Page 16 of Ena’s Surrender

“My mum…” Ena’s voice trailed off. How could one put to words what she had seen and heard that day? The way her mother had screamed for the lives of her bairns, begging them to take only her as Ena cried for them to take her instead.

So much love. So much pain.

All these years later, the memory made old wounds tear anew within Ena’s heart.

She shook her head, unable to put a voice to such agony. “After they…after she was dead, they tried to kill me. They slashed their blades at me.”

The sword was still warm from the bodies of her mother and brother, wet with blood.

“I must have turned slightly.” Ena lifted her shoulders, still unable to recall exactly what had spared her that day. “I hadn’t wanted to live, though. I wanted to die with my family.” The agony in her breast was unbearable. “I laid there and waited for death to claim me, but it dinna. After some time, the cupboard opened, and Bran emerged.”

Bran gazed at her with wide, frightened eyes, his mouth little more than a line in his pale face. “Are ye dead too?”

“He was too small to move me, and I was too weak to help. He cleaned my wound and cared for me over a sennight or so, sneaking out at night to get food for us.” She touched her collarbone with her free hand, fingering the raised line of skin. “He could have saved himself, but he stayed in that village filled with corpses until I was strong enough to leave.”

She gritted her teeth and tried not to think of how Mum and Gregor had been left to rot on the floor of the hut. But she and Bran had been too small, too injured, to see them properly buried. “I’m alive because of Bran.”

Renault said nothing for a long stretch of time. Small lines showed around his mouth and his thoughtful blue stare remained fixed on their joined hands. “I can see why you hate the English,” he said finally. The muscles of this throat worked into a swallow. “I should never have pressed—”

Ena shook her head. “I wouldna tell ye if I dinna want to.”

“Why did you?” he asked.

She met his eyes and the final layer of her wariness fell away. “Because ye’re different. Because I trust ye.”

6

Renault gazed at Ena, absent the words to put to the force of his emotions. She’d trusted him with her story. She’d unveiled to him the depth of her pain by sharing the horror of her past. It was no wonder she hated the English with such vehemence.

Trust. It was a powerful word for being so small, and fragile despite its impact. And Ena had given it to him, a sincere and beautiful gift.

“Ye dinna have to come rescue me.” Ena pushed herself up from the table. The shield was sliding back into place.

Renault followed behind her, cautious to express his appreciation to her, too fearful of scaring her off or having her shutter herself completely once more. She was hurting and everything in him wanted to be her comfort. He had saved her once that night from the man trying to break down her door.

It had been easy and quick—a strike to the man’s head. Though Renault hadn’t realized the man was not wearing a helm, nor had he intended for his head to bounce off the door as it did. Unease twisted in his stomach at how the man had not moved.

If he had killed his own countryman, that would be treason.

He shoved the thought aside. What mattered now was Ena and taking her mind from the horrors she’d shared. He longed to be there for her, for whatever it was she needed. For whatever she would allow him to provide.

“I actually came for Maribel,” he said.

Ena lifted a brow.

Renault held out his hands. “You see, I’ve discovered I’m quite taken with her.”

“Are ye now?” Ena folded her arms over her chest. “What is it about her that draws ye? Her stubbornness?”

“Oh, aye.” Renault closed the distance between them. “And her bravery. Her strength.” He reached out and caressed the softness of her cheek with the back of his fingers. “And the tenderness she won’t ever let anyone else see.”

Ena couldn’t help but stare up at him. “What else?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Renault’s lips. “She’s beautiful, graceful, intoxicating.”

“Intoxicating?” Ena’s cheeks colored. “You’d think she was a jug of ale.”

Renault shook his head. “A bottle of the finest Noirien wine, bold with spices and sweet beyond measure. A simple taste wouldn’t be enough to slake one’s thirst, but simply whet the appetite for more until all one can think of is that next velvety sip.”