Irish Moon

by Amber Scott

  Had he been following her that day? How else could he have found her blade? Niall watched her fixedly. Breanne squirmed inside but met his gaze steadily.

  “I canno’ presume to guess at Shane’s motives in bringing you this or speculate why it’s delivery would cause you suspicion.” Her chin rose. “I will have it back, if you please, my lord.”

  Niall’s eyes narrowed on her. “My men searched Heremon’s by the light of day, Breanne. Among other curiosities, this knife was found, sheathed in the ground within a whispers distance of the departed’s front door,” he said in a furious whisper.

  Breanne’s mouth fell open. “Mark me, my lord, it is not possible. I left it on the ground as I said. Whomever brought violence upon Heremon, must have found my boline and left it apurpose.”

  “How did you come by this weapon?” He sat again and it eased some of her fear.

  “Heremon,” Breanne said and her voice trembled. “I have two matching knives. The one you held, I carry as protection. The other is my athame.”

  Niall sighed and scratched his head. “Where and how in the name of our lord did Shane know it to be yours?”

  Breanne shook her head from side to side, slowly. Shane MacSweeney might gaze upon her now and then but in all her days, they’d spoken no more than a handful of occasions. “I canno’ guess, my lord.” She took a shaky breath. “I do not know. Mayhap the two are independent of one another?”

  Niall considered this, tapped the arm of the chair with a thick finger.

  “Is it possible he’s heard of my being the one who found Heremon? Could he be begging off upon hearing such tittle-tattle?” Breanne knew it was a reach, but took it, desperate to keep his questions away from that night and all the details she’d omitted. Omissions she didn’t trust herself to succinctly recall under this level of duress.

  Niall winced, a small crinkling formed around his eyes. “I will look into it.” He sounded appeased.

  Breanne slouched a bit, the pressure and fear dissipated by his words and tone. For a moment, she thought he might be set on accusing her of Heremon’s death. If he did so, her only help would be from a talking cat she hadn’t seen since yesterday morn or a sick stranger she hadn’t returned to assess. The former would likely show up bedraggled with splotches of memory loss. The latter could be roaming the countryside.

  When Ula had whispered the summons to her an hour prior, Breanne had prepared herself to ask for more time to choose a husband given the recent tragedy. Now, as she watched Niall puzzle over his erroneous conclusions, eyeing her in turns but remaining uncomfortably silent, she cared less about marriage than ever before.

  She would marry a mule rather than face that tone and look of betrayal again. But, he’d believed her and was all she cared for.

  “I should have inspected the area myself,” he said. “Third hand information muddies waters that would have been clear had I studied the area firsthand.” He seemed to address himself more than her. “I propose I shall do just that at the earliest I may.”

  “My lord?” Breanne hoped she’d misconstrued his ramblings.

  Niall looked up at her as though suddenly recalling she still sat in wait for his dismissal.

  “Notwithstanding, Breanne. MacSweeney is no longer a suitor and as you did not know of his intention originally, there will be no remorse for lack of interest now, do you hear?”

  Breanne nodded. Bowed and retreated, she exhaled loudly and the exasperated sound echoed off the corridor walls. At least he’d not asked she swear by her statements. The lord surely would have struck her down for taking his name so vainly under the guise of protection. She entered her chamber and strapped the returned weapon to her thigh.

  If Niall chose to investigate Heremon’s personally, how much time did she have to remove the stranger, she ruminated? Two days and nights had passed since last she saw him. She had left the note along with provisions. Might he be well and gone? Breanne’s belly flipped. She would likely not see him again if he left.

  The afternoon clouds dimmed the sunlight. She could not wait until nightfall. If she went to him, it needed to be soon. In the years she’d known him Niall did not practice procrastination.

  Breanne went to her window and measured the drop below. At least four cubits, she estimated, to the ground. Luckily, her narrow window faced the rear of the keep and the bailey there generally sat empty. If she missed the evening meal, her mother would look in on her. Unless….

