Chapter 29 #2
He would need a plan and wallowing in self-pity would not get him out of the damned cell any faster.
Footsteps thumped over the flagstones, distant at first before growing louder, closer.
The flickering light of a torch filled the room from a low glow to brilliant light that left him blinking and squinting.
The torch shoved toward the bars, as if the wielder knew the discomfort of bright firelight on a man too long in the dark.
“Your time to do as you please has come to an end, reiver.” The volume of the earl's voice echoed off the walls. “You'll no longer have access to my castle, my people, or my daughters.” He emphasized the last word.
Bran stood resolutely in place. “Let me speak with Marin.”
“Nay.” Werrick set the torch into a metal sconce jutting from the wall.
With the light over his head, Bran could make out the older man, his wizened face locked in a scowl of displeasure.
He'd bathed and changed into a fresh tunic and hose.
Freed of the filthy garments he'd worn mere hours ago, he appeared every bit as regal as was expected of an earl.
He examined Bran with a sneer. “She fancies herself in love with you, the foolish girl.”
“Girl?” Bran repeated. He curled his hands around the cold metal bars and peered through them at Marin's father. “She hasn't been a girl since her mother died.”
The earl's eyes narrowed. “You have no right to speak to me in such a manner.”
“They’re words ye should hear no matter who they come from.
” Bran pinned the earl with a hard gaze.
“Ye know she took over the role of mother to those girls, and mistress of the castle. Then later when ye ran away from the castle to escape, she had to become the master. Ye tell me to have a care how I speak to ye when ye dinna even give her the respect she deserves?”
Bran curled his lip at his father-in-law. “I tell ye: have a care when ye call my wife a girl, as she is more woman than any other in the whole of this world.”
The earl's narrowed eyes widened briefly. Finally, he scoffed. “Because you feel this way about her, you believe yourself entitled to see her?”
“Nay,” Bran replied slowly. “I'm her husband, and I love her.”
“Love.” The older man shook his head. “What do you know of love, boy?
You forced her to marry you as surely as you'd forced yourself into the keep.
You've spent every moment here forcing people to do things against their will, especially my daughter.
And what's more, you did it with the intent to sacrifice Werrick Castle to Kerr. To Scotland.”
“I dinna have a choice.”
The earl lifted a brow and his forehead crinkled. “So I heard. I also heard the missive had been stopped before it could be delivered.”
Bran's shoulders sagged in defeat. “There was another missive sent to Kerr.” The confession was damning, but then there had already been enough other evidence stacked against him for it to not matter now. At least he could protect Marin’s people. “It was sent the day I took the castle.”
“The one given to your reiver who saw the laundress before he left?” The old blue eyes sharpened. “Aye, I know.”
“The laundress?”
“Aye, a lass all too eager to keep your reivers from destroying her life here.” Sir Richard entered the dungeon with a flat expression.
“The missive never made it to Kerr. It's been sitting in the chest in my room. Yer man thought it best to see the laundry lass the day he left, and she slipped it off him.”
“So, Kerr never knew.” Bran’s blood ran cold.
Sir Richard shook his head. “He did not.”
If Kerr never knew Bran had secured Werrick Castle, then Ena would never have been released. She would be in prison still, thinking Bran had let her down. Or, if Kerr had grown impatient…
Bran’s stomach churned. “Nay,” he gasped. “Please. My sister.”
“Is it time?” The earl asked of his captain of the guard.
Sir Richard nodded, his mouth a hard line.
Bran's heart knocked against his ribs. “Let me see Marin. Just one last time. Please.” He was begging, pleading with these men, and he didn't give a damn.
He'd kiss the dirt at their feet if it would give him one more second with Marin. To beg her to save Ena, but also to be with her. To stroke Marin’s lovely hair and commit every sweet curve of her face to memory.
He wanted her scent on his clothes and her love in his heart when he met his death.
“You cannot see her,” Werrick said with vehemence. He drew in a slow, deep breath, as if trying to reign in his control. “She does not know of this plan.”
Plan?
Bran squeezed the iron bars against his palms to keep his thoughts from whirling out of control.
“If it were up to me, I'd kill you.” The earl slid a regretful look in Bran's direction.
“But my daughters have spoken for you, as has my captain of the guard.” He nodded to Sir Richard.
“I will allow you to leave and never return. I also will work with Kerr to have your sister freed. However, if you do return, I will kill you myself and put your bloody head on a pike for all to see.”
Bran would be free to go. Ena would be freed. But Marin would assume he had abandoned her.
He rested his brow on the icy bars. His choices were grave indeed, with neither one letting him fully win and either consequence breaking his heart.