by Amber Scott
“I meant to pay a visit to you three days past, Gannon,” Breanne said. “But I was buttonholed by my mother’s husband to be.”
He met her gaze openly. “A pity. I’d have enjoyed your company though I must say I mightn’t have been verra good for it myself. The abbot has me right busy of late.” He leaned in. “He’s all afluster for the arrival of a relic.”
“A relic?” Rose asked.
“Not so loud, my lady,” Gannon said and winked at Breanne. “The arrival is known by no one. In truth, I only know of it accidentally and of my own conclusion.”
The twinkle in his eye had Breanne ready to kick him under the table for pulling their legs. A relic, of all things, to arrive in Tir Conaill.
“I mean no jest, Breanne—your pardon—Lady O’Donnell. As logically as one and one forming two, I’ve concluded and found out the Abbot’s secret.” Gannon winked again and Breanne saw that the twinkle wasn’t from amusement so much as pride. “You would draw the same conclusion I think.”
“Breanne,” she said. “Please, call me Breanne.”
“Aye. Breanne.” They exchanged a conspiratorial smile that had Rose’s eyebrows lifting skyward.
Breanne widened her eyes at her friend. Not a word, she silently warned but saw that Rose’s reaction was not due to Gannon and her exchange at all. Something else held her friend’s attention.
Rotating in her seat, Breanne scanned the hall for the source of her friend’s sudden, “Oh my. Would you look at that.” Quinlan bowed to Niall some fifteen heads down at the next table. Niall stood. Together they took to the entrance as Quinlan obviously bent his ear to some issue. The two men stopped short of the entrance, under the arcade of carved arches that led to the doors.
Niall reached a meaty hand forward and the motion of a dozen more heads followed, peering. With one step, he came out of shadow and into light. The knight she left not an hour ago safe, hidden, well, knelt before Niall O’Donnell. Of all the turned heads, none were as captivated as Breanne.
And why should they be? A stranger joining the hall to dine was not uncommon. Niall was well renowned for his left arm being longer than his right, that his was among the most hospitable kinships in all of Ulster.
“He’s a handsome one, that. Remind me Bree of how well I love my Ryan?”
Breanne couldn’t speak. How—why was he here? And bathed and dressed and smiling like no man in his recent condition or circumstance should.
“I’ll bet you a sennight of laundering he’s kin,” Rose said at her back.
Breanne stood, balled her fists, then realized she only gained unnecessary speculation and sat back down equally fast. Did this man have a wish to die? Was he mad?
“Are you well, Breanne?” Gannon asked.
“Aye,” she said. “Adjusting my skirts is all.” Breanne focused on the young face looking eagerly back at her, banishing the other one, his, from her mind.
“Are you certain? Yer face is flushed red as an apple’s skin. Do you need to take some air?”
Breanne shook her head, her mouth tight, and smiled. “A bit thirsty, perhaps.” She drank a long gulp of ale. Better. So long as she didn’t turn around, finished her meal in short time, she should be able to conceal the riot of emotion within her.
* * * *
Ashlon spotted her long before she turned around, curiously looking about. And he didn’t miss the expression of horror when he’d kneeled before the local king, Niall O’Donnell. She must think him quite arrogant to have disregarded her wishes, warnings, and arrived here.
But, he counted himself as lucky, not arrogant. From the moment he set sail as passenger on the merchant ship from Spain to Scotland, luck had followed him. Luck of the Irish, Jacques would have said, often did when Ashlon’s life went right in the most wrong of circumstance, though his blood ran English tracing back as far as could be traced.
Ashlon had set foot outside the cave with a full belly and a mind to explore, map in hand. By good chance, Quinlan Blake came upon him without menace and brought him directly here, to the very man De Molay had instructed Ashlon find should anything go awry.
Awry seemed too weak a descriptor for his mislay. But, with resources such as Niall O’Donnell at his avail, Ashlon wouldn’t feel defeated quite yet.
In quick order, he was bathed, his garments seen to and freshened, and brought to dine. Yes, luck was his companion of late and he hoped it would not end now.
