15 MARKET DAY
TAKING A TORCH, Bree descended the steps underground.
If anyone stopped her, she'd say she was visiting the healer. However, it wasn't Eldra she was searching for this morning, but Bryce. She had to hurry though, for she was accompanying Princess Lara to market later in the morning.
With her husband gone a few days, she'd seized a quiet moment—after breaking her fast, while Mirren worked in the bakehouse—to visit the dungeon.
There would be guards down there of course, but she had a story ready for them too. She'd tell them that the chief-enforcer had promised her one of them would give her a tour while he was away.
Bree strode along the passageway and turned left, down the dungeon stairs.
Although she'd tucked an eating knife in her boot—old habits died hard—Bree didn't plan to use it. Instead, she had to find out if Bryce actually was a prisoner here.
After that, she'd plan the next step: how to get close enough to question, and ultimately kill, him.
What she needed to focus on at present was charming the guards she encountered below.
Her lips pursed. Easier said than done.
The scuff of booted feet below jerked Bree from her thoughts then. Her pulse lurched. Someone was approaching.
Halting, she put out a hand to steady herself on the damp, moss-covered wall, debating whether to turn and flee up the steps. There was no time, for an instant later, a tall, lanky figure, clad in enforcer-black, appeared below her.
The warrior-druid had close-cropped dark-blond hair and grey eyes. She'd seen him at her handfasting feast, sitting at the table opposite. He was handsome, for a Marav, and smiled easily. However, there wasn't any humor on his face this morning. Instead, his mouth was compressed into a thin line.
Seeing her, the enforcer frowned. "Lady mac Brochan … what are you doing down here?"
Ignoring the thud of her pulse in her ears, and the instinct to draw the knife in her boot and lunge for his throat, Bree flashed him a bright smile. "Exploring … although I've no idea where I've ended up."
"These stairs lead to the dungeon. "
"Do they?" Bree gave an embarrassed laugh. "How foolish of me." She met his eye then. "I don't suppose you could give me a tour?"
The enforcer's frown deepened. "I don't think so … this isn't a place for you."
Bree waved his comment away. "I've a strong stomach."
His handsome face hardened. "Cailean wouldn't approve."
Frustration beat like a caged raven in Bree's chest.
"No," she replied, forcing another smile. "I suppose he wouldn't." Bree then twisted and began the climb back up. After a few steps, she glanced over her shoulder. The warrior-druid was glaring at her back as he followed her. "We haven't yet been introduced, have we?" she asked.
"No … I'm Torran mac Rab."
Bree turned away once more and resumed her climb, her pulse skittering. So, this was the enforcer Mirren had gone giddy over? She wasn't surprised. He wasn't as cold or as intimidating as mac Brochan. Even so, the whoreson had thwarted her—and he'd likely tell the chief-enforcer that he'd encountered her on the dungeon stairs.
"My husband has spoken well of you," she said as they climbed higher, the light from their torches glowing against the wet stone. "He values your loyalty greatly."
Torran huffed a laugh, the sound echoing up the stairwell. "Your flattery is appreciated, Lady mac Brochan … but you're still not getting a tour of the dungeon."
"What do you think … the light green or the darker one?"
Princess Lara held up two swathes of linen, and Bree peered at them. "The darker one," she said after a moment. "It's the color of pine … and matches your eyes."
Lara's gaze glinted. "I knew there was a reason I asked you to come shopping with me," she teased.
Bree favored her with a tight smile. Her encounter with Torran had left her in a sour mood. "It's not an empty compliment, Your Highness … but fact."
Iron bite her, she hated fawning like this—and she despised shopping. Back in Sheehallion, she lived in her beloved hunting leathers. She had two sets of them and never wore gowns. The long tunics Marav women wore hampered her movement. However, when the princess asked Bree to accompany her, she couldn't refuse.
Lara laughed, the warm sound drifting through the mild, smoky, air. Up here, near the broch, the stench of the offal pits and drains dug into the lower levels of the fort wasn't quite so bad. "Aye, and your directness is another thing I like about you. It's refreshing."
Bree kept her smile in place, even as discomfort rolled over her. She'd seen a bit of the princess since mac Brochan's departure and had been initially wary of her, for Lara had a probing gaze and asked a lot of questions. Nevertheless, she'd quickly realized that the princess only sought her out because she craved company. Besides servants, there were few women her age living within the broch.
All the same, Lara's comment took her aback. She wasn't used to receiving compliments. It made her feel oddly flustered.
The princess turned back to the cloth vendor then and started to haggle. After a robust negotiation, she handed over a shiny silver coin for a bolt of fabric. He hurriedly wrapped it up, passing it to one of the guards that shadowed them.
These men weren't enforcers but members of the fort guard, clad in leather armor with domed iron helmets upon their heads. Unsurprisingly, the princess wasn't allowed to venture into the town without an escort.
"Come." Lara linked her arm through Bree's, steering her away from the cloth stall, through the press of the crowd. "Time to choose a necklace to go with the new pine-green tunic I shall have made."
Bree fell in step next to her, even as her gaze swept the milling crowd. Her training meant that she rarely relaxed in environment such as this.
All the same, it was a relief to be outdoors with the sun on her face—despite the ever-present tang of iron that stained the air here. The interior of the broch was dark and damp, and Bree was limited to certain areas.
The dungeon aside, she wasn't allowed to venture into the hall itself, or the levels above where she and the chief-enforcer resided, unless invited. Since mac Brochan departed for Braewall, Bree had become twitchy and restless.
