Page 104 of Marin’s Promise

Bran did as he was told, taking care to move Marin as little as possible. He gingerly swept the hair from her face and draped the ruined dress over her bare leg.

“Dinna bother with that.” Isla appeared beside him with a pair of shears.

Bran shifted in front of Marin, ready to protect her.

“Easy, lad.” Isla wriggled the shears. “Ye're covering her, but I need to see her, aye?”

A hearty knock shattered the stillness of the room. “Let me in,” the earl's voice boomed.

“No' during this part, m'lord.” Isla's reply came calmly, and she swept her hand to the side, indicating Bran need move.

He did not. “I'm no' leaving.”

“Ye're here, are ye no'?” She lifted her brows and waved him away again.

This time he sidestepped out of her way. The older woman peered at him. “Dinna hover over me, or ye'll be joining her da outside.”

He edged back even further, lest he give in to the temptation to do exactly as she asked him not to. Isla took the tattered edge of the once-fine gown in her withered fingers, put the shears to it and sliced into the fabric. Watching Marin be bared in such a way held him riveted with fear, worry and the overwhelming need to hide her naked body from observation.

The healer pulled the fabric away from Marin's ribs and gave a low curse in Gaelic. Bran could stand the distance no more. He stepped forward and choked on a cry.

The entire left side of her ribs was a mass of violent, angry purples and wicked reds against her fair skin. Isla ran her fingers along the swollen, bruised flesh and sighed. “She has a few broken ribs for certes, and she's had quite a blow to the face. I'll know more when I've looked her over more thoroughly. I must move fast to ensure she does not wake. ‘Tis a blessing for the pain to have taken her to slumber.”

And move quickly she did. Her fingers shifted in a nimble exploration, skimming over Marin's naked skin, combing lightly over her scalp, assessing every intimate part of his wife. Bran's cheeks burned by the time Isla had finished and his hands ached from clenching them.

“She's got a knock at the back of her head as well.” She slid a glance in his direction. “She was not used.”

“I would love her even if she had been,” he stated.

“Aye, but at least now ye know any bairns ye may have are yers.” She shrugged. “It matters to most men. Be glad for her sake then. 'Tis a harrowing thing for a woman to live through.”

Bran nodded with as much understanding as he could. A woman's body was precious, sacred. He could only imagine the horror of such desecration to their intimate parts. His gut twisted, and he found he could not think further on it. Not now with such pain already on display.

“Can ye heal her?” he asked.

“I can heal anyone but the dead.” She considered Marin for a long moment. “She will need to be kept still lest her broken ribs pierce her lungs.”

“If that happens?” Bran pressed.

Isla frowned. “She dies.”

“She willna move,” Bran vowed.

The aging healer patted his back. “This is why ye were allowed in.” She glanced to the door. “Her da will no' be so easy to tell.”

“I would do anything to save her,” Bran swore. “Even lay down my life if need be.”

Isla smiled sadly up at him. “Ye may have already done exactly that.”

* * *

“I never saw it.I never saw it. I never saw it.”

The fragile feminine voice chanted the words, each phrase ticking through Marin's conscious like drips of water from a leaking roof. “I never saw. Forgive me, Marin. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.”

A harsh sob came from beside Marin.

Pain effused her body. Pain everywhere. It was agony to even breathe.