by Amber Scott
Ashlon leaned against the tree trunk and chewed dried meat. Conceivably, if he knew of her better, he could not only win her confidence, but her interest in his cause. For the more he contemplated his next move, the more her name came to mind. It was as though events were leading him to her.
“Where to begin?” Quinlan raked a hand through his hair and plucked a strand of grass. “Breanne and I were childhood friends, well, moreover she followed me like the plague until I gave in and paid mind to her and my sister, Rose. She’s quiet when she’s wary of you, but warm and adoring once you’ve won her.
“Rose and I were orphaned during an English assault. The clan pressed them back, but my father died in battle and my mother in protecting her babes. We were fostered at the keep, under my uncle’s care, then among Niall’s elite warriors.
“When my uncle died raiding cattle to feed the clan three winters later, Niall kept us on. He is who I thank for my opportunities abroad, as well.”
“He is a good man, a king better than any I’ve known.” Not greedy and imperious as his experience showed most nobles to be.
“Aye, that he is and would even do well as Ard-Righ, Ulster’s high king, but the O’Neill’s legacy of fearsome rulers will not see him there and Edward Bruce has an eye for it.” Quinlan shifted, tossed the shredded blade of grass. “Might we ride?”
Ashlon didn’t question the abrupt turn of mood, attributing it to the unnerving topic. Women were strange draws and his years of exile were the only blame for becoming intimate in their ways. Perhaps returning to horseback would help ease Quinlan back to their subject.
A few galloping strides brought them around a low hill and in view of the township.
“Breanne, my sister and I,” Quinlan said, “became constant playmates and confidantes and, I daresay, when my sister recently related Breanne’s affection for me, I was shocked.”
“You did not know she cared for you?”
“I knew she loved me well, aye. I did not know that she loved me in a way such as a woman does a man. What I took for sisterly affection, she held as wifely.” Each word chucked forth with the hit of hooves to earth.
“Do you tell me, Quinlan, that the Lady Breanne is in love with you?”
“Aye,” Quinlan said. “Rose blasted me with the admission one night after I had apparently rebuffed Breanne, and Rose reached her sisterly and friendly threshold. She hollered to the rafters about my dimwittedness and Breanne’s closed mouthedness.
“And your sister made clear that the Lady Breanne is in love with you?” Ashlon couldn’t have heard right, understood correctly. Not after the way she had looked at him last night, not when her lips had awakened such a hunger inside of him.
“Aye. Apparently, Breanne has held such affection for me for years and I had been blind to it. I never thought of her romantically. Until now. And my first attempts have been nothing short of dreadful. I blame my inexperience.”
Dreadful. Ashlon shouldn’t feel happy about that. He had no claim to the lady or desire of her aside from the physical. Certainly, he could not offer any honorable intentions for her, being an outsider, the country-less knight, youngest landless son with naught to offer in marriage. Nothing yet, he amended. Once this business was concluded with the missing chest, he would rectify the other less significant affairs.
“Breanne is the only child of Ula and Jock O’Donnell,” Quinlan continued, unaware of Ashlon’s regard. “Her father died as mine did, but in protecting Niall’s life instead a year previous. The English were a plague on us for some time back then. Jock was a good man, was named as Niall’s successor nary a month before his death. The whole of the clan felt his loss. I remember my mother crying terribly upon hearing the news.”
Their horses returned to an easy walk as Quinlan retraced other lineages and verity about Breanne, all of which bore little on who she truly was. Quinlan seemed to be circling the subject like a bird of prey, staying safely outside of what Ashlon had asked for. If he were to help the man, he needed to know her likes, dislikes, habits. Her dreams. When would the man come to the heart of it?
“She favors the lad Danny quite well. He is the only son of the Lady Isolde and Ferris Maguire, the clan’s Brehon Law advisor.” They approached the tuath from the north.
“What is a Brehon advisor’s function?”
