Page 54 of Marin’s Promise

Marin sighed, already knowing her sister's reaction before she even answered. “On the morrow.”

But Anice did not protest as Marin had expected. Instead she gazed reverently at Marin, her eyes still glossy with tears. “My poor sister.” Anice's lips pursed with determination. “We must let Nan know to prepare a feast. Perhaps we ought to have the pickled eel cooked.”

Marin held up a hand to stop her sister. “We will save the eel for Father's return, no matter how tumultuous a homecoming it may be.” Even if they had to roll the barrel out past the portcullis for him, it would at least be waiting for him when he returned. “The household has been told to make preparations.”

The skin around Anice's almond-shaped eyes tensed. “Then we, your sisters, are the last to know of your wedding day?”

“I was afraid if I told you first…”

Anice nodded. “I understand. You are always brave and fearless…” She embraced Marin in a fierce hug. “I have the perfect gown to lend you, and we will rouge your lips and cheeks. You will be the most beautiful bride ever forced to marry in all of Christendom.”

Marin smiled against her sister's perfumed hair. Only Anice would think feeling beautiful might somehow set all things to rights. And yet Marin knew it was Anice's way of helping. “Come in with me, for I must inform the others as well.”

Anice straightened and offered Marin her hand to hold before the two summoned Piquette and walked into the girls’ chambers together. For any challenge was easier to take head-on with her sisters at her side.

* * *

Bran wasn’tsure how a man was supposed to sleep the night before his wedding, but he hadn’t slept well. The irony had occurred to him that Ena had been arrested for having married an Englishman, and his marrying an Englishwoman would put them in a better position of power to save her.

True to the old healer’s word, a bath was readied for him that morning, and thankfully, Isla had not arrived to assist him. The warm water eased away the remaining stiffness of battle and the deeper ache in his back from laying abed so long. His wounds were doing well and gave him few issues.

He stayed in the water until it began to cool. Bathing like a rich man was yet another luxury he found he could get used to. He stepped from the wooden tub and was just draping a linen around his naked waist when a knock came from the door.

Mayhap it was Marin, come to see him before they were officially wed. Having her find him with only the thin linen about him held great appeal. He could envision her pretty blush even as her eyes dipped low with innocent curiosity. “Enter,” he called in an easy voice.

Unfortunately, it was not Marin who stepped through, but Drake. The young reiver pushed the door closed behind him and held out a bundle of cloth. “They want ye to wear this.”

Bran lifted a brow. “They?”

“The ladies of the castle.”

Bran gave a hum of acknowledgment and came closer, leaving a path of wet footprints.

“Lady Anice mentioned they were the fashion to wear now.” Drake draped the items over the back of a chair.

“Ah, Lady Anice.” Bran shifted his attention from the clothing to the younger warrior.

Color rose in Drake’s cheeks and he assumed a militaristic stance with his hands behind his back, his expression blank.

Bran sifted through the clothing. “I have it on good authority Lady Anice is betrothed.”

“Aye, she is.” Still Drake’s face betrayed nothing.

Bran lifted a pair of dark woolen hose. The fabric was fine, not rough, scratchy wool he was used to, but a tighter, more precise weave that left it soft to the touch. “There willna be much hope with her for ye, lad.”

This time Drake fixed his gaze on Bran. “I would never presume, nor attempt to take advantage.” He spoke with finality before returning his gaze forward, the soldier once more.

Bran hid his smile at the lad’s reaction and fingered a doublet of deep blue. The sisters intended to dress him now, as though he could not be trusted to ready himself for the upcoming ceremony. Apparently, his peasant clothes would not do for a man marrying an earl’s daughter.

It was on the edge of his mind to refuse, to show up in his stained gambeson and leather trews. But this was, after all, his wedding. And his first day as a wealthy man. He ran his hand over the woolen hose once more.

“Ye’ve become quite friendly with the lasses, it would seem,” Bran commented.

Drake’s mouth twitched at the corners and the determined set of his face relaxed slightly. “The younger ones remind me of my own sisters.”

“And if I dinna wear the clothes?” Bran asked not because he intended to refuse the request; he was merely interested in seeing how far the younger man would go to ensure his compliance for the young women.

Drake snapped his head toward Bran. “I was instructed to remind ye that it is yer wedding and fine clothes are expected. And I promise ye, ye willna want to go against their wishes.”