23 SHIELDS

MIST WREATHED THE yard before the broch, drifting like smoke over the spiky wooden ramparts surrounding it and curling around the peaked roof of the broch itself.

Leading his horse out of the stables, Cailean whistled to Skaal. Moments later, the huge dog with a shaggy dark-green coat and glowing golden eyes stalked out of the mist. Skaal carried an aura of Sheehallion magic with her. The Shee were fleet of foot and capable of blending with their surroundings at will when it suited them. It was what made them so difficult to hunt .

Vaulting up onto his stallion's back, Cailean cast a look around the yard, at the company of twenty enforcers who'd join him on this patrol. His brow furrowed as he viewed them. With Drago and Frang gone, their numbers were dwindling. Those two had always been trouble, and he felt no remorse at executing them—even if the High King wasn't pleased with him about it—but they were among his fiercest warriors. He needed to replace them.

Raen was training more enforcers, although the young warrior-druids weren't yet ready to leave the Isle of Arryn and join him. Cailean had left his remaining twenty-two enforcers here, to guard the High King, and when Torran returned from Baldeen, he'd oversee them in the chief-enforcer's absence.

Cailean's frown deepened. Torran was due back soon, and he'd wanted to be here when he returned, for Mother Gelda's answer mattered to him.

These days, he trusted nothing that came out of his wife's mouth.

Jaw tightening, he reined Feannag around and headed toward the gates that led from the broch onto The Thoroughfare. The stallion tossed his head, his bit jangling, and side-stepped. Feannag—so named for his crow-black coat—was eager to be away again.

Seating himself deeply in the saddle, Cailean squeezed with his thighs, keeping the stallion in check. Feannag would be able to stretch his legs as soon as Duncrag was at their backs.

Wordlessly, the enforcers fell in behind their leader, the hollow clip-clop of their horses' hooves, the creak of leather, and the jangle of iron filling the damp air.

As Cailean led the way across the yard, the skin between his shoulder blades prickled .

Someone was watching him.

Twisting in the saddle, he glanced over his shoulder, his gaze lifting to the top of the stone wall that ringed the broch. A woman stood there, watching him go. She wore a blue mantle, her oak-brown hair unbound and spilling over her shoulders.

Sensing his rider's sudden tension, Feannag snorted and bucked. Keeping his seat easily, Cailean stared up at his wife.

Had Fia come outdoors to see him off?

His breathing grew shallow, and it struck him then that seeing her there pleased him.

His gut clenched. Watch yourself.

The Reaper's cods, he didn't like how she affected him, how his gaze often sought her out. He ignored her most of the time, and only spoke to the woman when he had no other choice—but the truth was, she fascinated him. He'd never known a woman could be so full of contradictions. She had a lush body and a tongue like a whetted blade.

And she could fight.

He'd met female warriors—the High King's guard had a few—although female enforcers were rare. Women tended to display gifts for the other druidic paths. But he couldn't believe a Maid of Albia would be taught such a skill. It made no sense to him.

Gods, the woman vexed him though. He'd told her she wasn't to question him about the High King's business, but she persisted.

Indeed, as Fia's father had noticed in Braewall, mac Brude did have his overkings building armies for him. Their recent journey south had been to check on King Dunchadh's progress.

The High King had tried to cloak his plans in secrecy. However, after recent events, he now suspected the Shee knew what he was up to—something that had infused him with urgency.

This next trip had a dual purpose: after investigating the attack on the High King's tax collectors and retrieving the stolen revenue, Cailean had been instructed to travel to Cannich and hurry King Ailean up. He'd been struggling to draft Uplanders, and the High King was displeased with his slow progress.

Fia continued to gaze down at him, and Cailean tore his attention from her.

Her questions weren't the worst thing about her. His wife distracted him. He'd made a mistake the day before, being so candid with her about how Skaal had come to be with him. He regretted it now.

The less his wife knew about him the better.

