Page 35 of Ena’s Surrender

Bran didn’t bother waiting for the men’s acquiescence. He strode away from the English soldiers and shoved Duncan’s back, so the man stumbled forward. Ena did the same to Renault, pushing him to make him move onward. Only she hadn’t done it hard enough, and Renault had to play up the action to make her look more aggressive.

They marched past the curtain wall and out into the stretch of land that connected the village with the castle.

Freedom.

They needed only make their way discreetly to the left where the horses were—

“Halt.” The men charged after them.

“What?” Bran snarled with impatience.

“They’re not bound.” The bulky man pointed to Renault’s unsecured wrists.

“Heaven help the man who runs from me.” Bran turned from him once more.

“The Warden insists all prisoners be bound,” the Englishman replied. “Always.”

“Then go talk to him,” Bran tossed over his shoulder.

Regardless of Bran’s nonchalant demeanor, something hovered in the air, ripe with tension. Ena’s hand went for her dagger before she realized what she was doing, the movement hidden from view as Renault stood in front of her.

“Halt,” the Englishman bellowed to Bran.

Bran continued to walk. The hiss of a blade clearing its scabbard, however, stopped him mid-step.

“I’d put that away if I were you,” Bran said, his voice low and menacing.

“Get the Scot,” the Englishman said to one man before turning to the other. “Kill Renault.”

The three of them rushed as one, blades flashing in the moonlight and reflecting the blaze of the fires still burning within the village.

“No’ if we kill ye first,” Bran roared, dropping his English ruse.

“Scots,” the larger man cried out. Bran raced toward him, sword drawn. The blades clashed in a ring of metal as the other two men rushed toward Ena, Duncan and Renault.

Quickly, she grabbed her second dagger and pushed it into Renault’s hand. He accepted it, having only enough time to nod his thanks before the men were upon them.

Duncan moved with haste, jabbing with a dagger Bran must have given him. But Ena could not watch the rest of the fight, not when their own opponent lunged at them with an arcing blade.

Renault ducked from the blow and shoved her farther behind him.

“Nay,” she cried out. “I willna let him kill ye.”

“Is this why you turned your back on England?” The English soldier’s lips peeled back from his lips. “For your Scottish whore?”

Renault roared with rage and charged at the man, which is exactly what the Englishman had intended. He lifted a rock over his head and brought it down on Renault’s temple before the dagger could slice him.

Renault crumpled to the ground and did not move. Ena’s heart squeezed in the grip of terror.

The Englishman lifted his sword high, preparing to strike Renault where he lay. Ena lunged forward, putting herself between Renault and the weapon. She tried to draw up her dagger, but there hadn’t been enough time to catch the sword by the hilt and stop its descent.

The tip of the blade raked down her left shoulder and ripped a trail of fire upon her right hip. A scream filled the air, raw and primitive. Her scream.

She sprang at him before he could bring his sword up to protect himself. The sharp edge of her dagger slid into his throat and eased through his skin. A choking sound gagged from him and a splash of hot blood gushed out over her hands. The soldier staggered back; his eyes wide with shock.

It wasn’t until he pitched backward that she realized she’d been using him to remain upright. She fell with him, landing on top of him.

“Ena,” Bran’s voice cried out.