by Scott, Amber
Quinlan strode back to the hovel with materials to build a small fire, warmth to keep a few hours at best. He’d be back afore then, with Breanne’s instructions, if not herself, in hand. He rapped on the thick wood, listening for movement. Two soft voices carried through. Two women. Hushed. Hurried.
The door opened and he pushed his way in, arms laden and damned tired. “Did yer friend awake, then?”
“She’s not lucid. I can’t understand what she’s saying.”
“Not surprising.” He set the load to the hearth and built a bed of peat and stack of wood, eyeing the sleeping form. “What did she say?” he asked, glancing up at Ailyn, whose eyes widened.
“Nonsense. Incoherent nonsense.”
Not good. He’d seen men go mad from battle wounds. He struck a piece of flint down onto the small chunk of steel, skating the glowing specks at the peat. Something felt off, though. Was Ailyn lying? He felt she must be, but to accuse as much would only push the lass deeper into her distrust of him. And to what end? What the woman said wasna his concern. Quinlan shook off the urge to prod and focused on the flint and sparks, blowing flames to life.
At last, he rose.
She backed up a pace, her hands in fists she might not even be aware of yet seeing them irked him. He pushed back the ire.
“I’ll be leaving you here. But I’ll return with a healer for your friend. I cannot force you to stay, the storm might, but I ask you to stay, regardless. Your friend isna fit for travel.”
Something akin to pain flitted over her eyes. Again, she jerked her chin as a nod.
“I’ve not been in here in years. I dinna ken what you’ll find, but you’re welcome to whatever you do. Just take care. King Niall’s former Druid made his home here, and he met an untimely death.” His hands took over where explanation ran dry, gesturing in circles. “Blankets and clothing are all I mean.”
“Thank you,” she said, which took him aback.
The words were not easily spoken. She more gritted them out than spoke them. And yet they pleased him, soothing his ire. Enough that he found himself speechless again, simply meeting her eyes, wondering who she was, why she’d come to cross his path this night. Thunder cracked overhead. The wind whined. Quinlan left Ailyn and faced the stormy night.
Hearing her latch the bar gave him the small comfort of knowing she was able to follow instructions. Hysterics would undo her, and he knew not what stock she came from. With such delicate features, such pale, creamy skin, he likened her to be from the south, perhaps she’d come by the sea itself.
On foot, the trek to Breanne’s home just outside the keep, might take an hour. He set to a running pace, feeling the storm drawing ever closer. Dampness hung in the air, clinging to his skin. His stomach growled. His energy waned. Ailyn’s frightened eyes flashed through his mind again and again.
Her fear wasna akin to a caged animal. It was unlike most fear he’d witnessed in his life and battling at Wallace’s side had exposed him to a breadth of range in human fear. Ailyn’s fear had a specificity to it that niggled his mind, making him puzzle over it. It wasna him, nor the wolf, and he suspected neither did her fear hang over the wounded woman. There was more.
A full downpour hit, forcing him to give up his pace. Within seconds, Quinlan was soaked to the bone. He had to seek cover. He cursed over the lost minutes that would quickly become hours, but the inky dark and rain left him no choice. Stumbling through the haze, he found shelter under a tree. He’d have to stay put under the copse of branches or gamble three lives on making it to Breanne’s.
He prayed he would not end up being too late.
~
“Kristoph,” Maera murmured.
Ailyn’s pulse leapt. The man’s name felt like a grip on her throat, drawing memories to the surface she’d fought to bury. The queen’s aide. Liar. Manipulator. The man who nearly stole Ailyn’s virtue one rainy afternoon in a narrow alcove just outside the queen’s bedroom. Ailyn hugged her waist, leaning in to hear Maera better as she murmured in her sleep.
She laid her hand on her princess’ arm. Her skin was so cold. “Kristoph? Maera, what are you saying?”
Her eyes shot open. The deep green orbs struggled to focus on Ailyn’s face. “Is he gone?”
“Who?” Kristoph? Quinlan?
