Page 94 of Marin’s Promise

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The hum of voices greeted Marin before she exited the castle, far too many to be the remaining people left behind, and far too tame to be a winning band of marauders descended upon them for rape and pillaging. Her pulse stumbled and resumed with a wild patter.

Was it true? Had they won?

Ella and Leila gripped her hand with the same level of excitement, and together they ran the length of the castle entry. Sunlight blinded them, but they did not slow, not until a familiar voice slammed into her heart.

“He has brought dishonor to us all.”

She stopped, blinking against the brilliance to the mass of faces before her. Ella and Leila ripped their hands free of Marin's grasp and continued to run. “Papa!”

Marin's knees went weak and she almost pitched to the hard ground. The only thing keeping her upright was the beloved figure of her father standing tall with the light of the late afternoon sun limning his slender frame, as though he were some kind of saint. For truly, to them, he was. A man full of goodness and love, a man returned from the dead.

“Father.” Her lips were numb and yet still she managed to whisper the word. She repeated it louder, in a shout of joy. Suddenly the legs nearly too weak to hold her were carrying her across the cobblestones and into his arms.

He caught her beside Ella and Leila and crushed all three of them to his chest in a great bear of a hug, the way he’d done when they were girls and they would squeal for him to stop. His whiskered chin rasped at the top of her head and the odor of peat and death clung to his filthy chainmail.

“You're filthy.” She pushed back with a chuckle and reached out to gingerly touch his silver beard. A bit of dried mud dropped from the once well-trimmed hair and fell to the ground.

He grinned at her. “Is that any way to welcome home your father?”

She laughed, a giddy, happy laugh, earnest and free of all the tension built up over the last month. “I would welcome you home no matter how you looked.”

Though, in truth, it pulled at her how much he had aged, the lines on his face were creased deeper beneath the spatters of muck. He was thinner, almost frail. All the men carried about them a haunted look. Their faces were streaked with peat. Even Geordie, Sir Richard’s squire who had gone into battle for experience, appeared to have the worn features of a man rather than the boy he still was.

Cat stood at his side, beaming up at him as she chattered on. Despite his apparent exhaustion, the young man grinned down at her and nodded along with whatever she was saying.

“Papa, they told us you were dead.” Ella hugged at his arm and pressed her face to his sleeve, heedless of how it left a streak of mud on her cheek. “Where is your armor?”

Marin had not noticed until her sister mentioned it, but the fine decorative helm with gilt whorls was now a simple, serviceable helm.

He scoffed. “Some jackanape stole my armor before we were attacked.”

“They told us you were dead,” Marin said weakly. Her gaze shifted to the crowd of men, seeking out her husband, and finding him almost immediately. In a wild chain reaction, she immediately experienced the rush of elation at his safety, followed by the fear and confusion of his capture.

“Aye, many died, daughters,” Father said solemnly. “A great many. The battle had been a victorious one. The attack on us was meant to get us when we were away from England’s forces. When we were vulnerable. The bloody Kerrs.”

“Father, why is my husband restrained?” Marin asked sharply.

Her father's face darkened. “Sir Richard told me about him. You needn't worry after him any longer, Marin.”

“What do you mean?”

“He forced you to marry him. No one else need know, save those of us in this castle.” Father's eyes narrowed. “I'll kill the whoreson and take back my castle.”

“Kill him?” Marin gaped in horror. “He's my husband. You can't—”

“He forced you into marriage, Marin.”

“I offered my hand in marriage to save the lives of my sisters.” She shifted to put herself between her father and her husband, to break the glare of hatred he cast Bran's way. “He made sacrifices to save them and has saved us all many times over. He is a good man.”

“A good man? He raped you. Like your mother, he—”

She put a hand to her father's chest to stop his ugly words and shook her head. Her cheeks scorched with heat to be discussing her consensual fornication with a man. As a wife it was her right to do so, but as a daughter, it was humiliating. Still, it was better for him to believe the truth than the lie Sir Richard had put in his head.

Sir Richard.

She shifted a hard look at the man she had trusted so often in her father's absence. “What is the meaning of this? Is this your plan? To see him destroyed. First with the letter and now with this…this betrayal.”