Page 71 of Marin’s Promise

“I hope you enjoy pigeon.” Marin sliced into her pie and a spiral of steam trailed upward, bringing with it a decadent scent of sage and pepper.

In fact, Bran had never had pigeon. When one was lucky enough to have any form of meat once a week, one seldom could guess its source. “I imagine I will if it tastes as good as it smells.”

He cut open his own pie and nudged aside the huff paste with his knife, casting aside the inedible shell to get to the tender meat and vegetables within.

Marin lifted her goblet of wine and regarded him over the rim. “Where did you cut yourself?”

He speared a bit of slender white meat with his knife tip and paused. “Cut myself?”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed. “Where did you do it?”

He put the poultry into his mouth and almost closed his eyes to relish the flavor-rich meat. As it turned out, he loved pigeon.

“Isla said there was blood on the sheets.” Marin took a dainty bite of her own food.

The piece of meat Bran had swallowed lodged in his throat and required a hearty swig of his wine before he could answer. He cleared his throat. “Ah, that cut.”

“So, you did do it then?” Her tone carried enough displeasure to make him hesitate.

He stared down at his food. “Ye dinna poison this, did ye?”

Marin smirked. “If I killed you, I couldn’t get answers, could I?” She set her knife down on her plate. “Besides, I did promise not to kill you.”

“But ye’re upset.” He selected another morsel of pigeon to eat. Hell, if it was poison, it made for a fine last meal.

“I was a virgin.” She lifted her eating dagger and nudged at the contents of her pie. “Isla says it is not uncommon for a woman so active on the battlefield to not maintain her maidenhead.”

Her words were defensive, and she kept her eyes trained on the pie she appeared to have no interest in eating.

Bran considered offering to eat it for her, but then thought better of the idea. “Ye told me ye were a maiden. I’m no’ concerned about it.”

“You didn’t tell me you cut yourself to smear blood on our sheets.” Her mouth drew tight. “Were you so ashamed for the world to think I was not a maiden?”

He frowned. “Nay. Marin, I did it for ye.”

“For me?” she repeated dubiously.

“I dinna know much about this world of wealthy men, but I know it to be a cruel place for women. I’m aware what a maidenhead is to a woman and her reputation.” He reached out and settled a hand over hers. “Ye’ve worked to maintain yer reputation. I’d no’ let ye be besmirched among the lot of pompous arses who might otherwise judge ye.”

She blinked. “You did do it for me.”

He shrugged and released her hand to take up his eating dagger once more. “Ye’re my wife, lass. I’ll protect ye to my dying breath.”

“I hope that won’t be too soon.” She smiled shyly at him.

“Does that mean ye’ve abandoned yer intention to kill me?” He lifted his brows at her.

“I have other plans for you.” She rose from her chair.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Get the plates on the morrow,” Marin said aloud.

“Aye, my lady.” The voice on the other side of the door said no more.

Marin drew Bran from his seat and pulled him back toward the bed. “You should show me where you cut yourself.”

He drew up his sleeve to demonstrate the thin cut. She bent over his arm and gently pressed her lips to the slim, red line. She continued kissing, over the rolled sleeve of his doublet to the bare skin of his neck, and finally upon his lips.

“Love me, Bran,” she whispered against his mouth. “I’ve been aching for you all day.”

She needn’t say more, for Bran was only too happy to oblige. And yet, even as he kissed her, as he explored her body and they sated their lusts throughout the night, he could not help the pressing thought rising in his mind. For what would become of this affection and happiness when Kerr finally arrived at Werrick Castle?