Page 77 of Marin’s Promise

“Because ye’re protecting yer own sisters, Marin.” He shook his head. “Would ye willingly sacrifice them to save mine? Would I be willing to sacrifice mine to save yers?” He ran a hand through his hair, the power of his arm flexing with the simple movement. “It all would have been done if the battle at Berwick wouldna have happened. Now there’s no’ anything to do but wait.”

Marin looked at the missive once more. “Ena.” The name slipped from her lips before she realized she was saying it. “Is she safe still?”

A hard look passed over Bran’s features. “She had better be.”

Marin set the missive onto the chair and tried to breathe around the heaviness in her chest. All this time, Bran had been trying to protect Ena. He had even tried to use his holding of Werrick Castle to offer protection to Marin and her family, even if it meant possibly angering the man who held Ena.

Bran had been trying to save his sister, trying to save everyone at the castle, and Marin had been ready to kill him.

* * *

Bran remainedin the tub and let the understanding sink into Marin. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“I almost killed you,” she whispered.

“I would have stopped ye.”

“Bran–I…” She slowly approached him. “You risked angering Kerr by asking him to keep us safe.”

“Aye, because I wanted to ensure yer safety and those ye care about,” he answered honestly. “I never want ye to know the loss I have suffered.”

She gave a small whimper. “I tried to kill you. I don't deserve—”

“Ye do.” He stepped out of the tub and drew her into his arms. The ground was cool underfoot, a comfortable respite from the heat of the tub.

Her hands slipped around his back and she clung to him. The wet fabric of her gown was cold against his skin and helped keep his head focused.

Because as much as he hated to admit it to himself, her accusations and lack of trust had wounded him. True, he had taken the castle under malicious circumstances, but in the time following, he'd aided her, he'd supported her.

She was not like the ladies he had met, the privileged women of considerable wealth who looked down upon his lot. Nay, she was kind and determined and had enough room in her heart for an entire castle full of people.

Mayhap even for him.

Her mouth pressed to his chest in a kiss. Several kisses turned into a string of them up his chest and to his neck. His body responded immediately, lighting with heat and hardness, sparked by having lost her trust and regaining it once more.

Marin rested her palm on his cheek and lifted her face to his. Bran kissed her, sweetly, chastely, until she rose on her toes and swept her tongue into his mouth. He gave her what she needed then. He slanted his mouth over hers and lost himself in the shared passion between them, the spiked fear of loss, the strength of mutual want.

“Forgive me, Bran.” She spoke between kisses, frantic with need, made clear by the way her hands grazed over his body.

Her fingers trickled down his stomach to where his cock had already risen hard between them. He growled against her lips and drew the lacing from the back of her gown, blindly plucking at the ties. Her touch curled around his shaft and his bollocks drew tight with anticipation.

She stroked him the way he'd shown her, starting at the base and working up to the sensitive head. His thoughts went hazy. It turned all his racing musings from before into ash and they simply blew away. From bottom to top, her small palm squeezed and worked his lust to fervent intensity. His concentration on the lacings became difficult and his movements were clumsy. Too damn slow.

He grunted with frustration.

“You said once you would feed me your cock,” she whispered in his ear.

He went still, or at least all of him but his prick, which lurched to attention at such words.

“The way you slipped your thumb in my mouth.” She drew her hand over him, up and down, like slow, sensual fire. “Is that how it's done?”

His mouth was too dry to answer, and his fingers stopped working at her lacing. She gave him a coquettish gaze and lowered herself to her knees in front of him.

“Should I be like this?” Warm, sweet breath bathed over the blazing heat of his skin.

He swallowed.

Her kirtle hung open at the back and drooped from one shoulder, exposing only part of her to him. The curve of a breast was tantalizingly creamy white in the shadows of the gapping fabric. Her state of partial undress in contrast to the blatantly erotic act she intended to perform on him only served to send his senses soaring higher. He wanted to shove down the limp sleeve, to kiss her shoulder and expose both perfect breasts.