Page 7 of Marin’s Promise

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Bran gazed down at Marin in eager anticipation. His blood roared with the victory of seizing this impossible castle, and at the prospect of possessing this beauty.

He craned his head closer, near enough to touch her and yet he did not, mindful of maintaining respect for the lady of the castle. His lips whispered over her hair as he spoke just over her ear. “Tonight, come to my chambers.” He let his gaze dip to the swell of her breasts. “I eagerly await our mutual pleasure.”

His cock stirred at the thought of taking her, thrusting between milky white thighs, slick with her passion.

He backed away and observed her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, clearly as keen on their pairing. He’d heard of castle ladies and their boring lives, desperate for a real man. And he truly was a real man. No doubt more so than anyone she’d had before.

Perhaps her husband was away at war. Or dead. Widows made the best lovers, as they were experienced and starved for pleasure.

He sat on the hard bench and gestured for her to join him. Her gaze flicked to where the other sisters were locked in conversation, their heads bent together.

“Invite yer sisters to sup with us,” he said. After all, it would do well for harmony in the castle if he got to know the earl’s daughters. Who knew how long Kerr would take to arrive?

He only hoped for Ena’s sake it was sooner than later.

She hesitated, her expression suddenly guarded. Aye, the protective older sister.

“I willna hurt any of them.” He gently brushed her slender hand with his own. Her skin was flawless and silky. The hands of a true lady.

She flicked him a coy glance that coiled low in his belly. “Mayhap it would be better with only us.”

“Nay, I should like to meet them. If we are all to live here peacefully, should we not get to know one another?” He waved the sisters over.

Marin’s pleasant countenance slipped slightly. “I confess, I am curious as to why you are here, and what it is you want?”

“What are yer names?” he asked as the two sisters approached. The air around them was heavy with wariness and distrust.

The beast of a dog was back at the side of the prettiest sister. The cold one who had rejected him. “Lady Anice.” She carefully threaded a loose curl back behind her ear and pointedly looked at her nails before passing him a nod of acknowledgement. “And this is Piquette.”

The dog glowered at him and gave a low rumble of disapproval.

She was the kind of woman who could build a man up, or knowingly tear him down. He was glad for a woman more like Marin, one who wouldn’t play coquettish games.

“And Lady Ella.” Marin nodded toward the scholar, whose far-off expression pulled back from where it had been and settled on Bran as if she didn't know what to make of him.

Marin indicated a black-haired girl making her way across the crowded room toward them. “And here is Lady Leila.”

The lass was a wee thing, most likely not even on her tenth year, and aside from the sea-blue eyes, appeared nothing at all like her sisters. Not just for the darkness of her hair, but in the rounder shape of her face and her small, set mouth. She watched him solemnly with eyes too large for her face.

He expected another chastisement from this sister for his manner of getting into the castle using…Catriona, was it?

“Are you the one they call the lion?” Leila’s voice was so fragile, almost unheard beneath the raucous din of hungry men.

Her question was unusual. He'd been called many things in his life before, but never the lion. He shook his head. “Nay.”

Her slender shoulders relaxed, and she took the seat to his left, the only one willing to do so of her own volition.

“I think you can understand why our other sister will not be joining us,” Marin said in a gentle voice. “Lady Catriona has had a trying day.”

“It hasn't been my best,” a female voice spoke up. “But do you really think I’d let that keep me from supper?”

Bran found the final sister standing by the doorway nearest their table, her small chest puffed bravely out. She had changed from her blood-stained dress and wore an orange kirtle with her hair bound into a neatly braided coiled around her head.

“I couldn’t possibly stay up in my room smelling such delicious fare, could I?” She approached the table.

“Cat, you don't have to do this.” Marin said it lovingly, but the admonishment in her tone and the concern furrowing her brow suggested she was not happy with her sister’s decision.