Page 95 of Bound By Deception

None of the enforcers had been taken though, for they knew how to master terror. And Cailean did now.

Even so, he breathed easier when he reached the warded area. Swinging down off the pony’s back, he turned to where Skaal had halted beside him. “Stayhere,” he ordered, the rumbleof his voice cutting through the dawn chorus that chattered around him. The fae hound gave a low whine, and Cailean bent at the waist, lowering his face to Skaal’s. “This won’t be a battle between Marav,” he said, catching the dog’s chin. “Protecting the Shee is in your blood; I’ll not put you between us.”

He stared into the hound’s golden eyes. Of course, Skaal couldn’t understand him, yet sometimes the intelligence he glimpsed in her gaze made him believe she could. Skaal’s company had filled a void over the years; the sound of the hound’s snoring at night had made him feel less alone. She was all he had now, and he would not risk her in a fight between Marav and Shee. Whenever he’d hunted Shee over the past few years, he'd left Skaal back at camp—and, usually, she heeded him.

“Stay,” he repeated before straightening up and stepping away from the fae hound. Then, he turned and made his way through the trees toward the tents.

The absence of sentries immediately alerted him that something was wrong.

Shortly after that, the birdsong stopped, and an eerie silence settled over The Hallow Woods. Skirting around a cluster of leaning headstones that sprouted from the roots of a gnarled sycamore, Cailean slowed his step.

A moment later, he drew the sword that was sheathed across his back. The rasp of iron against leather sounded obscenely loud.

Cailean walked on, and when the first of the tents hove into sight, with no guards to be seen, his heart lurched violently against his ribs. When he’d left, he’d heard Euan chanting. But now there was nothing but pregnant silence.

Many of the tents had collapsed, and those that remained upright listed drunkenly. The smoke from dying torches blended with a wreathing mist. Cailean’s breathing grew shallow, and he summoned his magic. A moment later, his senses sharpened, and his limbs tingled, his fingers flexing against the hilt of his sword.

Cailean’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of crushed grass and cloying rose. He knew that smell well, had hunted it often enough over the years.

Shee.

He crept forward, his tattoos searing his skin as they pulsed to life. His muscles tightened, readying him for battle.

But there was no battle to be had. He’d arrived too late. The fighting had ended. The bodies of Marav men littered the damp ground, and if any Shee warriors had fallen, they’d been carried away.

Pulse thudding in his ears, Cailean walked through the ruin of the High King’s war band. Many men lay dead in their tents, while others, half-dressed, weapons in their hands, sprawled by the cold fire pits. And among the dead, he found his enforcers, including Tearlach. The warrior-druid lay upon his back, his throat torn open. Marking the grievous wounds of those scattered around him, Cailean realized they’d been vastly outnumbered. Even iron and druid magic hadn’t been enough.

Euan mac Gordain was among them. Staring sightlessly up at the trees, his mouth agape, the chief-bard had an ax buried in his chest.

Blood roaring in his ears now, Cailean kept moving, heading toward the heart of the camp, where the bodies were piled thick, to the pavilion where the prince had slept.

Unsurprisingly, Kennan was dead too.

Naked to the waist and barefoot, two knives still clutched in his hands, the prince sprawled face down at the entrance to his tent. His long dark hair fell in a curtain around him, soaking into a puddle of blood. Kneeling next to him, Cailean felt the prince’s neck, just to be sure. There was no pulse, although his skin was still warm.

He’d missed the ambush by only a short while.

Sitting back on his heels, Cailean surveyed the devastation.

Fire pulsed in his gut. Bree had warned him of a counter-ambush, but she had failed to tell him that it would come so early. Had she known? If she had, why hadn’t she told him?

To save you, a voice whispered to him.

Bile surged up, scalding the back of his throat.

Gods, the bitch could twist him around her little finger. And the worst of it was that he let her.

Instead of sending his deceitful Shee wife home—instead of lingering to watch her pass through the stones—he should have taken her prisoner and readied his men to face the Shee. After that, he’d have dragged her back to the High King and handed her over to him. A prize indeed.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he’d let her play him for a fool … again.

To be continued …