Irish Moon

by Amber Scott

  Rhiannon had her arm linked through Ashlon’s and her gaze was so consumed with watching him that she certainly didn’t see Quinlan and Breanne about to kiss or how quickly they came apart. She also couldn’t see the flush of red heating Breanne’s cheeks.

  Looking at Ashlon’s half smile and cold stare, however, left Breanne with no question as to whether he’d witnessed it.

  “Do you promise, Sir Ashlon?” Rhiannon said, fairly clinging to him. The wind fit her gown to every perfect curve and she seemed to know it by the way she arched her back before looking prettily at Quinlan.

  “Promise what?” Quinlan asked and stepped away from Breanne.

  The wind pushed her cloak and gown against her back, furrowing it in front of her so well that she had no doubt every line of her was obscured and padded. Gathering the material close was useless and only seemed to attract more of Ashlon’s cold gaze onto her.

  “He has promised to join us tonight for dining,” Rhiannon said and stepped apart from him so that she was evenly spaced between the two men. “And for dance after.”

  What was he so upset about and nearly glaring at her for? She wouldn’t for a second entertain the possibility of it stemming from jealousy. He couldn’t have seen more than the two of them about to kiss, and what could be wrong with that?

  “Wonderful. You will be able to witness how lovely a dancer Lady Breanne is. Oh, forgive my rudeness, Sir Ashlon. Have you two been formally introduced as of yet?”

  “No, we have not.”

  Ashlon bowed deeply as Quinlan made introduction.

  Breanne curtsied equally deeply and didn’t miss the flash of emotion in his eyes as they peered at her. Did he need to speak with her then? Of course, he must have been searching her out to ask of her progress, having finished his round in the games.

  Silly of her not to realize it sooner. Quickly, though, she remembered that she had nothing to tell him.

  “You are masterful in the art of movement, Lady Breanne?” Ashlon asked. His eyes flashed again.

  “I can be, given the proper setting and music,” she said.

  “And partner,” Quinlan said, giving her shoulder a brotherly nudge. “Even as a girl, she could go through a dozen partners, wear each one out and be ready for the next, so much stamina she has.”

  Breanne smiled tightly and hoped the wind could be blamed later for the incontestable color blooming again in her cheeks.

  Ashlon raised both eyebrows in an expression that looked both accusing and amused. Breanne bit down the jabbing barb that prodded her tongue.

  Quinlan had not intended the double entendre and blast Ashlon Sinclair for making her feel wrong about kissing Quinlan. Who was he to be so amused when he was the one who couldn’t keep his hands or lips to himself? Why he’d probably already given Rhiannon a taste of his wares in the short time they’d spent together. She knew firsthand how quickly he moved when the notion took him.

  “Oh, I can hardly wait,” Rhiannon said, clapping her hands. “Breanne, would you like to join Rose and me in my chamber to ready this evening? Rose promised to put my hair in a twisting braid coiled around like so and she has gold baubles that Ryan brought back for her. I imagine they would look ever so nice in your hair.”

  Quinlan cleared his throat. “Shall we return and view the remaining fighters, ladies?” He bent an arm for each of them to take.

  Ashlon followed behind. Close behind. Breanne could smell him on the wind. And as they descended the stairs she fought to ignore the distinct tugging of her cloak. He wanted to ask her about the book and she had no good news and if she paused or turned, she’d be forced to confess that.

  Breanne struggled to appear graceful as the three, linked, attempted the stairs together but Rhiannon kept losing her balance and falling into Quinlan who in turn almost knocked Breanne over.

  After the third time, Quinlan shrugged Breanne’s arm loose and offered an apologetic look. Breanne shrugged and waited for them to pass.

  Ashlon waited, too, a step behind. Rhiannon and Quinlan passed the curve. She didn’t know why she’d stayed there. She could easily have simply continued after. But, she didn’t. And now they were alone and the corridor became warm around her. Her belly fluttered as Ashlon stepped down and faced her.

  She couldn’t look up at him and her breathing became difficult with the fluttering sensation growing. Would he ask her? Would he remain silent?

