by Amber Scott
In a whoosh, he exhaled as his anticipation fell to keen disappointment. What had looked to be a perfect opportunity to seek her out unnoticed proved false. The voices had softened and his gut told him they would soon leave her. He stepped to the window slit at the end of the corridor and chewed his thumb.
There must be another way. There must be another person he could enlist, trust to get her a note, unread and unspoken of. Quinlan looked to be less a candidate after their ride, leastwise not in a timely manner, which was exactly what Ashlon needed right now.
Each day that passed with the chest missing seemed to lessen its chances of being found. If it had been taken, whoever took it would be farther and farther away until finding their trail would take a miracle.
The book lay tucked under his mantle, no longer foreign, but a comfortable weight. Inside laid the note he wrote to her nights ago. His final hope was to linger where he stood and attempt to slide it under her door.
Ashlon dug inside his mantle and retrieved the volume. He opened it to the page he needed Breanne’s help deciphering and plucked the folded and sealed parchment. He snapped the book closed as the door opened, three ladies scrambling out at once. He bowed to them as they left down the corridor. Quinlan and two others remained, his sister and the Lady Ula. All three could be heard giving turns at instructing Breanne to rest.
Holding the book behind him, Ashlon leaned forward and peered through the ajar door. He saw nothing other then three backs and a small table near the doorframe. If he stepped softly and slid the note in, he would only have to walk away and hope she found it. It was the safest and most effective option, certainly. Once Quinlan left, he had no excuse to remain without him.
“Is she all right then?”
Ashlon’s breath caught. He straightened and faced the boy who’d asked him. “I believe so. I await Master Blake now.” He covered the note with his hand held to his thigh.
“Seamus told me she passed out and hit her head. Is that what happened?” the boy asked, hushed. He peered through the door, then back at Ashlon.
“I cannot say. I was not present.”
“Do you want me to call him for you?”
“Call who?”
“Quinlan. If you need him and you’re concerned about disrupting, I can call him for you. They won’t pay me any mind,” the boy said, his voice rising.
“No.” Ashlon waved his elbow. “Thank you, but I will happily wait. It is no urgent matter.”
“What’s that there?” His voice returned to a hush and his eyes lit on the edge of paper Ashlon’s large hand didn’t hide, eyes bright with interest.
“Personal business. A letter,” Ashlon said.
“For Quinlan? Are you certain I cannot call him for you?”
“No, thank you, but the two are unrelated and as I said, I will wait.”
“Why do you wait here and not below if it is not so urgent?” he asked and cocked his head at the simple puzzle.
Ashlon smiled at the rascal. “Curiosity, I suppose.”
“You’re not worried then? She looked well?”
“Aye, she did and no, I am not.”
The boy went to the window, shifting his weight like an exaggerated trudge with each step. Ashlon promptly tucked the book under his shirt back, wondering what the boy was building the courage to ask when all of his other questions had come so easily.
“Are you Sir Sinclair, a real knight, from England?” he said, fingering the drapery.
“I am. And who might you be?”
“Daniel Maquire.” He stood straight and shoved his hand out to Ashlon.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Maguire.” He shook the proffered hand firmly. “You must be the son of Lady Isolde and Master Ferris, friend of Lady Breanne. Your good reputation precedes you.”
Daniel beamed and nodded at Ashlon. “As does yours, Sir Sinclair. May I call you Ashlon?”
“I think you should and what name do you prefer Master Maguire?”
“Danny is what Bree calls me. And me mum. But the men call me Daniel. I like both.” Daniel shrugged. “Is that your sword then, I mean, your knight’s sword?”
Ashlon choked on a laugh. “Yes, it was given to me when I became a Knight of Solomon some fifteen years ago. My master and mentor, Jacques De Molay, bestowed it upon me in a secret knighting ceremony.”
Daniel’s eyes widened, but held locked on the sword’s hilt and Ashlon saw opportunity materialize.