Maera closed her eyes a moment. Her hand reached for Ailyn. She took it. Maera’s cold, trembling hold hearkened the memory again. Ailyn’s throat constricted. As though Kristoph held her by it, the cold stone wall barring escape, his breath too sweet-smelling, his face so close to hers.
You are mine. His words yet echoed.
His hands had roved her face, down her throat, a finger pausing to feel the heartbeat at her jugular.
“Mine,” he’d said, tapping her pulse.
Her brown-blooded skills couldn’t unravel the magick he’d bound her unmovable with. She could not scream. She could not even whimper.
Maera squeezed her hand, bringing Ailyn back to the present.
“Ailyn,” she said, worry in her tone. She glanced about. “Oh no, Ailyn! You followed me. Don’t you understand? You cannot be here!”
“Too late, Maera. I am here. And you’re hurt.”
Maera’s hands went to her stomach. “How badly? Is there blood?”
“Aye. Blood aplenty, but how badly I dinna ken.” Frustration with her princess climbed up her ribs. “The man who saved you will return with a healer. Your wings, Maera. They’re torn, possibly broken.”
Maera shook her head, vehement. “My wings dinna matter. You must leave, Ailyn. You must return through the veil.”
“Not without you.” The veil was gone. Ailyn shook her head. “I’ll not leave your side again. Twice this night, I’ve done so and regretted it. Whatever it is you’re after here, surely your kingdom canno’ be worth such risk.”
“Do you think I’d have done this had I any other choice? I am here because my kingdom is worth my very life. More than my life.” She tried to sit up, winced with the effort then lay back down with a groan. She ran her hands over her face and sighed. “Ailyn, as your liege, I order you. Leave here. At once.”
Ailyn stood, anger ebbing up her chest, warming her cheeks. She placed her hands on her hips and stared Maera down. “Or what?” she asked.
Chapter Six
For almost an hour, Quinlan had sat crouched in the cold wetness, his teeth a-chatter, when a faint glow in the distance sent his neck hairs standing. He shifted his weight, squinting into the darkness.
The faint glimmer of light drew nearer.
Ailyn? Had she tried to follow? How could she keep a flame lit in this deluge? Och, curses. ’Twasn’t Ailyn at all. Long before her wide belly came into view or her pale, sodden curls caught the candle’s light to confirm his suspicions, Quinlan knew in his bones that Breanne had come for him.
“Ho, there!” he called, hurrying out to meet her and guide her to his pitiful shelter. Daft females! “Breanne.”
“Quin? Oh, blessed be! I was beginning to fear my vision was a dream after all, and for naught; or worse, that I’d come too late.”
“Too late?” He took her by the elbow, resisting the urge to shake her arm. “What fool errand could be worth risking the babe for? I’m doubting yer husband would approve of you venturing into a storm.”
“I take offense to that. Ashlon knows better than to keep me like a pet, Quinlan. You’ll mind the same, should you ever lose your heart to a strong-minded woman. Mark my words.” She brushed off his help and neatly bypassed the tree that was his shelter.
“Ah, he isna home. Is he?”
She jutted her chin higher. “Not important. What is important is that we get back to Heremon’s at once. That is where you’ve come from, is it not?”
He shook his head. He’d long ago learned that when it came to Breanne, there was only so much explanation, and simple acceptance went a long way for his own equanimity. “Breanne, the storm hasna let up. We’ll be waiting it out.”
She shook h
er head, handing him the candle, which immediately went out. “We canno’ wait. She needs my help, Quin. Or she’ll die.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, with enough emotion that he wondered what else could be at stake. Breanne dug in a satchel slung over her shoulder. She retrieved two blankets. “These will help. The storm will pass. We’ll be fireside afore you know it.”
Nearly dropping the tallow, Quinlan caught the blanket she tossed at him and stared at her a moment, shaking his head. If she’d had a vision clear enough to find him, one that foretold of the woman who needed her, he’d have to trust she also knew they’d arrive safely.
“How far did you see, Breanne? Tell me you’ll be safe. And your babe.”
He got a shake of her beautiful head in answer. Blast! “So you think I’d risk my child for a stranger’s life, do you, Quin?”
