Page 74 of Marin’s Promise

“Are ye well?” Bran asked.

Bernard blushed and nodded. His shaved pate glistened with a sheen of sweat. “Aye, of course. We are all God's creatures. That is, it matters not how we arrive to greet him. Which isn't to say this man's body is appalling, though it is a mighty shock but—”

Isla scoffed.

Bernard’s pale blue eyes shot up and found Isla. Immediately, he crossed himself.

Isla chortled at his reaction to her, as gleeful at his fear as ever. “In my younger years, he wouldna have been making that sign.” She rolled her hand in the air. “Get on with it, ye spineless sap.”

Bernard wiped his palm down the hip of his robe and began droning the last rites in Latin, his demeanor calming immediately with the application of his faith.

While the hum of his voice cast reverent stillness over the gathered men. Bran looked to Marin and nodded toward the castle, indicating she go inside.

She shook her head and stepped forward with her chin notched upward in that stubborn way of hers. Bran reached out and took her hand in his. Her palm was warm and damp, an indication she was not as calm as her demeanor would otherwise suggest.

But as the last rites were given over the body, Bran could not help the flurry of questions racing through his mind. How long had the Grahams had the man? Had the message to Kerr been delivered? Was there a reply?

Bernard made the sign of the cross over the body and it was done.

Bran regarded Marin. “See to your sisters. Ensure they are not too distraught over what has happened. I’ll handle the burial.”

Marin glanced to the body and then raised her eyes to meet Bran’s. “Are you certain? I can assist you if—”

“Nay, lass.” Bran shook his head. “Go to yer sisters.”

Bran pressed a kiss to her brow before turning to Drake. “Take her inside, aye?”

Drake gave a firm nod.

Marin squeezed Bran’s hand and released her hold on him. “Thank you.”

Her look of gratitude dug into his chest and squeezed at his guilt. He needed her gone so he could check over the body, to find any missive that remained to see how much the Grahams might have found, or not found. To verify for himself how far the man had made it.

Damn.

Things could not possibly be any worse.

* * *

With a heartfuller than it'd been in some time, Marin ran to her sisters. For years, there had been so many moments of having to choose between comforting her sisters or overseeing difficult tasks. But not this day.

In the face of horror and fear, Bran bore the brunt of the awfulness of the poor reiver's mangled body and tasked her with caring for what he knew mattered most to her.

The sisters had gathered in the sunlit solar. Anice hovered over Cat, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. Ella and Leila sat on a window seat with Piquette, their heads bent over a book. All looked up when Marin and Drake entered.

Marin immediately set to work caring for her sisters. Ella had lost herself in a book and pulled Leila with her. Cat had been distraught but had calmed down after drinking tea drizzled generously with honey from Isla. Poor Drake had hovered over them, his helplessness apparent in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Clearly wanting to offer his assistance, but unsure how. Anice had tried to set him at ease by constantly reassuring him they were all fine until he finally left to return to Bran’s side.

In the distance, beyond the glass window, the sun sank into the landscape like a glowing ember and cast the sky in violent sprays of red and orange. Like watered down blood.

There is great sadness on the horizon.

A chill settled along the back of Marin’s neck and slid down her spine like an icy finger. She suppressed her shudder.

“My lady.” Sir Richard's voice tugged Marin from her thoughts of Leila’s warning.

Marin glanced at her sisters, and after confirming they had all calmed, she excused herself and met with Sir Richard in the hallway.

His mouth set in a grim line. “I brought the man's body in.”

Marin inclined her head graciously. “You have my thank—”

“I'm not telling you for gratitude.” Richard kept his voice to a low whisper. “This was on the man. I brought it to you as soon as it appeared to be safe.” He lifted his gloved hand where he pinched a folded square of parchment smeared with blood.

“Did you read it?” she asked even as she accepted the missive. She squared her shoulders, making herself a shield against prying eyes.

“Aye, in case it was about your father.”

She cast him a grateful look, knowing his intent to be good-hearted. However, any gratitude in her chest froze solid at the words written on the parchment. It was a call to the Scottish Middle Warden to send reinforcements to help secure the castle before the Earl of Werrick could arrive.

The name signed at the bottom in a slash of black ink over the gory parchment–Bran.

Marin gasped and tightened her fist on the parchment to keep it from slipping from her fingers. So, this was why Bran had wanted the castle. For Scotland. No doubt Kerr would see them all killed, including her father. Her sisters.

She shuddered at the thought. Never once had Bran indicated his intent for the castle was so dangerous, could cost so many lives.

She had been betrayed.