Page 35 of Bound By Deception

“King Dunchadh of Braewall has done my father many … favors … of late.” Lara lowered her voice. “And he’s asked for my hand in return.” Pulling a face, the princess glanced away.

“I take it, you aren’t willing?” Bree noted.

Lara huffed another sigh. “He reminds me of a vulture.” She flashed Bree a rueful look then. “But I shall do it … for the good of Albia.”

They reached the front of the jostling crowd before the jewelry stall then and paused their conversation to inspect the wares. An array of pendants, necklaces, arm rings, and bangles gleamed before them. There were also elaborately-worked golden torques—an adornment that only the wealthy, men and women alike, could afford.

Lara wore one this morning; it glinted in the sun and complemented the sleeveless blue tunic she wore, a lovely garment that rippled over her body, swishing around her ankles as she walked.

The garments Marav women wore could be pretty, but Bree still missed her old clothing. Aye, her own dove-grey tunic, girded at the waist, and light sandals were attractive enough but not half as practical as hunting leathers.

Surveying the jewelry, her gaze alighted upon a bronze arm ring, decorated with intricate swirls. She didn’t usually wear jewelry, but the arm ring was lovely. Indicating to the vendor, a keen-eyed young man, she tried it on.

“Oh, you have to get it.”

Bree glanced Lara’s way. “I’m not sure it suits me.”

“Of course, it does!”

That settled it. Bree purchased the arm ring—although not before Lara had beaten the vendor down to a good price. The princess then bought herself a pair of amber earrings.

“A new wife should have some pretty tunics too,” Lara said then, tugging her away from the stall. “There’s a seamstress halfway down The Thoroughfare who makes beautiful garments … come on.”

Bree swallowed a groan. The arm ring was a pretty thing, but she’d had enough of shopping for one day. Nonetheless, mac Brochan might appreciate her more if she made an effort with her appearance—and shedidneed more clothing, for Fia had brought very little with her from the House of Maids.

Lara towed her through the crowd, while her escort continued to shadow them. However, they’d only gone a few strides when a horn sounded, its mournful bellow cutting through the market’s din.

Lara halted, her grip on Bree’s arm tightening. “It’s father,” she announced. “He’s home early.”

16: ON EDGE

BREE TENSED, her pulse quickening. She wasn’t ready to see mac Brochan again or to weather his unpleasant company. She’d enjoyed having their quarters to herself and spending the evenings chatting over a cup of wine with Mirren.

The bastard would shatter her peace.

Bree swiftly pulled herself up then, reminding herself that sheneededhim to return. How else would she get information from him? She’d hoped to discover things in his absence, but Princess Lara had admitted that she wasn’t invited to any of the druidic councils either, and Bree’s questioning of Mirren had yielded little of use.

The crowd below them parted, and standards bearing the High King’s crest, a white wolf’s head on black, loomed above the low turf roofs of the surrounding cottages.

The two women remained where they were, watching as heavy feather-footed horses bearing big, tattooed men clad in black leather, thick jet-colored cloaks rippling from their shoulders, appeared.

Bree’s stomach clenched.

Enforcer scum. The bane of her people. Just the sight of them made her fingers itch. If she were armed with all her blades, she could take half a dozen of them down in moments.

But that wasn’t why she was here.

Clenching her jaw so tightly that her ears started to ache, Bree forced the murderous thoughts down.

She’d expected to see her husband at the head of the escort, but mac Brochan rode alongside the High King and the prince, upon a charcoal stallion. Skaal trotted at his side, and the crowd parted further to give the fae hound a wide berth.

Bree’s attention fixed upon her husband, taking in his proud bearing and the furrow of his brow. He was intimidating, and he wielded it like a weapon. She couldn’t help but notice how many gazes in the crowd trackedhimrather than the king.

Talorc mac Brude wore a severe expression. On the few times Bree had seen him, the man’s hatchet face hadn’t softened into a smile once. She wouldn’t be surprised if it never did. His dark, deep-set eyes surveyed the crowd as he rode, mounted upon a grey horse, decked out in leather and iron armor. The High King sat easily in the saddle, one hand holding the reins, the other loosely clasping the hilt of the dagger he wore at his hip. It was the stance of a warrior; although getting on in years, Talorc wasn’t a man to be underestimated.

Next to him, Prince Kennan also carried himself with assurance, but without his father’s aggression. Sun glinted on the prince’s long dark hair as he rode. Bree marked the way two pretty lasses he passed gazed up at him like mooncalves, their cheeks flushed with excitement at being this close to the prince. But Kennan didn’t spare either a glance.

The High King spied his daughter then, and something flickered across his severe features. For an instant, his face actually softened. Yet the moment was fleeting, gone so quickly that Bree could almost believe she’d imagined it.

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