7 A MEETING AT MARKET

brEE STEPPED BACK from her stag, watching as he moved off into the trees. Then she turned, her gaze traveling east, where the sky was lightening behind the broch. The serrated edges of the Shiel Range, the mountains that thrust up to the north, weren’t yet snow-capped, although the Sharp Billed Wind that gusted in from those peaks bit into her cheeks.

Shivering, she pulled her cloak close. Then, jaw set in determination, she headed down the hill toward the tents that barred the way into the fort.

Before she reached them, she flicked her fingers at her side, glamoring herself as a tall woman with straw-colored hair and a long, plain face—a stranger that no one here would recognize. She pulled her cloak tighter still around her, to disguise the sword and the dagger she carried, and rounded her shoulders to make herself look beaten down by life.

She was fortunate this morning, for it was Market Day. A crowd of farmers and merchants was making its way inside Duncrag along the road that cut through the camped army. Once a moon, the fort held a bustling market that attracted vendors from the outlying villages.

Her timing was a stroke of luck, indeed, for Princess Lara usually ventured beyond the high walls encircling the broch on Market Day. If Bree could get close enough, she could plead with her to arrange a meeting with Cailean. It would be safer than trying to get inside the broch.

Bree’s pulse quickened then. Lara would be wary of her now—after her mysterious disappearance in the summer—but she was also a friend. If she was still living at Duncrag, she’d help her. Of course, Lara was betrothed to King Dunchadh of Braewall and their handfasting would be looming.

Weaving through the press of tents, Bree noted the standards bearing the different sigils of Albia’s kingdoms. Amongst the High King’s wolf’s head banner were those bearing a leaping black stag and an iron shield: Braewall and Baldeen.

Warriors gathered outside hide pavilions, some warming their hands over fires while others handed out wooden bowls of porridge.

A couple of them glanced Bree’s way, but they quickly lost interest.

She swallowed a smile.

Good. Her glamor had been well-chosen.

Taking care to make her stride less fluid, her step heavier, she followed the crowd of vendors through the gates. What a difference a few turns of the moon made. The first time she’d entered this fort, she’d been impersonating a demure young woman schooled to become the perfect wife and had been paraded up to the broch to meet her future husband. But today, she slipped inside the fort unnoticed. Her current guise was one she was more comfortable with, for, as an assassin, she was used to blending with the shadows.

Bree made her way across the dirt-packed square, where a lass threw grain for a gaggle of honking geese and a group of rough-featured warriors stood in a knot, arguing. She recognized these men; they were all members of the Fort Guard.

Ignoring their disagreement, she headed up The Thoroughfare, past the open doorways of the forges. The stench of hot iron wafted across the wide road, and she stumbled, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Ancestors, the reek of it stuck in her throat and made her eyes water.

She’d have to keep her distance from it.

She spied Mirren first—a small woman with a riot of curly peat-brown hair and sky-blue eyes, weaving through the crowd.

Her breath catching, Bree resisted the urge to push her hood back and call out to her. Shades, she’d missed Mirren. They’d gone through much together during Bree’s stay at Duncrag.

But to draw attention to herself now would be idiotic.

She reminded herself then that she no longer looked like Fia, the chief-enforcer’s estranged wife. Mirren wouldn’t recognize her.

Bree’s attention shifted to the regal, auburn-haired woman in an emerald fur-lined cloak, who walked just ahead of Mirren. Lara stopped to survey the wares of a leather merchant—coin purses, belts, and gloves—on display. The vendor, delighted to have caught the princess’s attention, fawned and smiled.

However, Lara didn’t smile back.

Watching her heart-shaped face, Bree frowned. The princess loved Market Day, and on the occasions when she had accompanied her, Lara’s eyes had shone with excitement, her mouth curved into an easy smile. But even from yards away, her tension, her shadowed mood, was evident.

Bree’s belly tightened. Lara would still be grieving her brother. How would she react if she knew her friend was responsible for his death? Her heart started to pound as she imagined hate darkening Lara’s pine-green eyes.

As always, four of the Fort Guard shadowed the princess and her maid. Stern-faced men with domed iron helmets, they walked a few feet behind Lara, hands upon the pommel of their swords.

