Marin's Promise (Borderland Ladies Book 1)

by Madeline Martin

  Leila sat in the chair by the fire, her legs tucked up on the seat, hugged against her chest. Her eyes were large in her small face as she regarded Anice’s heartbreak.

  Sweet Leila, who they all cherished in their own precious way. In the depths of their minds, buried so deep none would ever admit it, they realized Leila had been the byproduct of their mother's brutal rape. The knowledge lodged like a stone within them all. Affection masked guilt, and their father had been the most affectionate of all to this final gift from the woman he had loved with all his heart.

  Leila had been his favorite daughter.

  Marin blinked against the unforgiving grip of grief around her heart and went to her youngest sister. “Leila.”

  She shook her dark head and turned toward the fire.

  “I must speak with you.” Marin knelt beside the chair and peered up at the girl, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face beyond the curtain of dark hair.

  There is great sadness on the horizon.

  “You already know though, don't you?” she asked.

  Leila nodded and slowly lifted her head. Her hair parted to reveal her face as she did so. Her eyes, while large with emotion, were dry.

  Marin reached out and stroked her youngest sister's cheek.

  Leila looked away and pursed her small lips.

  “What is it?” Marin asked.

  Leila did not answer.

  “Leila.”

  The large blue eyes shifted back to Marin once more. “I…do not believe all is as it appears.”

  Marin's heart lurched in her chest. “What do you mean? Is it Father? Is it Timothy? The reivers who attacked them?”

  Leila's hands fisted and she kept her mouth closed, obviously not intending to say more.

  Desperation raked over Marin's raw nerves. Was this hope? Was this another warning? A pent-up sob ached in her throat.

  But then Leila was hurting too. They all were.

  “I am here if you need to talk,” Marin offered patiently. She leaned over her sister and pressed a kiss to her brow. Leila slid from her seat and joined her sisters on the bed where they all held one another in their grief.

  Marin ought to join them, to comfort them. Except that it was too similar to when their mother had died. The pain in Marin’s chest was exquisite. It choked her and made the room spin. In the end, she knew she could not stay. She pushed from the room and out into the hallway.

  Bran was leaning against the wall but straightened as soon as he saw her.

  Torrents of emotion whipped at her, lashing in deep, gouging bites. Part of her wanted to run into his strong arms and let him comfort her, to take advantage of his offer to be the man she could need to need. And yet another part of her was appalled at the life he had led, at the simple fact he had been a reiver. In her life, reivers had destroyed the safety of her home, raped her mother, killed her people, waged a siege against the castle and now they had murdered her father.

  How could she love a man who had led a life which had brought her such sorrow?

  26

  Bran was helpless as he watched the emotions playing over Marin's face. Her wide-eyed surprise at seeing him, the softening of her features that left him thinking she might possibly run to him, and then the pucker of pained confusion on her brow.

  “Marin,” he opened his arms to her.

  She looked at him like someone she wanted to trust, but someone she was suddenly frightened of. “Reivers killed him. Just like it was reivers who attacked our castle and hurt my mother. And still more reivers are waiting outside the curtain wall to kill us all. How could you live such a life, Bran?”

  The question punched into his chest like a knife, especially when said with such bewildered hurt.

  “Let us go to our chamber to discuss this.” He did not step toward her despite the ache in his soul begging him to do so. In part, he wanted to allow her the space she so obviously needed, but also because a fat, lazy cat had taken advantage of the opportunity and lay sprawled across his feet.

  Marin nodded and cast a sad look down at Bixby before making her way to their chamber.

  Bran shifted his foot slightly. Bixby didn't move. He squinted one eye open to convey his irritation before resuming his nap. “Ach, off with ye.” He bent and gently slid the bulk of the wee beast from holding him captive and followed Marin to their chamber.

  He found her leaning against the bed with her arms tightly crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed unseeing on the floor. His chest ached at the depth of her agony. While it wasn’t his reivers who had killed her father, they had been men who led similar lives as his own.

  He stood there helplessly grasping at what to say and remaining foolishly mute. While she waited, her eyes were glossy with tears and her throat flexed violently at the force of keeping her sobs contained.

  Bran cast aside any attempt at discussion and went to her, his arms outstretched to the woman who had been so strong. Not only for her sisters, but for her people. The woman who sometimes needed someone to need and had never had it until now.

  This time, she did not fight him. She collapsed into his arms, clenched her fists into his clothing where she clung to him, and cried.

  Her back jerked and shuddered against his hands with the force of her weeping and the steady flow of her tears left his chest sodden with her sorrow. He held her tightly to him, being the strength he knew she needed. His hand moved over her in the same soothing circles he'd seen her do with her sisters and he pressed kisses to the top of her head.

  He would do anything in his power to draw away the hurt of her loss. For he knew how poignant it could be. It had shattered his heart irrevocably. It made all of him ache to think it might do the same to her, especially when she had so much love and goodness in her.

  After some time, her sobs tapered off to deep, sucking gasps and her hands pressed feebly to his chest.