  He reached his hand out and laced his fingers into her hair, his thumb soft on her throat. He grazed over the faint mark no one had commented on and she had forgotten about until he touched it.

  Rhiannon’s laughter floated up from the window she imagined they had returned to. Breanne’s heart started, she looked up.

  The ice in Ashlon’s gaze had melted away and left a steaming heat in its wake. Breanne’s breath caught in her throat. Before she could think or move, he kissed her.

  And her body sighed with welcome. Ashlon backed her against the wall and slipped his hands inside her cloak. A thrill ran through her. His hands were cold through her gown, but hot to her skin beneath. They roved from her waist upward to her breasts, cupped both and thumbed over her nipples.

  From somewhere deep inside, Breanne moaned into the mouth assaulting her senses. His touch was so sure, his lips so perfectly fitting for hers, his tongue magickal. She arched into his palms, grateful for the wall supporting her watery limbs.

  Warm, wet wonderment spread between her thighs and she parted them to feel him there. He accommodated her body's wish, pressing her exactly where she craved. Her mound throbbed and the ache and warmth climbed. His very contour seemed a blessing against her, tall and erect, stunning her with accuracy.

  Ashlon lifted the edge of her gown and hooked his arm under a bare thigh. His arm aided in opening her body to him, so close to her need. She arched toward it. His hand grazed her rear then gripped the flesh there, pulling her impossibly closer. Breanne might have gasped, "Aye, please. Aye," could she have spoken past his ravaging mouth. He lifted her up as though weightless. He pressed his prick to her sex making short, divine turns.

  He broke his kiss and found her neck. Breanne leaned her head back as his exquisite mouth teased her throat. Her breaths were short flutters that matched the same strange beat as each time before. Like a heartbeat within her, but of need rather than blood. Each touch brought pleasure beyond the prior, escalating her sensibility into an abyss of bliss.

  Deft fingers tugged aside her undergarment. Her mind begged him not to cease. His forefinger traced a line up her inner thigh, close, oh so close to her moist heat. Please. Breanne pressed her hips forth, driven to feel him touch higher. Yet he remained achingly slow in his assault. Her body wept and beat in want. Somehow, she knew his touch, his hand would fill the dizzying need.

  Ashlon granted her body’s wish, slowly slipping his finger into her slick sheath. Pleasure washed through her as his teeth dug into the flesh below her earlobe. His erratic breathing danced on her skin. He whispered her name and it sounded nigh painful to say. Breanne wiggled. Ashlon complied unbidden. He stroked his finger out of her, then back in, twisting and delving deeper. The sound of her wetness seemed to echo off the stones and much to her shock, deepened her pleasure. This is what her body wanted. His touch. And each delicious stroke brought her closer to something she could not name but might die without. All matters of where and who they were had long ago escaped relevance. Desire roared in her veins and, as suddenly as it started, Ashlon stopped and broke away. Her hem fell to the floor as quickly and silently as the spell he'd wrapped her in.

  “Go now,” he said. He sounded in keen pain.

  Breanne could scream, she felt such a loss. Her body ached for more, but her mind penetrated the charm he had cast upon it. The risks they had just taken, the gamble, was not lost on her.

  Go, now. His words reverberated through the haze.

  Breanne balanced and stepped downward, feeling stunned as Rose peered about the curve and called up, “Thin
k you they lost their way, Quin?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It had been too close a call. Rose had immediately noticed Breanne’s flushed color and imbalance. She’d used her only ready excuse, feeling suddenly ill, to explain their delay. While a deep part of her longed to, Breanne couldn’t very well tell Rose that Ashlon had been ravishing her for the brief moments they went missing in the stairwell, could she?Leastwise not yet.

  Rose had believed her without question. Thanking St. Bridget for such a boon, Breanne was happy to be sent straight back to her chamber to rest. With her mother’s wedding in three days, and Ashlon needing to leave Tir Conaill before he either got killed or ruined her, rest sounded heavenly.

