Page 90 of Marin’s Promise

“Ready your arrows.” Cat lifted her hand.

A dozen bows creaked. The reivers and soldiers below crashed together in a cacophony of ringing metal, clattering shields and cries of effort and pain.

“Launch!” Cat drew her hand down and nocked her own arrow. The release of her weapon was soundless beneath the terrible roar of battle.

Bran had managed to stay on his horse, his battle axe glinting in the golden light of the sun. He filled her thoughts as she recalled the way he'd looked just before locking her in the stables. His gaze had been so desperate, emotion shining in his eyes, as if it tore at his heart to leave her.

I love ye.

She had replayed those words in her head again and again, savoring them, clinging to them.

Already several bodies fell to the ground, some Grahams in their plain gambesons, some bearing the Werrick coat of arms.

Marin's heart snagged in her throat. Her men. Ones who had protected her all these years and now made the greatest sacrifice to see her and her people safe.

She put a hand to her mouth to cover her sobs. Her tears could not be so easily squelched. She watched the entirety of the battle and yet kept focused on where Bran led their army with commendable bravery.

He remained at the front line. His movements were as powerful as they were lethal. His strokes were rhythmic in a smooth repetitive motion she knew well enough from her own time in such melee. He operated on well-honed instinct, pausing only to aid a fellow soldier or reiver, the way he'd done as they were side-by-side when they'd saved her sisters.

But to observe him like this, from a spectator’s place, he was magnificent.

A Graham pulled his blade free and spun to face Bran's back. Marin clutched at the stonework beneath her hands, but before she could even draw a full breath to call out his name in warning, a white fletched arrow sailed toward the man and hit him in the eye. The Graham fell to the ground, no longer a threat.

Cat did not pause to appreciate her own incredible shot, not when her fingers were flying from plucking and firing with abandon. Despite Bran being saved by her sister's extraordinary talent, the tension did not leave Marin's shoulders. Watching the fight unfold was the greatest hell she'd ever endured.

When she was among her men, she had the element of control, inasmuch as one could wield during the chaos of war. At Bran's side, she could keep his back guarded, ensuring his safety. Instead, she was confined to the battlements in the weighty trappings of useless chainmail, completely and utterly helpless.

Each man in her livery who fell dragged at her heart and left her wondering what she might have done to prevent the death, had she been among her men. Where she belonged.

Anger fired through her again. She wanted to scream out her frustration until her throat bled. When this battle was done, she would ensure Bran got a good piece of her mind.

Her heart squeezed at the thought of seeing him again. God, how she wanted to see him again. After she kissed him senseless, she decided. That was when she would give him a good piece of her mind.

Several more of the Werrick coat of arms fell to the ground, and then several more. The battle was turning in the favor of the Grahams.

She shot an anxious look to the gates. They could open them and partially raise the portcullis ever so slightly. Enough for the men to scramble underneath. Enough for Bran to be safe.

When her gaze settled back to the field, her blood ran cold. The Grahams were easily consuming the Werrick men. The battle would not last much longer.

Movement on the horizon pulled her horrified attention from the fighting. Men lined up along the crest of a hill in the distance. A good number of men.

The cool blood in her veins turned to ice. The Grahams had brought reinforcements.

“Marin, we must go.” Cat pulled at her.

But Marin could not leave, not when her feet were rooted to the stone ground. “Bran,” she whispered.

He continued to fight, oblivious of the men soon heading in his direction. Heedless of the impending slaughter. She had not told him she loved him when he left. She had shouted curses at him she hadn’t meant, and she never, never told him she loved him.

She shook her head and the world swirled in a blur of colors.

“Forgive me, Marin,” Cat said in her sweet voice. “We must. The women and children need us.”

A small hand pulled at Marin's, leading her away. Before she could disappear completely, she jerked her face back toward the battlefield and took one last long look at her husband, knowing it would be her last.