Marin's Promise (Borderland Ladies Book 1)

by Madeline Martin

  Marin smirked. “Fire arrows upon them.” She turned from the reivers with bored disinterest. “Have them scatter like vermin when met with a light.”

  “My exact thoughts, Wife.” He caught her wrist and kept her from leaving.

  She turned back to face him. Before she could protest at his behavior, he eased a hand around her narrow waist and pulled her toward him. His mouth came down on hers, his tongue grazing playfully against her own.

  She drew in a sharp breath and her knees gave gently.

  Bran broke off the kiss as abruptly as he'd started it and gazed down at his wife. Her mouth was soft, her eyes bright with desire already. “I dinna care the time of day or the day of the week, Marin. No' even God himself could stop me from having ye now that ye're my wife.”

  “Bran…” She caught his face between her hands and pressed a kiss to his mouth with equal passion.

  He wanted nothing more at that moment than to sweep her into his arms and carry her to their bed chamber. But the bloody Grahams still needed to be tended to.

  He broke off the kiss again, this time with greater regret. Manning a castle was apparently not all pleasantries, but a lot of responsibility. “We have to handle this first. And then…”

  Marin's mouth was red from the force of their kisses and now curled into a knowing smile. “And then…”

  Shouting came from the archway of the main door leading to the battlements from the castle, where Marin's three younger blonde sisters all emerged. They were clad in chainmail, their hair flying like wild gold banners behind them, their weapons drawn and ready.

  “Archers,” Marin called out.

  Bran smirked down at her. “I believe that's my job.”

  “Mayhap you should have called it faster.” She gave him a coy look and pulled away from him.

  His blood burned hotter in his veins. God's teeth, but he had a feisty wife.

  “Ye heard yer lady,” he called out, still not taking his eyes from Marin. “Fire upon them and get these bastards from our walls.”

  Cat took the lead in front of the archers, her young voice calling out with confident authority. The men obeyed her orders, taking their aim and releasing when she gave the call. A volley of arrows sailed over the side of the castle, and the men who had been immobile now darted in various directions to avoid the attack.

  Vermin scattering, indeed.

  Drake appeared beside Bran and regarded Marin as she met with her sisters several paces away. “Forgive me,” Drake said privately to Bran. “But I dinna like the young ladies being on the battlements.”

  “I confess I dinna like it myself,” Bran answered, chagrined. “But nor do I think we can easily make them leave.”

  Drake's mouth twitched in a failed attempt to suppress a smile. “Do I have yer permission then to see to their safety?”

  Bran nodded and glanced over the wall as a third shower of arrows rained down on the reivers below. Few remained, most likely ones who were injured.

  “Enough,” he called.

  The archers lowered their bows and Cat surveyed the grounds below with a satisfied grin.

  “Keep an eye on the wall,” Bran instructed Drake. “Double the guards. Make it look as though we have more men than we do in case they send another party like this one. And, aye, see to the lasses to ensure they are no’ injured.”

  Drake gave a single nod, ever the ready soldier. Ever the obedient one. Aye, the lad was a good man to have at Bran's side.

  “And once it appears the Grahams have cleared the area, have a second runner sent to Kerr and inform him of the Graham attack.” Bran scanned the empty horizon. “I dinna know how this will end, but I want it over with. And I want to know that Ena is safe.”

  Drake nodded again. “I willna let ye down.”

  And he wouldn’t, Bran had no doubt of that. What he did question, however, was how quickly Kerr would heed his call and come to take the bloody castle. Werrick Castle was defensible, but the Grahams were a determined lot, and soon Bran might need all the help he could muster.

  21

  The Grahams had left not long after the archers, thank goodness. Marin did not see them the following day either.

  She swept into her sisters’ rooms to find Leila sitting up in bed, her face chagrined.

  Isla had informed Marin the youngest sister had developed a slight fever, though one would never suspect as much now. Leila fidgeted with the irritation of a healthy girl trapped in her room.

