Irish Moon

by Amber Scott

  “Oh, aye. She kept it with her, licked it clean for some time after the others got to feeding and then lay her head on it, closin’ her eyes like she meant to say goodbye and then looked up to me. I knew she wanted me to take it then, that she was asking me to.”

  Breanne held both hands to her chest over the pain. Nothing could be worse than a mother losing a child. The idea of it terrified her and made her wonder if she could bring life to the world when it could so easily be snatched away.

  She remembered the weeks after her mother lost her child more’n ten years ago, all Ula’s sadness and putting on a brave face. Ula’s best friend Isolde delivered within days of Ula and Breanne often caught a strange pain in her own chest when Danny was near.

  Ula’s had been a boy, as well, and she had struggled for two days and nights to give him life. Her father had been gone and Breanne’s brother, Justin had already been buried when he returned. Then her father had died only eight months after and before he could fulfill the promise to his wife to try again.

  Seeing Danny growing and thriving all these years must have been so hard for her mother and must be why Ula saved her affections for when Isolde was not around. Perhaps to save both of their feelings from hurt.

  “What did you do with the poor baby?” Her voice choked.

  “I buried him. I named him Alabaster. He was the single white kitten of the litter.” Gannon’s voice held emotion, as well.

  “Can I touch one?”

  “She doesn’t seem to mind my handling them but if you don’t mind overmuch, I’ll ask you to wait. Just until they are a bit older and on their own more.”

  Breanne nodded and swiped a tear that slipped out. “Aye, a better idea to be sure.”

  “You get the pick of the litter, Breanne. I believe Finn is the sire and so you should have the first honors.”

  “Finn? That little beast. I can’t believe it. I thought he must be too old for that sort of thing.” In truth she thought his being an enchanted pooka, only taking the form of a cat, would make him not fully feline. After all, he drank like a person, ate like a person, spoke like one, too.

  “I spied him here twice in the last month. I like to think he’s been checking on her progress.”

  “Interesting. It would explain his absences. So long as he’s not causing chaos in the kitchen for the Brehon to get fined for, I never wondered much about what he went about.”

  If he did sire the litter of all black cats, he’d left no sign of it in them. Unless some showed to inherit pale green eyes. Minerva’s were yellow as a Beltane moon.

  Beltane. Rather nice of her mind to remind her of that little holiday just as she forgot her woes for a time. She needed to focus on her original intent, to ask Gannon’s assistance and doubly get to know him well enough to garner a kiss.

  “Danny insists that Finn promised him first choice and already has it picked. If you won’t mind my telling you which it is, and if you consider the others first, I can indulge the boy.”

  Breanne chuckled. “I can’t see a reason why not. He gets attached right securely in your heart, that one. I have a hard time saying no to him myself.”

  A small kernel of suspicion lodged in her belly. It was the second time he’d said to another that Finn spoke. She wanted to dismiss it as a child’s fancy and had she known better about Finn, she would. But then she couldn’t see Finn risking the kind of exposure any other soul finding out his secret would cause. Without a doubt, were any to know he was a talking cat, he’d be burned as the devil’s servant before she could remind any of the old ways, of fairy mounds and magick.

  Her kernel of doubt dwarfed in comparison to her endearment for the boy, who was more like a brother, when she remembered the one she had lost. She hadn’t understood the loss well then, when she worried more about losing her mother than anything else. But, now she appreciated the missing piece.

  A brother. Family. With Niall having no children from his dead wife, Breanne would likely never know the feeling outside of that she had with Danny. Unless what she’d heard that day outside their door were true. Unless Niall meant to replace the baby Ula lost and begin a new family.

  “May I ask your word not to tell a soul?”

  “What, oh aye, of course you may Gannon.” She shook off the uncomfortable idea of her mother bearing Niall’s fruit. “But, why?”

  “Father Connelly is a mite suspicious of animals, cats particularly. It took some convincing to allow Minerva to stay here with me.” He pet the cat’s head as he spoke.

  “I promise. Although I should warn you that Danny is a poor keeper of secrets.” Too late she realized she’d just implied having some secrets of her own. “That is to say, often he tells me a bit more than I believe he should be of other’s personal matters.” Though she stumbled over her tongue, Gannon didn’t seem to notice.

  “Aye, I know. But, as he’s known for a sennight with no folly, I’m hoping he’ll stay quiet. And I take pains to remind him every chance I see him.”

  “Speaking of personal matters, Gannon, I must confess, I have come with somewhat of an ulterior motive.”

  “Oh?” His eyes sparkled.

  “I have come across a riddle of sorts that I find I canno’ yet solve. I thought of you.”

  His smile widened, displaying a set of even and cleanly white teeth. “Let us have a look, then.”

  Breanne’s discomfort instantly eased. She should have known he would take pleasure in such a commission. Without preamble, she retrieved the roll and handed it to him.

  Without comment on its garish appearance, Gannon read the lines as he moved to sit upon the pallet. The kittens mewled in the vacancy. Breanne watched them, glancing occasionally Gannon’s way and considering him well while he was occupied.