“Brehon Law,” Quinlan said, “refers to our laws that govern man’s punishment for crime, as well as other civil matters such as property rights, debt repayment, marriage contract. It would behoove you to familiarize yourself with the main points, which you may through Ferris Maguire, if you would like to petition joining the clan as a free man.”
Somehow, the conversation seemed to be turning in his education’s direction. Consciously or unconsciously, Quinlan had begun relating rather than revealing.
Three separate properties gained Ashlon’s notice due to their impressive size. Two of the three were almost as large as the O’Donnell keep and combined with it, all lay in four points. A smart tactic, to surround the vulnerable with stronger keeps and spread the clan’s power against attacks.
“Are all of these O’Donnell holdings?” he asked and brought his gelding up short at the top of the hill. Rolling green spread the valley below, craggy rock, heather laden mounds breaking up the smooth lay.
“Nay, that there is houses O’Neills, though not of Niall of the Seven Hostages as Niall himself boasts blood from. And that southern keep is MacSweeney. You may recall Shane MacSweeney among Niall’s warriors, his family is the one and same MacSweeney, though he lives at the main.”
“And the last?” Ashlon recognized the clan head and referred to the smallest.
“That as well is O’Donnell property, though only a handful of persons take residence there now. It is Breanne’s and until she marries, it lays virtually empty.”
“That doesn’t seem a safe or clever course. It leaves the clan vulnerable, does it not?”
“Aye, I don’t doubt it is among Niall’s reasons in dictating Breanne marry by Beltane.” Quinlan nodded absently.
While interesting, they’d tarried from the original issue. Breanne. Ashlon needed more detail about her, and more importantly, an opening for his own request: to get a missive to the lady using absolute discretion.
“It will be yours then, if you win her.”
“Aye,” Quinlan said and straightened a bit. “I hadn’t considered the ramifications of that. Think you it too forward of me to inquire as to its security concerns?”
“That would depend on the lady herself. How would you describe her temperament?” Ashlon resisted smiling wide. He had done it. He had managed to redirect the young man’s attention back to where they both needed it to be.
“Breanne would probably defend it herself before allowing me to see to it. And as resistant as she’s been toward my affections, I warrant she’d like anyone else to handle the job.” Quinlan inhaled loudly and smacked his thigh. “You’ve just given me a brilliant idea, Ashlon.”
Ashlon’s brow rose and gathered. He didn’t like the look on his new friend’s face as he chewed whatever notion popped into his young head. It looked best not to encourage him by speaking.
“There are considerable details to be worked out, but it is possible and might make all parties involved happy. You see, Breanne would be right to wish another to protect her holdings as I have little training or experience and will admit even less interest in it. It has been my favorite threat to tease her with for years, that I might join Niall’s forces and—.”
“Master Blake—Quinlan, forgive my interruption but what in Christ’s name are you attempting to say?” he said.
“That you offer Breanne your services,” Quinlan said, unperturbed by Ashlon’s force. “Your knight’s training and experience is perfect for the holding, vulnerable as you yourself noted. Acting as her sentinel would be a means for you to possess income and further a request to join the clan should you choose.”
“Why do you not make t
he same offer and simply see to manning it yourself?” Eventual residence was an option to consider. Immediate actions in doing so were not.
“As I’ve said, she would not grant me that role. She loathes the trade her father died honorably for. She views a man’s duty to protect his family should reach no further, that soldiers are a necessary evil of life.”
“But you would not be that soldier.” Ashlon pointed to the obvious and watched Quinlan squirm. “You would be seeing to her interests, relieving her of what is likely a dislikeable duty for which she has no skill.”
“There, you are mistaken. Breanne can protect herself well and I’d prefer not to divulge the nature of my confidence that she will reject the idea were I to offer it. If my courtship had gone better thus far, I might say otherwise. I can see, though, that you are not convinced.”
What had the young man done to so offend the woman and what could he mean in saying she could protect herself? He couldn’t ask. Quinlan’s clamped and sealed mouth looked more than determined and he would not meet Ashlon’s eyes.
