Page 13 of Ena’s Surrender

In response, she merely looked down at her feet, severing his ability to read her lovely, expressive eyes. He didn’t need to see her to know what it meant: she truly wanted him to leave.

But he would see her again. He would learn who had done that to her. Why they had done that to her. And he would prove he wasn’t like them. That he was safe.

Except that he wasn’t safe.

He was no fool. He knew why he’d been sent to spy on Castleton. And any report he gave to the Earl of Bothbury would go against everything he wanted to prove to Ena.

In the pit of his stomach, he knew the truth he didn’t want to admit to himself: it was best to let her go and to never see her again.

She was right. They were enemies and would always be enemies.

5

Bothbury was waiting for Renault upon his return to England. The earl sat upon the dais that had only months ago belonged to his aged father. At only two and twenty, the youngest of all the March Wardens, the earl had strong ideas for how he might shape his future.

Renault had six years on the man, enough time to realize the earl’s dreams were overreaching and dangerous. However, even as Renault understood this, he also knew the Earl of Bothbury was the only one who could make him a castle guard.

The earl beckoned Renault toward him and bade him speak of what he found in Castleton. Renault dutifully shared the count of men he saw, a number dwarfed by the scores of women and children.

“I believe many of them to be underfed,” Renault continued. “And the women and children did not appear to be armed.”

Bothbury tilted his head to indicate a lack of concern. “That you saw.”

Renault gave a single nod and stifled his doubt. Ena was armed, that much he knew. But then, he was aware she was not a typical woman. Ladies did not ride into raids in gambesons and helms or fight like men.

There were rumors about the Earl of Werrick, the English West March Warden, and the five daughters living on the border with him. It was said they’d been trained to fight like warriors in order to keep them safe in such a dangerous location. He’d personally never met such a woman.

Not until Ena. He would have thought a warrior woman would be impenetrable, with an exterior thick as ice on a loch and just as smooth.

But Ena was vulnerable. He’d seen it in the fear in her eyes when he returned from the burning house, in the brilliance of her hurt when he happened upon her scar. He’d especially sensed it in how she’d softened when he kissed her.

“Is there anything else you’d like to report?” The earl steepled his fingertips together. “Anything that might aid us, mayhap something unusual you saw, or overheard?”

Renault thought back to what he’d learned from Bran while hiding in Maribel’s stable.

“Nay.” As soon as the lie escaped Renault’s mouth, a pinch of guilt nipped at his conscience. He had spent his life begging, thieving and spying to stay alive. But in the face of his own ambition, when his own countryman’s lives could be at stake, he could not bring himself to share what he had gleaned from Ena’s home.

If he had divulged such information, he would have to confess to being in Ena’s stable and that would be frowned upon. Or so he told himself.

Even as he was dismissed from the great hall of Kershopefoot Castle and he passed through the high curtain walls, he knew his justification to be yet another lie. He could easily have evaded questions about how he overheard the news.

In truth, his silence had everything to do with Ena.

The woman he shouldn’t see again and yet could not purge from his thoughts. He’d lowered her defenses earlier that day, peeling away her calloused shell to expose a tenderness that made him want to cradle her to his heart.

Renault had only just entered the village when someone slapped him on the back, knocking his attention back to the present. “Did you get the information you needed?”

He turned to find Walter, the only friend he’d had since boyhood when they were both orphans abandoned like refuse on the streets, grinning at him. Walter had been one of the men who had gone into Scotland with him to retrieve the lost livestock and knew well of Renault’s true purpose and ambitions.

Renault recovered quickly, as he always did. “Aye, thank you for the distraction.” He winked at his friend. “Did you retrieve the stolen cattle?”

“Aye, nearly all of them.” Walter buffed his nails on his tunic. “’Twas almost too easy.”

“Because you’re that damn good.”

“Probably.” Walter chuckled, revealing a chipped eyetooth. “I heard Lord Bothbury was speaking of you to his Captain of the Guard.”

Renault didn’t dare respond to such a claim. Hope flickered to life inside his chest, a dwindling, pathetic wisp of a flame he had fought these last six months to keep lit.