Page 103 of Marin’s Promise

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Bran was careful to lead his horse at a steady pace, quickly enough to get Marin to Werrick Castle where she would receive the best care, but slow enough that it wouldn't jar her any more than was necessary. He cradled her gingerly against him, minding her injured side.

His throat was tight with emotion and his chest ached as surely as if he'd been stabbed. In truth, getting a dagger in the heart would be more easily endured than the pain of witnessing Marin in such a state.

She had sucked in her breath when they'd gotten her on the horse and started on their journey, her lips pressed tight to suppress her tears. Some time back, her whimpers had ceased, and she lay silent and limp against him.

At first, he'd feared the worst, but after confirming she still breathed, he pressed onward. Now, at long last, the castle rose before them.

“Give her to me,” Drake said. “I will take her in.”

Bran ground his teeth. “Nay.” He swept his hand under her nose and gave a sigh of relief at the huff of air coming regularly from her nostrils. It was light, but it was breath. She was still alive.

His fear did not fully abate. Not when she was grievously injured, not when the reality of her survival was so perilous.

“Let me take her in,” Drake said again.

“Nay,” Bran snarled. He would sooner die than release his hold on Marin. It would be impossible to relinquish her to someone else and be ignorant to her fate. He had to be with her. He had to know.

“They'll kill ye, Bran.” Drake's tone was somber.

Bran gazed down at his wife and everything inside of him twisted in agony for her. “I know,” he said finally. “But I canna…” His words caught on the knot in his throat, croaking out before stopping short.

The odor of death came before the castle rose into view. Soldiers stood outside, gathering the bodies of the fallen and loading them onto carts. Bernard, visible in a green robe, moved his hand in the air in the sign of the cross.

They all stopped to watch Bran and Drake approach.

“Tell them,” Bran ground out.

Drake nodded sharply and rode on ahead. He returned moments later. “Ye are instructed to give her to me,” he said somberly.

Bran said nothing and continued to ride forward. An arrow soared toward him and sank harmlessly in the soil beside his horse. A warning shot.

Damn their warnings.

There was not another shot fired. This time, the portcullis opened to reveal Marin's sisters and her father. The earl's face went gray. “Marin.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “What have you done to my daughter?”

“I dinna know it was her.” The words choked out of Bran. “I saw a lass being attacked and went to aid her and it was…it was…” He couldn't say her name, it was too agonizingly awful to relive that moment he'd realized it was her.

His Marin. His beautiful wife with all her fierceness, her passion and vitality.

The earl's eyes filled with tears. “My daughter. Is she…” He clenched his fist and did not finish the question.

“She needs Isla,” Bran replied. Drake leapt from his horse and held Marin as Bran got down from his own horse.

Just in time too, for young Leila slipped to the ground like a puppet who'd lost its strings. Drake rushed forward, narrowly catching her in his arms before she could hit the cobblestones.

The earl stepped forward. “We will take my daughter. You may leave.” He glared at Bran. “You've done enough.”

“Like hell I will.” Bran cradled Marin in his arms. “Kill me if ye like, but I refuse to leave her side. I left once before, knowing she would be safe, and then I find her like this. I refuse to leave her side again.”

“Cease yer bickering.” Isla approached somewhere between a run and a walk, certainly at a faster pace than she'd surely moved in some time. “Bring her inside so I can have a look at her. I'll no' have the lass die while ye stand there arguing like merchants at market day.”

She leaned forward and peered at Marin. The lines on her crinkled face deepened. “Bring her.” She bade Bran follow with a crook of her gnarled finger, and he obeyed with haste.

All around them, the keep had gone still, every person riveted on the battered body of their beloved mistress. Several made the sign of the cross as Bran passed by with her in his arms, pressed near his heart. Many of the women wept openly, their eyes bright with tears. Even several men averted their glossy gazes.

Isla led them to a small bedchamber with a single bed. “Set her there.” She nodded toward the thin mattress.