  Bran released her with great hesitation. She had asked him a question before he found her like this, and he would answer it. “I dinna like what I've done, Marin. I dinna like the life I’ve had to lead, and I force myself to no’ think of the consequences.”

  She shook her head. “You do not have to do this.”

  “Aye, I do.” He smoothed a lock of damp hair from her forehead. “I’ll no’ have ye locking these questions inside and letting them fester without answer. Ye need to understand what happened after my mother and Gregor were slain.”

  Marin bowed her head and took his hand in her cold one.

  “We wandered for a bit of time, but we were beggars in a world filled with too little food.” He ran his thumb over her knuckle. “By the time the first winter came, Ena was healed well enough, but we were near starving. No nobles took us in, no priests offered shelter for more than one night, no villagers filled our bellies with the good-smelling food roasting in their pots. No one was there for us. But the reivers, they took us in. They showed us mercy when the rest of the world put their backs to us.”

  A tear fell from Marin’s eye and spattered on the back of her hand.

  “I became a reiver because I dinna have a choice.” He lifted her tear-stained face with the forefinger of his free hand. “I thought I hated nobility until I met ye.”

  “Because they made you a pawn,” she whispered.

  “Because they dinna understand.” He cradled her lovely face in his palm. “They always had coin enough for food. Their homes were safe with feather beds and clean clothes. I had only what I could steal, and many times went days without eating. Reiving was survival. No’ just for me, but for Ena.”

  Marin nodded then, a slow resigned acknowledgment to what he’d said, and he knew then that she truly did understand.

  Marin had never fully appreciated how fortunate she'd been to have the life she'd led. In fact, she'd oftentimes found herself overwhelmed, snared within the triviality of her sisters and their squabbles, or letting an incorrect order for their larder ruin her day. She had become lost in the ignorance of her own naivety.


  Never had she experienced what Bran had described–the starvation and lack of security. What type of person might she have been had she endured such daily uncertainty?

  To think he'd done it all in the beginning merely to have what she'd taken for granted through her whole entire life. The ache in the back of her mind became a dull thrum, its beat echoing in her temples.

  “I imagine I might have made the same decision you did,” she said at last.

  The tension in his face did not drain away.

  A quiet scratching sounded at the door. Bran cast an irritated glance over his shoulder. “That damn cat willna leave me alone.”

  A bubble of laughter burst from Marin. She immediately bit back the giggle.

  What right did she have to laugh when her father was no longer alive? The memory struck her deep in the chest and threatened to consume her in a cyclone of grief. Her people were relying on her for their safety. With the Grahams on the outside of the castle walls, circumstances were becoming dire.

  She shoved at her loss, gently tucking it to a silent corner of her mind. Too many others relied on her.

  “Do you think something might be done about the Grahams?” she asked Bran.

  He lifted a brow at her.

  “If we perhaps gave them food in good faith, provided them with coin to see to their basic needs...” Her words trailed off at the ridiculousness of what she suggested. She put a hand to her brow where her head throbbed. Her fingers were cold and offered a semblance of relief against the heat of her skin.

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “Bringing them Nan's meat pies and giving them coin is foolish and would only serve to encourage them to attack.”

  Bran smiled sadly. “If only it could be so easily done as Nan's meat pies. Though I must say, I've no' ever tasted anything savorier or tenderer in a crust in all my life.” He pressed his lips together, as though he could taste the rich gravy as he spoke. “Nay, I've committed a great offense against them, and the Grahams do not forgive easily.”

  “Can they be bargained with perhaps?” she offered.

  He shook his head. “The few bargains I've seen them propose have been exorbitant.”

  “We have coin enough.” Marin couldn't keep the hope from her tone.

  “Their prices are no' with coin generally, but with what they know ye'd least be willing to sacrifice.”

  “You know them well,” Marin surmised. “You knew they would retaliate against you.”

  He nodded and her heart sank.

  He had incurred Graham wrath for having come to her aid at her behest. He'd done it for her. Even after he already had the castle and needed to save his own sister, he still sacrificed everything for Marin.

  “You knew and you still helped us,” she murmured. Until that moment, she had not understood exactly what he'd done for her. Aye, she was grateful for her sisters’ lives, but she had never fully understood what he had given up for her.

  He nodded again and she found herself aching to be in the comfort of his arms once more.

  “Bran, I—”

  He held up his hand. “I got a bonny wife out of it.” He gave her a boyish grin that made her heart tilt.

  The castle lay in the back of her mind like a stone, weighing at her thoughts. “What can we do to get the Grahams to leave?” She asked. “They've been at the castle for almost a fortnight and with the increased need for food for your troops, our stores are dwindling. I do not wish to wait and be starved out.”

  Bran rubbed the back of his neck. “We canna wait for Kerr, no' when we dinna know if the first letter was delivered. And if the Scottish were soundly beaten at Berwick, he may no’ be coming at all.”

  “Waiting for the Grahams to come within close range for our arrows has provided little success,” Marin mused. “When my father’s men come home, they will be exhausted from battle. We cannot rely on them to help.”

