Page 93 of Marin’s Promise

“Papa!” A girlish squeal sounded from the battlements and echoed over the field. A figure in front of the archers leapt up and down several times before disappearing.

So, the man was indeed the Earl of Werrick. Despite the hollowness that knowledge wrought in Bran's gut, he could not help but smile at Cat's delight to see her father alive.

The portcullis opened and the men shifted with restless eagerness to be reunited with their families, whether their time outside the castle walls had been over an hour, or over the last month.

Two women waited on the other side, so eager for it to open, they finally ducked underneath and ran to the earl. As they got closer, Bran realized they were Anice and Cat, Anice racing with the same girlish excitement as her younger sister. They flew into their father's arms and remained there a good, long time.

The earl kissed each of their heads in turn and held them as though he never intended to let them go. When his eyes opened, tears shone, making them glow like a summer sky.

The rest of the men pressed onward into the bailey, giving the earl his privacy in the reunion with his daughters. Though not all of them.

Bran scanned the courtyard as he entered the castle grounds, but he did not see the rest of Werrick's daughters. Not Ella, nor Leila. And not Marin.

The other men were greeted by the grateful women and children, kissed and held and crooned over. The earl returned to his men once more, his face beaming with pride and love. He was exactly the man Marin had described him as, the kind of father any child might want. Even a boy who had never known his own.

Before foolish thoughts of a happy outcome could take root in Bran's mind, the earl released his daughters and the expression on his face went from adoring father to fierce warrior. The summer-blue eyes frosted to a wintery gray and the lined scowl transformed his features into something menacing. His stare pierced Bran and chilled his soul.

“You forced your way into the castle by threatening my daughter.” The earl's lip curled.

Cat stepped toward her father. “Papa, he—”

“You took my castle, you slept in my bed, you ate my food and sat at the head of my table.” Spittle flecked out of his mouth and shone in the brilliant sunlight. He stopped just before Bran and glowered down at him with such authoritative disapproval, Bran had to force himself to remain upright. “You married my eldest daughter.” He blinked slowly, as if the act pained him to do so. “You laid with her.”

Bran opened his mouth, but the earl reared back his fist and pain exploded in Bran's cheekbone.

“I'll have none of your excuses, you reiving bastard,” the earl hissed and strode away. “Guards, this marauder has led a life he does not deserve, his pleasures stolen for too long.”

The men surrounding Bran hesitated only a moment before seizing his arms. Drake lunged toward them but was immediately restrained by three of the filthy Werrick soldiers.

Bran bit back any explanations he might offer. It didn’t matter. Not with a man like the Earl of Werrick, a nobleman exactly like every other Bran had known. He only hoped Anice would remember her promise to save Ena, and that Marin would help.

Sir Richard appeared beside the earl and stared at Bran. “Shall we take him to the dungeon, my lord?”

The earl spit on the ground. “Kill him.”