Page 25 of Bound By Deception

And then the alcove went silent once more.

Bree’s breathing grew shallow. She could feel the heat of his gaze upon her back, slowly raking down the length of her naked body.

Moments passed, and she let him look his fill. Her skin prickled, and she slowly counted to ten. And then, clutching the drying sheet to her chest, she twisted, glancing over her shoulder.

Her husband stood just two yards behind her.

Bree forced herself to stiffen, her lips parting as if she hadn’t expected to see him there. “Good … morning,” she murmured, injecting a husky note into her voice.

The chief-enforcer didn’t answer.

His face was set in harsh, disapproving lines, but his gaze betrayed him. Even in the weak glow of the hearth, she marked the heat in his eyes.

In this light, they looked dark, almost black.

Dragging in a slow breath, she let her gaze travel over his naked torso, over the tangle of tattoos and the scars that told their own story, down his muscled belly to the nest of dark hair between his thighs.

Victory surged in her chest—along with a jolt of panic—at the sight of his manhood at half-mast. Unaroused it was big, although now it was swelling to an intimidating size before her eyes. He’d just proved that last night’s muttered insult was groundless. There was nothing wrong with his manhood.

Bree’s breathing hitched, heat pooling in her lower belly.

Iron blind her, was she responding physically to this beast?

Jerking her chin up, she met his eye once more. She’d expected him to look embarrassed, for mortification now crawled over her naked skin. But he didn’t. For her part, she itched to throw the drying sheet around herself, to hide the sweep of her back and exposed arse from his hot gaze.

But she resisted the urge.

The chief-enforcer might be easier to bend to her will than she’d thought. Maybe this seduction would be blessedly short.

But mac Brochan’s mouth thinned into a severe line. Uncaring that his rod now bobbed before him, he strode across to the stool where he’d left his clothing the night before. And then, as Bree looked on, he pulled on his breeches and vest.

Shivering now, Bree turned from him and deftly finished drying. Once she was done, she wrapped the large drying sheet around her. She’d catch a chill if she stood here much longer.

“A servant will be up shortly to rouse the fire,” her husband informed her tersely. She glanced over her shoulder to see him yanking on heavy boots. “Mirren will answer your questions about how things are done here.” With that, he moved toward the curtain, took a fur cloak off its peg from beside it, and slung the mantle around his shoulders. And then, without another word, he left the alcove, Skaal padding after him.

The curtain swept closed, leaving his wife alone.

And the instant it did, Bree’s knees wobbled.

Another reprieve, thank the Ancestors. She clenched her jaw hard then. No, she couldn’t shy away from this.

Retrieving her clothing, she hastily dressed, her hands shaking from the cold. “It didn’t go that badly,” she muttered to herself. “What did you expect? For him to throw you on your back on the furs and give you a morning tumble?”

Her pulse quickened, even as her lower belly clenched at the mental image those words created. She needed to be realistic about this situation. Softening her husband up would require time and effort. Cailean mac Brochan was a warrior-druid, a man with rigid self-discipline. It would take more than one sight of her naked to breach his defenses.

Aye, if she wanted his secrets, she was going to have to work a bit harder.

Her breathing grew shallow, panic slithering through her. Shades, she didn’t want to think about what that would entail.

Huffing another curse, Bree crossed to the wooden chest next to the sleeping nook and opened it. Firstly, she checked her small pouch of silver acorns—the only item she’d brought from Sheehallion—was still nestled amongst Fia’s belongings. Then retrieving her four figurines of the Gods, Bree glanced around, looking for somewhere to put them.

Her husband already had idols on display upon a ledge set into the alcove wall, but she wanted to put Fia’s stamp upon these quarters too. As such, she pushed mac Brochan’s figurines along so hers could sit next to them.

Her mouth quirked into a wry smile then.That’ll vex him.

A sigh swiftly followed. Of course, she was supposed to be charming her husband, not angering him. Turning, she returned to the open chest. There, her gaze rested upon the leather-bound diary. Reading that first entry upon her arrival here had made her uneasy. Nonetheless, the Maid of Albia’s diary might yield secrets, or details, that could assist Bree. Unlike Fia, she hadn’t been schooled in the art of pleasing males.

And frankly, she needed all the help she could get.

---