  His face was narrow but not unhandsome. His hair was straight and a dun brown. His eyes were probably his best feature and those only because they held such humor and charm in them. Had he a different personality, he might seem quite dull to her.

  She watched him mouth the words. His lips were thin and his beard was kept short, unless it didn’t grow well yet. She tried to imagine those small lips pressed to hers in passion. She couldn’t. She could envision them and even could see a warmth about them kissing her. It wasn’t detestable but it didn’t send her stomach aflutter either.

  She could see a kiss from him to be loving, enthusiastic but not particularly ardent. Breanne sighed. To imagine was one thing, to know, another. She would not consider attempting to find out today though. Three men’s kisses in a single day seemed too much to ask of one woman’s lips.

  Gannon tapped a finger to his mouth and lowered the page.

  “Intriguing. It is not obvious, is it?”

  She shook her head and smiled. He looked far from daunted by the lines. He looked indomitable.

  “May I keep it and work on it?”

  “Aye. But, only if I have your word as well not to share it with another,” Breanne said. Gannon’s eyebrows shot up and urged Breanne to find a quick explanation. “It was given to me in challenge and I wouldn’t want the originator to gloat my defeat quite yet.”

  “Ah, I see. You have my word then, Breanne.” Gannon reached down and kissed her hand to seal their trust. “I also need to tell you something and I’m not sure exactly how to go about it.”

  Breanne’s belly tightened. She’d like nothing less than a proposal right now. Even a mild declaration of affection would send her running from the room if she didn’t get her nerves under control fast. “What is it?” she asked, seeing no way out of it.

  “You’ll likely find this a bit funny, well, I’m hoping so. I asked Niall after you not so long ago. Not an official declaration of interest, mind you, but just was curious, I guess, as to why you’ve not married.”

  “Oh?” Breanne swallowed the growing lump in her throat.

  “The funny part is that, well, methinks Niall took my question as a serious inquiry. He asked me yesterday how our courtship went.”
Gannon chuckled uneasily. “I told him well, not knowing what else to answer, and thought the man a bit daft or confused.”

  “You’re not intending to ask for me then?” Breanne asked in a rapid spurt of confidence.

  “Course not. I mean no insult, Breanne. I think you’re lovely, right enjoy your company. But, I thought I better set the issue right in case I mislead Niall or you unintentionally.” He met her gaze.

  Breanne didn’t know what to say. On the one hand she felt more relieved than she should or than she wanted to show him. On the other, Gannon had just shortened her suitor list in quick order and it did sting just a bit.

  In the end, humor won out. “But, Gannon, I’ve already sewn my gown. My mother has spoken with yours.”

  Gannon’s eyes bulged and Breanne couldn’t contain her laughter any more. The joke was a bit cruel and petty but damned if it didn’t make her feel better. Not to mention clearing the palpable tension from the room.

  “Which is it, by the by?” Breanne said.

  “Which is what?”

  “Which cat has Danny selected?”

  Gannon grinned, his gaze on the open chest. “The runt. He’s named her Legend.”

  “Aye, and good you warned me, Gannon, as I may have picked her myself. I’ve a soft spot for those beset with a challenge.”

  “When would you like this by?” He gestured the page in the air, returning to their common ground, learning.

  “Well, as soon as you can so long as it’s not a burden to your work. I’m a bit impatient to snub the nose that looked down in giving me the task.” It was a slight truth.

  “Can I ask if it was your uncle the abbot that challenged you so?”

  “Aye, you can, but he’s not the one.” Breanne watched the little kittens clamor over each other for food, their mother heavy lidded and looking content. “Does he like a bit of mystery, my uncle?”

  “That he does. I’ve told you of his expected arrival?”

  She nodded.

  “If it does not arrive shortly, I fear he’ll go mad in the wait of it and every day has a new supposition of what it might be. He believes the papal missive is coded well enough to conceal the identity of the relic.” Gannon chuckled. “Not a dull day goes by in these halls, Breanne.”

  She smiled up at him, enjoying the dance in his eyes. Such a charmer, that one. And if she was not mistaken, Gannon was flirting with her own interest in intrigue.

  “I should be getting back afore my mother sends the guard. I’m hoping I’ll be allowed to dine tonight and join the dance after.” She rose to leave. “Can we work on the puzzle together on the morrow, Gannon?”

  He checked the hall for Father Connelly before they exited and hurried back to the entrance. “I’d like that.” He kissed her hand and bid her farewell.

  The sun was nearing the horizon and Breanne decided a visit with her uncle would have to wait. If she walked fast, she might be able to take Rhiannon up on her invitation. What harm could there be, after all, in looking her most tempting when every other lady there would be sure to shine?

  Approaching the outer bailey, Breanne remembered the fact that Ashlon might be looking for answers regarding her progress. Her belly tightened at the thought of telling him the truth. While she trusted Gannon not to suspect anything untoward, Ashlon might dislike a stranger being involved.

  She couldn’t lie to him. She took her vow seriously for he needed to trust her. Otherwise, they would make little progress in finding the chest and securing his safe departure.

