Page 77 of Bound By Deception

Mirren nodded, putting aside her broom and heading toward the laundry basket. “I’ll get onto it now.”

Bree watched her handmaid cross the alcove, pressure building in her chest. “Thank you, Mirren,” she murmured, hoping she didn’t hear the emotion in her voice. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me … it’s been good to have a friend here.”

Mirren halted before casting her an embarrassed smile. “I’m glad you came to live at Duncrag,” she replied. Her expression sobered then, her sky-blue eyes shadowing. “You’ve been a light in the darkness.”

Bree swallowed at these words, at a loss for how to respond. Meanwhile, Mirren observed her silently for a few moments. “Is everything well … between you and the chief-enforcer?”

Bree’s stomach clenched. Following the evening before, she wasn’t surprised her handmaid was concerned—especially after mac Brochan had stormed into their alcove. Letting out a slow breath, she forced a tight smile. “It is now … we just had a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

A groove formed between Mirren’s eyebrows, and Bree suspected she didn’t believe her. However, she didn’t push the matter. Their gazes held for a few moments longer, and then Mirren turned away, grabbed the laundry basket, and departed.

Alone in the chamber, Bree drew a deep breath.

Enough wallowing in emotion. Her husband had told her to leave, and she would. His merciful mood wouldn’t last forever. She needed to disappear before he had second thoughts and sent someone back to deal with her.

Not wasting any time now, Bree pulled on a pair of woolen leggings under her dark-blue tunic. She’d chosen her dress carefully at dawn, for this one had slits at the sides, allowing for ease of movement and riding. Instead of the sandals she usually wore, she pulled on the ankle boots she’d arrived at Duncrag in.

She’d already decided that she’d track the company of enforcers and men. The glint in the High King’s eye the previous evening—before he dismissed his druids’ spouses from the hall—had warned her that wherever he was sending them would be of interest to Mor. As an assassin, Bree was an expert tracker, although a company of that size would be easy enough to follow.

She’d find out where those bastards were going—but before she set off after them, she had to find Bryce.

She crossed to where mac Brochan’s weapons hung on the wall, helping herself to a dagger, which she fastened around her hips. After a moment’s hesitation, she also took down his spare knife belt and strapped it across her chest.

Wearing so much iron made her skin crawl, and she’d need to cast the weapons aside before returning through the stones; nonetheless, she wasn’t about to travel unarmed. The High King’s warriors and enforcers aside, Albia was filled with many dangers. The iron wasn’t just to fight with, but to ward off the creatures and wayward spirits that stalked the land.

Bree pulled on Fia’s blue cloak. She then dug a few items out of her trunk and stuffed them into a leather pack. Among them were a small coin purse, her pouch of silver acorns, and Fia’s diary. She wasn’t sure why she brought the journal—only that she couldn’t bring herself to leave it behind.

Bree’s jaw tightened. Ancestors, she’d gone soft.

She focused then on provisions. Retrieving food and drink from the kitchen would attract too much attention. She’d need to make a stop somewhere before leaving Duncrag.

Plotting her way out of the fort, Bree drew her cloak around her and fastened it with a girdle. She didn’t want it gaping open on the way out and giving the guards at the gate an eyeful of iron. She then pushed the small pack into a wicker shopping basket and covered it with a square of cloth.

If anyone asked, she was off to do some shopping.

Emerging from the chief-enforcer’s quarters, she walked confidently across the landing, past the guard stationed there, and descended the steps to the wide entrance hall. She’d picked the moment of her leaving well, for the unexpected departure of the chief-enforcer, the prince, and a number of enforcers and warriors, had thrown the broch out of its usual routine. As such, there weren’t any guards lingering in the entrance hall as Bree crossed to the stone stairwell leading underground.

Remaining here was risky, and a wiser individual would have stridden from the broch without looking back, but Bree couldn’t go without finding Bryce Elmsong first.

Assassins never left loose ends behind. And yet, she was conflicted.

Mor had instructed her to kill Bryce once she’d spoken to him, but couldn’t she just take her predecessor with her?

Lips thinning, she shook her head to clear it of such foolish thoughts. After months as the High King’s prisoner, her predecessor was likely to be in a terrible physical state. Killing him would be a kindness.

Bree descended the stairs quickly, her boots whispering on the damp stone. She didn’t bother to help herself to a torch, for it was best she kept to the shadows down here. Reaching theentrance to the dungeons, she veered left, plunging into the dank stairwell that took her deep into the earth.

Halfway down, she set her basket against the wall and drew the dagger at her side. If she stumbled on Torran again, she’d have to kill him. Her senses were sharp. Aye, she was slower and weaker in this mortal body, yet she was still an assassin. She moved like one now, careful not to warn anyone of her approach.

Bree’s fingers flexed around the bone hilt of her knife. She didn’t know how many guards kept watch down here at any given time, but she’d deal with them.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she crept along a dimly lit passage where cressets flickered against wet walls. The musty smell of damp, mixed with far fouler odors, made her breathe shallowly. Of course, it was a dungeon—she hadn’t expected it to smell like lilacs down here.

A few yards farther, she discovered two warriors playing ‘Liar’ in the guard room. A pile of bronze coins lay on the table between them. However, Bree didn’t focus on the coins, but on the heavy ring of iron keys that hung on the wall next to the table.

Her mouth thinned as she watched the guards.

One of them rattled his wooden cup and peered at the dice inside. “Two sixes,” he announced with a smirk.

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