Page 33 of Ena’s Surrender

Ena steeled herself and nodded. She was ready.

A battle waged outside. One of complete devastation, if Renault’s estimation was correct. No doubt it was the one Ena had mentioned in her warning the day before.

The screams had drifted down to his cell when the door to the top of the stairs had been opened, and the guards had been far too eager to abandon their stations. Too bad they hadn’t bothered to unlock the door before their departure.

He gave a sardonic chuckle at his own hopelessly wishful thought. A stream of light cut through the darkness from above where the door upstairs had been opened. Someone was coming. The smile on his lips died and he pushed himself to his feet.

Whatever it was, if they’d come for him, he would be ready. After all, he had no doubt this attack would be laid at his feet.

A large man made his way downstairs with a shorter one following him. The torch in the larger one’s hand was brighter than anything Renault had seen since his arrest. It momentarily blinded him with a flash of pain. He winced and narrowed his eyes. Only then did he notice they both still wore their helms.

“Is that him?” The taller of the two pointed to him.

The other gasped. “Aye.”

Renault’s breath came faster. This was it. The men would drag him from his cell and hang him amid the burning homes and dead from the Scottish raid.

He squared his feet, determined to face his death like a man.

Ena.

Her name whispered through his mind like a tender caress that brought with it a flood of memories. All at once, she was alive in his mind, beautiful and strong and perfect. He would never see her again, feel her again, kiss her again. He would never have the opportunity to tell her he loved her.

It was then his composure nearly snapped. Because for the first time in his life, he realized the honor he had been seeking hadn’t awaited him the form of a guard’s position at Kershopefoot Castle. It had been with something pure, such as having a family, and being in love.

The truest form of honor was having others to care for and to be taken care of. He had it at his fingertips for only a split second before it’d been swiped away.

The tall guard approached and put a key into the lock. Nay, not a key. A dagger.

Renault hadn’t eaten anything after consuming the half-mug of ale at the tavern. Hunger left his head swimming and confusion rattled around amidst the fogginess of his thoughts. Why would a guard be using a dagger to open his cell?

A metallic click came from the door and it swung inward. The larger guard turned from him and the other guard rushed in. Renault tensed, preparing for an assault. Until the guard spoke.

“Renault.” The voice was sweet, feminine and melodic with its Scottish burr. Familiar.

He staggered toward her; fearful his mind was playing tricks on him. Too scared to even hope. And yet, he had to know for certain. “Ena?”

The soldier pulled the helm off and her lovely face came into view, her hair falling in messy waves where the strands had pulled free from her plait. “Renault. We’ve come to save ye.”

“How did you—?”

“No’ now.” The larger guard appeared once more with a man behind him, a Scotsman who had been captured the day before and hadn’t been put to death yet. “Put yer helm on, Ena. We must go.”

Renault caught her face in his hands and kissed her soft, warm lips before helping her put the helm back on. He wanted more. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to reassure himself that she was there. He wanted to savor all of her and tell her that he loved her, what she meant to him.

Only there was no time, not when every second could mean their discovery.

The man who’d come with her was already moving toward the stairs. “We must go now.”

“We’ll follow Bran.” Ena looked in the man’s direction and the helm wobbled on her head.

Bran. Her brother. Gratitude welled in Renault’s chest. He had an idea of what it had taken for her brother to put his life at risk to save a man he had always considered his enemy.

Ena took Renault’s hand in hers, clasping the chill of his fingers in the heat of her palm. Moments before he’d thought never to see Ena again, let alone face the possibility of a future with her once more.

Bran paused at the top of the stairs and hesitated where the door remained cracked open. Renault understood his caution. It would be far more difficult to escape with two prisoners than it had been to come in dressed as English soldiers.

“Ye have to pretend to be my prisoner,” Ena said under her breath.