Wary of them, Bree pulled the edge of her hood lower and edged closer.

The women had stopped before a jewelry stall now, and Lara had picked up a jade brooch.

Seizing her opportunity, Bree sidled alongside, pretending to peruse the wares as well. Then, closing her eyes, she summoned an image of what she’d looked like as Fia—a woman with lush curves and gentle features, with knowing hazel eyes, long oaken-colored hair, pale skin, and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

She then flicked her fingers gently at her sides.

A shiver passed over her as her guise changed.

It was dangerous to take this form, for Fia mac Callum wasn’t welcome at Duncrag any longer, but it was necessary. Lara and Mirren wouldn’t talk to her otherwise. Of course, there was the risk that her friends would betray her, yet she had to hope they wouldn’t.

Halting just two feet from the princess, Bree’s gaze went to the green brooch she was now holding up to the light. Drawing in a deep breath, Bree pushed back her hood just a little so that her shadowed face was visible.

“A fine choice, Your Highness,” she murmured. “It will match your eyes.”

Lara’s gaze snapped to her.

Their eyes met, and shock rippled over the princess’s pale face. Relief swiftly followed. “Fia,” she breathed, warmth igniting in her eyes. “What are—”

“Careful, princess.” Bree edged close, bowing her head as she pretended to examine a pair of amber earrings. “I shouldn’t be here.”

A heavy pause followed, and when Lara replied, the joy in her voice was tempered. “No … you shouldn’t.” She put down the brooch and reached for the earrings Bree was staring at. Picking them up, she then exclaimed. “Aren’t these lovely?”

“Aye, Your Highness,” Mirren replied, oblivious to whom the princess had just met. “Honey-colored amber … the same color as your handfasting tunic.”

“Thank you, Mirren,” Lara muttered, “as if I need reminding.”

“You’re not yet wed to King Dunchadh then?” Bree asked.

“No,” Lara replied, a nerve flickering in her cheek. “The ceremony is tomorrow.” Her brow furrowed then, and she leaned closer. “Where have you been, Fia?” she whispered. “After you disappeared, I sent word to your parents in Braewall, but they said you never returned home.” Her eyes narrowed then. “Two guards and a prisoner died on the day you disappeared … did you have anything to do with that?”

“I’ll explain everything later,” Bree replied, her own voice lowering urgently. “Right now, I—”

“Father has put a price on your head,” Lara cut her off. “You need to get out of the fort … while you can.”

“I can’t,” Bree whispered back. “I must see Cailean.”

“Fia!” Mirren stepped in between the princess and Bree then, her voice choked. The handmaid’s blue eyes glittered. “Is that you?”

Bree’s heart leaped into her throat. “Aye,” she muttered, even as the urge to enfold Mirren in a tight hug reared up. “But keep your voice down.”

Ignoring her, Mirren clutched at her wrist. “Why—”

“Mirren!” The imperious edge to Lara’s voice made the handmaid release Bree’s arm as if scalded. The princess then picked up another pair of earrings and held them up, making a show of comparing them with the first ones. “What do you think?” she said loudly. “The dark or the light amber?”

“The light, Your Highness,” Mirren replied, even as her gaze remained upon Bree’s face. Her lips parted, her eyes burning with questions.

“The dark is beautiful too though,” Bree added, playing along while casting Mirren a warning look. The lass had an impulsive nature that could get them all into trouble if not checked. All the same, warmth kindled deep in her chest.

Shades, this was almost like old times. She’d felt so alone over the past two moons without these women.

The guards had stopped a couple of yards back from the stall, and she could feel the weight of their stares upon her back. If she turned now, one of them was sure to recognize her.

“Can you arrange a meeting with my husband?” Bree asked, regaining her focus.

Both Lara and Mirren’s faces changed then. Her heart lurched. Why were they staring at her like that? Why did pity shadow their gazes?

Moments slid by, and then Lara’s throat bobbed. “I can’t … he’s dead.”

Dead.

Bree’s heart slammed hard against her ribs, and she grabbed the edge of the stall to steady herself. Suddenly, the world tilted, and a roaring began in her ears. “No,” she croaked.

