Page 27 of Bound By Deception

The maid dug into a pouch at her waist then and grabbed a handful of something before sprinkling it in a semi-circle around the hearth.

Bree leaned forward, gaze narrowing. “What are you doing?”

Mirren glanced her way. “Just sprinkling salt.”

“Why?” The question left Bree’s tongue before she had a chance to check it.

Mirren frowned. “Didn’t your mother teach you to always sprinkle salt around a hearth after you light it?”

Bree shook her head, silently kicking herself.

The handmaid glanced at the vent under the lip of stone above the hearth. “It keeps the botach away,” she replied, reaching up to touch the protection amulet around her neck. “He won’t cross salt.”

Bree nodded. Of course. She knew of the botach, a specter who took the form of an old man. He roamed Albia and was a troublemaker; to catch sight of him was an omen of bad things to come.

“My ma used to warn me that the botach finds his way into dwellings through smoke vents,” Mirren went on. “As such, I’m always wary.”

“Your ma’s advice was wise, I’m sure,” Bree replied. It was useful to know that both iron and salt offered the Marav protection from the faery creatures that inhabited their world. Now that Bree was mortal, details like these could prove valuable.

Indeed, her handmaid could be a good source of information. She’d be privy to gossip within the fort and might have heard whispers about what the High King was planning. And she might know what had happened to Duncrag’s healer.

First though, Bree would test the water with an easy question.

“How often does the chief-enforcer join the High King for meals?” she asked as she finished up the last of her oatcakes and washed the crumbs down with milk.

Rising to her feet, Mirren brushed soot off her long skirt. “At least once every four days,” she replied. “The High King likes to break bread with his druidic council often.”

Frustration clenched within Bree. She needed an invitation to one of those suppers. Who knew what might slip out when food and drink flowed? However, in his letter, mac Brochan had made it clear such meetings were off-limits.

Nonetheless, Mirren’s straightforward response was encouraging. She’d ask her something else. “Does the broch have a healer?”

Mirren nodded, her blue eyes clouding. “Aye … are you unwell?”

“No.” Bree waved her concern away. “I just get headaches from time to time and would like something for the pain.”

“I can call Eldra to you, if you wish?”

Eldra.The handmaid had just confirmed that Bryce Elmsong no longer served the High King.

Bree stood up. “No, I’ll go to see her now.”

Mirren nodded. “Of course, Mistress … follow me.”

Leaving the chief-enforcer’s quarters behind, the two women crossed the landing and descended the stone stairs to the entrance hall. It was a cold, damp morning. Bree had thrown a thick woolen shawl around her shoulders, although she couldn’t imagine ever feeling warm in this depressing place and longed for the soft brush of sweet Sheehallion air against her skin.

“The healer resides underground,” Mirren informed her, leading the way across the hall toward the steps that disappeared into the earth.

“Has she worked here long?” Bree asked casually.

“Aye … although she started out as the last healer’s assistant.”

“What happened to her predecessor?”

Mirren glanced Bree’s way, her eyes shadowing. “I don’t know,” she replied softly before her gaze darted around them as if she was wary of being overheard. “The word is that Damhan left one night, never to return.”

Bree inclined her head. “Really?”

Mirren nodded, taking a torch from a bracket and leading the way down the stairs. “There are whispers that he displeased the High King.”

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