Page 39 of Bound By Deception

It was time for her to push things a little.

“Husband,” she greeted him with a nod, halting a few feet back. “May I have a word?”

“Can’t it wait?” he replied tersely.

“I’m afraid not.”

One of the other enforcers smirked, while the remaining two exchanged looks. Marking their reaction, Bree focused her attention once more on mac Brochan, waiting for him to answer.

A muscle feathered in his jaw, his frown sliding into a scowl, and for a moment, she thought he might bark at her—and attempt to send her away.

Bree put her hands on her hips then and straightened her spine.

He would not.

Moments passed, and then mac Brochan made a sharp gesture to his men. “Leave us.”

The other enforcers departed, although not without lingering, hungry looks at Bree.

“What do you want?” he asked the moment they were out of earshot.

“It grows late in the day,” Bree replied, holding his gaze steadily. “The eve of Bealtunn approaches … yet you haven’t told me of your plans.” She brushed at the full skirt of her tunic. “As you can see, I’m ready.”

Brochan’s blue eyes darkened, and he folded his brawny arms across his chest. “Go on your own.”

“I can’t do that.”

His gaze narrowed. “Keep Mirren nearby and no one will question my absence.”

“The High King might.”

The chief-enforcer stilled at that, and at the warning she’d deliberately injected into her tone. “Excuse me?” he said finally.

“I hear that Talorc is desperate for the druidic bloodlines … especially those of enforcers … to be continued,” she said, inclining her head. “I imagine he’d be upset to discover that his chief-enforcer won’t be fathering any children.”

A beat of silence followed before mac Brochan dropped his arms to his sides and stepped close to her. “Are you threatening me, Fia?” he asked, his voice lowering.

Bree’s pulse quickened, for his nearness flustered her a little. Nonetheless, she continued to hold his eye. “Do I need to?” she replied softly. “I’m not asking you to bed me. All I ask is for my husband to attend Bealtunn at my side.”

He stared back at her, and Bree started to sweat under his scrutiny.

She’d told Mirren that he didn’t scare her, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure. The man could be menacing, and now he turned the full force of his cold glare upon her, she found herself wishing that she wasn’t flouncing around in a pretty tunic with her hair pinned in elaborate coils upon her head. Instead, she wanted to be dressed in grimy hunting leathers and facing him with a dagger in her hand.

Moments passed, and Bree had no choice but to suffer his stare. However, as she waited, her pulse hammered in her ears. Perhaps she’d pushed thingstoofar.

Eventually, mac Brochan answered her. “Very well, wife.” His voice was rough, as if each word was an effort. “I’ll fetch you from our alcove at dusk.”

Victory surged through Bree.

It was a small win, but the fact she’d managed to finally sway him over something sang in her veins. Aye, she’d found a weakness in his armor. Cailean mac Brochan feared few individuals it seemed. But the wrath of the High King checked him.

But, to her consternation, the chief-enforcer stepped even closer then, bending to speak in her ear. “You get your way this time … for we shall give the High King a show.” His breath tickled her skin, while the scent of leather, ash, and male enveloped her. “However, I’d counsel you against trying to blackmail me again.”

18: PUTTING ON A SHOW

THE CHIEF-ENFORCER and his wife walked arm-and-arm up the hill behind the fort. Above them, a bonfire illuminated the night like a beacon, golden tongues of flame licking at the moths that fluttered about it.

Bree’s skin prickled at the sight of the Bealtunn fire, and at the pounding of the drums—a steady, ominous beat that reminded her of a pulsing heart—that echoed through the night.

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