Page 18 of Bound By Deception

Cailean’s gaze shifted to the platter of food that sat upon the scrubbed oak table in the center of the stone-walled alcove. A servant had brought up his supper, and it smelled like boar stew. He didn’t have much appetite this eve; however, the mead he’d drunk earlier had left a cloying taste in his mouth, so he crossed to the table and took a seat.

After a couple of mouthfuls of stew, he threw down his spoon and leaned back in his chair, raking his hands through his short hair.

“The Mother’s tits,” he ground out. “I’m going to fucking regret this.”

His gaze cut to the shelf above the hearth then, where the four rosewood figurines he’d whittled himself years earlier gleamed in the firelight. Mouth compressing, Cailean ducked his head in apology for his blasphemy, even as frustration still pulsed in his gut.

Torran thought he was making a fuss over nothing. Most warriors eventually took wives—and at thirty-three winters, he was the only unwed individual in the druidic council. But Cailean had sworn he’d never be shackled. The High King’s command felt like a chokehold.

He’d sacrificed enough for Albia. Talorc could have spared himthis.

Shifting his attention from the Gods, he surveyed the rest of his quarters: the swords, daggers, and axes hanging on the walls, and the single high-backed chair next to where Skaal dozed.

He’d given up the warmest spot in the chamber to his dog but didn’t mind.

However, he’d need another chair in here—for his wife.

Cailean’s mouth compressed. This place was his sanctuary. He liked solitude and looked forward to drawing the curtain on the world every evening.

But from tomorrow onward, a woman would be sharing this space.

It would soon look and smell different.

He glanced over at his sleeping nook at the far end of the rectangular alcove, his gut clenching when his attention rested on the pile of furs he retired to every night.

This would be his last night sleeping alone.

He wondered then if he’d have to remind Fia of the conditions she’d agreed to. She seemed to have forgotten them earlier. Aye, he would, especially since there was something hehadn’tmentioned in his missive.

No, he’d have to spell it all out to the woman. It was best to make everything clear from the start.

Cailean spied items draped over the furs then—garments he hadn’t left there earlier in the day. Pushing himself up from the table, he crossed to his sleeping nook. Halting, he surveyed the leather breeches and a beautifully embroidered vest. A golden torque sat next to the clothing—a snake swallowing its tail.

The Serpent of Infinity, a symbol of rebirth.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on Cailean. Lips twisting, he bent down and picked up the torque. It was a fine piece of jewelry indeed. However, like the clothing, it didn’t belong to him. The High King had provided him with garments and jewelry for the following day’s handfasting. He would be expected to wear them.

Cailean’s hand tightened around the torque, anger pounding inside him like a war drum.Fuck new beginnings. He was the chief-enforcer to the High King, a powerful warrior-druid who commanded a host of men and struck fear into the Shee. He’d worked hard to earn his place at Talorc’s side.

But none of that mattered. He couldn’t escape the will of the king.

9: WITH MY BODY AND MY LIFE

STANDING ON THE edge of the River Lethe, Bree tried not to fidget.

Her clothing was too restrictive. The women who’d dressed her earlier had tied her bodice so tightly that she could hardly breathe. She wore a silky emerald-colored vest laced with ribbon and a matching full skirt that brushed around her bare ankles. Spring was supposed to be upon them now, but she shivered in a cold wind.

Curse Albia’s cold and damp climate.

It didn’t help that her clothing was ridiculously thin and she stood barefoot on the mossy riverbank.

Gritting her teeth, Bree cast her gaze over the gathering crowd. The voices of the men surrounding her were loud and coarse. The odor of stale sweat drifted over the riverbank.

She noted too that there were robed druids amongst the throng.

Bree’s eyes narrowed as she observed them. Counselors, sacrificers, seers, enforcers, and bards—each wore a different colored cloak to distinguish them. And she could smell their magic too, conifers and wood-ash, heavy and pungent.

Her pulse quickened in response, her fingers curling into fists. She preferred the reek of unwashed bodies to the stench of druids.

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