Page 84 of Bound By Deception

And now, thanks to Talorc, he had a wife.

A woman who robbed him of peace, who clouded his judgment.

A woman he’d sent away.

Cailean’s gut clenched. When he returned to Duncrag, Fia would be gone. The alcove they’d shared would be empty. Thescent of lavender would no longer greet him when he pushed the curtain aside. She wouldn’t sit opposite him in the evenings, clumsily working upon her distaff. He recalled then, how the firelight played upon her pale skin, highlighting the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and chest.

A hollow sensation settled under his breastbone.

The High King will force me to take another wife, he reminded himself then.

Fuck it. He didn’t want to go through this again.

Jaw clenched, Cailean stalked toward the cluster of tents on the northern edge of the encampment. The long gloaming had ended, and night’s curtain covered the world. As always, the warrior-druids kept themselves apart. His enforcers sat around fire pits, sharpening weapons, and trading insults as they waited for their supper to cook. Cailean took a seat among them with Skaal at his side. The fae hound observed the roasting hare keenly.

Reaching out, Cailean stroked her ears, and she leaned in to his touch. Usually, Skaal’s company improved his mood. Not this evening though.

“Time will be tight, mac Brochan.” One of his men, a druid named Tearlach, handed Cailean a skin of ale. “If we want to be in position the day before Sheathan.”

He took the ale with a brusque nod. “We’ll make it.”

Tearlach’s bushy auburn brows drew together, and he scratched his clean-shaven chin. “The High King’s warriors are shitting themselves over the idea of going into the Hallow Woods.”

Cailean unstoppered the skin of ale. “And you, Tearlach?”

The warrior-druid snorted. “I’m not looking forward to rubbing shoulders with The Slew.”

At the mention of the ‘restless dead’—malevolent spirits that dwelled within the Hallow Woods—Cailean frowned. “You’re wise then.”

“We’ll need to ward the encampment well.”

Cailean nodded. “Mac Gordain will weave a protection ballad.”

“Aye.” Tearlach leaned in. “But will it be enough?”

Cailean glanced across the fire, at where a blue-robed figure sat. Euan mac Gordain was drinking deeply from a horn. The chief-bard’s chiseled features were set in tense lines. Euan had tried to send one of the younger bards in his stead, yet the High King had insisted the chief-bard go. And now Euan was sulking, for he’d just learned that Talorc mac Brude didn’t have favorites. He’d sacrifice them all, even his own kin, to reach his goals.

The High King was right to send Euan though. Only an experienced bard, one who could infuse druid magic in every word of a song, was powerful enough to keep The Slew at bay. Nonetheless, all the members of the druidic council had done their part in readying them to ambush the Shee.

The chief-seer had spent the night in a trance before casting the bones at first light, and Gregor had held vigil with his sacrificers upon the hill outside Duncrag. Meanwhile, Annis, the chief counselor, had met with the High King well before dawn to discuss the way forward once the attack had taken place.

“Let’s hope so,” Cailean murmured, shifting his attention back to the warrior-druid beside him.

Tearlach pulled a face. “Try to sound more convincing, mac Brochan.”

Cailean shrugged and took a gulp of ale. He wouldn’t lie to his men. The spirits that inhabited the Hallow Woods wouldn’t be easy to deal with. The Slew were also known as ‘TheUnforgiven’—for they’d committed terrible things in life and been damned never to find peace in death. The living avoided this place for a reason.

The two men fell silent then as the aroma of roast hare drifted toward them. Supper was almost ready.

“Something feels off,” Tearlach finally muttered.

Cailean cut him a wary look. He wished the warrior-druid would speak of other matters, for he didn’t want to admit his own uneasiness.

Tearlach frowned. “I’m no seer … but ever since I was a lad, I sometimes get this sensation … like a stone in my gut … warning me when trouble’s coming. It’s rarely been wrong.”

Apprehension tightened Cailean’s chest at these words. “I will heed your warning,” he replied after a heavy pause. “Thank you, Tearlach.”

Cutting his gaze away from the druid, Cailean lifted the skin to his lips and took another gulp of ale. Meanwhile, the hare that was roasting nearby was ready and being portioned up onto wooden trenchers. The enforcers ribbed each other as they started on their supper.

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