“You are welcome at my table, Sir Sinclair under one condition. My men and I will hear of your journeys and particularly of that which brings you to our tuath.” Niall clasped his hand with both of his, gave it a sturdy shake that matched his nod.
“My eternal gratitude, my lord. Though I have little adventure to tell.”
“Nonsense. We all have tales and if it is true then we’ll count on the bards William and Wallace for our imaginations’ delight.”
“Again, I thank you, sir. And you as well, Master Blake.”
Ashlon stole a glance her way as the two men seated him and themselves among the two rows of scarred and bearded men. One by one each were introduced to him. A nod here, a good shake there, lineage and relationships explained so well that by midway through, Ashlon struggled to recall even the first man’s identity.
She kept her head down and her back to him. Good. No reason to raise suspicion or cause a scene. She clearly wished to be rid of him back at the cave and he would honor both her request for silence and divestment. Leastwise, he would once he got her alone and showed her what he’d found.
Chapter Nine
Breanne didn’t mind being the first to arrive in the Grianan. Actually thought it might behoove her, demonstrate eagerness on her part. But when an hour passed with no other woman joining her, she began to think she’d chosen badly. But she had naught else to do. Rising with the dawn had become such a habit as a child, it stuck.
When Heremon was alive, she’d fill her mornings with study, transcribing notes and potions into her Grimoire, ornamenting the pages with drawings. Being in her room for those hours every day, she thought by the noisy activity outside, that the entire household rose early as well.
Re-braiding her hair a third time, Breanne guessed it to be nearing the seventh hour. She didn’t dare leave or poke her nose out the doors to look for another female soul. If she did, she might run into him. Twice yesterday and four times the day before, she’d found herself in his vicinity and had to reroute not only her path but her schedule, as well.
Finn had stopped speaking to her after three more failed rituals. Being unable to go outdoors unescorted made Breanne feel like a trapped animal, too.
So, she came here, the only room Ashlon Sinclair couldn’t follow her to other than her own. Sir Sinclair. She swore the man was utterly daft. From the fever mayhap. His name seemed to be on everyone’s lips, so fascinating were his tales over mealtime.
She for one, cared not, was glad not to have suffered what was likely to be tall tales of grand chivalry. A knight. But, no gentleman, to be sure. What kind of chivalry kissed a woman like he had her?
When the door swung open, din from the hall carried and followed Rose inside. Breanne beamed.
“In St. Brigit’s name, where have you been all morning Rose? I thought I might perish waiting for you and the other women.”
Rose looked up, startled. “What are you doing here, Bree? Have you lost your way?” she said, recovered.
“If I’m marrying, I had better be acquainted with the ways of running my household. So, I’ll be spending my time here among the fairer, my peerage, learning.”
Rose’s eyebrows drew together. She grinned. “Who are you hiding from, then? Niall? O’Shannon?”
“Neither. Is as I’ve said, naught else. I thought you would be pleased.”
“Your mother will be, for certain.” In a burst, the door opened again and Rose’s girls stormed the room. Kimber went straight to Breanne on sight. The others greeted her and went about their fairy make believe.
Rose sat next to her with a huff. Her eyes were puffy, dark circled. “Have you not slept well, Rose?”
“I have. Slept like the dead but can’t seem to get up and about. Exhausted is what I am.”
“Are you feeling well?”
“Tired is all.” She yawned. “Whenever Ryan is off, I feel more worn than when he’s home. The help he is with the girls, I imagine.”
“Shall I make you something to help?”
“Ah, no. I’ll be fine, you’ll see. Sheena, none of that now. We speak like ladies, don’t we?” Sheena’s cheeks reddened and she covered her mouth when she nodded. “Kimber, play with your sisters and let Breanne be for now.”
“She’s fine, really.”
Rose helped the little girl down, kissed her cheek. “It’s not for your sake. It’s for mine. Little ears pick up big words and I have a favor to ask of you. But, first, let us move to my corner or Rhiannon will be steaming from her eyes discovering you in her chair. We can be as territorial as a buck in spring in here. Some would leave their mark if they could.”