  She couldn’t count herself safe near him after the instant overwhelmed reaction he’d given her with a single kiss that lasted no more than a moment but suspended time.

  Thank goodness he’d stopped. Rose would have kept it secret had she come upon them, Breanne knew, but would then feel absolutely betrayed on her brother’s behalf or become Ashlon’s proponent and start a campaign for her to marry him.

  Neither suited Breanne. And so she was grateful to Ashlon Sinclair for that single save, although she didn’t forget he was the one she needed saving from and so it didn’t very well elevate his character in her mind.

  Finn was in the window, watching the scant view of the men in arms and gave her no more than a cursory glance when she walked in, kissed Rose goodbye and locked the door.

  “Hiding out are we?” Finn said over his stripey shoulder.

  “Aye, I’ve much work to do and those silly games should not have taken me from it.”

  “How did your knight fare?”

  “He is not my knight and he did quite well if you must know. But, that is not why I left to watch as I’m sure you are about to imply. I simply wondered. I was curious. And he was fighting Quinlan, whom we both know is not highly skilled.”

  “Or was not when he was but sixteen, the last age you saw him practice in arms.”

  “Yes, well, even so. I got distracted and now I am back and ready to solve this damned code of Heremon’s before the day ends.”

  “The knight has found a friend. Interesting.” Finn leapt down.

  “It is not surprising that the two are companionable. Quinlan found him--.”

  “Not Quinlan. Another knight, it looked to be from the similar swords and unusual greeting they just gave each other.”

  Breanne scowled at Finn and opened the book she’d retrieved. What was that beast trying to bait her into saying now? Well, whatever his aim, she’d be sure he missed. She would not inquire his meaning regardless of how much she now wanted to know. She wouldn’t even go to the window.

  She would stay where she was at her trestle desk and focus on discovering the hidden meaning in the script. This was more important than any ally of Ashlon’s down in the yard. Ashlon Sinclair needed to leave Tir Conaill before something terrible happened between them.

  She might not have liked the idea of marriage but that did not mean she spit in the face of a union. She desired a happy marriage built on love and trust. Whatever uncontrollable magick existed between Ashlon and her, it threatened to consume her.

  If she did not keep her bearings when near him long enough to see him safely gone, she risked not only shaming her family but ending the chance for a solid future with her husband, whoever she chose.

  Quinlan was still an option. A safe option to boot. Their second kiss was a measurable improvement. Why, if they made as much progress with every one, she’d be soon melting in his arms rather than in Ashlon’s.

  Breanne sighed. Damn it but his mouth and hands could enchant her. She didn’t like how much it changed her or how masterfully he could accomplish her total mindless consent.

  Finn returned to the windowsill when she buried her attention in the book, or at least appeared to.

  There was also Gannon to consider. He was charming and smart and were she to pay him a visit, she might find her heart a little more inclined his way. He might be lovely to kiss. Not a whirlwind like Ashlon, nor procedural like Quinlan. Perhaps his kiss would fall somewhere safely in the middle.

  “Intriguing. Sir Ashlon and the other knight appear to be in deep and serious conversation. His face looks rather severe. I wonder from where in the past they are linked and what topic could cause such distress?”

  Breanne closed the book and glared at Finn. “I don’t care.”

  “If you need an easy excuse to see for yourself, I would not object to you procuring a skin of wine. I am right thirsty.”

  Breanne opened the book back up. The sketch stared back at her. She didn’t need an excuse to go spy on Ashlon and though her mind itched with curiosity, she refused to scratch.

  She focused on the words again. Then like a frog on a lily pad, an idea jumped into her head. Gannon. Of course. Why hadn’t she considered his assistance earlier? Though she could not take the book itself to the priory, she could take the translation to him, pass it off as a riddle she couldn’t break or something equally innocent sounding.

  And if she happened to see Ashlon and whomever he spoke with on the way to the priory, well, what harm could come of it? As long as she avoided Rose and hoped that her mother did not yet know of her supposed dizzy spell, she’d be there and back before her evening bath for dinner.

