Page 26 of Ena’s Surrender

Renault moved back, hands up. “An ale for you then, fine. Consider it done.” He paused before he left. “I truly am sorry, Walter. From the depth of my soul.”

Renault stepped outside and breathed in the cool February air. He generally didn’t spend much time in ale houses like most other soldiers, but instead chose to save his money to afford a better life. Now, he made his way to the Pig’s Helm, a particular favorite of Walter’s, and placed a coin on the bar.

He took his time drinking the thick, gritty ale, sitting in a corner as his brethren celebrated their victory over the small village of Castleton.

Until the next retaliatory attack, of course. There would always be one from the Scots. Then one from the English. On and on they would go.

But as the revelry continued, he couldn’t help but notice the curious glances toward him, the side-eyed glares. Unease snagged at the back of his mind.

Were they regarding him with distrust?

His mind was foggy from lack of sleep and from what Walter had mentioned about Lord Bothbury’s other spies and the rumors about Ena. He set the remainder of his ale on the table, then stood to leave. Several sets of eyes settled on him and stayed, following his steps from the table to the door he pushed outside. The door swung shut behind him, dulling the loud chatter of conversation.

Doubts invaded his thoughts then, consuming him. Had he been seen when he attacked Walter? Who else was working for the warden?

He found his home quickly as his mind tossed through a hazy stream of thoughts: to run, to stay, to hide, to go to Scotland, to marry Ena and never step foot in England ever again. The latter held the greatest appeal. Except that they’d come for him. It would never be over.

He opened the door to his cottage, stepped into the dark room and froze.

The hearth glowed with a cheery fire. One he had not lit.

He pulled his dagger from his belt.

“Ye willna be needing that,” a feminine voice said, her Scottish accent like a low purr.

He lowered his blade and turned toward Ena. She’d pushed off the hood of her cloak and her hair had been bound back in a braid. His battered heart lifted in his chest, the ache soothing at the mere sight of her.

She rushed across the room and threw herself into his arms as her mouth found his. “Ach, ye’re freezing,” she murmured.

He leaned back and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“’Tis why I’m here.” She studied him. “There’s to be a raid tomorrow night, to retaliate for what the English did to Castleton.”

Renault clenched his fist. The back and forth of hostility was never ending. Violence and loss were given and taken in the name of retaliation. It had been thus since the dawn of time and would continue to the end of time.

He frowned.

“I had to tell ye.” Ena’s hands went to his face, cupping it between her cold palms. “I canna bear the thought of ye being hurt.”

He stared down into her long-lashed eyes. She had risked her life to come to the English side of the border to warn him. More than that, she had trusted he wouldn’t share this news with the Earl of Bothbury. He knew what Bran meant to her and she had put his life at risk by telling Renault.

He pulled her into his arms, curling them around her protectively. “You put yourself in danger coming here.”

“For ye.” Her words were muffled against his chest where she’d buried her face against him.

He bowed his head over her and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was cool and silky under his lips and smelled faintly of sunshine, flowers and sweet hay.

Ena.

She was the balm for the wounds cut deep by betrayal and suspicion. She glided over his hurt, filling the void with the promise of healing. Of happiness.

“Ye havena asked me for my answer.” She leaned back and regarded him tenderly. “About marriage.” Her cheeks colored slightly.

“Are you blushing?” he teased.

“I might be.” Her mouth lifted at the corners. “Do ye want it? My answer, I mean.”

His heart seized in his chest. “Aye, I do.”