Breanne chuckled at the image despite the kernel of worry for Rose. She looked more than sleepy. Three more ladies entered the room, chattering, pausing to give Breanne raised eyebrows then settled into their areas.
“Are you very schooled in herbs, Breanne? I know I’m callus and a poor friend indeed for never asking about your study before, and I’m hoping you’ll forgive me for it. It’s just that I have need to know now where, before I didn’t.” Rose tossed an unfinished embroidery piece onto Breanne’s lap. “It’s not that I’m only tired, Bree.”
Breanne’s mouth fell open. “What is it, Rose?”
Her friend jabbed the dull end of a needle into her hand. Breanne took the hint and plucked it through the cloth. Rose held a broad smile on her face while she spoke, cueing Breanne to follow suit.
The kernel expanded.
“Rose. You’re scaring me.”
She snorted. “No need to be scared. I’m with child is all. Well, I think I am. I’ll know for certain within a sennight or so.”
Breanne inhaled but clamped her mouth shut when Rose’s eyes pinned her with warning. She forced the smile back.
“Ryan, he wants a son so badly, a boy to rough and tumble, to pass his name. Men, they don’t feel like men without another prick in the home to prove it.”
“I canno’ foretell the gender so early as that, Rose. Not until midway through, and I’m not certain you should rely on my say as I’ve never done it afore.”
“You can tell me if it’s a boy?” Rose frowned.
“Aye, well, perchance. But, that is not what you were asking me, is it? Rose, what are you asking me?” The expansion of worry spread to her chest.
Rose lowered her gaze, the smile stuck. “Kimber is but a year and a half grown. I’ve had them all right behind the next and I love them more than my own life, more than anything, but Breanne, I feel beaten with this one.”
Breanne shook her head slowly. Not that. Rose couldn’t ask her to do that.
“You’ve no idea what it feels like, Bree. No better than a broodmare, I am.”
“Do you know what you’re saying, Rose? Have you lost all your senses?”
Rose shook her head, the smile barely moved when she spoke. “Is it better it kills me, leaves my girls without a mother, Ryan without a wife?”
Breanne saw the desperation glittering in Rose’s eyes and the worry inside of her became fear. “You’re right, Rose. I do not know. But, I do know that I may be able to help you so that you might make it through and if you do, you’ll not rue it.”
Rose shook her head still. Breanne’s words didn’t seem to penetrate her. “I want Ryan to have his boy and I know in my heart that this babe is male. Leave it to a man to exhaust me so, make me wait so long. Just like his father.” Her smile became tender. A tear slid down her cheek.
“Aye. A boy like his father. Rose,” she whispered. “Take a breath. My mother has come in.”
Within a breath, Ula spoke Breanne’s name and rushed to their corner. “Do I trust my eyes? My very own daughter, here, among us? Why, I haven’t seen you in here in the morning light since you were eleven years.”
Breanne returned Ula’s embrace. “It canno’ be such a shock as that, now. As you said, I will soon have my own household to run. Where better to prepare for it than here with all of you?” She spoke loudly and gained a few of the smiles she’d been soliciting with the remark.
Only Rose would see through it, she hoped, and Rose was under enough burden of her own that she might not press the matter.
“A splendid idea. Now, give me that. Embroidery was never your best talent and is a pleasure you’ll not have time for until your later years if your marriage is successful. And of course it will be. Here, why don’t we polish your spinning skills. Rhiannon, will you be a dear and help Breanne with her spinning this morning?”
Breanne glanced back at Rose, hoping she could see the promise to finish their conversation. Sheena stole Rose’s attention away before she could be certain, making her first spinning in four years time go even worse.
Sucking on her index finger, stuck for the second time, Breanne silently cursed Sir Sinclair and his mesmerizing kiss for forcing her into a punishment worth all her sins—women’s work.
* * * *
“Only a man with a wish for death will go through that door,” Quinlan’s distinct voice said.
Ashlon turned in its direction, head cocked. “Oh, and why is that Master Blake?”
“Quinlan, Sir Sinclair, if you please, and that is the Grianan. One must be of the fairer sex to enter though what man in his right mind would want to? A veritable nest of hens, clucking away all day long, that it is.”
“Grianan?”