  She eyed her bed a moment then stuffed the plump covers with three gowns, shaping them to look like a sleeping form. Satisfied, Breanne nodded at her handiwork. Now all she needed was an accomplice. Only one name came to mind among those she could implicitly trust. He was one person Ula would not distrust, who would also not question her, nor try to dissuade her.

  Ula secretly spoiled the boy like a grandchild but without any signs of public affection or approval. Danny had seemed to learn early her mother played by rules with him. Breanne never wondered at the private affection, what she saw as respect for his mother’s role. Danny’s mother loved him to the moon and stars and back again. Breanne kept her affection discreet at first as well, following her mother’s lead but soon realized she didn’t need to.

  That boy was loved and coddled by so many women, the one that ended up with his heart would have extreme standards to live up to. Breanne hurried before she changed her mind about embroiling the boy in her well-meaning deceit.

  She descended the stairs two at a time and spotted Danny right away. As she made her way to him though, Rose called to her from the Grianan entrance. Breanne stopped, torn between her plan and appearing suspicious to her friend. Danny’s attention was rapt in play with a boy two years senior. Elias, she believed was his name. Rose beckoned.

  Breanne hid her defeat as best she could and walked to Rose. The youngest of Rose’s four girls sat upon her wide hip inside the doorway. When she saw Breanne, Kimber reached for her gleefully. “Beene,” she said, one of the six words the toddler knew.

  How could she feel overly disappointed with such a welcome? Breanne took the child to her, smooching her chubby cheek noisily.

  “So?” Rose looked at her expectantly. “What did the auld Donnell have to tell you this time?” she whispered.

  Breanne followed her into the room, gaining a few glances from the other women busy spinning, sewing, mending. The other children paid her little mind, though Rose had another older girl, Sheena, at her hip straight away.

  “Nothing of import,” she whispered back as they sat in Rose’s usual corner. Breanne adjusted Kimber on her lap.

  “Do you have to keep all of it to yourself, then? Every last bit. Can’t you spare a wee bit for my hungry ears?”

  Breanne smiled at her dramatic tone. Ryan must be out scouting, for she only got this way when he first left her. She wished she could unload some of her burden on Rose. “Shane MacSweeney is no longer interested in asking for my hand,” she said low, with a shrug.

  Rose inhaled sharply and Breanne stifled a guffaw at her friend’s greedy curiosity. “He was at a time then? Interested in you?”

  “Aye, apparently. But, he’s changed heart just today.” She retrieved a tunic to fold from the basket at Rose’s feet.

  “Whatever for?” Rose asked sounding both awed and defensive. “Does he think he’s such a catch, then?”

  “I care not, Rose. I’m happier for it. Two others are plenty to handle with all else happening of late,” Breanne said and too late realized she’d not yet told Rose of the other two.

  Rose’s accusatory look proved she’d caught the juicy tidbit quicker than a fly in a web. Kimber scampered from Breanne’s lap at the sight her mother’s expression.

  “And who might the other two fellows be?”

  Breanne was trapped. She almost felt good about being cornered into spilling some of the information brimming in her brain. Her stomach tightened despite the bright thought.

  “Gannon O’Shannon for one,” Breanne said, th
en waited in hopes that one name would be enough food to tide her friend over.

  “Truly? Gannon?”

  “Aye,” she answered, not liking the amused tone in her friend’s voice. “I’ve yet to hear it from him, but Niall has spoken for him.”

  “But, Bree, he is so young and so,” Rose said, stammering a bit. “So, well, skinny. Although, they do say he carries all his muscle in his britches.” She wriggled her eyebrows.

  Breanne’s face colored red. “Rose,” she exclaimed.

  “Come now. Tell me you do not wonder about some of them,” Rose said. “A husband is a lover, Breanne. Don’t you wonder what to expect? A big man is a treasure. That, I promise.”

  Breanne covered her face and shook her head. “Do not tell me, Rose. We may speak of any man but Ryan.”

  “Admit to it then,” Rose said, half-laughing.

  “Admit to what?” Breanne’s hands moved to her ears, ready to plug them if Rose said another word about Ryan or his britches.

