Page 47 of Marin’s Promise

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Poisoning Bran would be such an easy solution. A lightness filled Marin at how many problems his death would alleviate. Her father would not need to fight for his home upon returning from battle, peace would be restored through the castle and Marin could remain unwed and free. She gazed at the man lying abed, his face peaceful with sleep.

Her mind still echoed with the pained way he’d called out for Ena. Whoever the girl was, or had been, it was obvious she meant a great deal to him. Somehow, she imagined that affection was part of the reason he’d agreed to help her rescue her sisters.

He had risked his own life and the lives and loyalty of his men. Even after she had betrayed him, even after she had returned with the intent to kill him. He had protected her in battle, and he'd saved Leila from certain death.

She could not bring herself to give the order to have him poisoned, not when he had spared her from so much loss.

“Nay,” Marin answered Isla finally. She pulled in a breath for fortitude. If she were to keep him alive, she needed to uphold their agreement–not only marry him, but to put forth a credible performance that their union was one she wanted.

“He will live,” Marin said. “And once he has fully recovered, we will marry.”

“Marry?” Isla chuckled with incredulity, flashing her impossibly white teeth. It was whispered that they had been taken from the mouths of the dead. A distasteful rumor, but then there were many surrounding the aged healer.

“Aye.” Marin glanced once more to Bran’s sleeping form. He lay on his back with his hands folded peacefully over his flat stomach.

She needed to convince her people that their union was what she truly wanted. Otherwise the effort would be for naught.

The healer squinted with skepticism and she gave a little grunt. “Him?”

“Of course.” Marin was not doing well with this. “He is a much better man than he seems.” She almost winced at how bad her attempt sounded. “That is to say, he is…”

This was far more difficult than she had anticipated, but she must be more genuine. If she couldn't fool one old woman, how could she convince an entire castle?

She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and remembered his kiss, how his mouth had set her aflame.

What other good attributes had he that she could elaborate on?

“He is brave,” she said sincerely. “He saved my sisters and our soldiers. None of them would have returned had he not agreed to help. And he is a fierce warrior. I…care for him.” She stumbled over the last part, unable to say she loved him. Surely caring was sufficient.

Isla regarded Bran with consideration. “He's a fine-looking man, I'll give ye that. Wrought with hard muscle and easy on the eyes. Other bits of him are nay so bad either.” She winked. “Ye could do far worse than the likes of him for certes.”

Marin’s cheeks heated and she breathed a discreet sigh of relief.

The older woman patted Marin gently on the face. Her withered fingers were dry and held the clean scents of sage and meadowsweet. “Dinna ye fash, lass. I'll have yer man well enough to give ye a worthy wedding night, aye?” She issued forth a cackling laugh and shooed Marin from the room.

Marin said nothing as she was pushed out the door, grateful to be free of the awkward conversation. Isla had been fooled, but Marin would need to improve on her earnest declarations of affection if she was going to sway the castle into believing she truly wished to marry Bran. Part of that lie would involve visiting him daily while he recovered, sitting by him with care and affected fondness.

And so it was that Marin found herself going often between Leila’s bedside and Bran’s. Leila had healed quickly with the resiliency of youth and was sitting up within days of receiving her injuries, smiling and nodding as Cat chattered on about all Leila had missed.

And so it was that Marin remained at Bran’s sleeping form for hours on end in an effort to play the part of the doting betrothed.

The days were mind-numbingly dull. She found herself speaking to him as she stitched silk embroidery over a fine new gown she was making for Leila, or reading to him from one of the ornately decorated books from the solar. She even took to going over accounts and replying to correspondence while in the confines of his room. None of the missives received had been from her father as yet, though it was common for him to be unable to reply on his missions with the king.

Never had she been more grateful for his lack of communication.

Oftentimes, Bixby kept them both company from where he curled up along Bran's sleeping body and watched Marin as she read.

Her time was not all spent attending Bran as he slept, though it was the larger part of it. She also helped feed him the drinking broth Nan sent up from the kitchens when he was awake, fortified with cattle bones and goose fat. She saw to his medicine to ensure he took what was needed without fail, and she swept a cool cloth over his face before and after his meager meals.

Isla was there to do most of the other things he needed, things she insisted Marin not have to deal with, like bathing his body and seeing his clothing changed. Though in truth, Marin harbored a suspicion the older women found much enjoyment in those tasks.

Regardless, it was in those respites where Marin found herself seeing to the wounded soldiers, all of whom were recovering well. They had lost twenty-eight men in the attack. More than half of their remaining force. In truth, having Bran as Marin's husband would be beneficial in affording her more troops to stand guard. As long as the reivers could remain loyal.

His man, Drake, came to visit Bran daily, despite his newfound wealth. A man without loyalty would have taken the treasure and never returned. Yet the man came every day with concern bright in his dark eyes.

Marin took care to visit with Bran’s men as well, to make certain they received proper treatment for their wounds and were fed well enough. She even went so far as to speak with Drake regularly to confirm the men had all they needed.