Bran would be free to go. Ena would be freed. But Marin would assume he had abandoned her.
He rested his brow on the icy bars. His choices were grave indeed, with neither one letting him fully win and either consequence breaking his heart.
30
Bran couldn't imagine his life without Marin any more than he could imagine leaving without her at his side. She was his wife. He would rather go to hell and back than have her think he had left without her, abandoned her.
But he could not sacrifice Ena.
Yet again, he was a pawn in a rich man’s game. Being moved around at whim. But this time he did not try to fight it. Nay, he bowed under its burden.
“Please,” he said in a ragged voice. “Let me see my wife.”
“Don't be preposterous.” The earl cast him a look of incredulity.
Bran gripped the bars with determination and stared directly into the earl's hard blue eyes. “I love her.”
“What life will you give her?” Her father asked. “You have no home. You have nothing save the clothes on your back.”
Bran's stomach clenched at the statement, and its underlying truth.
“Will you have her starve as she hopes her next meal comes soon?” The earl prompted. “Will you be content as her fine clothes turn to rags on her? Would you see the powerful woman she is shrivel in a life where coin goes from hand to mouth and security is in as short supply as luxury?”
“I have been in love, Boy.” Werrick’s voice lowered. “I would never have wanted for my wife what you intend for Marin. If you truly do love her, leave and spare her the pain of your death. For I refuse to allow her to live such a life.”
Bran would have preferred to have been beaten and kicked by these men rather than subjected to their justification. For all of it was true. Raw and abrasively true.
His thoughts went to the women who rode with the reivers. Some fought in battle alongside the men, their weapons as shoddy as their pieced together armor. Some remained at camp, exposed and vulnerable to attacks. With him, Marin would not have safety. He had nothing to offer but love, and that would not fill her belly.
The sad reality of it shuddered through his heart.
“I see you understand.” The earl spoke gently. “Save Marin and we will save Ena.”
Sir Richard unlocked the cell door and pulled it open, his manner solicitous. “Can we trust you?”
Bran nodded. “I willna do anything to cause Marin further harm.” The words choked from the tightness of his throat, leaving them sounding foreign to him.
The day before, he had a powerful castle and scores of men who trusted him enough to follow him into battle. Most importantly, he had Marin. He had love.
He would lose her. He would never see her again.
His heart crumpled under the force of his loss, as painful as what he'd remembered with his mother and brother, when he’d been so helpless in his meager care for Ena. And yet despite the bitter, soul-sucking agony of it, he could still not bring himself to regret his time with Marin. Not when it had been so precious.
He would never see her again, never hold her again, never see that playful smile or kiss her full lips. She was gone to him forever.
“What of my men?” Bran asked.
“We've had considerable losses,” the earl replied. “We've offered to keep them on with the pay of our usual soldiers.”
“All accepted,” Sir Richard filled in. “Save one in particular who refused to leave your side. He waits for you now.”
Sir Richard indicated the hallway stretching before Bran, one which was shrouded in darkness with no light to guide him toward its end. Bran shuffled forward.
The castle was soundless around him and the light beyond the animal hide coverings at the windows had gone dark. A chill of night seeped through the stonework underfoot and through his leather soles. The hour was late.
They led him from the castle and into the bailey where one man stood with his back to the castle. A horse stood on either side of him.
“The one man who refused to accept our offer to stay at the castle,” Sir Richard said again.
The man turned around, his expression solemn. Drake.
Bran hesitated. “Ena will be safe?”
Sir Richard clasped Bran’s forearm with his own. “You have my word as a knight that she will be safely recovered.”
“Care for Marin, aye?” Bran released the man’s arm and turned away to his one loyal friend. “They have a good offer here,” Bran said in a tight voice to Drake. In truth, he hated to turn away the one man willing to stand at his side, but nor could he allow the youth to lose the opportunity for greater things than Bran could offer.
“Aye, but ye have my loyalty.” Drake inclined his head respectfully.
Bran smirked to cover the tightness in his chest at the lad's impeccable honor. He didn't know what he'd done in his life to have earned such fealty, but he'd never been gladder for it.
Sir Richard strode ahead of them and called to the soldiers manning the gates. They groaned open and the portcullis began to raise.
“I believe that is our nudge to remove ourselves from this place.” Bran leapt onto his horse.
Drake did likewise and the two rode toward the open gates.
“Are ye sure ye want to do this?” Bran asked under his breath. “I dinna have a location in mind, I have no men but ye, and the Grahams will want my head and that of those around me.”
“I go where ye do,” Drake said stoically.
“Dinna say ye were no' forewarned,” Bran muttered.
Together they left the safety of the castle walls. Neither of them looked back. Bran wasn't sure why Drake didn't bother, but he knew for himself if he looked backward, he might never be able to take another step forward.
Outside, the fallen Graham soldiers had not yet been handled, due to the limited resources and exhausted men. The bodies had attracted swarms of flies that the buzzing was enough to set Bran's teeth rattling. The odor of death swelled up around him, forcing him to put his sleeve to his nose to avoid breathing any more of the purification than necessary to draw air.
