Page 20 of Ashes of Betrayal

Nonetheless, her gut clenched now at the thought of confronting him.

You’re not letting him get away,she reminded herself.And you haven’t traveled all this way just to watch him from a distance.

Pushing herself off the wall, Bree followed him out of the ale-hall.

On the dirt street outside, which led toward the gates of the fort, she spied Cailean’s broad-shouldered figure ahead. His faehound was nowhere to be seen this evening—understandable, for Skaal would draw even more attention to the enforcer. He carried a broadsword strapped across his back, and a fighting dagger knocked against his thigh as he strode. Head bent, she drew her cloak hard around her—for this far north, The Sweeper had teeth—and hurried after her husband.

And as she walked, she altered her glamor.

For the first time since she’d spoken to Lara and Mirren, she smoothed her features into those of the woman that Cailean had taken as his wife. Her hair darkened from yellow to oak, and her body became smaller and softer.

This woman, Caileanwouldrecognize, although she had to ready herself for his reaction when he did.

Quickening her pace further, for it was hard to match his long stride, Bree crossed the wide space before the gates, where the wind blew up dust and scattered straw. The light was poor and the shadows long. The gloaming was upon them now; the days drew in as Gateway approached.

Rothie wasn’t a large fort, barely a quarter the size of Duncrag, yet it had the same layout—a wide space used for meetings and markets just inside the gates and a main street that curled its way up to the crown of the hill, where a stumpy broch crouched against the darkening sky.

The warriors at the gates barely glanced at Cailean, although they both favored Bree with lustful looks as she walked by.

She ignored them, even as irritation stabbed her. Aye, this was why she’d chosen a plainer face whenever she guised herself. It was best to be forgettable.

Meanwhile, Cailean strode down the rutted road outside the high stacked-stone walls of the fort, past the wooden docks where fishing boats bobbed with the tide. The Sweeper had whipped the Sea of Sorrows up into whitecaps. Usually, the Isle of Laggan—a barren, low-lying island—was visible to thenortheast, but not so this evening, for dark clouds had lowered over the horizon. The wind had spits of rain in it.

A wooded glen, thick with birches and dark spruce, spread west of the fort, and the road—which stretched northwest into the heart of The Uplands and toward Cannich—cut through the woods.

Cailean didn’t follow it.

Instead, he veered left, disappearing into the trees.

Bree broke into a jog, desperate not to lose him now. She ran easily, covering the ground with Shee swiftness. It was safe enough to do so, for no one was watching her. However, whenever she was surrounded by the Marav, she took care to slow her stride and movements.

The resinous scent of spruce greeted Bree as she stepped into the woods, a springy bed of needles underfoot.

There he was, just a few yards ahead, moving through the trees. And now that they were alone, it was safe to call out to him.

“Cailean!”

He halted, his body stilling. He’d recognized her voice.

Bree also stopped. Straightening her spine, she inhaled slowly and deeply. However, her pulse had now gone wild. Shades, she’d been so sure of herself when she embarked on this journey, but now she was terrified. What would she do when he turned around?

Talk to him, Bree. He’s just a man.

Her mouth quirked, remembering the advice she’d given herself all those moons ago. Aye, no match for you.

For a moment, he stood there, as motionless as the birches that grew around him, the last of their leaves hanging from spidery branches. And then, slowly, he swiveled to face her.

Pulse still bounding like a bolting hind, Bree met his eye.

In return, Cailean’s gaze narrowed. No, he wasn’t overjoyed to see her again.

Her gaze roved over the grips of the knives sheathed upon the belt across his chest.Iron. The man was covered with it. Even standing a few yards away, she could smell its metallic tang, and her skin prickled.

Body still as taut as a bowstring, her husband moved slowly toward her. “Do my eyes deceive me?” His voice was low and rough.

“I’m afraid so, Cailean,” she replied softly. “I’ve glamored myself so you’d recognize me.”

He halted, his gaze sweeping over her cloaked form. A muscle then feathered in his jaw. This close, the strain and exhaustion on his face was more evident. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and deep grooves bracketed his mouth. “You were inside the ale-hall.” A flinty edge crept into his tone, and Bree started to sweat.

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