  “What of the passage?” he asked. “The one ye used to get yer sisters out of Werrick the first time.”

  “It would be fine for sneaking out a small group, but without horses and with the constant patrols of reivers, we would surely be found. Unable to flee with haste and prime for slaughter.”

  Bran's stare intensified. “Ye know what we must do.”

  Steely determination flared through her. This was her chance to exact revenge for the soldiers they lost in the battle to save her sisters, an opportunity to allow the helpless rage coiling inside her to blaze out in savage glory.

  “Aye,” she said vehemently. “We fight.”

  27

  The day of battle had come. Bran’s pulse pounded through his veins as it often did before a fight. Mayhap even harder than usual, for there was so much more at stake than a bit of coin or food.

  Though their army was small, the battle took a solid three days to plan between himself, Marin, Drake and Sir Richard. Judging from their collective estimation, there were usually six dozen Graham reivers loitering outside their walls. As they had not seen within the walls of Mabrick Castle, they were unsure how many of their numbers remained, or if they had sent for reinforcements. Or if they even held the castle still at all.

  Mabrick could well have been reclaimed by the English after their victory.

  Marin was at his side, prepared for battle with her full body chainmail clinking. While she had tried valiantly to hide her sorrow, its proof smudged under her eyes and drew tight at her normally lush mouth.

  With her now at his side, he knew she did not suspect anything. Her blind faith twisted at the honest part of his soul. She would possibly never forgive him. And yet, he had lied when he'd said she could join him on the battlefield. If he’d tried to keep her back, she would have fought and railed against him until he finally agreed. But he knew the truth of it. How could he fight with her at his side when his worry for her was so great?

  It was about more than a babe possibly being in her belly, or the comfortable life her dowry would afford him. It was her. The way she had become a part of his heart.

  It was because he loved her.

  Wind swept through the bailey and set the banners rippling in their full glory. The men—

  reivers and castle soldiers alike—wore the Werrick coat of arms emblazoned across their chests. The fierce black hawk stood out against the green tincture of its field with a bold stripe of yellow running down its center. A way to identify one another in the chaotic confusion of battle.

  Restless energy charged the air. Men hopped from foot to foot, shifted and twisted their sword arms, readjusted their armor, all the anxious prep work men did to ensure the odds of victory tilted in their favor.

  Marin's sisters waited near the soldiers, clad in chainmail and set with grim faces. They would not be fighting.

  Both he and Marin had agreed to leave them behind, partly to ensure their safety, especially in light of the cruelty their mother had endured at the hands of the Grahams. But also, to ensure the safety of those remaining within the keep should they lose. If the tides of battle turned against them, the sisters were to lead the women and children through the secret passage.

  While the Grahams were occupied with the spoils of war and a renewed attempt to enter the castle, the lot of them would slip through the passage and find help. Hopefully.

  If help could be found.

  The girls ran to Marin like daughters to their mother. Bran stood back and allowed them to offer their well-wishes and love. Anice slid him a knowing look and nodded in his direction. The knot of tension in his chest eased.

  She had remembered their conversation and would comply. And she would see to Ena’s safety if he did not survive battle.

  Bran allowed himself the luxury of watching Marin as she spoke with her sisters, the way her graceful hand stroked their cheeks, how she wore the chainmail as regally as if it were a gown of the finest satin. She was beautiful. Perfect.

  Aye, she would be livid. Mayhap even try to kill him again. But for the same reason they had agreed to not allo
w her sisters on the battlefield, Bran knew he could not have Marin beside him. He could not clear from his mind the horrible offense done to her mother. The very idea of being helpless as men violently harmed her made him burn with enough rage to split a man in two with his axe. Nay, he would rather face her wrath if they won than witness such horrors if they lost.

  Marin turned from her sisters and met his eyes.

  It was time.

  “I would speak to ye first,” Bran said when she approached him.

  She smiled up at him, her full pink lips parting over her straight white teeth. Her blue eyes sparkled at him in the flirtatious way he enjoyed. He drank in every detail of her loveliness, as though he might fill up on it and make it last forever.

  For this might be his last opportunity to see her. Such a realization jolted through him and left his heart slamming in his chest. Fear. Ugly and metallic and foreign.

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, not with the way his throat had suddenly gone tight. He indicated the stables behind them. She caught his hand and drew him with her.

  Sunlight slanted in through a narrow window and motes of dust drifted lazily in the brilliant shafts of light. All around them was the sweet, musty scent of hay. God in Heaven, she would be furious with him.

  “Marin, I—”

  She threw her arms around his shoulder and kissed him, hungry and hard. “We will win. Together. We will save Werrick Castle.”

  His gut twisted, and a thread of doubt wound its way into his mind. He had only to consider what they would do to her if she was captured and his resolve steeled once more.

  “Marin.” He cradled her face in his hands and stared at her until every lovely detail of her face had carved itself into his mind. “I love ye.” He pressed a tender kiss to her mouth, savoring the familiar taste of her.