It wasn’t that the idea was bad. He liked it, in fact, and that was what worried him. He couldn’t afford to get attached to this place or people when he might be forced to forever abandon both in seeing the chest to its resting place. The danger therein might require that he leave, never to look back, not only in the chest’s placement, but in insuring its secrecy also.
So, it was no use investing himself overly much into this community until he knew he was safe to do so. Safe for the chest, for the clan, for him. The loss of his entire belief system, of what had become his family—he would not endure the kind again.
Better to continue his strategy, get the missive to the lady, gain a secret meeting and then her help. All other themes, he would do better to keep at arm’s length.
“The day has gained on us, I fear,” Ashlon said, ending the cold silence, urging his steed forward. Quinlan nodded sharply and rode, as well.
“May we continue on the morrow, Sir Sinclair?” His voice was tight, shoulders squared.
“I look forward to it.” Ashlon didn’t smile, kept his gaze on the keep.
“You have my gratitude, Sir.” Quinlan bowed his head tersely then heeled his horse into a full gallop.
Ashlon followed him, though not closely.
* * * *
The portent replayed in her head over again, intermittently, throughout the day. Breanne couldn’t help it. The thrill of getting her first definite second sight contrasted sharply with what it had revealed. Neither Rose, nor any of the other ladies, noticed her deficient attention span, thankfully, and chatted about the day’s work and Ula’s upcoming nuptials.
“The O’Doherty clansmen arrive in three days time, O’Neills the day after. We will be bursting with bodies and I fear we haven’t enough stock to cover the event, let alone the days before it.” Ula didn’t look nervous at all. She looked thrilled with her open smile and jubilant shrugs. “I cannot believe it, ladies, the Ard-Righ, coming for my wedding. I know he’s family to Niall and that he favors us, but to actually show. It is a compliment and I do mark it shows approval.”
They all nodded in varying degrees. “Of course, he approves Ula,” Isolde said and patted her longtime friend’s knee between needle threads. “You’ve mourned your Jock well long enough and what better man to marry than the one you lost’s dearest friend. All approve the match. And don’t forget the MacFearsons may come, as well”
“Don’t be sure of that, Isolde,” Rose said. “Danny’s heart could very well be broken. He may have to marry Breanne instead.”
Isolde’s hand went to her heart. Ula and she exchanged a warm look.
“I admit it, I am taken with your son, Issy,” Ula said. “Can you forgive me for it?”
Chuckles rippled over the gather of women. Breanne smiled. The boy was a born flirt. She promised herself to seek him out soon. Cooping herself up in the Grianan had kept her from their daily visits. Her mother and Rose loved it here and though each day got easier, Breanne still longed for her old routine and would rather be keeping books than stitching.
She’d rather be attempting another presage. Again she went over the details. She’d chanted, she’d mixed, she’d scried the mirror. She’d envisioned him walking away, holding his belongings, no, a chest where his belongings resided. He’d walked up the north road on a clear bright day. The ground and hills looked lush with summer’s overgrowth, the air buzzed with its hum around his figure. She’d wished him safety, wished him well and to continue his journey, seeing it to an end, on his way when he stopped, turned, smiled.
The smile shocked her. It was full and warm and his eyes looked at her as though in person, as though he knew her, saw her. The image rushed forth then, swirling and readjusting. His smile was the same, the chest he still held, but it was night and he was not smiling at her, but at it. A shot of fright ran through her and she looked up, around him. The full moon glowed yellow and rings of color hazed the azure sky. The fright turned to clenching panic.
Ashlon held his hand out. She knew she was there with him when she recognized the edge of her sapphire cloak pooling before her. Then he spoke—“Breanne, can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes. Rose and Ula’s faces were above her, hands fanned her face. She’d fainted.
“Are you well, Breanne, can you hear me?” Rose looked angry with worry, her brow squished, lips pinched.
“Aye, I hear you. What happened?” Silly question she knew the answer to.