  Breanne smiled smugly to herself as she scribbled the lines onto the blank parchment. A couple blots of ink would not matter much, would it? She could find an explanation for it if Gannon were to note the wasteful appearance. Being a scribe, he would appreciate that a mistake here or there was natural for beginners such as she.

  Finn looked lost in interest in the goings on below. Breanne rolled the parchment, tucked it into her cloak’s inner pocket and left. “Don’t forget the wine,” Finn called as she closed the door.

  Breanne rolled her eyes and hurried down the stairs. She took care to avoid the Grianan and came out the front rather than side of the keep. The crowd surrounding the games was dwindling and spreading into smaller groups.

  She had no true reason to meander through them, as the gate was directly ahead, but she gave in and did so anyway. She only wanted a peek and what harm could come from passing by?

  But as she weaved through, she did not find Ashlon.

  “Who are you looking for, Bree?” Danny took stride next to her.

  Breanne ruffled his hair and smiled. “No one in particular. Having a look at the masses, no more.”

  “You look to be well. The walk did you good then?”

  She resisted frowning. Had she not known better, she would think he was digging for information. “It did wonders.”

  “Where are you off to now?”

  “To see my uncle, Father Connelly, and pay visit to Gannon O’Shannon while I’m there.”

  Danny’s eyebrows shot upward. “Really now? He’ll be pleased to see you I’m certain.”

  “Oh, and why do you say that?”

  “He asked after you when you were abed. Not long after we met that morning,” Danny said, eyes glancing around when he referred to their secret. “I told him you were more than well.”

  “What else did you tell him?”

  “Oh, no more’n that, Bree. I swear it. You can trust me not to speak to anyone of that morning. I’d be in more trouble than you, I think, if my father were to find out.”

  “Well, I won’t be telling anyone either, Danny.” She hugged an arm around him. “Off with you now before Father Connelly sees you and has your ear to bend the next two hours.”

  Danny kissed her cheek and left her. Whatever he’d been about, she hoped her promise was what he’d been trying to gain with all those questions and references. Strange behavior. But, then he was getting older, changing to a man.

  She didn’t knock and found Gannon on her way through the door. He looked distracted and walked toward her with his eyes on the floor and a fist tapping his chin.

  He started when she s
poke his name. “Breanne, what a lovely surprise.” He took her hand and kissed it warmly, pressing it to his cheek after. “My but the walk looks fine on your features. Glad to see you’re in good health.”

  “Thank you, Gannon. And I appreciate your patience, as well. I know it’s been too long since I promised to pay visit to you here.”

  “None of that, now. You’re here and just in time to witness the delight of my day’s work. Follow me.”

  Gannon led her, holding her hand. His long legs reminded her of a colt’s, eager and yet sure as he walked through a short maze of doors and corridors. Abruptly, he stopped. “Did you want to speak with your uncle first, Breanne?”

  “No need. I’ll catch a moment with him on my way back if it’s all the same with you,” Breanne said.

  Gannon winked and continued, stopping again in front of a door. “Are you ready?”

  Breanne smiled like a kid. “I expect I am. What are you about, Gannon?”

  “It’s a secret.” He put his finger to his lips, flashed his eyebrows up.

  Breanne giggled, forgetting her own mission for a moment, caught up in his giddiness. He opened the door slowly, bringing a candle from the corridor in with them.

  The bare windowless room held a slim straw pallet and a large rectangular chest propped open with a stick. Gannon waved her over and motioned for her to kneel with him. Breanne shook her head in wonder.

  She opened her mouth to whisper but clamped it shut when a small sound echoed from the chest. Breanne inhaled sharply as Gannon opened the lid and exposed seven mewling little balls of fur and one large black cat. They laid in a nest of gray wool lining the oak chest carved on the inside but not out.

  “Kittens,” Breanne said and Gannon squeezed her hand then let it go.

  “Three weeks old. And this is Minerva. She’s a good mother. This is her first litter and though she lost one--.”

  “Oh, the poor thing. Did she know?” Breanne pressed her hand to her heart where it hurt.