Page 27 of Ena’s Surrender

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve her. He should tell her to leave, that he’d made a mistake. That she would be happier with another man. A better man. One who had been loyal to his own people.

She bit her lower lip and nodded, showing him a shyness that he would never have suspected from a woman so fierce. “Aye,” she whispered.

And just like that, with one simple word, all the protests raging in his mind fell away and a world of future possibilities took their place. A cottage in Scotland with Ena at his side, their babe in her arms.

A family. A place to belong.

“Ena.” Her name caught in his throat.

“Renault.” She put her hands to his chest and lifted onto her toes.

He kissed her then, showing her with his lips what he could not put into words. How beautiful he found her, how deeply she affected him.

It would be so easy to leave with her and go to Scotland in that moment. He could put everything behind him and only ever look forward from here on out. Except that he was not that kind of man. He had to ensure Walter’s full recovery and he had to do everything in his power to keep Bothbury’s men from coming after Ena and Bran. And him, for that matter.

“On the morrow,” he heard himself say. “I’ll come midday. I want to be with you, in Scotland, in our own cottage.”

“So soon?” she gasped. “I havena told Bran.”

He brushed his fingertips over her soft cheek. “We’ll tell him together.”

The worry smoothed from her brow.

A distant sound caught his attention. A rhythmic thumping. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end before he could even recognize it as the cacophony of several sets of marching feet.

“You need to go.” He pulled her to him and kissed her firmly. “Now.” He guided her toward the door.

Unlike her cottage, he had only one exit from his home. It was at the front, where everyone would see someone enter and leave. She hesitated before leaving. “Something is amiss. What is it?”

He shook his head. There was no time to tell her all now. How he’d attacked Walter, how other men had been spying on him. He only hoped Walter was correct in his assumption that they didn’t know where Ena lived.

“On the morrow,” he promised in a vow he was not certain he would be able to keep. “I’ll tell you on the morrow.”

She nodded without certainty.

“Quickly.” He opened the door a crack and nudged her toward it.

Ena blinked up at him, then kissed him once more, her lips pressing to his own. He memorized her in that brief moment. The heat of her mouth, how perfectly her body fit against his and the brightness of her floral and sweet hay scent.

She slipped out with a final backward glance and was gone. He staggered back from the door and strained to listen. The steps were closer. There was enough time to run, but if he went to Scotland, they would find him there. Ena and her brother would most likely pay for his treason with their lives.

There was nothing for it but to stay and face the consequences of his actions.

He closed his eyes and summoned Ena’s face in his mind. The graceful arch of her brows, the regal line of her cheekbones, her generous mouth. As the steps came closer, regret squeezed in his chest. For he knew with certainty, he would not meet with her on the morrow.

Or any day after that.

9

The marching came closer, the choppy staccato of footsteps matching the frantic beat of Renault’s heart. A solid knock rapped upon the door. Though he’d been expecting it, he flinched at the sound.

The time had come.

He reached for the latch on the door, but it flew open before he could touch it. One of the earl’s guards filled the space with his vivid red livery, his face set in a stony expression.

“You are being arrested for the crime of treason,” the man said.

While Renault could not recall the man’s name, he knew him. They’d fought together in battles defending Kershopefoot. Back to back, brethren in war.