He shook out the blanket and covered his head and shoulders with it. “Nay, I suppose you wouldn’t. Your husband would happily kill me otherwise.”
“Dinna believe such a thing, Quinlan. Ashlon would merely beat you to a pulp. I warn you, though. I’ll see this through, no matter if you join me. Let us waste less time and argue the matter as we walk, hmm?”
“Argue the matter later? After I’ve compromised your health and safety? Oh, I’m certain yer husband will most appreciate my cooperation then.”
“I told you. Ashlon knows better. He wouldna fight my coming here.”
“Aye, but he’d not let you trek through a storm alone.”
Breanne notched her chin up again in that stubborn way of hers, regarding him a moment in the dark. “The rain is letting up,” she said, her eyes twinkling with humor. “Far more is at stake than my child’s life, Quinlan. Aye, my husband will likely skin me over leaving tonight. If he finds out and if I’m to be skinned, I’ll be making it worth it. You’re either coming with me now or not.”
Short of tossing her rounded form over one shoulder and dragging her home, Quinlan saw little recourse. The least he could do was stay by her side and keep her safe. Ashlon wouldna be thanking him for it, what with Quinlan’s previous romantic notions for Breanne being no secret between them. “I’ll take you to her. But you’ll be telling me why, how, and all else along the way. Agreed?”
A wide smile broke over her face, revealing one dimple and a heart-stopping smile. “Aye. Agreed in tens, Quin.” She set off, calling over her shoulder, “Oh, and I’m to tell you that you’ll soon be an uncle again.”
Again? He caught up with her quick pace. The rain became a drizzle, and a hint of dawn colored the horizon between slender boughs of birch and ash. “What’s this? Dinna tell me Rose has herself with another bairn. Gah! Does that man of hers ever leave her be?”
His sister might as well be Breanne’s own sister, too; they were so close.
Breanne’s easy grin as they walked made the night’s strange events feel far away. Nigh surreal, truth be told. She chuckled, raindrops hitting her forehead and nose. “You’ll not want to be hearing that it’s yer sister who canno’ leave her husband be.”
He swiped a hand over his face, raking his damp locks. “Nay, the image will scald my mind and drive me to madness.”
Thunder echoed softly in the distance as the storm retreated beat by beat until naught was left but dawn’s light easing higher on the horizon, lighting the wet leaves and grass.
Breanne smiled warmly his way, taking his hand a moment and giving it a quick squeeze. Someday, that squeeze would not break his heart a little. She belonged to another, and while he’d long ago accepted they were not meant to be, the heart from his youth missed the idea. She’d done well. Ashlon was a man he well and truly admired and would do naught to dishonor. Quinlan pulled his hand away and made a fist in the blanket she’d given him instead. The air smelled of wet earth and heather and autumn. Aye, sweet autumn.
Quinlan wiped a hand through his wet hair as they headed back the way he’d come. His thoughts muddled. His bones ached. He’d like little more than a steaming bath and the nearest pile of straw.
Breanne’s face turned serious as they rounded a low hill. “Once we’re inside, Quin, I’ll need you to act as though you already know.”
“Know what?” They were getting close to Heremon’s.
She shook her head. “The dream wasna clear. I only know down in my belly that if you speak out against anything I say, bad things could happen.”
“Breanne, bad things already happened.”
She stopped short. “What does that mean?”
He kept his pace, regretting his loose tongue. “I merely suspect your vision and my night together will tell a story,” he called back to her. She wouldn’t be tolerating evasive answers. But now was not the time. And other answers were in short supply. “Your visions will probably tell you all you need.”
She chased to catch up with him. “My gifts dinna work that way, Quin.” She punched his bicep. “You sound worse than my own husband, you do.”
“Aye, and a wise man you married,” he teased. “What use are gifts if you canno’ control them?”
Och, that hit a nerve. Pregnancy made a woman react in the extreme. Suffering the same from his own six-times-blessed sister helped him see as much.
“Off with you, then.” She glared at him for several seconds, huffed, and turned on her heel dismissively. Her cloak billowed with each step, snagging here and there along the pathway until she yanked it free.
