Page 8 of Marin’s Promise

Catriona took a seat on Marin's right, with a smile plastered to her face. It did not reach the flatness of her blue eyes. “It is a pity the troubadour who comes sometimes is not about. He is quite witty and tells the most wonderful tales.” She chattered on, her words too quick, her laughs too breathy, as if doing so might force everything to rights.

Looking at the lass compared to her older sisters, she was a wee bit of a thing. Only a little larger than Leila. Guilt stabbed at Bran’s chest, deeper than last time, its effects radiating farther.

Ena would be disappointed in him if she knew. But then, he hadn’t had much choice in the matter.

After all, Catriona being outside the castle walls had afforded him the opportunity to capture the castle without loss of life on either side, save the single soldier valiantly guarding the girl. His death could not have been avoided.

“Besides, you did not change any part of your life after you were taken, Marin,” Catriona said brightly. “I will not either.”

Marin looked sharply at the girl and Catriona stopped talking long enough to leave one wondering what had happened. Bran frowned. He knew well what happened to most women abducted in these parts. “Taken by who?” he asked.

Each of the sisters’ attention turned toward him.

Anger sizzled through him at the knowledge of what men oftentimes did to women they took. A noble’s brat Marin might be, but it made him want to kill anyone who dared lay a harmful hand to her. Especially after witnessing how caring and protective she was of those around her. “Did they hurt ye?” he demanded.

Anice scoffed. “You’re one to ask such a question.”

“Anice,” Marin said in a firm tone. Anice lowered her gaze at the chastisement.

Marin regarded him, her expression revealing nothing. “It was nothing. Truly.” Her gaze lingered on him, bright with interest.

His fears quelled, the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Besides, Father always says we should be proper ladies and welcome our guests.” Catriona spoke as though reciting the words from memory. “I cannot imagine they will stay long. After all, there are only so many beds to be had here, and so much food to eat. We cannot support so many in the castle for long. Therefore, they must be guests and treated thus.” She turned her face toward him, her brows lifted in hope. “Isn’t that correct, sir…lord…uh…”

“Bran,” he replied.

A servant set a platter of venison at the table's center. Steam rose from it and the herbaceous scent of roasted meat drew every bit of his attention. His mouth watered. It had been two days since he'd eaten a hot meal. And yet he would be foolish to blindly consume food placed in front of him in a castle he’d just usurped.

He sliced off a generous hunk and set it on the trencher in front of Anice. The meat broke apart, more succulent than anything he’d ever eaten before. Rich man’s food. His stomach gave a vicious snarl of hunger.

“Eat it.” He motioned to the meat.

“You think it’s poisoned.” Ella smirked up at him. “Perhaps you’ve read more than I presumed. Or mayhap you’ve heard too many troubadour tales.”

Anice pushed the plate away with disinterest. “I have no appetite.”

Marin shot her sister a hard look before turning once more to Bran. “The food is not poisoned.”

“I'll no' take my chances.” He nodded to Anice. “Eat.”

She glowered at him. Marin gave a little laugh, as though this was all some silly thing and pulled the trencher toward her. She sliced off a piece with a knife from her belt, plucked it free with her fingers and slid it between her lips.

Bran swallowed. He was so bloody hungry that he would probably eat the food even if it was poisoned. Hell, he wanted to lick her fingers clean.

Marin chewed the small bite, then slid the trencher before him. She lifted his goblet and put it to her sensual mouth. He did not once take his eyes from her, watching as her slender throat squeezed in a swallow. His own throat burned, desperate for the flow of rich wine.

“Not poison.” She set the goblet in front of him. Her fingers slowly released the cup, the movement almost a caress. His blood went hot. A fine meal and a finer lass. All his baser needs would be sated tonight.

He let his gaze slide down her in appreciation, making the effort to keep from looking as desperately hungry as he truly was. And dear God, he was ravenous. “Thank ye.”

Her mouth lifted at the corner, coy and welcoming. His stomach gave a savage growl. He only hoped the din of the room was such that she hadn’t heard. Leila, however, grinned impishly up at him.

He raised his brows at her and waggled them. The grin widened.

Bran sliced a hunk of venison with his blade. Thick gravy dripped from the meat and his hand began to quiver with near desperation when he pulled if off his eating dagger.

These women had doubtless never gone a day without eating. Despite the bitter thought, he forced his movements to slow as he ate the first bite.