  “I don't understand why I wasn't allowed to at least go out and look down at the Grahams.” There was an uncharacteristic petulant whine to her tone. “They couldn’t hurt me from where they were.”

  The fragrant smell of steeping herbs filled the room. Isla worked soundlessly near a table, carefully adding a small portion of honey to the tea.

  “You know it's only because we love you, Leila.” Marin swept the hair from her sister's face. The chubbiness of youth had left her cheeks. New slender lines of strong cheekbones were showing and hinted at the beautiful woman this sweet girl would become. Marin's heart swelled with maternal pride, the way it always did when she regarded Leila.

  “If they come back, may I go outside to see them?” Leila asked.

  Marin put a hand over her sister’s. The temperature of her skin was wonderfully normal. “They won't come back-”

  “They will.” Leila's mouth pursed. “There is great sadness on the horizon.”

  A ribbon of fear curled in Marin. She knew well enough to not dismiss lightly Leila's words, especially when spoken with such seriousness.

  “You mustn't say such things,” Marin chided.

  “She has a gift.” Isla turned toward them with the steaming mug of tea cupped in her palms. “Ye shouldna silence the child when she speaks with the wisdom given to her by the gods of old.”

  “A gift that can get her killed if overheard by the wrong people.” Marin gave the healer a hard look.

  Isla rolled her eyes. “Fools, the lot of them.” She pushed the mug toward Leila.

  “Dangerous fools.” Marin moved back from the bed to allow the healer to approach Leila with the tea.

  Leila did not accept the tea.

  “This will be yer last, then ye’re free to go about,” Isla promised.

  Leila obediently drank, her eyes large and haunted by whatever they'd seen, eyes that were far too old to be that of a ten-year-old child. If only Marin could simply wrap her sister in her arms and blot out everything awful and terrible.

  Life on the border was hard enough without the threat of Leila being denounced as a witch. Isla had managed to avoid accusation thus far as her healing skills were invaluable. But would Leila’s own dabbling in herbs and healing be enough to keep her safe in the future?

  “This will make ye sleep a bit more.” Isla took the empty mug and settled a withered hand over Leila's head. “And then ye may rise from yer bed for as long as ye have the energy to do so, aye?”

  Leila's mouth lifted at the corners in a wan smile, as though she were trying to rally her own flagging spirits. Marin caught her sister in a hug.

  “You don’t understand,” Leila whispered in a choked voice. “Our poor Anice. She will be so sad.”

  “You needn't worry on such things.” Marin gave her one last squeeze and released her. “She is stronger than you think.”

  Leila's mouth twisted to the side and she looked away, giving her head a slight shake. Marin swept a hand lovingly down her silky cheek and stood by the bed waiting for the girl’s narrow chest to rise and fall with deep and even breathing. Isla remained as well, which was exactly what Marin had hoped.

  “You cannot encourage her visions,” Marin said in a low tone. “Look at what it does to her. If accusations will not kill her, she may well be undone by the pain.”

  Isla frowned and shook her head. “Ye canna stop the sight, so ye might as well benefit.”

  “Do not encourage her further,” Marin said resolutely.

  The old woman
nodded, and her tawny eyes sparkled. “Did yer wedding night go well enough, lass?”

  Marin cheeks went immediately hot and she stared at the healer for a long moment, unsure of how to respond. The woman seemed to revel in discussions that ought not be spoken aloud.

  Isla gave a wheezing laugh and clasped her hands to her chest. “As I figured. The lad is a strapping one. Good strong muscles, no' too hairy. When they're lean like that, their bodies are—”

  “I didn't bleed.” The words slipped from her mouth and once they'd been loosed, there was no drawing them back. Her whole body blazed with mortification.

  Isla's good humor did not abate her features. “I'm assuming ye were a maid still, aye?”

  “For certes,” Marin said quickly, as though doing so might assuage any doubt. For surely, she had been a virgin.