  “To spying on the soldier’s at bath with me when we both were still girls. To playing the games of guessing that we played. Admit that you’re not the prude I suddenly see sitting before me simply because you’ll finally be taking a man to your bed.” Her voice threatened to rise with each word so that all the other women heard her lewd talk.

  “Yes, I wonder,” Breanne said in a hiss. “But not of your husband.”

  “Well, I should hope not. If I’m catching another woman on my husband’s prick, it better not be you.” The seriousness in Rose’s stare betrayed her easy laugh.

  “Do you worry of it, Rose?”

  “I think not, Bree. Back to the subject at hand, Gannon’s girth.” She paused so they both could giggle. “If he can claim the prowess I’ve heard speak of, then I claim he’ll do well by you.”

  “And where do you hear such speak?”

  “Breanne, my dear friend, you’ve had your nose buried so deep these last years, you’ve forgotten the richest source of information is right here, surrounding you.”

  Breanne tipped her head in acknowledgement. What Rose pointed to was true. She had not been a part of this inner circle for some time, always off to a lesson or practice. No more. She no longer had reason to shirk contribution to the household.

  “He’s more than a healthy prick, I hope,” Breanne said seriously.

  “Let’s consider,” Rose said, equally sober. “He is a scribe and so is an artist and a scholar which I believe would suit you well.”

  “Aye, but what of my holdings? Can he protect them, or me for what is relevant? Can he hold an axe and wield death?”

  “But, you’ve said you do not wish to have such a man. Why you’ve kept my brother from his intentions to train in the gallowglass with your fervor.”

  By some means, they’d reached the very person Breanne hoped to avoid. Mentally cursing, Breanne tried another approach. “I want both. I want a man who can protect but who does not crave bloodshed.” As her father had.

  “I fear they all do. Even the docile one’s like Gannon thrive on lust. Lusting us or lusting war, either seem sufficient.”

  “Then I’ll have to keep his attention on lusting me,” she said and they both smiled. If only ‘twere so simple as that, she knew. Ten years without a raid on Tir Conaill after so many of clashing with the O’Doherty clan to the north or Norman’s seeking a new country, were wonderful.

  But, the clansmen sought out what didn’t arrive at their door. Less than three sennights past, a group had lifted cattle from the McRoarty’s to the south.

  “I’ll not touch on it until you do, but I’m not sure how much longer I can wait,” Rose said after a moment of silence between them.

  Breanne frowned, hesitated to ask. But did. “Touch on what?” She reached for another stocking from the basket.

  “My brother.”

  Breanne looked down, busied her hands by searching for holes needing mending. “He kissed me,” she said. She couldn’t look up though Rose’s silence disconcerted her.

  “Aye, I know. A disaster you’d say?”

  Breanne couldn’t believe the rush of relief and sadness that flooded her when she nodded and lifted her head. Tears welled in her eyes. “Aye,” she whispered. “Disastrous indeed.” One hot salty drip ran down her cheek. Rose reached for her, wiped it dry.

  “Ahh now, none of that now. There’s naught to cry for. Quinlan will not shed a tear, I’ll promise you that.”

  “Likely, you’re right.”

  “I am right. He spoke of it yesterday as though relating the daily reports on the stables. ‘Twas like a job he needed improvement on but sounded certain he could perform better next time.”

  Breanne gasped, horrified. Was the kiss as meaningless as all that to him? Rose must have guessed her thoughts. “He’s practical, Breanne. It is not to say he lacks passions, but that he doesn’t easily shirk a challenge.”

  She didn’t respond, focused on getting her tears under control before any more fell. The confession was so cathartic that Breanne struggled to keep the rest of her burdens atop her back.

  “You’ve loved him for so long, Bree. I thought you would be happy to hear it, to know your fairy prince may still come true.” Rose put her hand on Breanne’s. “Don’t fret about it now. There’s plenty of time to choose, and remember, the choice is yours and only yours.”

  The missing weight of worry offered enough liberation that remaining beleaguering felt intelligible for the first time.

