Chapter 15 #2
Bran's dark gaze searched her eyes. He reached up slowly, as if he feared startling her. His fingertips gently stroked over her cheek and down her jaw, the touch light and tender. “I'll be the most envied man in all the land.”
Marin did not move from the caress. “Because you'll have Werrick Castle?”
“Because I'll have ye.” He let his hand drop, but the intimacy of his gaze did not diminish. As if he still touched her through the intensity of his stare.
Her cheeks went hot.
“Ye're lovely, Marin,” he said simply. “I'm sure ye know as much.”
She glanced away. She had never paid any mind to her appearance. Not like Anice, who spent hours using creams and powders and the most foul-smelling concoctions Isla could dream up.
Marin had a care for her looks to the point of ensuring she made her father proud to call her his daughter with her fine clothes and cleanliness. There had been interest from others, but she was the eldest daughter of a powerful earl. Such attentions were to be expected.
Never had she cared if she was considered beautiful. Yet his compliment caused a pleasant twist low in her belly.
“Ye're compassionate and gentle and I like that verra much,” he said.
“I assure you that I am not always so gentle.” She returned her gaze to him and smirked. “And my compassion is what makes me weak, does it not?”
He tilted his head in silent question.
“It is what caused me to open the portcullis,” she reminded him gently.
“Aye, it was.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that made his face look almost boyish. “But with such attributes to recommend ye, ye’re a fine balance for an arse of a man like me.”
He grinned at his own statement. He was handsome when he looked at her like that, eyes crinkled, full lips parted to reveal his strong, healthy teeth starkly white against the darkness of his beard.
She found her eyes drawn to his mouth, remembering the heat, the sensuality, the way his kisses made her insides melt.
He reached up once more and gently caressed her cheek. The touch of his skin to hers was barely a brush it was so light. She looked at him, marveling how so powerful a man could have had such a harrowing past. Mayhap almost losing everything was what rendered him so fearless.
She found herself drawing closer to him, pulled by some unseen force.
Her mouth connected with his. His lips were as warm as she remembered and far softer.
A little sound emerged from the back of her throat at the realization.
His hand eased up the nape of her neck and cradled her head. The fierce warrior turned lover.
She parted her mouth and let the tip of her tongue dance against his lips.
His tongue grazed hers in reply, salty from the broth and spicy with his own natural flavor.
She moaned on an exhale and her body sank against him.
He pulled her closer to him with his good arm so the shape of her fitted snugly against him.
A hungry heat pulsed between her legs, ignited by the kisses and the solid strength of his body.
“Marin,” he said her name on a groan. “I want ye.”
A knock sounded at the door and Marin leapt back like a naughty girl caught sneaking a pastry. Indeed, she had been nearly caught and her cheeks singed with the knowledge.
She swept a hand over her skirts where they might have rumpled when her body pressed so flush against his. “I, um, you may enter.” Was that a crease? She frowned and bent over the blue silk, her fingers working at the delicate fabric.
Isla entered and looked between Marin and Bran. “Did ye need a few more moments?” A knowing smile lit her face.
“Nay,” Marin said far too quickly.
The healer didn't bother to hide her grin. “’Tis time he was fully bathed.” She lifted a linen-wrapped parcel from her bag and the yeasty scent of freshly baked bread filled the room. “I brought some bread with me from the kitchens when I heard he was sitting on his own.”
Bran sat forward, eyeing the bundle. “I'll take the bread now and can verra well bathe myself, though I prefer to do so in the morning.”
“Ye may lose yer balance and injure yerself,” Isla said with obvious skepticism.
“I'll be fine.” His gaze remained locked on the bread as Isla came closer. “Have a bath sent up tomorrow.”
The old healer sighed. “Verra well. If ye think ye’re healed enough…”
Bran smiled over at Marin in a way that was far more charming than she cared to admit. “I believe I'm well enough to make good on my promise to make Marin my wife.”
“I should go…to check on Leila.” Marin stammered through the excuse.
“And we truly ought to ensure you are entirely recovered.” She edged toward the door to make her escape.
From this conversation that felt like it was happening too soon, and from the overwhelming presence of him, of the memory of that kiss.
“Tis been nearly a week, lass,” Bran replied. “I assure ye I'm recovered enough.” There was a deepness to his tone, which reverberated through her and made her slow her pace, even as her mind screamed at her feet to move faster.
Isla gave a wheezing laugh. “Ach, ye have a lusty man here, my lady.” She winked. “If ye dinna mind my saying so.”
“On the morrow,” Bran said.
Marin stopped short and turned to him. Her heated blood tangled up her emotions and left the desire in her body warring with the stubbornness of her mind. So, this was why he’d wanted his bath in the morning.
“On the morrow?” She could not keep the nervous pitch from her tone.
“Aye.” Bran settled back against the bed with a grin and winked.
Marin stood with her leather soles rooted firmly to the cold stone beneath. It was so soon. Too soon. Her heart pattered into a frenzy and her breath came faster.
“Ach, I've got something to help ye with the pain, my lady.” The healer, obviously mistaking Marin's fears, patted her arm with good natured reassurance. “It's much better after the first time, I promise ye.”
“Perhaps you ought to help bathe him after all,” Marin offered. “To ensure he is fully clean before our wedding night.”
Isla beamed wide enough to show all of her perfectly white teeth. “With pleasure.”
Bran sat a little straighter and threw an incredulous look at Marin, his face mockingly aghast at her betrayal. She offered him a playful smirk and slipped from the room. She almost laughed aloud at the expression he'd cast her way. Almost.
Her mirth faded in the crush of reality.
Her marriage. The very next day. Too soon. Far, far too soon. Heat blazed in her chest.
She pressed herself to the wall and lay her burning cheek against the cool stones. It soothed the steady ache in her head somewhat but did not quell the rapid pounding of her heart. She wanted to curl up on the floor and let the frustration roiling inside her break free in an angry howl.
Footsteps rang out just down the hall, men's heavy, bulky steps.
Marin pulled herself from the stonework and rested her now-cooled hands to her hot brow.
She would not be seen by Bran's men weeping and piteous.
Nay, she would rise to this challenge the way she had every other one placed in her path–with resiliency and strength.
She would fulfill her obligation and marry Bran the following morning. But first she'd have to tell her sisters.