Urging Feannag through the gates, he made a silent promise that when he returned to Duncrag, his shields would be back in place.

"The broch is still buzzing like a bee's nest after what you did."

Bree glanced up, from where she'd been pouring ground seeds into a leather pouch, to find Lara watching her. The princess's pine-colored eyes were sharp with curiosity, and Bree stifled a sigh.

She'd been expecting this—and had avoided Princess Lara over the last few days.

To Bree's left, Eldra turned from retrieving a clay bottle off a high shelf. "Aye, the servants talk of nothing else at mealtimes." She then favored Bree with a probing look that made her skin prickle.

Eldra had a canny way about her that never failed to put Bree on edge.

Masking her discomfort, Bree gave a soft snort. "They'll move on to other subjects soon enough, I'm sure."

"Maybe." Lara's lips curved. "But it's a rare thing … for a woman to take on two enforcers."

"Mother Gelda at the House of Maids has introduced self-defense as part of our training," Bree replied, repeating the lie that now slipped easily off her tongue. "For my last year there, I had a combat instructor."

She didn't look Eldra's way as she spoke, for she'd already told the healer this story. Nonetheless, she felt the weight of the woman's gaze upon her.

"I believed Maids of Albia were schooled only in how to please their husbands and little else." Lara glanced down at the mortar as she began grinding parsley into a paste. "Although I'm pleased to be proved wrong."

Bree forced a tight smile, wishing they could talk about something else. After watching her husband depart with a band of twenty enforcers earlier, she'd been on her way back to their alcove to retrieve a silver acorn and send a message to Mor, when a servant had intercepted her. The princess requested her presence in the healer's chamber. Seething with irritation, she'd gone downstairs.

"It's fortunate you were nearby when Mirren was attacked, Lady mac Brochan," Eldra said after a pause. "Even so, they brutalized the lass. "

Bree glanced the healer's way to see that she was frowning. "Aye, and Mirren is still suffering," she replied. "Although her physical injuries aren't the worst of it."

"I'm glad the chief-enforcer executed them," Princess Lara said then, her voice hard. "Even if father is vexed with him over it."

Eldra's gaze widened at this, while Bree stilled, anger kindling in her belly.

Witnessing their reactions, Lara grimaced. "Enforcers take a long time to train, and these days, the number of young men displaying the gift lessens. Father believes mac Brochan acted rashly."

Bree fought a scowl. It didn't surprise her that the High King would defend rapists. He hunted her kind like vermin and treated his own people with disdain. Nonetheless, the anger simmering in the princess's eyes made it clear she didn't agree with her father.

"Did you hear that Lady mac Brochan's husband challenged her to a fight afterward?" Eldra asked as she handed the princess the clay jar she'd just retrieved. "Just a few drops will do, Your Highness."

"I did," Lara replied, following the healer's instructions, as she cast Bree a veiled look.

"Aye, well … the less that's said about that the better." Tying up the pouch she'd just filled with ground seeds, Bree dusted off her hands.

"I was talking to an enforcer yesterday who witnessed the fight … and he said you held your own admirably," the healer added. Once again, something in her tone put Bree's hackles up.

"Not really," she muttered. "He just toyed with me for a bit before knocking me onto my arse. "

Lara lifted her hand to her mouth to hide a laugh while Eldra raised her eyebrows questioningly.

Heat washed over Bree as she remembered the humiliating encounter.

Her pulse fluttered then. She hadn't meant for mac Brochan to see her earlier, as she'd stood upon the walls watching him depart. The impact of their gazes meeting after he'd twisted in the saddle, his stallion dancing under him, had made her heart kick against her ribs. But she'd ridden the discomfort and held his stare.

He'd been the first one to look away.

Afterward, she'd told herself it wasn't a bad thing, to let him think she'd come out to see him off. If he believed that she was forming an attachment to him, it would stroke his male pride. His absence had earned her a reprieve, but Bree was walking on a knife-edge now—one misstep and she'd tumble.