“Daniel, I wonder if I may ask an errand of you, important and I must admit clandestine business that I feel you may do well at?” Daniel looked at him. “In exchange, if you find it worthy, I offer my sword. Not to keep as your own, mind you, but that you may practice in arms, using it under my tutelage.”
Daniel clapped a knee before he could finish and nodded vigorously. Ashlon glanced at the door to ensure the three backs had not turned to retreat. He showed the note. “I need this missive to reach the Lady Breanne. I cannot over emphasize its importance and its delivery would need to go unnoticed by any other eyes save yours or mine.”
Daniel reached for the note, eyes narrowed, mouth firm. “You can trust me, Ashlon. This will not be my first secret task and you have my word of honor that I will see it delivered.”
“If anyone should come upon this note—.”
“I shall die before they pull it from my clutches.”
“Dear lord, no. Die not for my sake, good man. But if any should place hands or eyes on its contents, will you say not from where it came or if possible to whom you take it?”
Daniel had the folded square tucked inside his shirt, stuffed through the neckline, within seconds. He licked two fingers, slapped them to his arm and crossed his heart. A final curt nod apparently closed their negotiations.
Ashlon ruffled the boy’s hair and nodded back. “Good day to you, Master Daniel,” he said and bowed.
Daniel bowed, as well, then Ashlon returned to the main hall. Quinlan, Lady Rose and Lady Ula followed shortly and Ashlon forced himself not to await the boy. He didn’t like having to behave so secretly. It struck him as dishonest and he longed for his life to return to honor and honesty rather than constant distrust and furtiveness.
Chapter Twelve
“Danny, is that you?” Breanne asked, sitting up in bed. When she got no reply outside of her closed door, she readied to go to it, but still found herself woozy.
She didn’t know which she despised more, being carried to bed or being left there with strict instructions not to make an appearance for another day. Her mother had assigned her newest handmaid to tend to Breanne and if it wasn’t Danny she heard, then mayhap the girl?
“Whoever is out there, please simply peer in as I canno’ get up,” she said. Where was that blasted cat when she needed help? Off on a binge in the woods, no doubt.
The door creaked open and Danny’s tousled head poked through. “Hello there.”
“Danny! You half killed me with fright. Get in here this minute and give me a hug.”
Danny swung the door closed behind him and plopped onto the mattress next to her.
“Who were you speaking to in the corridor?” Breanne smoothed his hair and he smacked at her hand.
“Speaking to?” His eyes went from her face to his hands. “To myself, I suppose.”
“Are you sure? No one else was about? No maid, perchance, that you might have thought funny to turn the other way and send to another room?”
“Nay, Breanne, I swear it, just myself outside your door. I wasn’t sure I should be bothering you and was deciding with my mind if I should knock or come back another hour.”
“Well, I am glad you chose to come in over leaving. Not ten minutes abed and I’m already thinking up ways to leave it.”
“If you feel well, I see no reason for you to stay in it.” He gave her a deep shrug. “And especially if you might have somewhere important to be and then what would you do? Stay abed and make others wait?”
“What
are you about, Daniel Maguire?” She could read it all over his face that he was up to something. “Out with it.”
Danny scrunched his face and handed Breanne a note. She took it from him, earning another deep shrug.
“What is this?” she asked, but didn’t need an answer when the paper fell open, the seal broken. Quickly, she read the scribbled contents:
Lady Breanne, Though I have already received more than deserved, I must beg your assistance yet again. The issue I seek help with does not concern my health, which is good, and which I thank you for. I may not yet explain or give detail, but do assure you is a matter of life and death and that you alone may offer the aid I need. Please consider meeting me by cover of night in the location you last placed me. I additionally believe to have information useful to your purpose, as well. I dare not divulge more for both our sakes and will await you.
No signature was needed for Breanne to know who wrote it or its meaning. Recognition lit in her the moment her eyes landed on the script. She breathed out and looked at Danny.
“When did he leave it with you? When did you read it, Danny?”
