nearly succeeded.”

  Bran finished making her bed after having completed his own, then approached the doorframe where it sagged into the hut. “I’m glad I insisted on a fine quality door, but this will need to be repaired.”

  “That door is the only reason I’m alive.” Ena dipped the knife in the pot of butter. It was a precious commodity; one she’d found at a good price at the market earlier and had procured as a treat. She focused on her task as she smeared it over each slab of bread, not wanting to consider what would have happened to her had Bran not insisted on the strong door.

  “What happened to the man who tried to break it down?” Bran studied the exposed twigs of the wall where they had nearly broken free of the door frame.

  Ena shook her head and kept her eyes downcast. “I’m no’ certain.” After all, it wasn’t a lie. She didn’t know what had happened. Renault hadn’t volunteered the information, and she hadn’t asked.

  Still something in her stomach twisted in on itself. Whatever had transpired was undoubtedly not good.

  Heat burned in her cheeks and she was grateful Bran studied the doorframe with such intensity so he wouldn’t notice her worry. She couldn’t tell him about Renault. Not only that Renault had saved her, but even more, what they had done. Already it seemed as though evidence of their tryst was scrawled across her face, somehow apparent.

  Bran gave a humming sound that indicated he wasn’t sure what to think of her reply. His footsteps approached, but she busied herself with the butter crock rather than glancing up.

  He ruffled her hair. “It would appear an
gels are watching out for ye, sister. I’m glad for it.” He then hesitated for so long, that Ena did finally lift her head to regard him.

  Bran’s features were set hard. “Ye deserve more than this. I hate that I canna offer ye a home where ye can be safe, where ye dinna have to worry about—” His lip curled in disgust and he growled in frustration. “This isna the life I wish for ye, Ena. I dinna want ye to ever be afraid again.”

  “I wasna afraid,” she rushed. “I knew the door would hold.”

  In truth, she hadn’t known that. What she had known, however, was how Bran had saved up for nearly half a year to afford the solid wood, the metal pieces and all the craftsmanship to have it properly built and installed. After their flimsy door had been kicked in as children and how their family had paid the worst sort of price, Bran had wanted to ensure Ena’s protection.

  “The door saved my life,” Ena repeated again. She took the biggest piece of bread and handed it to Bran. “Go on now and eat. There’s butter on it.”

  He nodded mutely and walked away, not even glancing down at the smear of butter on the hearty brown bread. Ena bit into her own piece, scarcely tasting the butter herself. She didn’t like the way Bran stared into the flames of the fire, his mind doubtless churning over how best to keep her safe. She hated this life for him.

  “We’re planning a new raid tonight,” Bran said. “Only this time, we intend to kill as many soldiers as is possible.”

  Ena’s stomach tightened. “Bran—”

  “This house wasna the only one attacked.” Bran ran his free hand through his hair. “No’ everyone has doors as strong as ours.”

  Ena’s protests stilled. She was too familiar with what he meant. Her stomach churned at the idea. Especially when she knew she had sought comfort from Renault even as others had fought for their lives.

  Renault.

  Her heart flinched. He could handle himself. She knew from personal experience what a strong warrior he was. But she couldn’t ease the worried tension in her chest. What if he was caught off guard? What if he was overwhelmed by men?