It was mid-afternoon before Bree got any time alone.

Mirren had gone down to retrieve clean clothes from the laundry. The lass would be busy for a while, sorting and folding.

Even so, Bree moved swiftly. Crossing to her trunk, she dug down to the bottom, retrieved her leather pouch, and extracted a silver acorn. These were precious in Sheehallion, for silver oaks were rare. Shee royalty had always used silver acorns to send important, and private, messages.

Seating herself on the closed trunk, she held the acorn in her upturned palm and breathed upon it, whispering the charm. "Open to me, dear one … so that I might tell you my secrets. "

A heartbeat passed, and the outer husk of the acorn unfurled, like the wings of a moth, waiting for Bree's message.

"The chief-enforcer rides north to the Goatfell Mountains," she murmured. "He travels with a company of twenty warrior-druids. There has been unrest … it appears the Circines tribe is involved. If you wish to intercept the enforcers, the opportunity is there." Bree paused before adding, "There are fears that the druidic bloodlines are failing … the High King is desperate for all druids to bear offspring, but especially the enforcers."

Her heart skipped a beat then. She wasn't sure what Mor would do with these details, but she was well overdue for her first update. For the moment, it suited Mor that the chief-enforcer lived, so he could give up what he knew to Bree. But, even if he died, would that mean the job was over? Could she go home?

Don't get ahead of yourself. Mac Brochan's widow wouldn't likely be cast from the broch. She could still be the Raven Queen's eyes and ears here.

Her pulse stuttered once more, and Bree's mouth thinned. For some reason, the thought of mac Brochan never returning to Duncrag unsettled her. It shouldn't—she should rejoice. Meanwhile, the silver acorn closed in on itself, sealing her message within.

Ignoring the uneasiness that still pitched within her, Bree rose to her feet, the acorn clasped in her hand, and left the chief-enforcer's alcove.

As she'd done at dawn, she made her way up onto the walls, but, this time, she walked to a scheduled spot on the eastern ramparts, where pigeons cooed, that looked out at where the River Lethe widened as it headed toward the sea. The morning's mist had burned off, and sunlight glittered off the water. Her gaze traveled to the willows growing upon the riverbanks, far below, their foliage bright green with new growth.

The distance was too great, and her mortal eyesight too weak, for Bree to spy anything perched there—yet Mor had assured her that Eagal would sit among the trees during daylight, awaiting news.

Glancing around, Bree made sure that no one was watching her. There were no sentries in this section. She was safe.

She drew in a deep breath then before letting out a low caw. It hurt her throat to make the sound—one that had come so easily to her in her Shee form—but she managed it. The caw carried through the still afternoon air, over the thatched and sod roofs of the cottages that tumbled down the crag below her.

She then waited.

A short while later, a large raven appeared, winging its way from the willows, in a wide arch toward the broch that perched atop the promontory. The raven was bigger than most, its feathers a deep blue-black that gleamed in the sunlight.

Eagal swooped down then, landing lightly atop a post just a few feet from Bree.

Mor's messenger fixed her with a hard, glassy gaze, and despite that she'd seen the bird several times over the years, Bree suppressed a shudder. ‘Eagal' meant ‘Fear', and he was aptly named. The bird had a way of looking at you that stripped away your defenses.

All the same, Eagal was her first contact with home in well over two turns of the moon.

Bree's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a heavy weight settling upon her chest as longing for Sheehallion, with its soft air and bright skies, barreled into her.

You can't go home yet … not until you discover something of real use .

The reminder was a sobering one. Pulling herself together, she opened her eyes. Then, glancing around to ensure she wasn't being watched, she stepped forward, offering Eagal the silver acorn upon the palm of her hand.

The raven fixed her with a beady stare for an instant longer before he plucked the acorn up. And then he was airborne once more, swooping east. No doubt, he was flying toward Deeping, the barrow nearest to Duncrag.

Bree watched him go, her pulse racing.