Beside him, Drake gave a choked cough and they both picked up their pace–away from the dead soldiers, and out into the night, into the unknown, where Bran would never see Marin again.
Marin stared at yet another locked door. Her hands ached from the repeated strikes against the solid wood to her room. Still, it remained in place, a barrier between her and the man she loved.
Bran.
Spent tears rendered her exhausted and left her eyes swollen and gritty. At one point, she'd fallen asleep curled up before the door. As uncomfortable as it had been when she'd finally awoken with a stiff neck, her own unease paled in comparison to what Bran doubtless endured.
Her eyes filled with a fresh bout of tears.
Her father had taken him away and had her locked in her room, a prisoner in her own castle, in the home she had worked so hard to run. And not one soldier had come to her aid. Not even her sisters. Already the skies had grown dark and she had heard nothing of Bran's fate.
She howled her anguish and pummeled her heel into the door with all her might, summoning the energy from the depths of her wounded soul. Her heel slammed into the door, but it did not cause so much as a shudder.
Would her father kill him?
The breath choked out of her chest and refused to be caught again. He wouldn’t kill him, would he? Would he try to marry her off to some noble? Would he help rescue Ena?
Mayhap if she found out she was with child, then her father would relent. Marin put her hand to her flat stomach and scrunched her swollen eyes shut.
Her mind warred with the father she'd grown up loving and the hardened man who had returned from Berwick with only part of his troops, the man desperate for vengeance. She shuddered.
She did not know what this man was capable of.
A rattle came from the door and Marin sat upright. “Who's there?”
&nb
sp; A shushing sounded on the opposite side followed by more muted clattering. Marin's pulse raced. Was she being let out? Was someone helping her at last?
The door creaked open and Leila's narrow face appeared.
“Leila,” Marin said in a whispered rush.
Her youngest sister gave her a small smile and rushed into her arms. They stood thus for a long moment, wrapped in each other's embrace, pulling and giving comfort all at once.
“What has become of Bran?” Marin asked, desperate for news with a mix of dread and anxiety.
“He is alive,” Leila whispered. “They have let him go.”
He was alive. Every knot of apprehension loosened. Marin caught herself against the wall lest she fall to the ground with the force of her relief.
“They let him go?” Marin straightened. “Where? Where is he?”
Leila shrugged. “Beyond the castle gates. He has been told never to return, or he will be killed on sight.”
“He's gone,” Marin repeated slowly.
“Aye, over an hour ago.”
Marin sank to the floor, no longer trusting her legs to hold her properly upright. Bran was gone. She would never see him again. She’d never had the opportunity to say goodbye. That last thought lodged in her mind like stone and rattled around until it was the only one thing she could hear.
She’d never been able to even say goodbye.
“Are you going to go after him?” Leila asked.
Marin snapped her head up.
Leila shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I didn't sneak here to open your door simply for an embrace.” She smiled sheepishly. “Though it was nice.”
“You did that for me?”
Leila nodded.
“Do the others know?” Marin asked of her sisters.
Leila shook her head. “You know they would not want you to leave.” She twisted her lips to the side and gazed intently at the floor. Her small sniffle pinched at Marin's heart.
“You don't want me to leave either, do you?” She got to her feet and went to her smallest sister.
“Nay,” Leila cried. She threw her skinny arms around Marin's waist and hugged her with the strength of a warrior. “I love you so much. It was hard to come.”
Marin stroked her sister's head. “Then why did you do it?”
Leila turned her luminous blue eyes up at Marin. “Because I want you to be happy more than I want my heart to be whole.”
“You are selfless and wonderful, Leila.”
“As are you.” Leila toyed with a loose string on the sleeve of her pale green kirtle. “It's what finally made me come to you. All our lives you've been there for us, giving so selflessly. You've never wanted anything for yourself, even though the rest of us needed you for everything. You were the mother I didn't have.” Her voice caught.
“Leila.” Marin knelt and looked at her sister.
“I know how much you love him. The Grahams suffered a great defeat with many of them slain. I do not think they have the forces to rally once more. But I would avoid large groups if I were you.” Leila pulled a dagger from her pocket and gave it to Marin. “Nan is waiting.”
“Nan?” She took the dagger and slipped the sheath onto her belt.
Leila motioned for Marin to follow her into the hall. Together they wound their way down to the kitchen. The castle was still around them, the soldiers all sleeping soundly after a hearty battle, many having just returned home for the first time in a month. The moment that they entered, Nan sprang up from a small wooden chair by the hearth.
“My lady.” Nan stopped in front of her and her kind brown eyes crinkled with emotion. “Oh, my lady.”
“Thank you for helping,” Marin said earnestly.
Nan smiled sadly and nodded. “I'd have followed my Hewie had he gone to a place I could join him. I cannot think what life will be like without you here, but I know I want you to be happy.”
