Page 30 of Ena’s Surrender

The woman shook her head. “Then why?”

Ena hesitated, weighing her odds. If Renault had gone somewhere to hide, she might put him at risk by mentioning his name. But if something had happened to him…

“Do ye know Renault?” She kept her question intentionally benign.

“Aye,” the old woman replied. “He lives in the hut beside me.” She fell silent for a moment and Ena considered pressing her for more information when she volunteered it of her own accord. “He was arrested today, thrown in the dungeon. For helping the Scottish.”

The dungeon?

Ena’s knees went soft and she slid farther down the wall. The helm on her head was suddenly too heavy, too constricting where the metal touched her cheeks, her brow. She ripped it off and sucked in a lungful of air to still her spinning thoughts.

The woman regarded her with a furrowed brow. “Was he helping you?”

A sob choked from Ena and she nodded. “I love him.”

A figure shoved through the door suddenly and paused, looking first to the old woman who had frozen in her terror once more, then to Ena. She recognized the man as soon as his familiar gaze landed on her.

“Ena?” Bran asked with barely tethered anger.

Ena winced. There was no denying it, not with her helm off. Not when Renault’s life was at risk.

She straightened from the wall. “I’m here because I’ve fallen in love with an Englishman.”

He blinked in surprise, then turned to the old woman, as if seeking confirmation. She looked to Ena first, then slowly nodded.

Bran uttered a curse under his breath. “Get yerself from here now, Ena.”

“Ye get yerself from here.” She strode toward him. “Ye came here to kill?” She shook her head. “The Bran I know wouldna ever stoop so low.”

“Get yerself from here, Ena,” he repeated in a low, menacing tone.

Ena didn’t move. “Only if ye come with me.”

Bran growled his irritation and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her toward the door. “Bar yer home,” he told the old woman. “And hide.”

She nodded.

Bran hauled Ena out of the hut and to her horse, practically throwing her atop the beast. He whistled sharply as he hopped up on his own steed and another reiver emerged from a nearby cottage with a sack in his hand. The man’s blade was free of blood, a gleam of unmarred silvery iron in the moonlight amid a wash of destruction.

The man rushed over and swung onto his horse. His eyes narrowed at Ena. “I thought I’d seen her,” Drake said. “Forgive me, Bran.”

“’Tis no’ yer fault.” Bran grabbed the reins and tossed a pointed look at Ena. “She’s good at deceiving.”

Weeks ago, his words would have sliced into her. But now, with her heart aching for Renault and the awareness of how difficult it would be to break into Kershopefoot Castle to free him, the cut of Bran’s disappointment had lost its sting.

10

The ride back to Scotland was torturous. Ena hadn’t bothered to offer justification for anything as they galloped onto Scottish soil, not when everything in her was weighted down with sorrow.

Every hoofbeat took her farther from the man she loved, abandoning him to his fate with the English Middle March Warden. She knew little of the man aside from his youth and his wealth. No doubt he’d never gone without food a day in his life. A man both ruthless and cruel—not only to his enemies but to those he considered traitors.

She also knew Kershopefoot Castle was heavily fortified and not a place she could have entered wearing the gambeson of a Scottish reiver. Even if she had stayed in England, she could have done nothing to help Renault.

Her only hope would be convincing Bran to aid her. An impossible task to be sure, but one she would not abandon until he agreed.

They all returned their horses near the pele tower where the valuable animals would be held safe within the stone confines.

Drake offered a cordial bow to them prior to taking his leave, bidding them good evening as he traversed the path to his cottage with a bag slung over his shoulder.