Page 36 of Bound By Deception

“Daughter,” he greeted her, the barest warmth in his voice. “I should have known you’d be out here.”

“Morning, father.” Lara ducked her head, her mouth curving. “You’ve returned sooner than expected.”

He snorted. “Aye, well … I concluded my business in Braewall swiftly.” The High King’s gaze flicked sidewise then, and to Bree’s surprise, it settled uponher.

She stiffened. This was the first time since her arrival at Duncrag he’d even noticed her. Skin prickling, she stared back for a heartbeat before checking herself. “Your Highness,” she murmured, lowering her gaze and dipping into an awkward curtsey.

The High King made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. “Settling in well?”

“Aye, Your Highness.”

“Eager for your husband’s return I’d wager.”

Bree’s gaze flicked up, and she nodded. A few yards away, mac Brochan shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He didn’t like the High King singling her out for attention. Was he wary of what she might say?

A wicked impulse fluttered up then—to tell Talorc that her husband refused to bed her, to humiliate him in front of his liege. The High King didn’t want them to be handfasted in name only. Mirren had explained that he insisted all members of his druidic council not only took partners, but that they had children.

Bree had been surprised to hear the druidic bloodlines grew increasingly rare—especially those of enforcers—and the High King wanted to ensure they prospered once more. She’d seen a few warrior-druids gathered at her handfasting but had discovered that there were barely more than forty of them at Duncrag. Not the small army she’d anticipated.

Aye, this was useful to know, and Bree wondered if she could use this information to her benefit.

Talorc urged his horse on, making it clear that their exchange had ended, and the company moved forward. The gathered crowd drew back to let them pass.

The chief-enforcer passed Bree then, and for an instant, his gaze seized upon her.

The censure in those hard blue eyes was unmistakable. The woman she was impersonating would have no doubt flushed and dropped her gaze under such a stare, but Bree didn’t bother. That ship had sailed. He knew she wasn’t a mouse.

And so, she stared back, fire quickening in her belly, answering his challenge.

Returning to the broch after their shopping had concluded, Bree accompanied Lara to her quarters, where they tried on the shawls and jewelry they’d bought.

But the princess seemed distracted. Her gaze had turned inward.

Seizing an opportunity to learn more about the politics of this realm, and the relationships within the royal family, Bree cast her a probing look. “Are you worried about the news your father brings from Braewall?”

Lara sighed, studying her reflection in the beaten silver looking glass before her. She’d just put on her new amber earrings, and they gleamed in the light of the cresset burning on the wall behind her. “I shouldn’t brood on such things,” she muttered. “But I know father will have discussed me with the overking there during his visit.”

Her green eyes unfocused then. Suddenly, it was as if she were leagues away.

Bree cleared her throat. “What would happen if you refused to wed King Dunchadh?”

Lara jerked out of her reverie, her startled gaze meeting Bree’s. She then shook her head, tension rippling over her features. “One doesn’trefusemy father.”

Cailean observed his wife under hooded lids.

Fia sat opposite him, winding wool onto a distaff. It was a womanly task, one that most lasses learned from their mothers. However, he noted that his wife wasn’t skilled at it. She wound the wool slowly and kept tangling it.

Cailean fought a lip curl. Gods, what did they teach the Maids of Albia?

The quiet inside the alcove was ponderous this eve. Supper had come and gone, largely silent as usual. And now, to hisirritation, Cailean found his attention drifting to the woman he’d wed.

He wished he didn’t find her so attractive.

Firelight burnished her creamy skin, warming her long rich-brown hair and hazel eyes. She was wearing a sleeveless tunic, the color of moss, that hugged her curves indecently. And about her right bicep gleamed a delicate bronze arm ring. Her comeliness was earthy, and it called to a primal urge within him.

Cailean’s jaw tightened, and he lifted the cup of ale he’d been nursing to his lips.

Fortunately, he’d long ago mastered the art of self-control.

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