Page 85 of Bound By Deception

But despite that Cailean’s belly was empty, his appetite had deserted him.

36: ONLY ONE WISH

THE AFTERNOON SUN cast a golden veil over the world when Bree reached her destination at last.

Stopping at the edge of the woods, where Gavyn and his warriors had waited for her nearly three moons earlier, she swung down from her pony’s broad back. Her gaze then slid over the hill before her, where the stone circle rose against a pale-blue sky.

Bree’s pulse skittered at the sight of The Ring of Caith.

Even bathed in sunlight, this place gave her chills.

She’d arrived earlier than anticipated, for apart from rain on the first day, the rest of her journey had been under fair skies and the garron had shown great endurance. Now she’d have to wait until dawn before she could travel home.

A familiar tightness clutched at Bree’s throat at the thought. She should have been looking forward to the moment she’d leave Albia, to returning to one of the Shee.

Why then, did it feel as if an iron band were tightening around her throat?

Swallowing hard, Bree turned to her garron and stroked his furry neck. “Well done, Flint,” she murmured. “Let’s get that saddle off you.” The pony snorted, nudging her with his nose, and Bree huffed. “Just wait … you’ll get your treat soon enough.”

She removed Flint’s saddle and bridle before digging into her pack and feeding him an apple. She’d bought a few at the last village they’d passed through. She then rubbed the pony down with a twist of grass.

“You’ve done your part.” She watched Flint’s strong jaws work as he crunched his treat. “But if you wish to keep me company until tomorrow morning, I’ll not be sorry.”

Swallowing the apple, the garron gave a soft whicker.

Despite the tension that rippled through her this afternoon, Bree’s mouth curved. Flint had proved to be a fine companion over the past days. After being attacked by powries, she’d been more vigilant, especially when it came to choosing where to camp. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any further incidents. All the same, she sprinkled a circle of salt about her and made sure to tether the pony close to where she slept each night, just in case they had to depart swiftly.

Setting the saddlery up against a nearby birch tree, Bree sat down against the trunk and pulled out an apple for herself. She ate most of it, leaving the core for Flint, who took it from her open palm.

The sun was warm on her face, yet she couldn’t relax. Not this close to the stones.

Tapping her foot restlessly, she sat there for a while, leaning against the tree trunk. Her muscles were tired, her limbs heavy; five long days of travel had taken their toll. Bree’s body cried out for rest, yet her mind churned.

Eventually, her gaze shifted north. The High King’s army would have reached the Hallow Woods by now. The Ring of Caith lay a few furlongs east of the road that led into the northern Uplands.

Mac Brochan and the prince would be readying their warriors to ambush the Shee.

Her heart kicked painfully against her breastbone then, and she reached up, rubbing at it with her knuckles.

Iron smite her, she was tired of battling with this … guilt.

“Don’t feel sorry for him,” she muttered under her breath, cutting her attention away from the northern horizon. “The bastard has it coming.”

Maybe he did, but her words sounded feeble, as if she was merely trying to convince herself. The truth was that with each mile she covered, the tension within Bree had coiled tighter. She couldn’t stop thinking about her husband.

Her throat started to ache.

Soon, he’ll be dead.

Cursing, Bree stood up. She needed to keep busy. Just one more night in Albia, and she could leave the mess she’d made behind.

She shivered then. The sun had disappeared now, for clouds had rolled in from the north. A wind had sprung up too. The Whistle, high and shrill, swept down from the Goatfell Mountains to the east.

Bree pulled up the collar of her cloak. Without the friendly face of the sun, this place had a sinister, watchful atmosphere. She’d gather some wood and light a fire. It would keep her occupied and help chase away the shadows.

Moving back into the trees, she started picking up fallen twigs and small branches. Despite the dry weather, much of the wood she found was too damp for burning; as such, she wandered farther in than intended. Presently, the trickling of water reached Bree, and she ducked under a low bough to find herself on the mossy bank of a burn in a grassy glade.

Clear water bubbled over ruddy stones, and Bree set down the wood she’d gathered and unfastened her empty water bladder from her belt. It made sense to refill it while she was here. But she’d just filled the skin, and was stoppering it, when a mournful keening sound cut through the woods.

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