Page 40 of Bound By Deception

Her own people celebrated the passage from spring to summer, but their festivities were different. Instead of honoring The Maiden, they gave thanks to The Great Raven. Right now, in Sheehallion, younglings would be painting eggs for the festivities of the following day and the bakers would be preparing the festive breads studded with nuts.

A pang went through Bree then. How long would she be stuck here in Albia, living someone else’s life? When could she finally go home?

When Mor calls you back.

Her breathing quickened, as she imagined year after year stretching ahead of her here. Pushing the chilling thought aside, Bree glanced over her shoulder at where Mirren followed behind them. The firelight burnished her maid’s face. Catching her eye, Mirren grinned.

Envy clutched at Bree’s stomach then—a response that caught her off-guard.

Had she ever been the sort to get excited about festivals? Not since she’d been a youngling, many years ago now. Ever since reaching adulthood, she’d adopted a cool disdain for such things. However, the time she’d spent with Mirren since her arrival at Duncrag had made her face just how cynical she’d become, and how her attitude colored the world around her.

Mirren was mortal. An indentured servant. And yet day-to-day experiences brought her more joy than even the highlights of Bree’s long life so far had.

It was an unsettling realization.

Her husband’s arm tensed then, and Bree cut her attention left to where he walked at her side. His profile was harsh, but like her, he’d made an effort with his appearance this evening, donning the golden torque he’d worn for their handfasting. A matching black leather vest and breeches that had been embossed with druidic designs clad his big body.

Not for the first time, Bree found herself silently admiring him.

Aye, he was the loathsome chief-enforcer. But he was also distractingly attractive.

Realizing she was staring, Bree looked away, her gaze traveling to the reason her husband had tensed.

The High King sat upon a raised wooden platform, a few yards back from the bonfire. His face flushed with wine and the fire’s warmth, Talorc mac Brude was talking to his queen.

The chief-enforcer halted then, on the edge of where revelers danced around the fire. Bree recognized many of the faces—men and women who lived within the broch, as well as those who resided in the fort proper. A number of enforcers were present this eve too, and as she looked on, one of them grabbed a lass and hauled her into the dancing.

“Folk certainly seem to be enjoying themselves,” Bree observed, glancing her husband’s way once more.

Mac Brochan grunted.

“Perhaps we could join the dancing too?” Bree’s belly clenched as she spoke. She wasn’t a good dancer and indeed hadn’t had much use for the skill over the years. Nevertheless, she was desperate this eve to force some closeness between her and mac Brochan.Sodesperate that she’d even dance.

However, her husband scowled at her suggestion. “Not yet,” he snapped.

Bree clenched her jaw, irritation surging.

“Would you like me to fetch you both some wine?” Mirren asked then, appearing at Bree’s shoulder.

“Aye,” Bree replied with a grateful smile. Wine would certainly help. “Thank you.”

She watched her handmaid weave her way through the press.

Torran walked past Mirren then. However, he didn’t notice the lass, for his gaze was upon a woman with long red hair who waved to him a few yards distant.

Mirren’s gaze tracked the chief-enforcer’s second-in-command as he strode past, longing upon her face. Then, pulling herself together, she turned and hurried on, dodging another enforcer—a massive brute—who lurched toward her. Reaching a woman who was ladling out wine into cups, Mirren collected two before making the journey back to the chief-enforcer and his wife. On the way, she navigated lecherous looks and barely avoided spilling the wine when the same enforcer who’d approached her earlier attempted to block her way once more. Mirren nimbly skirted around him.

Nevertheless, the maid’s face was red, her mouth pursed, when she returned to Bree and mac Brochan and handed them their wines.

“All is well?” Bree asked before lifting her cup to her lips and taking a gulp.

Mirren nodded and gave an embarrassed shrug. “Just the usual harassment.”

“Harassment?” Her response drew the chief-enforcer’s attention. “Who is bothering you, Mirren?”

Pinned under mac Brochan’s stare, the handmaid’s expression grew anxious. She then shook her head vehemently. “No one,” she gasped. “I jest.”

“That enforcer seemed intent on getting your attention,” Bree noted, unwilling to let the subject lie.

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