Page 26 of Bound By Deception

Bree picked up the diary and crossed to the hearth, pulling up a stool next to the glowing embers so she could read. Then,she opened the diary and read the second entry. This one didn’t unsettle her as much as the opening page had. Fia prattled on about the wet winter they were having.

Bree skimmed the entry, and the next one, before starting the fourth.

A man came to the House today. He was tall and lean with hair the color of ripe wheat and eyes the color of the Baleful Sea. My heart stopped at the sight of him, and I knew that he was the one.

Bree halted here, her lip curling. “Eyes the color of the Baleful Sea,” she muttered. “What drivel.” Steeling herself for more of the same, she forced herself on.

We lined up in the courtyard, all dressed in our finest, and he chose three of us to take a turn around the gardens with him.

I was one of the lucky three!

How my heart sang as we walked together. He was charming and polite, with a voice that was both deep and musical. I could have listened to him all day. He asked me about my interests and skills. I told him that I’m an able weaver and that I play the lyre very well.

Of course, I remembered Mother Gelda’s teachings and made sure that the conversation always returned to him. He’s a prosperous wool merchant from the Galan Peninsula and recently widowed. His blue eyes are so kind.

Our meeting went so well. I was loath to be parted from him.

But now I must wait. Tomorrow, he will make his choice.

Bree paused once more and shook her head. “Foolish lass.” Fia’s desperation was raw. Turning the page, she then read the next entry. It was short.

He didn’t choose me.

Fyona was his choice. She is lively and charming, with the curves and prettiness I lack. But she can’t play the lyre as well as me, and she tends to babble.

I can’t believe Fyona was his choice.

How can this be? He was the one.

Bree closed the diary. Earlier, she’d sneered at the woman’s gushing words over her suitor, although she didn’t now. Fia’s tone was bewildered, hurt. Her joy had been too brief, much like her life.

She imagined Fia’s last moments then—her terror as Gavyn loomed over her, his fingers tightening about her throat.

Bree winced, a sensation she couldn’t identify fluttering deep in her chest. Of course, she had no aversion to killing—her hands would forever be stained with the blood of her victims—but she liked to tell herself that they’d all had it coming.

They were the queen’s enemies.

Yet Fia mac Callum hadn’t done Mor wrong. Her only mistake was agreeing to marry the High King’s chief-enforcer and getting in the Raven Queen’s way.

13: A GOOD SOURCE

“I’M SORRY THE fire went out, Mistress … I should have put a bigger lump of peat on last night.” Mirren fell to her knees before the hearth and hurriedly started laying fresh kindling. “It won’t happen again.”

The tension in her handmaid’s voice made Bree glance up from where she was spreading butter and honey onto an oatcake. Her breakfast was fresh off the griddle, and unlike the overpowering stews and bitter vegetables of the handfasting feast, this meal was to her liking. The oatcake was crumbly and still warm, the butter rich, and the honey scented with thyme.

The food reminded her of home.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied.

Mirren swallowed hard, her face flushing. “Aye, it does.”

“Spring is upon us.” Bree shrugged. “You wouldn’t expect it to still be so cold in the mornings.”

“It’s usually much warmer than this,” Mirren agreed, her face relaxing slightly. “I had to sleep with an extra fur last night.”

Turning, the lass busied herself with relighting the fire, and a short while later, a lump of peat glowed in the hearth once more, its heat suffusing the alcove.

Bree’s gaze narrowed as she watched Mirren poke the peat with an iron poker. She’d avoided touching any iron thus far and had to keep reminding herself that it wouldn’t hurt her now.

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