Chapter 2 #3
She only wished it was as easy for Anice to lend her effortless charisma and confidence.
“If not his dagger, then we could poison his wine,” Ella offered, ignoring Leila. “I read in a text once where a bit of belladonna could be added to his cup. Anice was right; he drank quickly at supper. He would never know until it was too late.”
“And if he makes me drink it again?” Marin said. “Nay, I must kill him if we want them all gone. His reivers are not loyal men. No reiver is. His men will be easily dispatched when they no longer have their leader to guide them.”
“What if he's a good man?” Catriona asked. “Did you see something, Leila?”
Leila simply shrugged, either unable or unwilling to share what she might know. Oftentimes she did not see everything fully. It was a skill Marin did not encourage either, not when it was so dangerous.
Anice scoffed and set to work brushing Marin's hair over her shoulder and pinching her cheeks to give them color. Marin waved off her sister's preening. “He's taken over our castle, Cat. He's not a good man.”
“Yet he did so without killing any soldiers other than Eversham and that was because Eversham—” Cat’s voice caught.
“Eversham wouldn’t have let anyone take me.
” She pursed her lips and gently shook her head.
“But Bran didn't once hit me, even when I hit him. Nor did he leave a mark from his dagger on my throat. He was careful. Intentionally so. I could tell.”
It was true. Cat had emerged without even a scratch on her. Marin had noticed as much. Most men would have struck Cat back when she hit him, but the reiver had not.
Marin swept her hands over the length of her borrowed gown. “I'm ready.” At least as ready as she might ever be.
Anice set her slender hand on Marin’s forearm. “Please don't do this, Marin. What if you are caught?”
Marin met her sister’s eyes. “I won't be.”
Ella rushed forward and hugged Marin with all the strength in her seventeen-year-old body. “I do wish you'd try the belladonna.”
Cat came next and threw her slender arms around Marin in a hug. “Please give him a chance.”
Marin knelt in front of Leila, who had watched and listened with her customary pensive silence. “You needn't worry, Leila.” She smoothed the girl's dark hair from her face.
The youngest sister nodded with sage wisdom. “I know.” Her smile was shy and secretive. She did not protest Marin’s departure again, making Marin wonder at what little Leila might be foreshadowing with her sight.
Regardless, her assuredness helped quell some of the anxiety rattling through Marin. With a final kiss on each sisters’ head, the way their father always did before battle, Marin departed.
Her nerves returned as she traversed the darkened passageways and tried not to hear the echo of strange men's voices around her. The candle in her hand trembled and cast a wavering light over her path as she headed toward the chamber Bran had claimed–her father's chambers.
She had never even kissed a man, and yet she was intent on seducing one. What sort of a fool was she to assume she could?
He was an attractive man; she would give him that. The thought of his lips on hers made her pulse race a little faster with anticipation. Would his dark beard prickle against her mouth? Would it be bristling, or downy? Would he touch her body?
The thought left her breathless.
These musings made her question her decision to have her father refrain from contracting any betrothals for her. Clearly, she had interest in a husband. Or at least copulation.
And mayhap Catriona was right. He might be kind.
Marin paused in front of the door and her heart slammed against her ribs. This man would touch his mouth to hers, put his hands to her body, at least until he was cajoled into a sense of complete unawareness and then she would attack.
She had killed men in battle on many occasions. This would be no different. Bran's strength would outmatch hers, aye, but she had the benefit of proper training. His skills would be rough and hers refined.
Suddenly, she found herself hoping he would not be kind after all. For if he touched her affectionately and gave her consideration, how could she watch the light fade from his eyes as he died?
Her breath came out in a shaky exhale. If she had so many advantages in her favor, why then was she so nervous? If he had taken the castle, how could he truly be a good man?
Yet if he was, could she bring herself to kill him?
“Are ye going to stand outside my door all night?” The masculine voice came from the other side of the door. “Or are ye going to come in?”
Marin started. This was it. She would need him to put down his guard with her, to lull him into a sense of comfort. She had to be a seductress.
She pressed the latch on the door. It creaked open, the sound low and ominous as it scraped over her nerves.
Light from the hearth glowed orange gold in the room, transporting the familiar room into a place of sin and temptation.
He stood just before the flames, his dark hair combed sleek and his stance wide with authority. The man she intended to kill.