Page 24 of Ena’s Surrender

“What happened to the door?” Bran asked, his voice gravelly thick with sleep.

“How do ye know I wasna asleep?” Her irritation at having the loveliness of her thoughts interrupted left the question sounding petulant.

“Ye werena snoring.” He grinned at her.

She sat up and threw her pillow at his face. Moggy darted from the pallet, hissing with displeasure in Ena’s direction. Bran caught the pillow before it could strike him and held it back, brows lifted. “Do ye truly want to start a war with me?”

She widened her eyes and shook her head. “Nay.” Then she leapt up and tossed the full length of her blanket at him. Laughing, she ran past him as he reached for her, easily evading his grasp.

The chill of the morning air was sharp, and she immediately reached for her battered robe to throw over her sark while Bran disentangled himself from the bedding. The playful smile on his face died away as his focus went to the door again.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

Ena pulled the top off the bread pot and drew out a small loaf. “The English raided Castleton.”

“There was blood in front of the door.” Bran pushed himself up off his pallet and began making his bed. “Did ye go out during the raid?” He looked at her, his brow furrowed with worry.

“Nay,” she said honestly. “I dinna go out in raids.”

They both knew what happened when women left their home in the middle of a raid, though neither wished to say as much out loud.

“Someone came to our hut.” Ena sliced the bread with her dagger and opened the small crock of butter. Its salty, sweet scent rose up to greet her and left her mouth watering. “They tried to break down the door. They nearly succeeded.”

Bran finished making her bed after having completed his own, then approached the doorframe where it sagged into the hut. “I’m glad I insisted on a fine quality door, but this will need to be repaired.”

“That door is the only reason I’m alive.” Ena dipped the knife in the pot of butter. It was a precious commodity; one she’d found at a good price at the market earlier and had procured as a treat. She focused on her task as she smeared it over each slab of bread, not wanting to consider what would have happened to her had Bran not insisted on the strong door.

“What happened to the man who tried to break it down?” Bran studied the exposed twigs of the wall where they had nearly broken free of the door frame.

Ena shook her head and kept her eyes downcast. “I’m no’ certain.” After all, it wasn’t a lie. She didn’t know what had happened. Renault hadn’t volunteered the information, and she hadn’t asked.

Still something in her stomach twisted in on itself. Whatever had transpired was undoubtedly not good.

Heat burned in her cheeks and she was grateful Bran studied the doorframe with such intensity so he wouldn’t notice her worry. She couldn’t tell him about Renault. Not only that Renault had saved her, but even more, what they had done. Already it seemed as though evidence of their tryst was scrawled across her face, somehow apparent.

Bran gave a humming sound that indicated he wasn’t sure what to think of her reply. His footsteps approached, but she busied herself with the butter crock rather than glancing up.

He ruffled her hair. “It would appear angels are watching out for ye, sister. I’m glad for it.” He then hesitated for so long, that Ena did finally lift her head to regard him.

Bran’s features were set hard. “Ye deserve more than this. I hate that I canna offer ye a home where ye can be safe, where ye dinna have to worry about—” His lip curled in disgust and he growled in frustration. “This isna the life I wish for ye, Ena. I dinna want ye to ever be afraid again.”

“I wasna afraid,” she rushed. “I knew the door would hold.”

In truth, she hadn’t known that. What she had known, however, was how Bran had saved up for nearly half a year to afford the solid wood, the metal pieces and all the craftsmanship to have it properly built and installed. After their flimsy door had been kicked in as children and how their family had paid the worst sort of price, Bran had wanted to ensure Ena’s protection.

“The door saved my life,” Ena repeated again. She took the biggest piece of bread and handed it to Bran. “Go on now and eat. There’s butter on it.”

He nodded mutely and walked away, not even glancing down at the smear of butter on the hearty brown bread. Ena bit into her own piece, scarcely tasting the butter herself. She didn’t like the way Bran stared into the flames of the fire, his mind doubtless churning over how best to keep her safe. She hated this life for him.

“We’re planning a new raid tonight,” Bran said. “Only this time, we intend to kill as many soldiers as is possible.”

Ena’s stomach tightened. “Bran—”

“This house wasna the only one attacked.” Bran ran his free hand through his hair. “No’ everyone has doors as strong as ours.”

Ena’s protests stilled. She was too familiar with what he meant. Her stomach churned at the idea. Especially when she knew she had sought comfort from Renault even as others had fought for their lives.

Renault.