Page 81 of Bound By Deception

Nonetheless, Bree had kept an eye out as she consumed a meal of bread and cheese, and she was relieved not to encounter anything else as the day drew on.

When she left Duncrag, she’d been giddy with relief at her success. She’d discovered valuable information and managed to get out of the fort alive. But, as the day wore on, her mood darkened, and she started to feel hollow.

If her husband hadn’t shown her mercy, she wouldn’t have made it out.

Cailean mac Brochan had saved her life, and in return, she’d let him ride to his death.

The light was fading when the oakwood opened up before Bree, revealing a small grassy glade with a dark wall of brambles and blackthorn at its western edge. Glancing around, she decided this spot would do for the night.

Sliding down from the pony’s back, she removed his saddlery and then rubbed the beast down. “We’re going to be traveling together for a few days, lad,” she murmured, stroking his damp neck, “so you’ll need a name.” Her mouth curved then. “How about Flint?” It wasn’t original, but since the garron’s coat was dark-grey, it suited him.

The garron whickered and nuzzled her.

“You approve then?” Bree combed her fingers through his thick mane. If she were in Shee form, she’d be able to touch minds with the gelding. It would have helped pass the time and made her feel a little less alone, like when she traveled with Tivesheh. Yet despite the limitations of her Marav body, she felt a kinship with the hardy pony all the same.

Leaving Flint to graze nearby, Bree lowered herself down in front of a twisted oak. And then, heaving a deep sigh, she leaned her head back against the rough trunk.

Moments later, her thoughts returned to Cailean—and guilt clutched at her belly. She’d been hungry at noon, yet her appetite was poor again this evening. Curse it, she couldn’t let this churning remorse go.

“Put him from your mind,” she muttered, unstoppering her skin of ale and lifting it to her lips, drinking thirstily. There was a village just north of here, and she would replenish her supplies at first light before continuing her journey. “Don’t you dare start pining for anenforcer. His kind are scum.”

Her words fell heavily in the silent clearing, although they had a brittle ring to them, as if she was merely trying to convince herself.

Taking another gulp of ale, Bree shifted position on the mossy ground. Her muscles ached after a day in the saddle, yet she welcomed the discomfort. Nearly three moons at Duncrag had turned her soft.

Dragging in a deep breath, she savored the sweetness of the woodland air. It was nectar after the reek in Duncrag. The oakwood was peaceful, with the patter of the rain above her and the chirp of song thrushes nearby. The lush green of her surroundings reminded Bree of home.

Just four days, she reminded herself, closing her eyes,and all of this will be behind you.

Her thoughts treacherously turned, once more, to her husband then, to the feel of his hands on her, the slide of his hot skin against hers, and the brand of his lips. Bree’s breathing quickened as she recalled the deep timbre of his voice, the way a room always shrank in size the moment he stepped into it, and the smell of him—leather, ash, and a hint of clove—that never failed to make her pulse flutter. He was the chief-enforcer, but he wasn’t the callous brute she’d taken him for. Instead, he was—

Fuck.Bree’s eyes snapped open. She couldn’t let her mind keep traveling in this direction. She had to think about something else, anything but Cailean mac Brochan.

Growling a curse, Bree dug into her backpack. She needed something to distract herself. She hadn’t finished reading Fia’s diary; now seemed like a good time.

Jaw clenched, she leafed to the final entry. Despite the rain, it was dry under the sheltered oak, and there was just enough light to read by.

I received a response to my letter today—just two sleeps before I set off for Duncrag.

When Mother Gelda handed me the scroll with the wolf seal, I was giddy with excitement. The other Maids waiting for mail from their families were tight-lipped with envy. I didn’t need to be a seer to read their thoughts. “How has a plain creature like Fia drawn the eye of the High King’s chief-enforcer?”

Of course, we’ve never met.

I hurried away to my favorite spot in the gardens and opened the letter with trembling hands.

By the Gods, he is cold.

He wants a wife who holds her tongue, one who asks nothing of him. I’m forbidden from asking anything about the High King’s business. He’s a busy man and will have little time for me. I am to keep our quarters neat and remain industrious during his frequent absences.

I sat in the garden for a long while after reading the letter from my future husband. Suddenly, the bright day seemed dull … all excitement drained out of me … and as I write this, a heaviness settles deep into my bones.

I’m a foolish woman for dreaming of love. That will not be my story. Instead, I shall wed a man who will treat me like his servant.

The diary finished there. It was an abrupt conclusion, and Bree turned the page to make sure there weren’t any other entries. There weren’t.

Staring down at Fia’s final words, Bree traced a fingertip over the cursive writing. Her belly twisted once more. Fia was dead because of her—because Mor needed a spy deep within the High King’s household. No one, not even Bree herself, spared any thought for the life they sacrificed.

The woman’s death had simply been a necessity.

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