Chapter 6 #2
She could not do this with the man who had taken her father's castle and taken them all hostage.
She could not do this at all with a man to whom she was not wed.
If her father ever needed her for an advantageous match, she could not tell him she had given away her maidenhead. She could not let him down.
“Stop,” she murmured.
Bran’s mouth lifted from her and his hands fell away.
“Marin.” He stared down at her; his voice ragged. “I dinna want to fight with ye.”
She stepped back on wobbly legs and tried to regain her composure. “You cannot take such liberties with me.”
His hair had become tousled at some point and his mouth was red beneath his beard. Desire blazed in his eyes and set a new tempo to the pulse pounding through her. “I want ye.”
“I'm not for the wanting,” she whispered. “Or the having.” She bent and lifted her veil from where it had floated to the ground.
“Ye want me.” He met her gaze.
She did not deny it. Indeed, heat seared through her anew.
But she could not give in, not when she was without the freedom to give into her pleasures.
She had been trained as a man in battle, aye, but she knew the many restrictions she still held as a woman.
And there was the consideration that he meant to intentionally seduce her to secure her compliance.
He picked up her delicate circlet between large, gentle fingers, the delicate clink she'd heard.
“What is between us doesna need to be difficult.” He handed her the circlet. “It could be so verra good.”
Marin nodded her thanks and put the veil atop her hair before affixing the circlet back in place.
Her cheeks went hot thinking of what they'd done, at what this marauder had somehow awoken within her.
“Everything you want goes against everything I protect.” She shook her head.
“I can't give you my body any more than I can give you my obedience.”
He closed his eyes and rested his brow against hers. It would be so easy to tip her chin upward and catch his lips with hers.
“I want there to be harmony between us,” he said.
She turned her head from his. “You seek to destroy everything I hold dear.”
“Ye willna give me yer support then,” he surmised.
Marin pulled away. “Nay.”
“Please, Marin.”
“Nay.” She said it more firmly this time and met his gaze so he might see her resolve. “I am an earl’s daughter.”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “And too good for the likes of me.”
The words jabbed into her. She pressed her lips together to keep from apologizing. He had forced his way into Werrick. She would not show him sympathy.
He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. A tuft jutted up at his right temple. It gave him a pleasant boyishness she hated, for it was far too endearing.
“I said I willna harm ye, and I mean it,” he said. “But I canna have yer disobedience either.”
Marin said nothing, watching him and awaiting his next move. It was a complicated chess game, and both wanted to be the victor.
He braced his hands on the desk as though he had the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders. “If ye dinna help me, eventually yer people will attempt to revolt.”
Marin laid her hand on the cool surface of the table and leaned toward him. “They might succeed.”
“And if they do not, they will all be killed.”
“What do you want us for?” She clenched her hands at her sides. “Why are you doing this?”
He did not answer. Instead he stared at her for a long space of time, as though possibly considering telling her. “I willna get yer support.”
The statement was without question.
“I will need to send you back to the dungeon to reconsider.” A corner of his mouth tucked downward in what appeared to be disappointment. “Mayhap tomorrow we can meet with the steward and the Master of the Horse.”
She lifted her head even as her insides shuddered at the thought of being locked in the dark once more.
“Will ye be compliant?” he asked.
Marin said nothing. Not when tears burned in her eyes and she feared her voice would tremble if she spoke.
“As I thought.” Bran lowered his head and motioned for her to follow.
She did, lest she be paraded through her own home like a prize again and begrudged her passivity. It made her feel as though she were a willing participant, which she vehemently was not.
Except she had been when they had kissed. How she regretted those kisses with this awful man and hated the passion he awoke within her. He was not her lover. He was her enemy.
The shadowed hallway of the dungeon came into view and a damp coldness pressed at her skirts upon their approach. Panic welled up within her chest, spreading into icy fear the closer they drew. She did not want this. And yet, she did not fear it enough to offer her compliance to Bran.
He led her to the cell door as though he were leading her to a dance, his touch gentle on her lower back. “I dinna want to do this.” The flex of his jaw and the pull at his brows indicated the truth behind his words.
“You can't keep us locked down here forever.” Marin put her hand to the cold iron and curled her fingers around the bar.
“Until I get what I need, aye, I can leave ye here as long as it takes.” With that, he twisted the key in the lock.
Hopelessness washed over her in desolate waves, tightening her muscles and weighing at her heart. She could not fail her family in this manner, to leave her sisters unattended upstairs, to leave her father's wealth potentially exposed.
“I will escape from here,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I will kill you.”
He held up something that glinted in the low light. “I have the only key.”
She watched him leave with an angry fire flaring to life in her chest. Aye, he did have the only key, but there had to be some way to break out, something she could do to free herself and get her sisters to safety. And part of that safety would be seeing Bran dead.