Page 105 of Marin’s Promise

She opened her eyes. That didn't hurt. Good. She slid her gaze toward the ragged weeping. A glossy dark head lay against the mattress of the bed.

“Forgive me,” Leila said in a choked voice. “I never saw the attack, or I wouldn't…I couldn't…”

Marin drew a breath to speak. Fire lashed through her lungs and the air she meant to draw broke off in a cough. Her chest wheezed at the intensity of the pain and she tried desperately to inhale as minimally as was possible.

“Marin.” Leila stared at her in bewilderment. The tip of her nose was red and shiny, and her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. A tear trailed down her cheek. “I never saw the attack.” She shook her head. “I never saw it. If I had, I never would have freed you.”

Her hand grasped Marin's, ice cold and clammy. “I almost killed you by doing so. Please, please forgive me.”

Marin shook her head, confused. “What attack?”

Her blood chilled as a memory came to surface. The men. Too many of them. They overwhelmed her after the strike to her head. Then Bran was there, his voice soothing and his touch gentle. Her heart ached with more intensity than even her lungs. “Bran. Where is he?”

“Ye're da will bring him to ye. Leila, get the earl.” Isla approached the bed. “We've been keeping ye resting so ye'll heal.”

“I must see Bran.” Marin tried to sit up and a lightning bolt of pain streaked through her, freezing her in place.

“Ye're no’ well enough to move around, lass.” Isla put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It hurts like fire to breathe, aye?”

Marin nodded, grateful that the healer understood her discomfort. Understanding meant there might be relief.

Isla smiled with sympathy and her kind eyes crinkled beneath folds of wrinkles. “Ye've had some ribs broken. We've kept ye asleep on and off for six days with some of my teas, only giving ye time to eat. But I think ye've healed enough now to remain awake safely. Calm yerself, take smaller breaths and it will feel better.”

Marin obeyed, drawing in smaller breaths. She could not calm herself so easily though, not when Bran was not there. Not when she was not getting answers. Where was he?

The smaller breaths did help, at least.

Her door opened and her father walked in. He looked stronger than when last she'd seen him, the way she remembered. His beard was closely cropped and his silver-gray hair neatly combed. He stood for a moment staring at her, his eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“Dinna ye go upsetting the lass,” Isla warned.

Father put up a hand and nodded. “Marin,” he whispered.

“Bran. Where is he?” She couldn't stop the rapidity of her breath. It made her head spin and her ribs ache.

He sank into the chair beside the bed, the one Leila had been sitting in, and took her hand. The action made her feel like a little girl again with how his palm engulfed hers with his love and strength. “You love him, don't you?”

Marin tried to force herself to calm, as Isla had instructed, but it was impossible to do so. “Aye.”

“He risked his life to bring you home.” Her father's jaw flexed, the way it did when he was agitated. “You shouldn't have gone out there. You put yourself in considerable danger. Leila—”

“It wasn't her fault,” Marin said firmly. She regretted now having been so confused when she woke and unable to accept her youngest sister's apology. It was a wrong she would ensure was righted later that day.

“I would do it again,” she said. “I would leave again if it meant finding him and being with him.”

Her father winced as though she'd hit him.

“Father, I have spent my entire life giving to my family, doing everything–being everything–for everyone. I’ve done it gladly and with the whole of my heart.” Her words came out breathy and jagged with her shallow breathing. “But leaving to be with my husband was the only thing I've ever done for myself.”

Her father rose to his feet. Marin watched him with trepidation, fearful of what his next words might be.

“Bran made me realize something the day I released him and cast him out of the castle.” He tucked his hands behind his back and paced about the narrow room. “You are no longer a girl, but a woman. You've been a woman since before you should have been. Because I failed you.”

He stopped and lowered his head. She could not make out his expression, but it took a long moment before he spoke again. “I lost myself to my grief, first when your mother died and even in these past years when I haven't been here. You've taken on the responsibilities she left behind, and those I'd inadvertently pushed upon your shoulders. Bran was right. You are no girl to be ordered about by her well-intentioned, yet wayward father. You are a woman, powerful in her own right and capable of making her own decisions.”

He turned to her and swallowed. “I will not fail you again, Daughter.”

“Bran?” she whispered.