Nonetheless, she was still kicking herself for letting Torran catch her earlier.
He'd say something to the chief-enforcer—she was sure of it—which would result in an interrogation by her husband.
Trying to ignore the way her belly tightened at the thought, Bree focused on her surroundings once more.
The market was an assault on the senses. It took up a large tract of The Thoroughfare, the winding road that led up from the gates to the broch at the crown of the promontory. Market Day took place once a moon and attracted folk from miles around. Indeed, it was busy. Noise assaulted her ears: the cries of hawkers, the raised voices of those who haggled, and the excited chatter of shoppers. The aromas of hot mutton pies and frying garlic sausage drifted through the crowd, a respite from less pleasant odors, and despite that Bree still found mortal food overpowering, her belly rumbled.
She wouldn't be eating for a while though. They were only halfway through shopping.
Already, Bree's feet ached, and boredom pressed down on her. Nonetheless, Lara was in her element here, chatting to vendors, bartering with ease, and greeting those she knew as she wandered through the crowd.
The young woman was sharp-witted and charming. And despite herself, Bree found it difficult not to like her.
Careful , she warned herself. You won't find any friends here .
There wasn't a great risk of her forming attachments, anyway. Bree had always been a loner. She took lovers when it suited her and ended things when they became tedious. She'd never bonded with any of them. Her profession wasn't a sociable one either, and when she was in residence at Sheehallion, other females were wary of her.
No one trusted an assassin.
"I'm pleased to see that Cailean finally found himself a wife," Lara said then, as they edged their way toward the throng gathered before a jewelry stall. She flicked Bree a veiled look. "It's a crime for such a man to remain unwed."
Bree arched an eyebrow. "Aye?" She hadn't realized that the princess was on first-name terms with her husband.
Lara's mouth quirked. "Aye … half the women in the broch lust after him … as well as some of the men. "
Bree snorted. "It sounds as if you do too." Her response was bold, but she couldn't help it.
To her surprise, the princess grinned. "I'll not deny it." She met Bree's eye then, and her expression turned wry. "I've partnered him in the blood-letting ceremony three times now. It was an … intimate experience."
Bree arched both eyebrows at this, and to her surprise, a flush rose to Lara's cheeks. "It's not like that," she said hurriedly, clearly worried that the chief-enforcer's bride would be jealous. "The ritual requires a druid to mix blood with one of us common folk, and when you feel the earth magic rising, the sensation is … intense."
A chill swept over Bree, and she suppressed a shudder. "Will I have to take part in a blood-letting?" she asked, feigning a casualness she didn't feel.
Lara nodded. "Once a druid takes a spouse, they always partner in the ceremony."
Bree swallowed. Iron choke her, she had that to look forward to. Anxiety twisted her gut then. Although she was Marav now, her heart—her soul—was still Shee. Would the blood-letting unmask her? "How often does it take place?"
"A couple of times a year … more often if the druids draw deeply upon their magic."
Bree studied the princess, noting the wistful look in her green eyes. "I think you'd have made a better wife for the chief-enforcer than me," she admitted after a pause.
Surprise rippled across Lara's face at this candid remark, and she cast Bree a probing look. An awkward silence fell then before the princess heaved a sigh. "Even if I wished it, I was never destined to be the chief-enforcer's wife, Fia … father has other plans for me. "
Bree inclined her head, encouraging the princess to elaborate.
"King Dunchadh of Braewall has done my father many … favors … of late." Lara lowered her voice. "And he's asked for my hand in return." Pulling a face, the princess glanced away.
"I take it, you aren't willing?" Bree noted.
Lara huffed another sigh. "He reminds me of a vulture." She flashed Bree a rueful look then. "But I shall do it … for the good of Albia."
They reached the front of the jostling crowd before the jewelry stall then and paused their conversation to inspect the wares. An array of pendants, necklaces, arm rings, and bangles gleamed before them. There were also elaborately-worked golden torques—an adornment that only the wealthy, men and women alike, could afford.
Lara wore one this morning; it glinted in the sun and complemented the sleeveless blue tunic she wore, a lovely garment that rippled over her body, swishing around her ankles as she walked.
The garments Marav women wore could be pretty, but Bree still missed her old clothing. Aye, her own dove-grey tunic, girded at the waist, and light sandals were attractive enough but not half as practical as hunting leathers.
Surveying the jewelry, her gaze alighted upon a bronze arm ring, decorated with intricate swirls. She didn't usually wear jewelry, but the arm ring was lovely. Indicating to the vendor, a keen-eyed young man, she tried it on.
"Oh, you have to get it."
Bree glanced Lara's way. "I'm not sure it suits me."
"Of course, it does! "
That settled it. Bree purchased the arm ring—although not before Lara had beaten the vendor down to a good price. The princess then bought herself a pair of amber earrings.
"A new wife should have some pretty tunics too," Lara said then, tugging her away from the stall. "There's a seamstress halfway down The Thoroughfare who makes beautiful garments … come on."
Bree swallowed a groan. The arm ring was a pretty thing, but she'd had enough of shopping for one day. Nonetheless, mac Brochan might appreciate her more if she made an effort with her appearance—and she did need more clothing, for Fia had brought very little with her from the House of Maids.
Lara towed her through the crowd, while her escort continued to shadow them. However, they'd only gone a few strides when a horn sounded, its mournful bellow cutting through the market's din.
Lara halted, her grip on Bree's arm tightening. "It's father," she announced. "He's home early."