Page 14 of Bound By Deception

He gave a snort and stepped back from her then, before moving over to a shelf where a jug and a row of earthen cups sat. “Mead?”

“Aye, thank you.” Bree’s pride was stinging now, but she managed to swallow her annoyance.

The chief-enforcer poured them both drinks and passed Bree her cup. “We’ll be wed at noon tomorrow.”

Bree nodded; this announcement wasn’t unexpected.

“You will sleep in one of the guest alcoves tonight,” he went on before taking a sip from his cup. “And then, directly after our handfasting, you will move into my quarters.”

“Will there be a wedding feast?” she asked, hoping there wouldn’t be. The quicker this was over the better.

“Aye.” His dark brows knitted together. “I told you that in my letter,” he snapped. “Don’t you remember?”

Bree kicked herself. She’d forgotten that detail. “Of course.” She lifted her own cup to her lips and took a sip.

Quelling the urge to gag, she swallowed it. The drink was rough and pungent, not at all like the sweet beverages she was used to.

“What is it?” Her husband-to-be had marked her reaction. His gaze was hard and cold now as he studied her.

“Nothing,” she lied, forcing a bright smile. “The mead is just a little stronger than I’m used to, that’s all.” And then, steeling herself, she took another sip and swallowed, ignoring her churning stomach as she did so.

Mac Brochan’s mouth thinned. “You’re an odd one … but that doesn’t matter. I need a wife, and you understand myconditions.”

Bree nodded, even as she fought a frown. Aye, she did remember those. The man had a nerve.

Silence fell then as they both nursed their drinks.

It wasn’t a companionable pause though, but a tension-filled one. Mac Brochan’s expression had grown even more severe than before. His harsh manner put Bree on edge.

This wasn’t going well. The last thing she needed was for the chief-enforcer to decide she wouldn’t suit him as a wife, after all, and send her away.

A chill slithered down Bree’s spine as she imagined Mor’s wrath. No, she couldn’t let him do that.

In truth, she was nervous to say anything else. After reading Fia’s letters, she’d tucked them and the diary away without bothering to research further. At the time, she’d been confident that she knew what was expected of her, but so far, she was doing a poor job of being a Maid of Albia.

She’d have to make a start on Fia’s diary later. She needed to get into the young woman’s head.

Sipping her foul mead silently, Bree wished he’d terminate this uncomfortable meeting and send her to the guest quarters.

All the while, her husband-to-be stared her down. His scrutiny was unnerving. She could feel the weight of his judgment. He wasn’t happy with her, that much was clear. Lowering her gaze, she waited for him to speak.

Eventually, the chief-enforcer downed the dregs of his mead before taking Bree’s half-finished cup from her. “I shall let you retire now,” he announced, his tone sour. “The queen’s women will visit you in the morning and help you prepare for the ceremony.”

Bree raised her chin to see that he wore a grim expression. Pulse quickening, she dipped her head once more. “Aye, I’m tired.”

“Rest then … and ready yourself for tomorrow,” he replied, dismissing her with a curt wave of his hand. “The next time we meet will be at our handfasting.”

7: A DEAD WOMAN’S WORDS

ALONE IN THE tiny guest alcove on the floor above the chief-enforcer’s meeting space, Bree whispered a string of gutter curses.

Iron smite her, that had gone terribly. Mac Brochan was insolent and unpleasant—and he hadn’t hidden his scorn for her.

“You’ve got a challenge there,” she muttered. “That cold bastard wouldn’t trust his own mother.”

She could hardly be surprised though. He was the chief-enforcer, after all.

Bree cast a scowl in the direction of the flimsy curtain that shielded her alcove from the narrow passageway beyond. Unlike Caisteal Gealaich, this broch didn’t have internal doors. Anyone could burst in on her, and the lack of security put her already taut nerves on edge.

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