  Isla shrugged. “It isna a wonder ye dinna have that wee barrier between yer legs with all ye do. It's a delicate web, ye see, easily broken. Riding horses astride and training with the tenacity of a warrior can easily see it undone. Has yer new husband questioned ye? Men have a way of needing proof they've been the first.” The raise of her eyes to the heavens told Marin what Isla thought of such men.

  Marin shook her head. “He did not seem overly concerned.”

  “Are ye sure ye dinna bleed?” Isla asked, peering more closely at her.

  Marin forced herself to remain still, to not give in to the twisting discomfort knotting through her. Heavens, how she dearly regretted having broached the topic. “I confess I didn't notice if there was blood, but it was mentioned…”

  A secret glint of amusement danced in Isla's eyes. She nodded her head and pushed out her thin lips. “Interesting.”

  “What is?”

  Isla smirked. “When yer wedding sheets were brought from yer room, they would suggest otherwise.”

  Marin regarded Isla with momentary confusion. “Do you mean…?”

  “Aye. The sheets were stained with the blood of a maiden.”

  Bran had only seen Marin in passing through the entire day. Her secretive smiles in his direction had been enough to keep him hunting for her everywhere he went. He had nearly given up on getting to spend time with his new bride when Drake caught up with him on the battlements, informing him Marin requested he join her for supper in their chambers.

  Apparently, dining in one’s chambers was what nobles did when they did not wish to be on display atop the highly-visible dais at the center of the great hall. They also sent servants to schedule times to see their husbands.

  There certainly was a lot to learn about the complicated life of a wealthy noble. He still did not know that he enjoyed the lifestyle, but the food was significantly better. And then there was Marin and their lusty nights between costly sheets.

  Bran opened the door to their rooms and gently closed the door before Bixby could follow. Marin sat at a small table, set with a fine meal. She got to her feet and met him halfway. Green silk whispered about her as she moved and caught the light of the hearth against the glossy fabric.

  A pitiful meow sounded indignantly from the other side of the door.

  Bran ignored it and pulled Marin into his arms.

  She gazed up at him. “I’ve been desperate to see you all day.”

  Bran ran a hand down her lovely unbound hair, the way he liked it best. He tilted her face toward him and did exactly what he’d been desperate to do all day. His mouth came down on hers, light at first, then hungrily slanting, tongues tangling with eager breaths.

  A knock came at the door and they broke apart. Marin’s face went a becoming shade of red.

  “Aye?” Bran called by way of answering.

  A gentle scratching came from the other side of the door, followed by a low meow of protest.

  “I came to see if you required anything further,” said a voice.

  “We’re fine, thank you,” Marin replied loudly. “Please take Bixby to Nan when you go.” She looked up at Bran with a grin. “We ought to eat so they can remove our food.”

  “And leave us in peace?”

  She cast him a grin that shot straight to his cock. “Aye.”

  At that exact moment, his stomach rumbled in anticipation. Apparently sating his lust wasn’t all his body required. Marin took him by the hand and led him to the table set beside the hearth, where a small pie lay on each plate.

  “I hope you enjoy pigeon.” Marin sliced into her pie and a spiral of steam trailed upward, bringing with it a decadent scent of sage and pepper.

  In fact, Bran had never had pigeon. When one was lucky enough to have any form of meat once a week, one seldom could guess its source. “I imagine I will if it tastes as good as it smells.”

  He cut open his own pie and nudged aside the huff paste with his knife, casting aside the inedible shell to get to the tender meat and vegetables within.

  Marin lifted her goblet of wine and regarded him over the rim. “Where did you cut yourself?”

  He speared a bit of slender white meat with his knife tip and paused. “Cut myself?”

  “Mmmhmm,” she hummed. “Where did you do it?”

  He put the poultry into his mouth and almost closed his eyes to relish the flavor-rich meat. As it turned out, he loved pigeon.

  “Isla said there was blood on the sheets.” Marin took a dainty bite of her own food.

  The piece of meat Bran had swallowed lodged in his throat and required a hearty swig of his wine before he could answer. He cleared his throat. “Ah, that cut.”