“He gave it to me before the others left.” His gaze returned to his hands, fumbling with a thread. “I don’t know what got into me. I read it, telling myself I’d only take a peek. A poor conspirator I’m making.” He stood and walked a circle, heel to toe around the floor rug’s pattern. “But I dinna understand its meaning. And I won’t tell another living soul, I promise you that.” He stopped, sat, and plunked his face into his hands. “I am sorry, Breanne.”
Breanne half smiled at his pitiful countenance. “I know you meant no harm. It is not so serious a matter, Danny. You have not wronged me.” Her words sounded calm in her ears above the rush of thumping blood in her veins. “With the recent talk of marriage about, I suspect the man who spoke to you is only protecting my virtue by keeping it secret.” She was more than thankful Danny didn’t read English well yet. She didn’t know what she would do to Ashlon Sinclair if he put the boy at risk.
Danny seemed appeased and lifted his head to smile at her. “Have you chosen yet, Breanne?”
“I wish I had. But I’ve not had much time to receive attentions or give them on the matter.”
“Is it true that Quinlan favors you?”
“Aye. It seems he does. And the scribe Gannon O’Shannon, as well. But, I fear I have not yet spent enough time with either to know my best match.” Her head began to hurt and she laid back into the mound of pillows forced on her by Rose and her mother. Quinlan had supervised, his gaze uncomfortably warm.
“I almost forgot,” Danny said and suddenly stood. He reached deep into the belly of his shirt, crouched over, and pulled out a small wrapped bundle. With a flourish, Danny handed her the gift.
Refusing to give in to the pain in her head or the pound of her heart, Breanne smiled and pulled the tiny blue string. The misshapen corners of cloth fell away, exposing a necklace of leather attached through the center hole of a shining green cloc cosanca. Breanne gasped.
“I found it yesterday down in the grove. Do you like it? Does it not look like a fairy might have made it and left it for me to find and give to you?”
Breanne’s eyes and nose stung. She swallowed down the knot of emotion. “It’s beautiful, Danny. Prettier than any I’ve seen. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He sat at her feet.
She put the amulet around her neck and pressed it to her chest. “How does it look?”
“It looks nice.” He stood. “Well, I best get downstairs or my mother will wonder if the elves stole me.” He put a hand sidelong to his mouth. “That’s what she always says.”
“All right then, Danny. If you see a young handmaid, will you send her in the right direction? I’m getting right hungry doing all this laying about like a princess.”
Danny laughed and agreed, but left like the wind.
Breanne read the note again, but felt no better. She couldn’t meet him tonight. After the spell, her mother would have the maid underfoot and Rose promised to check in. She dismissed the idea of returning a note as soon as it entered her mind. Too risky. She loved the boy to the world’s end, but he was right about being a poor conspirator.
She wouldn’t enlist him again, shouldn’t have when she asked him to lookout, but she hadn’t had another choice. The guilt and worry simply wasn’t worth it and now he’d proved himself a normal child with ample curiosity and little fear of life’s follies. Breanne would have to impress upon Sinclair the same for all their better interest.
But how, when remembering the simple foresight had caused a collapse and left her more guarded than ever? A tonic would do, so long as she didn’t make the poor girl sleep for days. And then to slip away, perhaps a cloaking incantation?
It was a lot to hope for, but worth a try if she could reach the cave and warn the daft knight to leave Tir Conaill and not look back. She saw his image again, walking away from her and shook it off like a chill. She couldn’t yet replay the prophecy and didn’t like the ache it weighed on her chest.
Her duty to him was not yet over, regardless of her resistance and denial. Were he here, she would demand an explanation from Heremon’s own mouth. She would ask the sage why she should protect Sinclair and moreover, how? She could barely blend herbs for his fever, let alone arm him with magickal defenses.
And even with explicit warning to him, he had ignored her aid and come to sit in the lion’s mouth. If a single man in the tuath knew of his presence that night, prone and unconscious or not, he’d change from honored guest to suspect prisoner within a blink.
Breanne punched a fist into the deep blankets. “Bloodthirsty. The whole lot of them.”
A soft knock aggravated her worn nerves.
