Page 41 of Bound By Deception

“Which one?” her husband asked, his gaze narrowing.

Bree nodded to where the huge warrior-druid now loomed over another lass.

“That’s Drago,” mac Brochan admitted after a weighty pause, glancing back at Mirren. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.” Mirren swallowed. “He wanted … a dance.”

“Aye, well … tell me if he crosses the line,” the chief-enforcer rumbled, scowling. “Is that clear?”

The handmaid nodded, her blue eyes wide, startled.

Bree smiled at her, attempting to reassure the lass, for Mirren was clearly flustered. “Go on … get yourself some wine and join the revelry,” she urged her. “My husband will keep me company.”

Nodding once more, Mirren backed away and then fled into the crowd like a frightened hind.

Bree watched her go, frowning. “That enforcerdidharass her,” she said after a pause, turning back to mac Brochan. “I saw him.”

Her husband sighed. “Drago has already been warned about bullying women,” he replied.

Aye, well … warn him again. The words burned in Bree’s chest, but she swallowed them. She’d attended Bealtunn with her husband to build a rapport with him, not argue.

They fell silent then, each drinking their wine as the revelry played out around them. Besides black-clad enforcers, there were other druids amongst the crowd—Bree picked out flashes of blue, green, yellow, and red amongst the plain homespun of the locals. The drums increased in tempo now, as did the dancing.

Tension rippled through the air as if the night was building to something.

Across the crowd, the High King ceased talking to his wife. Instead, his gaze cut across the press and seized upon the chief-enforcer.

Talorc’s dark gaze narrowed.

“See,” Bree murmured, grabbing the opportunity the High King had just given her. “He wishes to see us together … we should ensure he thinks all is well between us.”

Mac Brochan growled a curse, and Bree swallowed a smile.

She had him.

Draining the last of his wine, the chief-enforcer tossed the cup aside. “Come then, wife,” he muttered. “Let’s dance.”

Cailean led Fia to where men and women whirled around the fire and drew her into the melee.

And as he did so, anger pummeled his chest like the drums around him.

He should have realized she’d discover the High King’s determination to further the druidic lines, and that the devious woman would try and use it to manipulate him.

Nonetheless, she’d caught him unawares today.

Cailean ground his teeth, his grip tightening upon Fia’s as he swung her around him. Her long oak-colored hair flew like a banner behind her. There was no denying it; his wife was lovely to look upon.

He would have had to be blind not to notice her in her tunic when she’d interrupted him with his enforcers earlier. Her full breasts were at risk of spilling from its low neckline. He wished she would wear more demure clothing—perhaps he’d tell her so later. But at present, he found it hard to keep his gaze from straying to her lush cleavage.

This close, her scent kept distracting him.

Fuck it. He didn’t want to dance with his wife. He didn’t want to stay by her side tonight, drinking wine, and putting on a show for the High King.

But, ironically, Fia had been wise to suggest doing so. Talorc would be incensed if he suspected Cailean wasn’t fulfilling his duties.

He pulled his wife close to him then before clasping her by the waist, lifting her up, and spinning her about him.

Fia’s cheeks were flushed now, her full lips parted. And her hazel eyes—a gaze that had the power to both anger and unsettle him—gleamed.

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