Page 27 of Marin’s Promise

7

True to his word, Bran summoned Marin from the dungeon again the following day. He had a bath and a hot meal waiting in her room in the hopes he might draw more compliance from her with kindly actions.

He waited outside her chamber while Anice tended to her. Thus far the other girls had been compliant, simply watching him and his soldiers with wide eyes. They did not cause problems and, based on the reports he’d received from Drake, they spent a majority of their time reading or working needlepoint. Women’s tasks.

The door opened and he straightened to attention. Marin wore another veil, this time with a silver circlet which made the gilded stitching on her deep blue kirtle sparkle like stars.

“Lady Marin.” He inclined his head respectfully.

She said nothing, but her gaze discreetly settled on him. Though her regard was cool, he knew her to be more interested in him than she bothered to show. No woman without interest kissed with such heat, such passion. It made him want to pull her back into his arms.

“Shall we see the steward today?” he inquired.

Her head lifted in a look that was almost arrogant. “Aye, but first I should like to see to my sisters and meet with Nan to confirm the meals are properly planned.”

The haughty attitude did not become her, though her request was unsurprising. He had expected her to want to ensure the safety of her sisters.

“Ye will find them all in good health.” Bran indicated she precede him.

True to his word, on their way to see to her sisters, her vassals appeared to be relaxed in their safety and at ease. All the sisters but Anice were in the solar, with Ella reading, Cat plaiting several flowers into Ella’s hair, and Leila sitting beside the glow of the fire. The three looked up at the sound of the door opening and ran to Marin.

He waited patiently as Marin addressed each girl affectionately, asking after their care and getting the reassurance she’d requested. Leila clung to Marin’s waist and refused to let go for a time before Cat lured her away with the promise of teaching her to loop the flowers together into a necklace.

As Marin cast one final glance back at her sisters, her heart clearly heavy, Bran leaned close to her ear. “If ye can promise me the support I need, I can see to ye being free of the dungeon for good.”

In response, Marin merely frowned.

In the kitchen, Marin made certain the meal for the day was sufficiently planned and Bran once more attracted the attention of Bixby. Fie on what they’d all said about the little beast. The cat was good company.

He lifted the furred weight of the creature into his arms and caught a slight twitch to Marin’s lips.

“I know what ye’re thinking.” He rubbed at Bixby’s ears and the cat pushed into the caress, the air practically vibrating with his ready purr. “Mayhap I think this wee creature has good taste.”

Nan scoffed at this, but Marin did not bother to comment as she left the kitchen. Bran settled Bixby on the ground and went after Marin.

“Bixby certainly is drawn to you.” Marin said when Bran caught up. “Though I confess I find his affections questionable.”

No one else was in the hall with them. He leaned closer to her. “Do ye?” He spoke into her ear with a low voice.

Marin pulled in a deep breath. “Aye, I do.” Small bumps of gooseflesh showed on her skin and a flush spread over her cheeks. She stared up at him, her attention fixed on his mouth as she gently bit her bottom lip.

Oh, aye–she was interested.

He chuckled at her obvious pleasure in his closeness and shifted closer still. Marin lifted her hand and rapped at the door they stood before.

She quirked a brow at him, as though in silent rebuke. A voice on the other side bid them enter. Bran opened the door for Marin and found a middle-aged man with sandy hair and a blunt nose waiting for them amid several open ledgers. He rose from his place behind the desk as they entered. Resplendent tapestries depicting biblical scenes adorned the whitewashed walls. Aside from those splashes of color, the room was otherwise bland and orderly to the point of being sparse.

“Lady Marin.” The steward smiled broadly, revealing a wide gap between his two front teeth. His gaze fixed on Bran and the ready greeting wilted.

“This is Bran Davidson,” Marin said. “It would appear he has needs to see the accounts to ensure all is in order. Bran, this is William, my father’s steward.”

Introductions made, she folded herself gracefully into one of the two seats before the desk.

William hesitated to sit and remained poised above his own chair. “Are you sure, my lady?”

“I do not believe we have a choice,” Marin said bitterly.

William indicated the other chair to Bran and sat himself. “What exactly is it you wish to know?”