“Lady Ula sent me to tend you,” a brisk voice said through the door. She didn’t wait for Breanne to answer and kicked the door open to accommodate a large, steaming pot. Following her, two men brought in a small bed and crammed it into the far corner, shoving her trestle desk and chest of drawers out of the way.
The woman placed the large pot on the rug and helped Breanne sit up without explanation. “Steady there,” she said and shot looks to the men assisting her. When they soon left without so much as a nod, the woman plunked Breanne’s feet into the water, the privacy of her exposed calves well kept.
Though the blissful hot water sent warm shivers to her bones, she didn’t like being treated so abruptly. “I appreciate my mother’s thoughtfulness, but please inform her that I need a minimum of care.”
The woman put a hand up. “No, m’lady. I am here to tend to you. Food and wine will arrive shortly. In the meanwhile, rest and soak.” As she spoke, she straightened the dishevel left by the men, then sat upright, hands in lap and silent until another knock came.
Along with a laden tray, she brought in a footstool, delivered by whom Breanne could not tell, unable to see past the large sturdy back of the woman. “What is your name, please?”
“Erlene, m’lady. Eat this,” she said, then took a seat on the stool before the now cool pot of water. She pulled one foot out, dried it and rubbed the entire sole in vigorous circles.
Breanne gripped the mattress for fear of falling off and almost moaned at the painful pleasure in her feet. Erlene’s arms flexed, but her brow was smooth and even. “Eat.”
She did. And while Erlene’s tending put her body at full ease, every passing hour rubbed tension back in. She should have sent Danny with a responding note, nosy or not. Now what would she do? Ask Erlene to turn her back while she cast and mixed, then offered her a nice bitter bedtime drink?
Feet done and thrust back into bed, Breanne finished the meal and wine under careful watch. Was it too much to hope Erlene would see the tray back down? Aye. Erlene sat on the cot just past dark, freed two wool socks from her bulky calves and lay down. It was.
“Don’t fret, m’lady, I’m a light sleeper and will wake should you need anything at all,” she said louder than necessary
.
Did she think Breanne deaf in her fatigue? Breanne rolled her eyes and did not reply. She tossed and turned and stared at the slit of starry sky, not caring at all if her loud thumps and sighs bothered Erlene.
Would he be there now? How many hours would he wait until giving up, disappointed? She cursed herself for caring that he might be offended by her absence.
She told herself it was better this way, that he would finally heed her warning and leave, perhaps going this very night directly from the cave. Hard to believe he’d lain there prone and bare, her hand on his heart while her own pounded so hard she could first only feel its pulse, almost a fortnight ago.
Breanne rubbed her hand over the coverlet to rid the memory of his smooth heat from it. Would she ever touch a man and feel so moved again? She closed her eyes and let her mind relive what it would about him.
Erlene’s snore came so strident, a low growl of her nose into the stillness, that Breanne almost shrieked. Her startled pulse soon became a trill when she saw chance’s gift to her. Without delay, she swung her legs to the floor and tiptoed to her trunk. She set up her altar in the corner where Erlene’s vision would be partially obstructed.
It was difficult to be quiet in her hurry to cast and run. She located the page she’d earlier planned, then she dressed. Shoes on, she went over the chant again, leaving off mixing the herbs the sleeping maid couldn’t drink. For luck, she rubbed the amulet Danny gave her and chanted and cut with her athame in the dark.
Finished with her fourth whisper of the incantation, Breanne braved a look at the snoring Erlene. Her serious face was slack and peaceful. Breanne slipped out with a long look at the stuffed figure in her bed. It looked good enough in the dark and so long as no one approached it, would work.
She put the hood of her cloak low on her head and stole down the stairs. The air was quiet. The neat line of pallets on the far wall showed no movements. In a breath, she moved to the kitchen and out of the stone keep.
She gulped the cold night air in as she paused and peered about the bailey. The moon was descending and she guessed the hour around two in the morning. She prayed he was there, kissed the cloc cosanca around her neck and raced to the gate. The wind billowed her cloak, despite her pulling it close.