Page 101 of Marin’s Promise

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.

The scent of sweat and horseflesh prickled at her awareness and something hard slammed against the back of her head. Her feet flew out from under her and she connected with the ground in a hard oof.

Several rolls of bread tumbled from her bag, scattering about her. Marin yanked the bag from her shoulder as she flipped over, her dagger clutched in her fist. She was ready to fight.

The world tilted, but she ground her teeth and forced herself to focus despite the injury. She'd had worse.

There were five men. She'd fought five men before. Granted, not with a dagger, but it could be done. It had to.

A man with ruddy skin and a thick black beard stared at her with amusement. “She's got a dagger.” He waggled his hands in the air in mock surrender and the other four men laughed.

They would not be laughing long.

“Hold her,” the man said. “I took her down. I get her first.”

Despite her confidence in her own abilities, Marin's blood turned to ice. They intended to rape her. Like Mother.

A man with red hair came forward, but she slashed at him with her knife. It nicked his forearm. He hissed and jerked his arm back.

“Get on with it,” the dark-haired man said irritably.

“The bitch cut me.” The redhead grimaced like a sullen child.

“You'll get your revenge.” The dark-haired man gestured to her again. “Now hold her down.”