Page 31 of Ena’s Surrender

Bran scowled at Ena and together they walked over the moonlit landscape to their own small hut. “I told ye no’ to come on any more raids.” He gave a heavy sigh. “This one was an especially poor choice.”

Ena’s angry frustration simmered under the surface. She knew she ought to let it lie, but she could no sooner keep quiet than she could cool her ire. “How could ye do it, Bran?” she demanded. “Ye did to those people what the English have done to us.”

“It isna what ye think,” he said gruffly.

“Did ye kill women?” she pressed. “Children?” Her voice caught.

“Enough,” he growled.

They stopped in front of their home and Bran took a key from his pouch.

“I’m disappointed in ye.” Her voice was thick with emotion, but she pushed her words around the ache in her throat. “And I’m disappointed in Drake. He’s always behaved like a knight until this moment.”

Tears burned in her eyes. Drake’s father had been an English knight before being killed in battle. What would he think to see his son brought so low? And by Bran’s influence.

Bran unlocked the door and carefully pushed through. He’d reinforced the doorframe on the flimsy wall, but the thick plaster was still drying. Moggy bounded over to them like a trained pup and immediately began twisting herself around Bran’s ankles as he walked.

Ena followed behind him. “Say something.”

“I dinna kill anyone.” He threw the bag he’d been carrying onto the table. “Look inside.”

She hesitated, but he nodded encouragingly. He turned his back to her and crouched by the hearth to light a fire while she curiously drew open the large leather sack. A loaf of bread sat on top. A pouch of peas was beneath it, with handfuls of loose barley shifting around through the horde like pearls.

She shook her head. “This is all food.”

“And ye’re practically starving.” Bran straightened in front of the now lit fire and opened his hands out to its heat. Moggy gave a pathetic mew and he lifted her into his arms, scratching her behind the ears as she liked best. “We both are. ’Tis why I agreed to go. Drake too.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I dinna agree with the slaughter of Kershopefoot’s villagers, but the reivers were going regardless of my opinion. The dead canna eat, so Drake and I agreed to join in to collect food from the homes.”

Ena lost her battle to hold back her tears as they trailed down her cheeks. “’Tis more than we can eat.”

“Aye, it’s for Drake too.” Bran gave a sad little smile. “He was so busy protecting every woman and bairn he found, he didn’t get much for his family. The lad damn near died saving a dog.”

“Too many died.” Her voice choked.

“More would have, were it no’ for us.” Bran got to his feet. “And for ye. I presume ye saved that woman.”

Ena nodded.

Bran approached and selected a loaf of bread from the sack. “This Englishman ye spoke of…tell me about him.” He set Moggy down, split the loaf in half and gave her one side. They’d learned a long time ago not to consume an entire loaf on their own when their stomachs were empty.

“His name is Renault.” She savored his name on her tongue for a moment before going on with the story of how they’d met and what had transpired between them, omitting the intimacy they’d shared. She even mentioned how he’d attacked one of his own to save her and how he’d been arrested for his act of valor.

“I thought if we went to Kerr, he could aid us,” Ena concluded. After all, the Scottish Middle March Warden was forever trying to capture control of the English Middle March. “I know he’s wanted ye to work for him for years now.”

Bran shook his head. “I canna do it, Ena. I’ll no’ do the things he would bid me do in his name.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “If ye think what was done in the English village were cruel, it pales in comparison to what that man would use me for.”

“Nay.” Ena clasped his forearm with her free hand. “I dinna want that for ye. No’ now or ever.”

He scoffed. “Nothing that bastard could do would make me work for him.” The lines of determination on his face softened. “Ye truly love this Englishman?”

Ena drew in a shaky breath and released his arm. “I do.”

“’Tis illegal for English and Scottish to wed.” He bit into the loaf of bread and chewed.

“’Tis done often enough without consequence.” She set her share of the loaf on the table, unable to eat it. Not when her stomach churned so badly.

She sank into the chair and reached for Moggy, desperate for comfort of some kind. The cat stared at her, unmoving, before flopping over Bran’s feet.

He tilted his head in silent acknowledgment to what Ena had said. “It doesna mean marriage to an Englishman would be without risk.”