Chapter 7 #2
If he’d had coin like this in his youth, his world would have been so, so drastically different.
And no doubt, so too would he. To have had food enough, safety enough.
His mother and brother would still be alive, and Ena would never have been used in a manner that would have caused him to turn against his own morals.
This wealth represented everything he never had, and how he had suffered for it.
Marin gritted her teeth at the rapacious gleam in Bran’s eyes. Her stomach churned with disgust.
“It would appear you have what it is you came for,” she bit out.
“Ye have no idea what it is I’ve come for.” His gleaming gaze did not stray from the pile of her father’s wealth.
“Aye, you will not tell me.” She slammed closed the lid, unable to take for even a moment longer the avarice practically glowing around him. “Though I’m certain this is close to what it is you wanted. A life gleaned off the earnings of other men.”
Bran snapped his stare to her. “’Tis a fine thing to say from a woman who hasna ever known hardship.”
Her eyes glinted. “I’ve known hardship.” She’d borne her own woes like an anchor in her soul, keeping her leashed to this place and its people.
“Ye know what it is to go to bed at night with yer gut gnawing with hunger, then?” he demanded. “Or to no’ even know where it is ye’ll rest yer head, or if ye’ll have the benefit of a roof over yer head.”
“Not all suffering is caused by a lack of funds, Bran.” Her cheeks went hot with rage.
“In fact, some has been caused by people who were set on taking that which does not belong to them.” She lowered her voice to a dangerous whisper, the way her father did when he was truly enraged.
“Do not think you know me, or my life, based on your own assumptions.”
Bran’s eyes narrowed. “Mind yerself, lass, or ye’ll be in the dungeon once more.”
William slowly rose from his own chair, a dagger trembling in his grip, aimed in Bran’s direction. “L-l-leave her a-a-alone.”
It was all Marin could do to keep from putting herself between Bran and her would-be protector.
William had suffered his own terrible fate when his wife had died in childbirth with their stillborn son.
Yet when the Grahams had attacked, he had gone to the great hall to defend the women and children gathered there.
It had nearly cost him his life when he was struck down, yet his efforts had saved countless lives.
The man’s body was not that of a warrior, though he had the heart of one to be sure.
Bran’s eyes closed with what appeared to be measured patience, or mayhap regret. “William,” he said in a tired voice. “Please, dinna do this.”
“I c-c-can’t l-l-let—”
The door flew open and a large man filled the doorway, thick with muscle, black eyes devoid of any emotion.
He marched across the open space like a predator.
He was on poor William in an instant, twisting the older man’s wrist so that the blade dropped with a clank to the floor.
The marauder shifted his gaze to Bran, as if awaiting further instruction.
“Take his blade and let him go.” Bran sighed heavily.
The tension in Marin’s shoulders drained away. William had always been kind. He was a good man. If he’d been killed on her behalf, she never would have forgiven herself.
Drake released William and retrieved the blade in a stealthy move. The steward rubbed at his freed wrist; his jaw locked with dejection.
Marin knew well the feeling of impotence caused by defeat. Its impact had stung since the day she’d been forced to allow Bran into Werrick’s fortified gates.
“Drake, have a look at this.” Bran shoved open the chest once more.
Her father’s wealth glinted within. Not all of it, of course. There was far more than that. It was their good fortune the marauders were too obtuse to guess as much.
Drake glanced within, his eyes glittering in the firelight. Marin’s insides twisted. More greed. It was unbearable, truly.
Bran reached a hand in and drew out a fistful. “Get yer Ma a new roof, lad, and see those sisters of yers get a decent meal, aye?”
He held the bounty toward Drake, who did not move from his militaristic stance. His jaw worked and he dragged his gaze from the pile of coin. “I canna accept that.” His words were crisp like that of an Englishman with a lilt of Scottish burr.
“Ye will accept.” Bran pushed a fisted handful of coins into a bag at Drake’s waist. Not once, but thrice.
Drake shook his head. “It’s too much. It isna ours.”
At least one of them had a conscience. Marin would spare his life later.
“Take it,” Bran said with finality. “That’s an order. For yer family.”
Drake’s jaw set and he slid his gaze from where Marin sat, observing her father’s wealth being passed from thief to thief, however unintending the latter may be.
“Ye do this for yer ma and sisters.” Bran clapped him on the back. “Remember that.”
Drake turned to Marin then and nodded, as if she had given him the coin of her own volition. “This will get my family through the winter, my lady. Thank ye.”
It was impertinent. But it was also respectful and thoughtful.
Marin slid a glance to William and found him watching the exchange between the two with a private smile, one he dropped immediately once he noticed Marin’s attention on him.
“Now I need ye to do something,” Bran said to the young warrior.
Marin smirked. Here it was, a terrible request. After all, nothing good came without a cost.
Drake snapped to attention, a ready soldier. “Of course.”
Bran turned to regard Marin, his face cold despite the generous act he’d just done for his fellow reiver. “I need ye to take Lady Marin to the dungeon.”