Page 16 of Marin’s Promise

She slapped her hand into his and curled her fingers around him with the force she’d use on a blade hilt. He drew her to her feet, ignoring her powerful grip.

Once he had her standing, he locked her arms behind her back. “I dinna want to do this.”

The room spun. “And yet you are.” She twisted and pain laced up her arm. She tried to keep from crying out, the sound squelched into something of a grunt.

“This will only hurt if ye move,” he cautioned. “If ye thrash, ye could break yer arm.”

His hold on her was strong and the heat of lust she'd experienced only moments before chilled into something cold and ugly. “You have no soul.”

“If I had no soul, ye’d be dead, as would yer sister the moment the portcullis opened.” Bran nudged Marin forward, forcing her to walk.

Frantic fear scrabbled through her. “Will you hurt them now?”

“I told ye I wouldna.” He detained her with only one hand, his grip still strong, and unlatched the door and pulled it open.

“And I’m to trust you? A reiver.” She glared at him over her shoulder.

He returned his second hand to restraining her and steered her forward. “It would appear ye dinna have a choice.”

Tears of helplessness blurred in her eyes. Some of Bran's men appeared in the halls as she was led through, their gazes bright with malicious curiosity. She hated the low-cut kirtle she wore now, and the way it left her vulnerable to the molestation of their leering stares.

She blinked rapidly to keep the tears from spilling over. And then she saw them, the solemn faces of her sisters, bearing witness to her great failure. She had put them all at risk.

Of all her stricken sisters, it was little Leila who strode forward and stood in Bran's path. “Where are you taking her?” Piquette left Anice’s side to accompany Leila, his front paws squared so the bulk of his chest stood out menacingly.

“To the dungeon.” Bran steered Marin around her sister and Piquette. “And if ye try to stop me, little lass, ye'll join her.”

“Leila, no,” Marin cried. “Please. Leave it be.”

Leila's large eyes went luminous with unshed tears. “But I love you.”

The reivers watching elbowed each other and shared a chuckle over the display of emotion.

“Enough,” a reiver said. The dark-haired serious one who had first walked in with Bran. He cast a hard glare at the men who immediately went silent.

“Please, Leila.” Marin nodded to her sister, willing her to wait with the other girls. “Stay with your sisters and remain safe.”

Anice approached their youngest sister and whispered something in her ear. Leila’s face turned solemn and she nodded, finally moving from Bran's path and shuffling back to her sisters. The dog did not move.

“Piquette,” Anice called gently. Finally, he ambled from their path, but not without a long look of regret first.

Marin's blood roared with rage, with a need to exact vengeance on the man holding her. He had exploited her love to seize the castle and would soon see the effects of her wrath. Or she would die trying.

* * *

Bran did not planto keep Marin locked in the cell forever. In fact, he had made it a point to instruct his men to see that the imprisoned soldiers were properly fed and cared for.

After a poor night of sleep in a rich man’s bed, he found his mind returning to the spitfire, and how her potent energy had been beautiful when it had been used not for anger, but for passion.

In the great hall, crusty rolls were waiting for him, so fresh that steam curled from them when broken open. There was a pot of honey waiting to be drizzled, a pat of butter for smearing, the salt bowl filled once more, and even oats thickened with fresh milk and perfectly hot.

He'd enjoyed breaking his fast so much that the kitchen was his first stop that morning in his assessment of the castle. The stables appeared to be in good order; he'd seen that when he left his horse there the day before. The Master of the Horse seemed competent, albeit evidently displeased with the castle’s loss.

Bran had already written the letter to Kerr informing him of having taken Werrick Castle. He’d secured a runner for its delivery and the lad was already on his way. Once the Scottish Warden sent reinforcements, he could put this whole mess behind him and Ena would be free.

Ena.The name charged a feeling of powerful protection through him. She had been so foolish, and yet his being here proved he would do anything for her. He only hoped Kerr kept his side of the bargain.

Bran entered the kitchen and found a large round rump thrust up in front of a fire pit.