Page 19 of Marin’s Promise

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The soft lilt of singing greeted Bran as he descended the stairs. Singing? In a dungeon? He quickened his pace, hastened by the need to chastise his men for not putting a stop to such foolishness.

His men didn't notice his arrival for they stared into the dungeon, their faces serene with concentration. Closer now, Bran could better hear the woman's voice, and the beauty behind it.

The song was in a language he didn't know, but the sweet melody seemed to imply a story both calm and light, a song one might sing to a child. It was no wonder his men did not order the musician to cease when they so obviously found her talent enjoyable.

Bran pushed aside his men to enter the dank dungeon. A candle glowed on the floor next to Marin's cell beside a bundle of furs and a glossy dark head resting against the iron bars.

Marin's arms extended from her prison where she lay flush with the barrier of her cell to cradle her youngest sister. Her delicate hands stroked the girl's shiny black hair. It was Marin who sung so beautifully.

Every man stood enthralled. Not only Bran's men, but her father’s soldiers held prisoner not far from her. Her singing filled the ugly darkness and made it somehow light—a transition so remarkable, it might be considered magic.

Her voice quelled and the singing drew to an end. Marin opened her eyes and looked at Leila with love shining in her eyes. For her part, Leila appeared to be asleep, her fingers curled loosely around one of the thick iron bars of Marin’s captivity.

Marin is the heart of Werrick Castle, in more ways than one.

Bran was beginning to understand as much now. The room remained silent enough that the delicate flicker of the decorated candle's flame could be heard. Small flowers had been pressed into the white wax and whorls of paint showed along its sides.

One of Bran's men sighed and turned away from the sisters.

Bran approached the cell, foolishly trying to still the sound of his wooden soled shoes clattering over the hard ground. Marin's head snapped up and she put her finger to her lips.

He glanced down at Leila. Her hair fell over her cheek and her face was tranquil with the relaxation of slumber. Initially he'd thought her to be ten. Now he questioned whether she was even that old.

“Why is she here?” He whispered.

Marin carefully pulled her arms from her sister and secured the furs more snugly about her shoulders before standing to face Bran.

“She's scared.” Marin paused and regarded him for a long considering moment. “Mayhap you can bring another candle if you wish for us to see.”

He glanced at the one at his feet where the fine wax candle still shone with brilliance. “What's wrong with this one?”

Marin gently swept her fingers along the top of the glossy dark head of little Leila. “It's her Candlemas candle. She's been saving it all year. I'd like her to still keep it in case she needs her own prayers for reassurance later.”

Irritation tightened along the back of Bran's shoulders. “I said I wouldna harm ye.”

“Yet you've imprisoned the guards and you've imprisoned me.” Shadows stained the fair skin under Marin’s eyes. She'd clearly had little sleep as well. “Leila is a sensitive child. She feels things differently than most.” Marin glanced down at her sleeping sister, a look akin to maternal worry and affection crossing her features. “Locking me in the dungeon only heightened her concern.”

“Ye did try to kill me.” He turned to his men behind him. “Ye, bring me another candle. And ye,” he nodded at a burly man with a large barrel chest, the strongest among those guarding the dungeon. “Go to the kitchens to aid the cook with lifting heavy items. If her back goes, we'll no' be eating well.”

Both men nodded and went about their orders.

“You saw Nan?” Marin lifted her neat brows in amusement. “And I see Bixby found you.” A smile teased at her full lips.

Bran cast a frown down at the cat. Bixby licked at his paw with supreme disinterest. “I know about Bixby, before ye attempt the jest.”

The ghost of a smile pulled higher on her mouth and she gave a simple hum of acknowledgement.

“If ye mean the cook, then aye, I went to see Nan. I also saw yer Master of the Horse, steward and even the chatelaine.” Bran shifted. “It appears no one will provide me any information. Nothing in the castle can happen without ye.”

The lighthearted expression on Marin’s face tightened. “What did you do to them?”

“No’ a damn thing, which I now regret.” Bran shot her a dark look. “I dinna come here to harm ye or yer people.”

One of the reivers came forward and handed him a candle which he passed to Marin. She nodded her thanks, then knelt to light it with the Candlemas candle before blowing Leila’s out to preserve the girl’s blessings.

Marin rose amid a thread of smoke. “I assumed the role of mistress of the keep when my mother died years ago, and I assume something of a Castellan when my father is summoned to the king’s side. I handle every account of the castle and am responsible for every person here.”