Page 31 of Bound By Deception

“I will,” she assured him cheerfully. “But let me first give you some light to ready yourself by.”

Rousing the embers, she lit an oil lamp and carried it over to where he was washing beside the sleeping nook. Keeping her gaze averted from his nakedness, for she found it disconcerting, Bree then went to the square table that dominated the center of the alcove and poured her husband a cup of ale.

Mac Brochan had finished bathing and dressed with deft military precision.

“Here,” she said softly, handing him the cup.

He took it with a curt nod, draining the ale in a few gulps before handing the cup back to her.

“Do you need anything else, husband?”

“No,” he replied tersely.

An awkward pause followed before Bree cleared her throat. “I shall see you … when you return from Braewall?”

“Aye.”

“I shall wish you a safe journey then.”

He nodded, even as his dark brows knitted together. Bree heaved a silent sigh. Shades, this man was suspicious of her now, looking for manipulation in every word, every gesture.

Their marriage hadn’t started well.

She’d gotten little from mac Brochan at supper the night before, and then he’d stayed away for the rest of the evening. Bree had retired to the furs long before he returned.

And now he would be gone for a few days.

After he and Skaal had departed, the alcove seemed empty indeed without the force of the chief-enforcer’s presence.

Bree moved over to the fire once more and warmed her hands over the flames. Her fingers and toes had been cold constantly ever since she’d arrived at Duncrag.

While her husband was away, she’d listen to as much gossip as she could. The High King’s household was a big one, and no one saw as much as servants did. Some of them might have served Talorc when he spoke with his druidic council.

Some also might know what had happened to Bryce.

Mac Brochan’s absence would give her more freedom to explore too.

Bree had just finished dressing when Mirren arrived, bearing a tray of oatcakes.

“Join me.” Bree gestured to the table as she moved toward it. “There are too many of these for me to eat on my own.”

Mirren’s cheeks flushed pink. “I’ll break my fast downstairs later, Mistress,” she murmured. “With the other servants.”

Bree waved her words away. “Nonsense. My husband is away at present, and I’d like company. Take a seat.”

Mirren hovered there, her cheeks glowing like the sunset before she nodded, pulled up a chair, and settled herselfopposite, watching as Bree helped herself to an oatcake and started to spread butter upon it.

Glancing up, Bree met her eye. “What’s your opinion of the chief-enforcer?” she asked.

Mirren’s sky-blue eyes snapped wide at her direct question. “I d … don’t know,” she stuttered.

“Go on, venture an opinion … I’d like to hear it.”

Her handmaid drew in a deep breath. “He’s … intimidating,” she admitted finally. “Although his dedication to his work is admirable.” She paused then, her mouth curving into a wry smile as she warmed to the subject. “Some folk here say he doesn’t sleep.”

Bree huffed a laugh. “Oh, he does … I’ve seen him.” She then spooned some honey onto the oatcake and handed it to Mirren. “Here.”

For a moment, she thought the lass might refuse to take it. However, despite that her embarrassment hadn’t eased, she did. “Thank you, Mistress.”

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