9 SHOW ME WHO YOU REALLY ARE

brEE’S HEART POUNDED as she watched Cailean mac Brochan leave.

Shades, the man had a glare sharper than an ax-blade.

He hadn’t recognized her though, for she still bore the guise she’d adopted since Duncrag. It served her well. Her face was plain enough for men to leave her be, and her tall and strong body didn’t give her a weak appearance either. She looked like a hardy farmer’s wife, a woman who could slap a man’s face hard enough to leave a bruise.

Only, Cailean had stared right at her, and she’d caught the flicker of confusion in his eyes before he scowled. He’d been distracted, or he’d have marked the glamor that shrouded her—all druids could.

As Bree’s pulse settled, elation tingled through her body. A heavy, relieved sigh then gusted out of her.

He looked rougher than the last time she’d seen him. His hair was longer, curling against his scalp, and stubble shadowed his jaw. His clothing was travel-stained. Cailean’s face had a slightly haggard look to it, indicating that he slept poorly these days.

Aye, the strain was showing, but that didn’t matter. She’d found him.

The Great Raven had favored her today, for after nearly a turn of the moon searching, it had dawned on her that the High King’s chief-enforcer might not want to be found. Over the past days, worry had started to gnaw at her. If Cailean had gone into hiding, it could have taken her years to discover his whereabouts.

Since leaving Duncrag, she’d traveled deep into the misty mountains and dark forests of The Uplands, stopping at each village, every fort, and asking if anyone had seen a tall, muscular man with short dark hair, blue eyes, and enforcer tattoos. She’d also mentioned that he might be traveling with a fae hound. She’d worked her way up to Harra—where he’d told her he was from—and then down again.

No one had seen him, or Skaal, until she reached Rothie.

She’d arrived at the fort the day before and discreetly asked if anyone matching Cailean’s description had been seen here. A woman selling live fowl at market had told her that a braw warrior had bought a pie from the stall next to hers a day earlier.

“A fine-looking man he was too,” the woman had added with a wink. “Is he yours?”

He was , Bree had thought as she’d shaken her head. Her stomach had pitched then, a blend of nerves and excitement sweeping through her.

And he would be again.

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 fae hound 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, Cailean would recognize, 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 the northeast, 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.

“Aye,” she whispered. “I’ve been looking for you for nearly a moon’s turn now. I tried Duncrag first … but everyone there thinks you’re dead.”

He continued his path toward her then, stopping when they were around five yards apart. There was no warmth on his face, and his gaze glittered.

Bree swallowed to loosen her suddenly tight throat. Shades, where were her nerves of steel?

“Why?” His voice was harsh now, the blunt question falling heavily. “I sent you back to Sheehallion for a reason.”

Bree wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “You did.” A pause drew out between them, swelling like a rising wave before she forced herself to continue. “But the moment I stepped through the stones, I knew it was a mistake.” She broke off then, raising a hand to rub at her breastbone with her knuckles, where a familiar ache had risen. “I’ve missed you, Cailean.”

He didn’t answer. Her heartfelt admission hadn’t moved him in the slightest. His expression was still hard; only the nerve flickering under one eye hinted at the emotion roiling beneath. His hands, which hung by his sides, flexed as if he wished to grasp her by the neck and throttle her.

Bree’s pulse quickened. You knew he’d be hostile … don’t give up at the first hurdle.

“You shouldn’t have come looking for me,” he said eventually. His voice was like iron being dragged over stone.

“Whether you wish it or not, we are bonded,” Bree replied, stubbornness rising.

“You betrayed me,” he snarled as his hands bunched into fists. “You knew the Shee would attack before dawn. You knew and didn’t warn me.”

“No,” she countered, relieved he’d brought this up, so she could put him right. “I had no idea that Mor would attack early. I swear it.”

“By what?” he shot back. “The Great Raven? Your God means nothing to me.”

He took a threatening step toward her, and without meaning to, Bree moved backward, raising her hands to warn him from advancing farther. His dark brows knitted together at her reaction, and she exhaled shakily.

“It’s the iron,” she replied, resisting the urge to reach for the steel blades she carried—a survival instinct that was difficult to fight. “Take the blades off,” she whispered, a plea creeping into her voice. She wasn’t one to beg, but she couldn’t talk to him with iron biting into her flesh, its odor searing the back of her throat.

His blue eyes glinted. “Show me who you are … your true form … and I might.”

Bree stilled. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. After all, she’d deceived and manipulated the man throughout their entire, albeit short, marriage. She didn’t blame him for wanting to see who she really was.

And yet, she hesitated.

It was ridiculous really. Shee women were beauties, and Bree was no exception.

But Cailean hadn’t bonded with Bree Fellshadow. He’d fallen for Fia mac Callum , who looked altogether different. Maybe he preferred smaller, softer women with hazel eyes, freckles … and curves.

Maybe he wouldn’t find her attractive.

It was a humbling moment, one of many she’d weathered over the past few moons, but she sat with it.

And then, as the silence between them deepened, Bree finally nodded.