Page 31 of Marin’s Promise

Anice remained where she stood. “Release my sister.”

Ah, and there it was. Bran scoffed. “Would ye have tried to kill me too?”

The coquettish expression transformed into one of smugness. “I’d have done whatever necessary to see my sister safe.”

How flattering.

These women would be the death of him, either through a successfully plotted murder or by driving him utterly mad with their scheming.

He pointed his finger toward the door. “Get out now if ye ever want to see yer sister alive again.”

Anice lifted her mantle from where she’d draped it over a chair and pulled it to her shoulders as she spun away in a wave of blonde hair. Without another word, she stomped from his room.

He waited for the slap of her bare feet to dissipate before he locked the door and wearily approached the bed. Hopefully snakes hadn't been put beneath the furs, or poison poured atop his pillow, or any other horrors the daughters of Werrick might have concocted.

But at this point, he was just too tired to bother with any of it. He climbed over the feather mattress. The blanket beneath the furs was decadently thick. He slid under the finest linen sheets, cool and welcoming.

The plush mattress cradled his weight in wealth and luxury. The delicate scent of lavender and meadowsweet rose around him. His eyes fell closed.

Catriona’s face rose in his mind. Her eyes were wide with fear, her cry to Marin to let her die. Another face swam up from his memory, another voice pleading for death to save the ones they loved.

His mother, with her long dark hair tangled in the fist of the reivers. The beast of a man with his blade to her throat. Ena’s voice ringing out to kill her instead, and Gregor charging.

He opened his eyes rather than let his mind play out the rest of the memory.

He would not go through such loss again. No matter how difficult, he would succeed with Werrick. He would not let Ena die.

* * *

Marin pacedher cell like a caged beast. Every moment that dragged on brought thoughts of her sisters, of their compromised safety. And her anger grew.

She had failed them. Her hesitation to kill Bran could cost them all their lives. He had sworn he would not hurt them and then he had put a knife to William’s throat. William, of all people. The kindest, most generous man who aided the poor in the village with his earnings and had been so terribly brave in trying to protect her.

She had failed.

The words echoed in the beating of her heart and hammered through her soul.

She had done them all a horrible wrong. Mistake after mistake, all ones her father would never have made.

“Your father would be proud of everything you've done, my lady.”

The familiar voice startled Marin from the downward pull of her self-castigation. She stopped pacing and shook her head. Her jaw ached from clenching it.

“He would be,” Sir Richard continued. “You kept Lady Catriona safe and you nearly sacrificed yourself for your people. He will also be glad you didn't succeed in getting yourself killed.”

Marin frowned. Her efforts had only put the entire castle in danger. There was no way out of this predicament. She'd combed over the cell, testing every stone for anything loose, kicking at the ground to possibly uncover the beginnings of a hole she might dig.

As with everything in Werrick Castle, the dungeon was soundly built.

A giggle sounded in the hall outside the dungeon followed by the murmurings of a feminine voice.

“Of course,” the woman’s flirtatious voice echoed. “If you were here, I'd make sure you had bread and cheese too.”

Anice appeared then, a flickering candle clutched in one hand and a platter of food in the other. The coy smile still teased the corners of her mouth. Piquette lumbered along at her side.

“Oh, Marin.” Anice rushed to the cell and the white of her chemise flashed between the partings of a hastily-donned mantle.

Marin's blood went cold at Anice's state of partial undress. “Did they hurt you?” Marin reached for her sister with a desperate hand, hating the iron keeping her restrained. “Has something happened?”