Page 15 of Marin’s Promise

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Marin pulled free from Bran's grip, out of danger. He clutched his face with his hands where she'd injured him.

He loosed a string of curses, but she was not done with him yet. She swooped down to reclaim the dagger, then swept her leg toward his, knocking his feet out from underneath him. He crashed to the ground with an “Oof!”.

Marin would not hesitate this time. The man had to die. It was the only way to keep everyone else safe.

She fell on top of him, her legs spread over his hips to keep him pinned in place. His body was solid beneath her, and his panting breath made every sinewy muscle in his torso show against his skin.

His manhood still rose hard with lust between her legs where she straddled him. Even in such a dire circumstance, lust teased the back of her mind, begging her rub the length of her body against his. She shoved aside all the innate yearnings. She drew the dagger up and thrust it down with all the strength she possessed.

Bran brought his arm across his body and pushed her blow off course. A thin line of blood arched over his chest. Merely a scratch. Marin tried to jerk her arm up once more, but Bran had his fingers locked around her wrist in a powerful grip.

“Drop the blade, Marin.” He spoke in a low voice, not unlike the one he used when they were so intimate only minutes ago.

She didn't need a dagger to kill him. She did as she was asked and twisted her arm free from his grip. Using all of her body weight, she shoved her elbow toward his throat. Again, he shoved her assault aside, his movement far defter than a man of his size would usually possess.

He locked her elbow in his vise-like hold and rolled them both over. His weight atop her was considerable, certainly enough to keep her in place. He had his hands atop hers, so she couldn’t defend herself, his legs spread over hers in an effort to still her kicking. She was completely pinned into place with his hips resting between her legs, the column of his arousal quite obvious.

This time the connection between them sent a jolt of fear through her. She had lost her power. Women in such situations could be easily raped.

Exactly like what had happened to her mother. Marin dragged in a harsh breath, but it did not quell the rise of panic.

“Don’t,” she gasped. “Please.”

Bran’s grip on her loosened immediately, though not enough for her to break away from his hold. “Marin.” He said her name gently and she realized he had been calling to her several times. “I willna hurt ye, lass, but I canna allow ye to try to kill me either.”

“What will you do with me?” She writhed under him, still desperate to be free. “What will you do to my people? My sisters?”

“I dinna intend anyone harm. I told ye that. But I will have to put ye in the dungeon.” He gritted his teeth. “Damn it, woman. Be still.”

“Afraid I will escape your hold and kill you?” she asked, trying to appear as though she’d recovered more than she had.

His expression relaxed with lust. “Ye're driving me to distraction as ye continue to grind yer heat against me.”

Mayhap it was his reassurance he would not hurt her, or the draw pulling her to him, but prickles of desire warmed through her center. He was not like the man who had taken her mother, she knew that. She was also old enough now to realize many men gave pleasure to their women, as this one obviously intended to do for her.

Still, she should not enjoy this so much. Rather than give in, she glared up at Bran. “If you put me in the dungeon, I will escape, and I will kill you. I do not know what you want with my home, but I cannot allow you to take it.”

He held her for a moment longer and Marin's skin tingled with incredible awareness. It wasn't the same as when she battled, but it was as primal. Lust.

A new sensation for certain, yet one she would not soon forget.

“If I let ye up, will ye fight me?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. “Aye.”

He nodded. “As I thought.” He sighed and appeared regretful. “Ye're going to the dungeon whether I have to take ye, or my men have to drag ye, there. I'll give ye the option.”

“How kind.”

“Considering your intent to murder me, I think ye should appreciate my generosity.” He spoke slowly, as if he had limitless patience.

“You killed my soldier, held a child hostage, forced your way into my keep and declared it yours. You expect me to be gracious?”

“I expect yer love for them would extend to ye having a wee more care for yer person. Yer cooperation is better for the whole of yer household and ye know it.”

He was right, and it only served to make her seethe more. Bran slowly got to his feet. She remained where she lay, refraining from leaping to attack him. He extended his hand down to her, as cordial as any courtier. “My lady.”