Page 67 of Bound By Deception

28: ON BORROWED TIME

BREE’S BELLY PITCHED as she lowered herself onto the bench seat next to her husband.

In other circumstances, an invitation to supper by the High King and the opportunity to observe his druidic council would have excited her—finally, a chance to learn something of value—but not this evening.

At present, she felt sick.

You’re on borrowed time now, she reminded herself as she smoothed her sweaty palms upon the skirt of her tunic. She’d recently picked the new garment up from the seamstress; it was a deep woad-blue with gold ribbon sewn into the hem andaround the neck. Her bronze arm ring set off the tunic’s rich color.

Ever since her arrival at Duncrag, she’d watched her husband disappear in the evenings to the High King’s councils, only to return a long while later, often when she’d already retired to the furs. And, of course, mac Brochan never spoke of what was discussed at these private meetings.

But this eve was a break with routine.

Thank the Ancestors.

They’d been close to the point of no return earlier, and when her husband had stepped back from her, fury had simmered in his eyes. “We’ll continue this after supper,” he’d told her, not hiding the threat from his voice.

Bree’s pulse spiked at the memory. They couldn’t be alone again. She was done here. As soon as supper was over, she needed to find a way out of Duncrag. Mor would be angry, but she’d face her wrath.

Somehow, she’d find a way to appease the Raven Queen.

Cold washed over Bree then. Curse it, her pouch of silver acorns was still upstairs. She had to retrieve them. They were her only way to communicate with Mor, should Eagal find her.

However, even while her mind scrabbled, Bree was only too aware of the chief-enforcer’s nearness as he slid onto the bench seat next to her, and the heat of his thigh as it brushed against hers.

Her stomach pitched once more—yet not from panic this time.

Iron brand her, this was the last thing she needed.

His nearness earlier as he caged her in against the wall, the scent of him, his heat and strength, had confirmed the attraction between them—one that had sparked right from the beginning.She was in mortal danger, but his proximity had roused more than panic. It had awoken a wild hunger within her.

Dizziness assailed her, and she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.

This wasn’t part of the plan. She was supposed to gain his trust, to deceive him—but the realization of just how much shewantedhim horrified her. He was one of the hated enforcers—an enemy of the Shee. If he knew who she really was, he wouldn’t hesitate to plunge a blade through her heart.

Bree understood all of that, yet her breathing still grew shallow as his hand accidentally brushed hers when they both reached for the same cup of wine.

She cut mac Brochan a veiled look then and caught him watching her.

Hostility and distrust burned in his blue eyes—and something else too.

Heart pounding, Bree tore her gaze from his. She had to keep her nerve.He’s just a man, she repeated the phrase that had anchored her ever since her arrival at Duncrag.No match for you.

The words now sounded hollow though. Her husband had already shown himself to be a formidable opponent, and he was close to besting her.

Trying her best to slow her breathing and find her equilibrium, Bree shifted her attention from mac Brochan. Instead, she surveyed those seated at the tables that had been arranged in a square around the smallest of the hearths. It was an intimate gathering this eve, in contrast to a hall full of warriors who’d gathered for the chief-enforcer’s wedding feast.

The queen consort and the princess were both absent, although Prince Kennan sat at his father’s right hand. Both men were striking in black leather, their dark hair combed back andgolden torques gleaming at their throats. However, the High King’s presence dominated his son’s.

Around the table sat five druids, all clad in different colored robes. Each member of the druidic council sat with their spouse.

Directly across the table, Gregor mac Hume was watching her husband with a hooded gaze, a thin smile playing upon his lips.

Bree’s tension wound tighter. She didn’t like that smile.

Mac Hume caught her watching him then, and his eyes glinted.

Pulse thudding in her ears, she tore her gaze away. Mac Hume’s expression reminded her of the look he’d given her after the blood-letting ceremony.

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