Page 21 of Marin’s Promise

Anice smirked and nudged Marin toward the door. Marin paused to rub the top of Piquette’s velvety head before departing the room.

Bran stood in the hall, awaiting her, his arms crossed over the red doublet he wore. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms that were powerful with muscle, a reminder to the way his body had been when he'd taken off his leine. He was terribly strong. Such knowledge left the baser part of her swelling with feminine appreciation.

“You didn't trust me?” She put her hand to her hip.

“Ye did try to kill me.”

It was a fair argument. Not that she would admit as much. “Where shall we go? To see Nan?”

Her stomach clenched even as she spoke. She was about to lay bare their lives, their possessions, to this thief. Aye, it kept her people safe, but it did not mean she had to like the abysmal task.

If he noticed the bitterness in her tone, he ignored it and simply nodded. “Aye, we can start in the kitchen.”

Together they made their way down the hall. “Leila seems verra fond of ye,” he said.

Marin slid him a side glance. Was he truly attempting to be conversational?

“Our mother died as a result of a reiver’s attack.” She did not bother to keep the disgust from her voice this time. “She died soon after Leila's birth.”

“Ye became her mother.”

“Of sorts. I knew Leila wouldn't have the years of our mother's affection like the rest of us had. My mother was…” Marin couldn't finish her sentence. She couldn't share the goodness—–the kindness and love—–everything wonderful her mother had embodied. Not with this man who exploited love as a means to an end.

“My mother was extraordinary,” she said finally.

“Was that when ye were taken? When she was attacked by the reivers?” he pressed.

Marin pursed her lips. She didn't want to talk about the incident, not now or ever. And certainly not with this marauder.

They arrived in the sunny kitchen before he could insist on an answer and found Nan pointing to a corner as she directed an unfamiliar man.

“Put it there,” Nan said in her authoritative tone. “Then you need to get the pheasant from the ovens.”

The man had dark hair and a stocky torso blanketed with a reiver’s gambeson. He followed Nan’s orders with ready obedience.

“I'd like information on the stores,” Bran said.

“I told you, not until you come with Lady Marin.” Nan swiveled toward him. The look of consternation on her face stretched into a pleasant smile. “Ah, I see you did. And was it her idea you put one of your brutes to work in the kitchens to help save my old back?”

Marin remembered suddenly the order Bran had issued in the dungeon. It explained why he'd sent one of his men to the kitchen. The consideration was surprising. No doubt Cat would be pleased at such a discovery, but then she always tried to see the best in people. Even those who did not deserve it. Marin, however, held tight to her suspicions.

Bran shrugged as if the act were of little consequence. “Ye make fine food, which means ye should remain happy.”

Nan wiped her hands on her white apron. “Ach, the way to a man’s appreciation is always through his stomach. My Hewie had an appreciation for my cooking, he did. ’Course he showed me all I know.” She nodded with pride. “And he said I was the loveliest lass in all of England and Scotland.” Her eyes glittered with the joy of memories, the way they always did when she spoke of her late husband.

“He taught ye well. Yer oat cakes were some of the best I’ve ever had.” Bran gave her a charming grin and it lightened the fierceness of his face.

“You should try my meat pies.” Nan waggled her hands excitedly in the air. “I’ll make them for supper this eve. It was the one thing I always done better than my Hewie, God rest his soul.”

“I will anticipate it,” Bran said with such earnestness, Marin knew he truly did.

This man speaking to the cook, who had gone out of his way to see to Nan’s comfort, was not the same man who had put Marin in the dungeon. Nor was he the same man who had used his tongue to kiss her, tease her, seduce her. She shivered at the memory of who that man had been.

“May I show him the stores, my lady?” Nan asked.

Marin nodded and quickly averted her face so Nan wouldn't see how much it truly did bother her for the inner workings and intricacies of the castle to be laid open before this usurper. He followed Nan to the larder. At some point, Bixby had emerged from the shadows and trotted at Bran’s heels.

“Are these peaches?” Bran pulled the jar from its shelf and pulled the stopper free. The cinnamon and sharp vinegar scent of the sweet peaches filled the room. He pulled one free before Marin could protest and plucked a succulent peach from the juice. He held it out to Marin.