Page 63 of Bound By Deception

He pulled a face. “I’m heavy.”

“And I’m stronger than I look.”

Her husband snorted. “I’ll not argue with that.” A moment later, he did lean on her more, and Bree set her jaw as they crossed the open space beyond the gates and began the long climb up The Thoroughfare.

“Gregor doesn’t like you much,” she said, slightly out of breath now.

He gave a soft snort. “No … the feeling is mutual though.”

“Why?”

Mac Brochan’s mouth pursed. “We’re both ambitious and have always been … rivals.”

Bree waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. It was likely more than that—but her husband wasn’t going to tell her. “Why do you need a woman’s blood for the ritual?” she asked after a few moments.

“Female blood heals, energizes,” he grunted, leaning on her even more heavily now as the way grew steeper. “It gives a man back what he’s lost.” He paused then, his breathing labored, and cut her a look. “Thank you, Fia.”

Bree didn’t answer. His response caught her off-guard, and she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want his thanks, and yet at the same time, his words made a distracting warmth spread under her ribs—not unlike what she’d felt during the ceremony.

“Princess Lara told me she has partnered with you previously?” she said, deliberately casual.

She could have sworn the ghost of a smile curved his lips at her comment. “Aye.”

That was all he had to say about Lara though, and the warmth under Bree’s ribs deepened to a burn, a reaction that vexed her. No, she wasn’t jealous. She didn’t care whom this brute shared blood with. All the same, the intimacy of the blood-letting wasn’t something Bree had been prepared for; in the aftermath, an unwelcome sense of closeness to her husband had settled over her.

By the time they reached the broch and made their way to the chief-enforcer’s quarters, mac Brochan was staggering.

Bree groaned with relief as he let go of her and collapsed into the sleeping nook, rolling onto the furs and stretching out on his back. He closed his eyes then, his chest rising and falling sharply.

He still wore his leather breeches and heavy boots, although Bree guessed he was too exhausted to take them off. As such,once she’d removed her cloak and hung it up, Bree unlaced his boots and drew them off his feet for him, setting them down by the wall.

Meanwhile, Skaal got up from her place near the fire and padded across to the sleeping nook. Usually, the fae hound ignored Bree, yet tonight, she nudged her hand with a wet nose and licked the recently healed wound upon her palm.

Stiffening, Bree looked down at the huge dog.

Ever since her arrival, she’d been wary of Skaal. Fae hounds were perceptive creatures, and she’d worried that despite her transformation, Skaal might be able to sniff out the truth. “I’m all right,” she murmured as Skaal licked her palm once more. She then nodded to mac Brochan. “And so is he … I think.” She cleared her throat, her gaze focusing on the man lying on the furs. “Do you want some water, husband?”

“Aye,” he replied weakly.

Patting Skaal lightly on the head and wrinkling her nose, for the dog was in desperate need of a bath, Bree moved around the fae hound and went to the table, where she poured a large cup of cooled boiled water. She then climbed onto the furs, next to the chief-enforcer. “Here.”

His eyes flickered open, and with a groan, he propped himself upon an elbow before draining the cup. He then sank back down onto the furs. “That’s better.”

Meanwhile, Skaal lowered her large body to the wooden floor at the foot of the nook and curled up. It looked as if she’d be sleeping there tonight.

Silence fell in the alcove, and Bree stretched out in her usual place. She still wore an ankle-length, sleeveless tunic, but she couldn’t be bothered taking it off this eve. Instead, she rolledonto her side and observed the man lying just a couple of feet from her.

Mac Brochan had closed his eyes once more. Fading firelight kissed his tattooed skin. The chief-enforcer’s arms and torso were hard, sculpted muscle, and she found herself wanting to trail her fingertips across his skin. Even weakened like this, mac Brochan’s raw masculinity sucked the air out of the room.

Bree’s belly clenched then.Enough of this, she reprimanded herself.You’re running out of time.

Aye, her husband wouldn’t let her this close to him again. Soon Torran would ask the chief-enforcer if he’d gotten the missive he’d left for him.

She needed to find out something useful and send word to Mor before he did.

27: KEEPING SECRETS

DRAWING IN A deep, steadying breath, Bree reached out and boldly trailed a fingertip down his muscular bicep, following the swirl of the woad tattoos that curved across his skin. “These don’tfeellike they were etched by magic,” she murmured.

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