That couldn’t be right. Cailean was supposed to be here.

Lara’s fingers wrapped around her forearm, squeezing tightly. “I’m sorry … he fell in The Barrow Woods.” The princess broke off there, her eyes gleaming. “My brother too.”

“They all did,” Mirren whispered. “When the warband didn’t return, the High King eventually sent scouts north. There, they found nothing but the charred remains of the enforcers and warriors.”

“Aye.” Bitterness roughened Lara’s voice then. “It appears that after the Shee massacred our men, they threw them onto a great pyre.”

The roaring in Bree’s ears dulled as realization dawned.

The Shee never burned their dead. The hills of Sheehallion were filled with grassy barrows; only the Marav built funeral pyres.

Her breathing grew shallow then. Cailean had burned those bodies. But after doing so, he hadn’t returned to Duncrag as she’d thought.

Another wave of dizziness assailed her, and she placed her hand over Lara’s, squeezing tightly.

Of course. She should have considered that, after being the sole survivor of a massacre, Cailean couldn’t go back to Duncrag. The High King would have held him personally responsible.

But if he hadn’t returned to the capital, where was he?

Hope burst through the fatalism that had dogged her steps since leaving Sheehallion. She’d told herself that Cailean would soon be taken from her. He was the High King’s chief-enforcer, after all. But if he’d gone rogue, he wouldn’t take part in the coming conflict.

He’d survive.

And she’d find him—even if she had to scour this realm from one end to the other.

Aye, he’d snarl at her initially. He’d likely blame her for ruining his life, yet she was tough enough to weather his anger. He’d recover from it, in time.

Instead, she had to remember the look in his eyes when they’d parted at The Ring of Caith, and the fact that he’d saved her life when he could have dragged her back to the High King.

He wanted her as much as she did him.

“Fia.” Lara’s husky voice drew her back to the present. She was aware that both the princess and her maid were watching her, their expressions stricken. “I’m so sorry.”

Bree heaved in a deep breath. “Just give me a few moments,” she replied, the catch in her voice unfeigned.

She became aware then that the jewelry vendor was staring at them, his expression expectant.

Clearing her throat, Lara raised her chin haughtily and thrust the two pairs of earrings at him. “I shall take both.”

A delighted smile flowered across his face. “Of course, Your Highness. Six silver pennies, if you please.”

With a snort, the princess dug into the coin purse at her waist. Usually, Lara would haggle, yet she was too distracted to do so today. The vendor took the coins eagerly and set about wrapping up her purchases.

Meanwhile, Lara glanced Bree’s way once more. Her brow furrowed then. “You grieve him?”

“Aye.”

Lara’s expression turned searching. “If you care for Cailean … why did you run off?”

“I panicked.”

Bree started to sweat, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder at where the princess’s escort still waited. Surely, they’d be getting suspicious now, wondering whom Lara was talking to in such a furtive tone.

Her throat constricted. Her friendship with Lara and Mirren was built on lies. If they knew who she really was, what she’d done, they’d run shrieking. They’d call for the guards to run the ‘Shee fiend’ through with their iron-tipped pikes. But Lara didn’t know the truth, and so she watched Bree expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate.

Swallowing hard, Bree took a step back. Now she knew Cailean wasn’t in Duncrag, urgency coiled in her chest. She had to find him. “I should go.”

“Here, Your Highness. Many thanks for your custom!” The jewelry vendor handed Lara a neatly wrapped leather package.

The princess took it, although her gaze remained upon Bree’s face.

Meanwhile, Mirren impulsively reached out and grasped Bree’s hand tightly in hers.

Guilt twisted under her breastbone. Iron smite her, she didn’t deserve the lass’s kindness.

It was time to leave.

“Goodbye, Mirren.” Her gaze then flicked to the princess. “Lara.” She paused then. “Thank you both … for everything.”

Her friend’s gazes clouded in confusion. They didn’t want her to go—instead, they wanted answers.

Gently, she extracted her hand from Mirren’s. Then she pulled her hood down, shadowing her face once more. And, without giving either of them time to stop her, she slipped away into the crowd.