Page 90 of Bound By Deception

Sweat slid down her back, and she flexed her fingers at her sides. Part of her itched to draw one of the blades she carried, to defend herself from the wrath he’d soon unleash on her. But she hadn’t come here to fight.

And then, she shocked herself by sinking onto her knees in front of him. Her pulse raced now, dizziness washing over her. Behaving so submissively went against every instinct she had. The old Bree would rather die than make herself so vulnerable.

Cailean stared down at her, his tattoos glowing now. Long moments passed before he rasped, “Why are you telling me all this?”

Bree swallowed hard, wretchedness clutching at her chest.

She wanted to tell him that she couldn’t go on knowing that she’d sent him to his death, that being with him had changed her—and that no matter what happened now, she’d never regret warning him.

But the hardness in his eyes warned her from saying such things. He’d think she was trying to manipulate him.

However, she wouldn’t lie either—she was done with that. “I couldn’t go through with it,” she whispered. “I thought my conscience died many years ago.” She swallowed then as her throat thickened. “But it seems I was wrong.”

Bree stopped speaking then and bowed her head. Relief weakened her limbs; how she’d hated the lie she’d been living. Her true nature was bold and direct. And now the man standing before her knew her real identity.

Moments passed, the silence swelling between them like an incoming tide.

Eventually, surprised that he hadn’t said or done anything, Bree raised her chin.

Cailean was still staring down at her. His chest rose and fell sharply, although his expression was shuttered now. Only the gleam in his eyes warned her of the rage he still battled—that and the tight grip he had on his knife. His tattoos still shone, in response to his simmering temper.

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” she said hoarsely.

A muscle flexed in his jaw, and then to her surprise, he stepped away from her and reached for his clothing. Bree watched as he pulled on his leather vest and breeches, knife belt, and heavy boots. He then sheathed his dagger and reached for his sword, strapping it to his back. After that, he donned his black cloak.

Only then did he turn to Bree once more, his face a mask of stone. “How did you get here?” he asked coldly.

“On horseback,” she replied. “I left my garron on the southern edge of the wards … I don’t know if it’s still there.”

His mouth thinned before he gestured to the tent flap. “Well then … let’s find out.”

Bree’s pulse thudded in her ears as she followed Cailean through the encampment, through the smoke that drifted from torches and dying hearths. It was after midnight now. The chief-enforcer kept his hood down and walked south, while Bree hurried to keep up with his long stride.

She’d thought he might bind her hands and tow her along with him as his prisoner, but he didn’t. He’d told her to follow him, and she did, with a meekness that surprised her. What was wrong with her these days? She didn’t recognize what she’d become.

The sentries on the edge of the camp greeted the chief-enforcer, their gazes flicking to the cloaked figure that walked at his heels. Bree had pulled her hood up, drawing it forward so that her face was shadowed. Cailean offered no explanation but merely nodded to the sentries and strode on into the trees.

A short while later, they arrived at the edge of the warded area, where Flint still waited under the elm. Relief fluttered up inside Bree’s chest at the sight of him. Skaal sat a few yards away from the pony, her tail thumping enthusiastically against the damp ground when she spied the chief-enforcer.

“I told you to stay out of the woods, Skaal,” Cailean greeted the hound tersely. “You’re supposed to be waiting on the edge of the meadows.”

In response, the huge dog got up and stretched.

Despite that her guts were in knots, Bree’s mouth lifted at the edges. “No one can tell a fae hound what to do,” she murmured. “They go where they wish.”

Her comment earned her a sharp look from Cailean before his mouth twisted.

Bree swallowed, heat rushing over her at the contempt that glinted in his eyes. “I was afraid Skaal might betray me,” she admitted. “But although I’m certain she sensed who I was, she never did.”

Cailean cut her a scowl. “Saddle the pony and get up on its back.”

Bree hesitated. She wanted to question him, to know where they were going, yet she sensed he was holding on to his temper by a thread. Now wasn’t the moment to get into an altercation.

Hot humiliation prickled her skin as she obeyed. She’d half-expected him to kill her as soon as she revealed her deception. His behavior now didn’t make any sense. Perhaps he was taking her somewhere more private, away from the High King’s army, so he couldinterrogateher properly before killing her. Bree’s belly turned over at the thought. She’d fight him then, of course.

Maybe that was what he wanted.

As soon as Bree sat astride the garron, Cailean mounted behind her. He then reached forward, gathered the reins, and turned them south, back onto the path. Fortunately, the garron was stoutly built and able to carry them both. In the Uplands, tribespeople weighed down with weapons rode these hardy ponies into battle. Silently, Skaal padded after them.

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