  “Quinlan speaks of the women abroad, women who are given as property, that have no say in their own fate.” Rose leaned in. “You and I should feel privileged. They may war and lust, but we may choose for ourselves which lusty, bloodthirsty clod we take in union.”

  More than one glance their way made Breanne feel like more of an outsider. She should leave, relinquishing Rose’s attention on her back to them. “Was it so complicated for you and Ryan?”

  “Oh aye. Plenty. Love seems to enjoy complications,” Rose said, looking about the room. “Now then, I’d better be joining the ladies before they pact against us and poison our ale.”

  With a kiss and hug she left Rose, offering a broad smile to the other ladies along with a polite farewell. Not one smile back could be counted as sincere. She promised to stay longer next time and gladly shut the door behind her. Perhaps she would return above to her chamber?

  She’d barely sighed her relief when Quinlan stepped in view. Though he held no flowers, his eyes held the promise of a proposition. Recalling what Rose had said, Breanne stood her ground. And there was too little space of time or distance to bolt.

  Lord the man was beautiful. Nearly pretty with his auburn hair and deep brown eyes smiling at her now, firm mouth struggling to find words.

  “Would you take some air, perhaps a ride with me, Breanne?”

  “A ride sounds lovely,” Breanne said. And, surprisingly it did. It might help soothe her harried mind.

  His smile widened and his heels popped him happily up. “I’ll bring two around, then?”

  And he did. Not ten minutes later they rode down the hill. Storm clouds draped the afternoon sky in gray. A blustery wind iced their cheeks red and felt good. The somber tone of Heremon’s burial two days prior left her, the strangeness of the week past, as well, seemed to sweep away with the wind, leaving Breanne sparked with vigor.

  When they reached the bowl of green valley, she returned Quinlan’s bright smile readily. “Thank you for this invitation. An excursion is exactly what I needed.”

  “It is my pleasure to share it with you, Breanne. And if I may say, you look like yourself again.”

  “I expect I’ve not quite been myself Quin. More than you might believe, I have been out of sorts, thrown by recent events.” She brought her white mare up in stride with his. The taller bay nickered softly and Quin gave him his head.

  “I fear I owe you an apology, Breanne.” Quinlan cleared his throat.

  Breanne winced. “Shall we ride much fur
ther? It feels like a downpour may be on the way inland.”

  He shook his head. “Allow me to finish, Bree. I ‘ave no easy time saying what I must to you.” His Adam’s apple moved down as he swallowed.

  Breanne’s stomach squeezed. “Aye, Quinlan.”

  “If my intentions have not been clear, may they be so now. I am of a mind to win your hand in marriage. I am aware of the new discomfort between us and I take full blame for it. Please know that I count you as a friend, my closest and dearest.” He swallowed again. They veered southeasterly between two hills and through the edge of woods.

  “I hold our friendship very dear also,” she said, his silence prodding her.

  He chuckled. “Breanne. I was not finished.”

  She had the good grace to blush.

  “I am full aware of competition for your affection and will not be daunted by a bit of competition. Considering, the incident in the corridor, I offer my apology and assurance that I will insinuate no other such intimacies unless I have first asked and gained your permission.” The ocean, the cliffs, came into view.

  Breanne waited, not sure he had finished though his attention seemed caught by the scene before them. The tide pushed forward in tall, foamy waves. The sky was steel colored, textured with heaps of cloud.

  “Was it near here?”

  Breanne knew his meaning and nodded once. She pointed and his gaze followed. Heremon’s roof top showed among the trees, peeking around the curve of a low hill the man had once claimed to be a sidhe, a fairy mound, in fireside conversation after three too many ales.

  Quinlan clucked his bay to a trot. Breanne followed, panic rising. She tried to quell the sudden shaking coursing through her veins by reminding herself she’d left the man well, prepared. He might be gone and if not, surely hidden well as she’d made quite clear he must be until she could return.

  She had been so rapt in Quinlan’s speech, she had failed to recognize how close they were to the dwelling. Breanne urged her mare after him. “We should return to the keep,” she called loudly at Quinlan’s back as he brought his steed short in front of the door. But, his stare was on the ocean.