He’d never claim to understand her gifts or the Druid ways she studied for so many years now, but certainly she had some measure of control over her presages. “Breanne, you’ll tear your cloak if you keep trouncing away as you are.”
True enough, too. Every time she had to pause and yank, Quinlan’s mood brightened just a wee bit. A nice fit was what she was working herself into. “And we both know I’ll not be leaving you, Breanne.”
He caught up with her as Heremon’s old home came into view.
“You’re feeling downright feisty, Quin. Does this mean I have to bar you and your horse’s arse from the room, or will you do as I said?”
“I’ll shut my mouth and play along. But only because you’ve asked so nicely. Just tell me what it is to do, and I’ll be doing it.”
He glimpsed a tiny crack of a grin under her deep frown and knew he’d made amends. And just in time. They were at Heremon’s door. Breanne only paused for a breath before nodding to him.
Quinlan rapped his fist on the thick wood door. When no quick opening occurred, his stomach tightened. He’d not checked Ailyn for injuries. He’d felt sure she’d stay put. Mostly sure. Why wasn’t she answering? Breanne’s brow knitted. Her hands went to her belly.
“What is it? Are you well?” Quinlan asked and pounded on the door again, harder.
Breanne nodded. “Aye.”
But she looked ashen, and her gaze wavered. She shut her eyes a moment, her lips parting as she exhaled. When she opened her eyes, she nodded again. “Try through the rear,” she said. “Or the window there.”
“Is the babe coming?”
She shook her head, held her belly and braced one arm on the doorframe. “Hurry.”
Quinlan did, fighting back keen frustration over Breanne’s ability to go from teasing him one moment, and then to dire seriousness the next. He got to the back of the small home and tried the door. “God’s teeth!” Of course, the narrow rear door would sit unlatched. But were both women inside?
And were they safe?
“Ailyn?” he called, weaving through the happenstance layout of the small rooms.
A murmur came to his ears. He reached the hearth room where—Maera, was it?—stirred, trying to sit up.
The tightening in his gut shot up to his head. He unlatched the front door to let Breanne in, whose color had returned, brightening her cheeks to pink. She looked for all purposes that she’d just entered her own home in time to sup.
Maera scooted back, though, her eyes darting from Quinlan to Breanne, wary.
“You
’ve no cause for alarm,” he said.
Breanne approached her, palms open. “I’m a healer. I’ve come to help. May I?”
“Where’s Ailyn?” Quinlan asked, though deep down he knew the answer.
“Gone,” Maera said, nodding to Breanne, who knelt next to her and began feeling her face, arms, and belly.
“I canno’ believe she abandoned you,” Quinlan said, more to himself than to Maera.
“She did not abandon me.” Maera winced under Breanne’s touch. “I bade her to go.”
“Bade her?” Who was she to be sending her friend away? The cliffs. The wolf. The storm could return.
“Do you ken how distraught she was for your safety?”
Guilt flashed over the woman’s face. She ignored Quinlan, focusing on Breanne, who was glaring at him meaningfully. Aye, shut it, her eyes were telling him. Shut it as she’d asked. He’d not known just how difficult a matter it would be when he agreed, though.
“You have every right to your doubts, Your Highness,” Breanne said softly, hands steady above the woman’s belly.
Your Highness? Rights to doubt? Oh, that was too much for a man to keep his mouth shut over. But Breanne shot him another warning glance as he opened his mouth. Fed up, Quinlan snapped it closed and strode out the door. The morning light was piercing the storm clouds, sending the rain away. Quinlan scrubbed a hand over his face.
Where had Maera bade Ailyn to go? Why do such a fool thing?
Bah! He had no business caring about the lass or questioning about the one inside with Breanne. He’d known both for mere hours.
He’d been given a task and completed it. He should focus on what to tell his king, and how many details to share. Some were critical to relate to Niall O’Donnell. The cattle, the rite. Others might have him laughed out of the túath. Not every man believed the old ways now that Patrick’s Christ held many Irish hearts. He’d feel far better knowing that the lass was safe, though. Mayhap he should search for signs of where she’d gone. Mayhap, he should—