“You toppled over of a sudden like you’d seen a ghost. You said ‘Don’t go in’ in a great shout in the middle of my very hilarious story and fell over flat on your back. Now, what’s all this and are you well?”
She’d never seen Rose so forceful and serious. Her mother sighed and gasped in turns, nodding at Rose’s words, petting Breanne’s brow. Breanne sat up, swaying the slightest bit when her sight warbled. She forced a weak smile, hoping it would stop all the gawking and fussing. The terror of those last instants lingered in her belly.
She needed to see him. He must leave Tir Conaill and no doubt of it because she knew down to her bones that his life was in danger if he stayed.
“Rhiannon, fetch the nearest available man you find. She needs be carried to her room,” Rose said. Ula nodded.
“No, I promise, I am well. I can’t say what happened, but I assure you I am fine now.”
“You’ve succumbed to stress, without question and I mean to see you rested.”
Breanne didn’t argue when Rose pierced her with her angry eyes. She’d scared her friend, who was with child and sensitive for it. Arguing would gain nothing but more scolds. Besides, she’d much rather be back in her room.
Rhiannon returned as Rose helped Breanne to her feet, with Quinlan Blake in tow. Breanne’s stomach sank like a stone in water. The only other advantage of hiding from Ashlon Sinclair was that it also kept her from Quinlan. The beaming smile on his handsome face practically screamed his feelings otherwise.
With easy grace, Quinlan scooped her into his arms. His breathing stayed easy and he might as well have carried a sack of flour for all the exertion he showed.
“My lady, I am sorry to hear you do not feel well. I offer my services to use, as you need. Make any requests to better your health.” He exited the Grianan into the dinner hall and went to the corridor of stairs so efficiently Breanne didn’t have time to protest his attentions.
“Thank you, but I assure you I am well. I need only rest and only do so at Rose and my mother’s behest.” Was he taking two gallant stairs at a time? Breanne forced herself not to roll her eyes. She would be laid into her bed and given privacy soon enough to stew and eye-roll over her misfortune.
Quinlan led a trail of ladies and only the last glanced back at Ashlon Sinclair in step behind her. A single wink had her giggling and running ahead, too shy to look back for him. Ashlon paused at the top stair, in shadow, and watched the entourage enter the last door to the right after the
potential couple. The whole scene looked very much like any newly wedded couple on their way to consummate tender vows.
Ashlon didn’t like the view one bit and worse, knew he should count it as a blessing. Quinlan had an opportunity to make a good impression on Breanne, whom he desired. Breanne got fussed over, which in his experience, ladies adored. And Ashlon got a chance to act on his plot.
But when he saw Breanne cradled in his new friend’s arms, something angry pricked in his chest. Jealousy. He recalled her mouth parting, her eyes open with wonder as heat pulled her to him. The image caused a weight to slide into his gut. What fate had Jacques sent him to? What would wanting this woman cost him before it was finished?
The door closed heavily, sucking the gaggle of noise inside the room. Surreptitiously, Ashlon stepped forward. There were three doors on either side of the corridor and he didn’t have much time to abscond into one and conceal there until the gentleman and ladies left her.
Ashlon skipped over the first set, favoring proximity to her. Were those brown eyes warming for Quinlan as they had for him? He shook the useless thought away. He had no right to think of her so. And he’d be the last to repeat his first offense in kissing her, or doing worse, again.
The laws and customs here might vary from the norm he knew, but he had no doubt that a lady compromised and ruined was a universal wrong he’d be held accountable for. He didn’t want to contemplate just what punishment such a crime warranted in these parts and took care to tread softly.
He knocked only loud enough for an occupant to hear. He prayed one would not because an answer would end his venture. None answered. Ashlon tried the knob. Locked.
He continued on, his heartbeat thumped in his ears louder than his footsteps or the muffled voices past the door. At the second door he tried the knob first. Locked.
The last door, his final chance. Ashlon looked skyward and pleaded the heavens to grant him an additional boon. He put his sweating palm to the metal and turned. Locked.