“Will you be well here?” Marin surveyed the limited food stores and could not stop the nip of concern at leaving the castle thus.
“The earl is sending a large party out for food on the morrow.” Nan bent and stroked a black cat winding between her feet. “I am not sure Bixby will ever be the same. He misses Bran.”
“God willing, we shall see Bixby again. We shall see all of you again.” Marin's heart gave a little twist. It was probably an impossible dream, but it was one of her heart regardless.
“It's time,” Leila said.
Marin nodded and made her way to where the empty wine casks sat over the trap door to the tunnel. Nan pulled it aside and opened the trap door while Leila readied a torch.
“If you don't mind my saying, my lady.” Nan looked down at her hands.
“What is it, Nan?”
“You know my Hewie and I were never blessed with children of our own.”
Marin nodded.
“Forgive me, but I've always thought of you and your sisters as mine, especially after your mother…” Nan's explanation faded away rather than say the words none of them wanted to hear. “I love you girls as though you were my own.”
Marin hugged Nan and the cook returned the embrace with ferocity. “You be safe out there, aye?”
“I will,” Marin assured her.
Leila entered with the torch, its flame making a low crackling in the large room. Nan handed Marin a bag with a shoulder strap. “Food in case you need it. It isn't much, just a bit of bread and cheese and some ale.”
“Thank you.” Marin embraced both Nan and her sister one last time before accepting the food which she draped over her shoulder, and took the torch in her hand. Even as she descended into the tunnel, she knew what she did was madness. Yet she had to try.
She had to find Bran.
31
The tunnels had been frightening to Marin as a girl. And now, alone in the tunnel with only its dank air pressing against her, she found her heart firing at a rapid beat, teetering on the edge of that childhood fear.
She forced her thoughts to those of Bran, of where he might go, and how best she might find him. It was far better than considering what might lay in wait for her beyond Werrick's walls. The Grahams had been run off, but it did not mean they were gone for good. Not to mention the other bands of random reivers wandering the borderlands in search of anything they might steal to survive.
Nay, she had to have faith she would find Bran, that they could be once more reunited. She clung to that idea as she wound her way through the dark tunnels with only the glow of her torchlight to combat the darkness. At long last, she found the exit to the tunnel. She pulled the precious key from her belt, unlocked the grate and eased out before locking it in place once more.
Once she was freed, she replaced the key carefully in her belt, and doused the flame. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the absence of light, and in the moments of true darkness, the world came alive with rustling leaves. A droning hum sounded in the distance and the wind carried with it the odor of death. All evidence from the battle that day. How could it have only been that day, when it seemed so terribly long ago?
She secured the bag on her shoulder and strode in the opposite direction from the bodies. If the Grahams returned to collect their dead, she did not wish to be found.
After what seemed a lifetime, the small bit of forest came into view, lit by the glow of the moon and the sparkling stars above. She trudged onward, careful to avoid any part of the surrounding areas of the castle where a soldier might spot her from the battlements. She’d donned a kirtle after having been locked in her rooms and knew she would now stand out from a distance. Ladies did not wander about on their own in such lands.
She walked on through the night for what felt like ages, knowing Bran would eventually set up camp somewhere. It was not impossible that she might find him. There was no need to avoid any traveling parties along the way, for she saw not one soul on the path. No Grahams, and no Bran.
Exhaustion pulled at her legs and her temples still throbbed with the remnants of
a headache from so many tears spilled. Her feet had grown tired and she regretted her inability to have taken a horse. She'd already eaten a bit of bread from the bag Nan gave her and happened upon a stash of coins. A considerable amount that most likely came from Nan’s own pocket.
The sun had begun to rise and gild the lush green grass with its golden light when she finally saw a lone rider approaching her. He sat atop his horse in a familiar gambeson covered in filth, his dark head lowered, the way a man might if truly defeated.
Her heart skipped. Was that him?
She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shouting aloud. After having been raised since infancy on the borderlands, she knew better than to trust anyone, even if they looked familiar. She edged back slowly to a thatch of bushes and sank into them to observe from a safer location.
The man passed, and her heart dropped. He was not Bran.
She remained in the bushes until he had ridden by, her gaze still fixed on him, and rose from where she'd been hiding. A quick survey of her surroundings reflected not another soul. At least, not until she turned and found a group of five men riding in her direction.
It was impossible to have not been seen by them. Their pace quickened in her direction and she loosed a curse she'd heard Bran use several times. How could she have been so careless?
She'd been too mired in her disappointment, her mind too exhausted to produce sufficient logic.
Energy fired through her, spurring her feet into action as she darted from the bushes like a rabbit being chased by hounds.
While she ran, she fumbled with the dagger at her waist, pulling it free. The pounding of hoofbeats grew louder and made the earth under her feet rumble. Her heart was ready to explode from her chest and still she ran.
Marin's Promise (Borderland Ladies Book 1) Page 25
