Page 7 of Bound By Deception

His eyes, the color of thunder clouds, glinted. “I can’t. You smell like …them.”

Her pulse thudded hard. Of course, this wasn’t a mere trick of the eye. Her people were both blessed, and cursed, with sharp senses—and to them, the Maravreeked. Trust Gavyn Frostshard to be so blunt though. A long time ago, they’d been lovers. The intimacy they’d once shared was but a memory, yet even now, there was tension between them.

She shouldn’t have been surprised by his reaction. She’d likely respond the same way if he’d changed into one of the Marav. Nonetheless, anger coiled in her gut. Easy for Gavyn to sneer. Mor hadn’t singledhimout for this mission.

Squaring her shoulders, Bree folded her arms across her chest, noting as she did so that her larger breasts got in the way a bit. “Is it done?”

Gavyn nodded. “We intercepted Fia mac Callum and her escort on the road, south of Loch Caith.”

“She’s dead then?”

“Aye.” Gavyn gestured to one of the Ravens standing behind him. “We have her clothing for you to change into … and her pony for you to ride.” He paused then before holding out his hand. “Give me your dagger … you can’t go to Duncrag with that.”

Reluctantly, Bree handed it to him—although the moment she relinquished her weapon, she regretted it. She’d left her other knives back in her tower room, but that dagger was her favorite blade; she was loath to be parted from it.

The Raven approached and handed her a bundle of garments.

Bree didn’t want to touch it, almost as if she expected the clothing to still be warm from the mortal woman’s body. But, of course, it wasn’t. Taking the bundle and a pair of stout ankle boots the warrior handed her, she set them down at her feet.

She then unwrapped the bundle, finding a plain blue, ankle-length tunic, and a matching woolen cloak within. The mantle wasn’t half as fine as the one she’d just removed, but Bree couldn’t travel to Duncrag wearing Shee clothing. Tugging at the straining ties of her leathers, she cast Gavyn a sidelong look. “What did you do with the woman’s body?”

“Left it in a ditch with those of her escort,” he replied curtly. “Out of sight of travelers, mind.” He paused then, his face screwing up. “She was wearing an iron protection amulet around her neck, but I ripped it off before I strangled her.”

Gavyn and the other warriors turned their backs then, to give Bree privacy as she stripped off her leathers and dressed in Fia mac Callum’s clothing.

Ironically, the items would have fitted her Shee form perfectly—for the lass had clearly been tall and lean, as Bree had been a short while earlier—but in her new body, the clothing was slightly ill-fitting. The tunic was a little long, the boots pinched, and the bodice was far too low and tight. Bree hadn’texpected her body shape to change so much. However, there was nothing to be done. Fia was expected in Duncrag in five days. She wouldn’t have time to get other clothes made.

Clad in her new outfit, she cleared her throat.

Gavyn turned, his gaze narrowing once more as he assessed her. “Incredible,” he murmured. “I’d never recognize you.”

Bree’s mouth pursed, heat smoldering in her belly once more. She was reminded then, of why she’d called things off with Gavyn years earlier. The smug bastard got on her nerves. “Of course, you don’t,” she muttered, “that’s the point.”

4: HUMBLING

MOUNTED UPON A shaggy bay garron—a pony that had once been ridden by the woman she was now impersonating—Bree followed her escort south. They weren’t close to any settlements here; as such, Gavyn and his warriors didn’t bother to put their glamors in place.

Nonetheless, the Ravens rode with their hoods up, their bright gazes glinting in the dull morning as they scanned their surroundings. And all the while, the mist wreathed, white and wispy like crone’s hair, around them.

During her many visits to Albia over the years, Bree had always noted just how much darker and colder it was than Sheehallion. Even in high summer, it was as if a shadow lay over the land. Despite her warm clothing, she shivered.

Leaving The Ring of Caith behind, they rode through dense woodland—a tangle of sycamores, elms, and twisted oaks that formed a canopy overhead.

The forests of Albia were deep and dark, carpeted in moss and thick growths of nettles and bright-green ferns. The pungent scent of damp, peaty earth filled Bree’s nostrils, although rustling in the undergrowth on either side of the road soon drew her attention.

Her instincts flared.

The woods were alive—and many of its inhabitants were dangerous to a Marav woman. Especially one who didn’t carry iron. Thanks to Gavyn, Bree didn’t have Fia’s protection amulet, although she didn’t want to wear anything made of that vile metal anyway, especially against her skin.

She didn’t need to worry though, for the presence of her Shee escort would repel most of the creatures that lurked in the shadows. They too were of faery origin.

Myth spoke of a time when they’d all resided in Sheehallion together, but the Shee had cast the others out long ago. Some, like wulvers and broonies, were harmless enough unless angered, yet others, such as the Ben Neeya, were an omen of death. Others still, like the aughisky—a water spirit that dragged its victims to a watery death—were outright malevolent.

The day’s journey took the travelers through dense copses of woodland, interspersed by meadows, where the first flowers of spring, snowdrops and crocuses, bloomed. They didn’t speak to anyone they met on the road—merchants and farmers mostly, carrying their wares to the crannogs upon Loch Glass in the northwestern Uplands—and Gavyn and his warriors quickly put their glamors in place the moment they spied any other travelers.

The mist eventually cleared although the sky remained the color of smoke. And as the gloaming settled, they passed a ruined broch. Conical-shaped and made of stacked stone, it would likely have once housed a chieftain’s household. Nearby, the scattered remains of squat mud-brick cottages, their walls covered by ivy and moss, spread out on either side of the road.

Bree slowed her garron and surveyed the broch. It had lost most of its roof, and half of its northern wall was missing. There were signs—charring on the remnants of the roof, walls blackened by soot, and rotting wattle doors hanging off their hinges—that this place hadn’t been abandoned, but attacked. A feud between chieftains perhaps, which had resulted in a deadly raid.

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