Page 88 of Marin’s Promise

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The day of battle had come. Bran’s pulse pounded through his veins as it often did before a fight. Mayhap even harder than usual, for there was so much more at stake than a bit of coin or food.

Though their army was small, the battle took a solid three days to plan between himself, Marin, Drake and Sir Richard. Judging from their collective estimation, there were usually six dozen Graham reivers loitering outside their walls. As they had not seen within the walls of Mabrick Castle, they were unsure how many of their numbers remained, or if they had sent for reinforcements. Or if they even held the castle still at all.

Mabrick could well have been reclaimed by the English after their victory.

Marin was at his side, prepared for battle with her full body chainmail clinking. While she had tried valiantly to hide her sorrow, its proof smudged under her eyes and drew tight at her normally lush mouth.

With her now at his side, he knew she did not suspect anything. Her blind faith twisted at the honest part of his soul. She would possibly never forgive him. And yet, he had lied when he'd said she could join him on the battlefield. If he’d tried to keep her back, she would have fought and railed against him until he finally agreed. But he knew the truth of it. How could he fight with her at his side when his worry for her was so great?

It was about more than a babe possibly being in her belly, or the comfortable life her dowry would afford him. It was her. The way she had become a part of his heart.

It was because he loved her.

Wind swept through the bailey and set the banners rippling in their full glory. The men—

reivers and castle soldiers alike—wore the Werrick coat of arms emblazoned across their chests. The fierce black hawk stood out against the green tincture of its field with a bold stripe of yellow running down its center. A way to identify one another in the chaotic confusion of battle.

Restless energy charged the air. Men hopped from foot to foot, shifted and twisted their sword arms, readjusted their armor, all the anxious prep work men did to ensure the odds of victory tilted in their favor.

Marin's sisters waited near the soldiers, clad in chainmail and set with grim faces. They would not be fighting.

Both he and Marin had agreed to leave them behind, partly to ensure their safety, especially in light of the cruelty their mother had endured at the hands of the Grahams. But also, to ensure the safety of those remaining within the keep should they lose. If the tides of battle turned against them, the sisters were to lead the women and children through the secret passage.

While the Grahams were occupied with the spoils of war and a renewed attempt to enter the castle, the lot of them would slip through the passage and find help. Hopefully.

If help could be found.

The girls ran to Marin like daughters to their mother. Bran stood back and allowed them to offer their well-wishes and love. Anice slid him a knowing look and nodded in his direction. The knot of tension in his chest eased.

She had remembered their conversation and would comply. And she would see to Ena’s safety if he did not survive battle.

Bran allowed himself the luxury of watching Marin as she spoke with her sisters, the way her graceful hand stroked their cheeks, how she wore the chainmail as regally as if it were a gown of the finest satin. She was beautiful. Perfect.

Aye, she would be livid. Mayhap even try to kill him again. But for the same reason they had agreed to not allow her sisters on the battlefield, Bran knew he could not have Marin beside him. He could not clear from his mind the horrible offense done to her mother. The very idea of being helpless as men violently harmed her made him burn with enough rage to split a man in two with his axe. Nay, he would rather face her wrath if they won than witness such horrors if they lost.

Marin turned from her sisters and met his eyes.

It was time.

“I would speak to ye first,” Bran said when she approached him.

She smiled up at him, her full pink lips parting over her straight white teeth. Her blue eyes sparkled at him in the flirtatious way he enjoyed. He drank in every detail of her loveliness, as though he might fill up on it and make it last forever.

For this might be his last opportunity to see her. Such a realization jolted through him and left his heart slamming in his chest. Fear. Ugly and metallic and foreign.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, not with the way his throat had suddenly gone tight. He indicated the stables behind them. She caught his hand and drew him with her.

Sunlight slanted in through a narrow window and motes of dust drifted lazily in the brilliant shafts of light. All around them was the sweet, musty scent of hay. God in Heaven, she would be furious with him.

“Marin, I—”

She threw her arms around his shoulder and kissed him, hungry and hard. “We will win. Together. We will save Werrick Castle.”

His gut twisted, and a thread of doubt wound its way into his mind. He had only to consider what they would do to her if she was captured and his resolve steeled once more.

“Marin.” He cradled her face in his hands and stared at her until every lovely detail of her face had carved itself into his mind. “I love ye.” He pressed a tender kiss to her mouth, savoring the familiar taste of her.