Page 97 of Marin’s Promise

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Bran couldn't imagine his life without Marin any more than he could imagine leaving without her at his side. She was his wife. He would rather go to hell and back than have her think he had left without her, abandoned her.

But he could not sacrifice Ena.

Yet again, he was a pawn in a rich man’s game. Being moved around at whim. But this time he did not try to fight it. Nay, he bowed under its burden.

“Please,” he said in a ragged voice. “Let me see my wife.”

“Don't be preposterous.” The earl cast him a look of incredulity.

Bran gripped the bars with determination and stared directly into the earl's hard blue eyes. “I love her.”

“What life will you give her?” Her father asked. “You have no home. You have nothing save the clothes on your back.”

Bran's stomach clenched at the statement, and its underlying truth.

“Will you have her starve as she hopes her next meal comes soon?” The earl prompted. “Will you be content as her fine clothes turn to rags on her? Would you see the powerful woman she is shrivel in a life where coin goes from hand to mouth and security is in as short supply as luxury?”

“I have been in love, Boy.” Werrick’s voice lowered. “I would never have wanted for my wife what you intend for Marin. If you truly do love her, leave and spare her the pain of your death. For I refuse to allow her to live such a life.”

Bran would have preferred to have been beaten and kicked by these men rather than subjected to their justification. For all of it was true. Raw and abrasively true.

His thoughts went to the women who rode with the reivers. Some fought in battle alongside the men, their weapons as shoddy as their pieced together armor. Some remained at camp, exposed and vulnerable to attacks. With him, Marin would not have safety. He had nothing to offer but love, and that would not fill her belly.

The sad reality of it shuddered through his heart.

“I see you understand.” The earl spoke gently. “Save Marin and we will save Ena.”

Sir Richard unlocked the cell door and pulled it open, his manner solicitous. “Can we trust you?”

Bran nodded. “I willna do anything to cause Marin further harm.” The words choked from the tightness of his throat, leaving them sounding foreign to him.

The day before, he had a powerful castle and scores of men who trusted him enough to follow him into battle. Most importantly, he had Marin. He had love.

He would lose her. He would never see her again.

His heart crumpled under the force of his loss, as painful as what he'd remembered with his mother and brother, when he’d been so helpless in his meager care for Ena. And yet despite the bitter, soul-sucking agony of it, he could still not bring himself to regret his time with Marin. Not when it had been so precious.

He would never see her again, never hold her again, never see that playful smile or kiss her full lips. She was gone to him forever.

“What of my men?” Bran asked.

“We've had considerable losses,” the earl replied. “We've offered to keep them on with the pay of our usual soldiers.”

“All accepted,” Sir Richard filled in. “Save one in particular who refused to leave your side. He waits for you now.”

Sir Richard indicated the hallway stretching before Bran, one which was shrouded in darkness with no light to guide him toward its end. Bran shuffled forward.

The castle was soundless around him and the light beyond the animal hide coverings at the windows had gone dark. A chill of night seeped through the stonework underfoot and through his leather soles. The hour was late.

They led him from the castle and into the bailey where one man stood with his back to the castle. A horse stood on either side of him.

“The one man who refused to accept our offer to stay at the castle,” Sir Richard said again.

The man turned around, his expression solemn. Drake.

Bran hesitated. “Ena will be safe?”