  “So, you did do it then?” Her tone carried enough displeasure to make him hesitate.

  He stared down at his food. “Ye dinna poison this, did ye?”

  Marin smirked. “If I killed you, I couldn’t get answers, could I?” She set her knife down on her plate. “Besides, I did promise not to kill you.”

  “But ye’re upset.” He selected another morsel of pigeon to eat. Hell, if it was poison, it made for a fine last meal.

  “I was a virgin.” She lifted her eating dagger and nudged at the contents of her pie. “Isla says it is not uncommon for a woman so active on the battlefield to not maintain her maidenhead.”

  Her words were defensive, and she kept her eyes trained on the pie she appeared to have no interest in eating.

  Bran considered offering to eat it for her, but then thought better of the idea. “Ye told me ye were a maiden. I’m no’ concerned about it.”

  “You didn’t tell me you cut yourself to smear blood on our sheets.” Her mouth drew tight. “Were you so ashamed for the world to think I was not a maiden?”

  He frowned. “Nay. Marin, I did it for ye.”

  “For me?” she repeated dubiously.

  “I dinna know much about this world of wealthy men, but I know it to be a cruel place for women. I’m aware what a maidenhead is to a woman and her reputation.” He reached out and settled a hand over hers. “Ye’ve worked to maintain yer reputation. I’d no’ let ye be besmirched among the lot of pompous arses who might otherwise judge ye.”

  She blinked. “You did do it for me.”

  He shrugged and released her hand to take up his eating dagger once more. “Ye’re my wife, lass. I’ll protect ye to my dying breath.”

  “I hope that won’t be too soon.” She smiled shyly at him.

  “Does that mean ye’ve abandoned yer intention to kill me?” He lifted his brows at her.

  “I have other plans for you.” She rose from her chair.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Get the plates on the morrow,” Marin said aloud.

  “Aye, my lady.” The voice on the other side of the door said no more.

  Marin drew Bran from his seat and pulled him back toward the bed. “You should show me where you cut yourself.”

  He drew up his sleeve to demonstrate the thin cut. She bent over his arm and gently pressed her lips to the slim, red line. She continued kissing, over the rolled sleeve of his doublet to the bare skin of his neck, and finally upon his l
ips.

  “Love me, Bran,” she whispered against his mouth. “I’ve been aching for you all day.”

  She needn’t say more, for Bran was only too happy to oblige. And yet, even as he kissed her, as he explored her body and they sated their lusts throughout the night, he could not help the pressing thought rising in his mind. For what would become of this affection and happiness when Kerr finally arrived at Werrick Castle?

  22

  The following sennight flew by in a whirl of busy activity and steamy nights.

  True to her word, Marin had begun to include Bran in her meetings with the pertinent members of the household to ensure they cooperated with him in helping her run the keep. Not only was he eager to be part of the castle’s daily life, she found he excelled at the duties.

  Each day they worked more closely together, and each day, Marin found herself all the more endeared to the man she’d been forced to wed.

  Outside, the Grahams still hovered on the grounds. Their presence was disconcerting when the food stores had not been sufficiently restocked since Bran’s arrival. His forces had depleted their supply when he first assumed control of the castle. Though the number of men had been greatly reduced due to abandonment and death, the perpetual presence of the aggressive Grahams had kept anyone from going out of, or into, the castle.

  Leila had not developed another fever and had followed all the strict rules given to her by Isla as her wounds healed. After many, many requests to do so, Leila was finally allowed out on the battlements.

  Marin hovered over her youngest sister and tried not to let her worry and fear show.

  “I’ll be fine.” Leila caught Marin’s hand the way she had done when she was a small child.

  In truth, Marin had hoped Leila might be able to offer some insight on the great sadness she’d spoken of, the one on the horizon. The one that had not yet come to pass. But seeing Leila looking out over the Graham forces, Marin didn’t want the information, not when the cost was so high. Leila was too young, too delicate.