Page 42 of Bound By Deception

Cailean’s gut clenched. He was playing a dangerous game, defying the High King like this. He’d seen firsthand over the years what happened to those who vexed Talorc. He was quick to anger and slow to forgive. Aye, Cailean was his chief-enforcer, and the High King relied on him. But he wasn’t indispensable. No one was.

Hopefully, seeing Cailean and Fia dance together before the Bealtunn fire, and taking part in the revelry, would be enough to convince him that his chief-enforcer was doing his duty.

19: TRAINED TO KILL

BREE HAD JUST left the chief-enforcer’s alcove, when she met the healer on the stairs. Eldra was returning from the level above. A basket hung over one arm, and her purple robes whispered around her ankles.

“Good morning,” Bree greeted the woman with a nod. She’d been hoping to see Eldra more frequently since her arrival. But when she wasn’t working, the healer kept to herself.

Eldra’s mouth curved. “Good day, Lady mac Brochan.”

Bree’s gaze lowered to her basket of healing herbs. “All is well?”

“Aye … the queen likes me to attend on her regularly, that’s all.” Eldra met her eye. “How are the headaches?”

“The tincture you gave me works wonders,” Bree assured her, “although I’ve nearly run out.”

“Visit me tomorrow morning, and I’ll prepare you some more.”

Bree flashed her a grateful smile. “I will … thank you.” Hopefully, fate would be on her side this time and Eldra would be on her own. She couldn’t ask probing questions with Lara present. All the same, Eldra wasn’t an easy person to pry details from.

“I shall see you then.” The healer moved on, disappearing down the stairs.

Watching her go, Bree wondered if Eldra would speak frankly with her. She was self-contained, with pale, knowing, eyes. They’d only crossed paths a handful of times since Bree’s arrival at Duncrag, although she got the sense that the healer observed her as closely as she did her.

Shaking herself free of the discomforting sensation, she left the broch, pushing through the heavy doors and descending the steps into the wide yard beyond.

A cluster of white-robed figures had just passed through the gates and was coming toward her. Bree’s mouth pursed.Counselors. It wasn’t the first time she’d glimpsed the druids who advised the High King. However, she’d never seen a group of them walking purposefully together. A well-built woman, her brown hair plaited into thin braids, led the druids.

Annis mac Gord, the chief-counselor. Aye, Bree had learned the names of each member of the druidic council. Even so, she hadn’t spoken to any of the others. The chief-enforcer was the only member of the council who resided within these walls; therest dwelled with their spouses in cottages outside the walls of the broch.

The chief-counselor’s gaze slid over Bree as she swept past, haughty and dismissive.

Bree couldn’t help it, she bristled. Watching the white-robed counselors mount the steps, she wondered what their purpose was today. Was the High King wrestling with a difficult decision?

Had he called his chief-enforcer to him as well?

Thinking about her husband made Bree frown.

A few days had gone by since Bealtunn. The eve had passed well enough—her husband had even danced with her a few times—and they’d lingered a while at the bonfire. Long enough to appease the High King.

Bree had caught Talorc watching them several times throughout the evening. Aye, she’d discovered a chink in her husband’s armor. In refusing to bed her, he was directly defying the High King. It was powerful knowledge to hold over mac Brochan, yet she was wary of wielding it.

Having the chief-enforcer punished, dismissed, or even executed, wouldn’t likely help her.

All the same, she liked having something to hold over him, something she could use should things get desperate.

Bree muttered an oath under her breath then. She was brushing the edges of desperation now, for ever since Bealtunn, the chief-enforcer had barely spoken to her. Her plan to draw them closer hadn’t worked.

Dragging herself from brooding thoughts, she surveyed the wide yard before the broch. Several low stone buildings with turf roofs lined this space—a stable complex sat at one end with an armory next to it. Across from the stables was a granary and thekitchen. The rich smells of cooking drifted out from the long, low-slung building, as did the rise and fall of voices. From outside, it sounded as if one of the cooks was shouting at his helpers, muffled curses spiking through the warm late-morning air.

Bree decided not to stick her nose inside the kitchen. She’d done so once, shortly after her arrival at Duncrag, venturing into the smoky space mid-morning. She’d hoped to find a chatty kitchenhand to question, although, in the end, she hadn’t lingered. The cooks and servants within had all fallen silent, watching her nervously. Their reaction was vexing. Everyone knew servants loved to gossip; however, this lot seemed to have swallowed their tongues.

Bree huffed a frustrated sigh. She had so few within the broch that she could question. Lengthening her stride, she passed the kitchen, heading toward the bakehouse that was nestled into the back of the complex.

Mirren usually worked there at this time of day, baking the last of the bread that would be served with the noon meal.

Of course, Bree wasn’t supposed to be wandering around as if she had no constraints on her time. She had a pile of her husband’s clothes that needed mending and wool to be spun—but those tasks could wait. Sometimes, when the walls of the chief-enforcer’s quarters closed in and the lack of sunlight drove her mad, Breehadto get out.

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