Page 37 of Bound By Deception

His pretty yet vexing wife might tempt him, but he’d not succumb. Bedding her would be a mistake. She’d expect closeness then, would try tobondwith him. Women couldn’t help themselves.

But Cailean wouldn’t attach himself to anyone. He’d made himself that promise many years ago, and he would keep it. Maintaining his distance from her physically would ensure they both remembered what their marriage was.

An arrangement.

Even so, tension rippled through him this eve, and his fingers flexed against the cup he gripped.

Fia glanced up from winding wool.

“You seem on edge, husband,” she noted. “Is something amiss?”

Cailean fought the urge to scowl. “No.”

“Did the trip to Braewell go well?”

“Well enough.”

“Princess Lara told me today that her handfasting to King Dunchadh is likely.”

Cailean gave a non-committal grunt. The Warrior’s cods, this woman couldn’t keep her nose out of matters that didn’t concern her. “That’s the High King’s business, not ours,” he replied.

He caught the flash of annoyance in Fia’s eyes before she ducked her head. “Of course.”

Silence fell then, before Skaal, who was soundly asleep by the fire, started to snore. Cailean winced and nudged the fae hound gently with his boot. The snoring cut off.

“I hear you met Torran today,” he said finally.

Fia’s shoulders tensed. Warily, she raised her gaze to his. “Aye.”

“Why were you taking the stairs to the dungeon this morning?”

“I was exploring and got lost.”

Cailean sighed, reaching up and massaging the tense muscles at the back of his neck. It was the same excuse she’d given Torran. His second hadn’t believed her, and neither did Cailean.

Fia held his eye, her expression veiled now. “I’m sorry,” she said after a beat. “I was just curious.”

Cailean frowned, fixing his wife with a gimlet stare. He reminded himself then of the arch-druid’s warning. He should keep a closer eye on his wife. “You are to curb your curiosity in the future,” he said finally, his tone wintry. “Don’t go down there again.”

17: A SMALL WIN

“THERE YOU GO.” Mirren slid the last pin into Bree’s hair and stepped back. “It’s done. … what do you think?”

Picking up a looking glass, Bree inspected her reflection. It had been a long while since she’d taken such care with her appearance. Nonetheless, tonight was Bealtunn—the eve that marked the passage from spring into summer—and she wanted to look her best. At dusk, the inhabitants of Duncrag would venture beyond the walls and gather on one of the hills to the north of the fort. There, they would dance around the bonfire and drink the first of the summer wine. Bealtunn was a festival that celebrated The Maiden, fertility, and new life.

It was the perfect opportunity for the chief-enforcer and his wife to spend time together.

Bree’s jaw tightened then, her gaze narrowing as she stared at the hazel-eyed woman in the looking glass. A moon’s turn had passed since her husband’s return from Braewall. But she was no closer to gaining his confidence.

These days, she and mac Brochan had settled into a routine of sorts. Silent meals. Awkward evenings seated opposite each other while Skaal slumbered before the hearth. Sleeping just a couple of feet apart in the furs, yet never touching.

Bree had tried to soften him up. But every attempt at conversation was met with terse responses. She’d done thoughtful things for him too. She’d had baths brought up for him and asked Mirren to find out from the cooks what his favorite foods were—blood sausage and grouse pie—to ensure he was served them regularly. However, her efforts were always met with non-committal grunts.

He was a rude, ungrateful bastard, and being nice to him galled her.

She hadn’t tried to seduce him outright yet—not after his response to her first, clumsy, attempt. Something told her he’d reject any advances she made, and she didn’t feel like being humiliated. Instead, she’d embarked on a subtler path, one that had yet to bear fruit.

Bree’s breathing grew shallow then. Time was passing. Mor would be impatient for a silver acorn. Unfortunately, she had little to tell.

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