“Aye, it is exclusive to the ladies of the clan. Built in the sunniest corner of any man’s castle, to keep them happy and out of our hair.”
Ashlon suppressed a laugh. Quinlan Blake had a lot to learn about women. But, who was he to point it out? “I am in search of his Highness, King Niall O’Donnell.”
“Allow me, good sir,” Quinlan said, without question.
Ashlon followed, feeling the pull to stay despite the young man’s warning. She could not remain in the room forever, though. Eventually, he would gain a private word with her, be able to steal a note her way. And meeting with Niall was an inevitable necessity.
The man seemed to talk in circles and Ashlon wondered from the start, sitting across from him at his table of men, if he’d injured his head during his spell of illness. No other appeared to have difficulty understanding Niall O’Donnell, but Ashlon struggled to find the man’s meaning at times. So, he’d put off the conversation in hopes that speaking with the girl, Breanne O’Donnell as Quinlan informed him yesterday, would end its need.
Quinlan rapped his knuckles on the ajar door. “Sir Sinclair to see his Royal Highness.”
Hearing Quinlan’s sarcasm followed by Niall’s guffaw, Ashlon prickled with annoyance.
“Send him in Quinlan. Send him in.” Niall approached the door, waving inward.
“Ashlon, my good man, I thought I told you we’re kin in these parts and none of this royal high and mighty hog’s farts around them, then? I eat with my men because I am a man. They’ve chosen me to lead and so I do but, it makes me no better a person in theirs, mine, or the good lord’s and goddess’ eyes now does it there?”
Ashlon pressed his lips together and bowed. They had appointed this man as leader? What could they, or Jacques, have been thinking in giving this man a grain of influence over their lives? Did he confuse his enemies to death?
“I’ve come to ask for a private audience with you, my lord, of a personal theme. At your pleasure and leisure, of course.”
“I will be pleasured now, Ashlon,” Niall said. “Come in, sit. But no more formalities, do I have your word?”
“As you wish, my lord.” Ashlon took the nearest seat and waited for Niall to join
him. When he did not, Ashlon proceeded with the dreaded inquiry. “I have been welcomed so well by your clan, my lord and wish to express my sincere gratitude as well as--.”
“It is our pleasure, Ashlon. You will soon be more Irish than we ourselves are Irish, so as the saying goes from the Normans, Gaels, Picts. We all love the land and it becomes a part of us like flesh on our bones. So much so that you’re willing to chew off another’s flesh to keep yours alive and well. So, I’d say Ashlon Sinclair that you should begin working up an appetite.”
Ashlon squinted, watched the man pace and gesture as he spoke. “Your land and people have been most giving. I am sure it is the very reason Jacques de Molay sent me to you.”
Niall nodded somberly, gaze held aloft by a high window. “I shall marry soon, Ashlon. I marry Lady Ula in less time than I can quite believe. It will be a grand celebration I promise you’ve never seen the likes of. Have you taken a wife yet?“
“No, my lord. In service of his holiness, I had not considered the possibility.” But that had not really been true for seven years. With exile and disbandment came a change in Ashlon’s prospects for the future that he didn’t allow consideration yet. A wife. A home. Until he ended this journey, neither were options.
“I have not. Ula will be my first and only wife. It is a strange thing to find life never really ends until it ends. Old is not dead you see. And old is me, Ashlon.”
Ashlon remained uncomfortably, impatiently, silent.
“Your friend is wise to recommend us to you. Now, then, what may I be of service to you this morn?”
“My lord?”
“Your wish to speak in privacy, Ashlon. Let us be on with it.” Niall’s gaze remained on the window, his hand wafted in the air.
“The Grand Master of the Knights of Solomon, the Templar Knights bade me come to your doorstep in my hour of need. Specifically, he gave your name as a person who would offer aid and trustworthiness in completing a task he set me to before his tragic death. I petition that aid now.”
“Ah, yes. I do know of tragedy, my good man. I do know of that.” His stare lowered. “I confess your friend was not only wise but careful, as well. Terrible betrayal that business. You will not be the first of your brothers to seek solace within Ireland’s long arms.”