  Ashlon would be gone as early as days from now if Gannon’s help proved fruitful. She could simply avoid him tonight and hope he did her, as well. But, considering this afternoon’s events, she found the possibility farfetched.

  Well, she would simply have to be honest. No matter how difficult his reaction might be.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Though the dinner marked the beginning of the wedding festivities, few talked of the coming nuptials. Far more interesting to most men and women among the closely packed tables was discussion of the day’s games.

  Who won, who lost, who fell flat on his arse. And none seemed at all insulted that among the ten declared champions, an outlander was ranked in third. If Ashlon was welcomed before, now he felt embraced.

  The many names he’d learned were difficult to match to the many bearded, ruddy faces who joined Niall’s table of men that night to feast on soda bread, smoked venison and pulled pork. Ale and wine flowed freely and as well as the compliments, jibes, and wagers on the games scheduled for the morrow. A day of rest would do him good and he might even be able to search the coast line, today’s goal gone awry with Niall’s petition he join the games.

  And glad he was that he had stayed. The day had been eventful to say the least. Not only had he attained third in line for the championship rounds, but, he’d been reunited with a fellow Templar, Sir Ramsey Johnston. Ashlon’s elder by fifteen years, they had attained equal rank and shared in its ceremony.

  Ashlon had not seen Ramsey in more than eight years, though. While Ashlon had spent his last year in France, Ramsey hadn’t left his home in England and had served there until Pope Clement and King Philip began their campaign to destroy the brotherhood and gain its considerable wealth for their own.

  While Ashlon went from place to place in hiding, Ramsey came straight to Ireland, joined the O’Doherty clan and also hired on with Robert Bruce as gallowglass in his crusade against English tyranny.

  “Do you know, Ashlon, there is law on England’s books forbidding an English noble to dress, speak, or participate in activity that is Irish?”

  Ashlon shook his head, his mouth full, but wasn’t surprised. Such a good-hearted, lively people grew on the soul, lifted it up unexpectedly. Even in the short time he’d been there, he found it difficult to suppress.

  “They made me one of their own when the whole world seemed set to believe the lies and rot slurring a legacy of generosity and courage. Mark me you’ll be hard pressed to leave. And why would you, I ask?” It was the seventh time Ramsey had asked.

  Ashlon half-smiled and chewed. He wouldn’t answer. What was the point in doing so when he meant to leave and could not tell the man why? Not that he did not trust Ramsey, he did. But Jacques had been clear. “Tell no one. Trust no one save those who do not, will not gain from aiding you. And that will be one and only one soul.”

  He’d thought the words too marked by fear at the time, but he held to them and trusted that his mentor would make sense one day. They had parallel lives, Breanne and he. She had had Heremon. He had had Jacques De Molay. He received a grave speech, she a cryptic letter, but both were asked by others to protect solely based on the trust and faith instilled by a teacher.

  He wondered for the first time what it was that she belonged to. What was the nature between Heremon and her? He felt a bit badly for being so self-consumed with attaining the chest and ending his journey, the scent of home, and new beginning so fresh and clean in his mind that he’d not once considered it.

  Ashlon leaned back far enough to see past Ramsey and glimpse her. Healer, angel, stubborn, proud. Who was Breanne O’Donnell? What was her life before he arrived and it turned upside down with death and secrecy and passion?

  She smiled and spoke to Rose. It was dangerous to feel so drawn to her, to forget himself so well when she was near. He’d kissed her again, had allowed a bite of jealousy to rule his actions. It maddened him. And it pressured him.

  Ramsey still spoke of all of Ireland and Northern Scotland’s comely attributes and Ashlon nodded when appropriate. With each trait listed, the pressure grew, with each glance her way, the hole in him widened.

  Breanne could feel his eyes on her. A tingle on her neck, at her shoulder told her he peered her way. She fought not to glance back, to keep her eyes and, more importantly and more difficult than it should be, her attention on the meal and table she sat at.

  When the meal cleared and both bards and players began to set up. Br
eanne’s belly fluttered as a familiar scent closed in. It was Ashlon and she didn’t know what was worse, that she recognized the spicy clean scent of him or that he was so near.

  “You look beautiful this eve,” he said in low tones at her shoulder.

  His words were a caress and she shivered despite the warmth inside her. “Thank you,” she said but did not turn or look at him.

  Guests and residents milled about in anxious wait for the floor to be cleared. Their bodies pressed around the pair, pushing her closer to him.

  “Have you yet discovered the text’s meaning?”

  Quickly, she shook her head. Expecting him to ask, to approach her was one thing, the reality of it quite another. She suddenly felt hot and a bit dizzy. “Excuse me, please.” Hurriedly, before the panic threatening her chest took hold, Breanne snaked through the crowd and out the main double doors.

  The cool air washed her face and cooled her breaths as she fought to steady her mind. Inside the music began with the rhythmic beat of a bodhran. It slammed as loud as her heart and as the music joined and spread around it, Breanne found a sudden feeling of epiphany taking over the panic.

  She saw the chest suddenly in her mind. Ashlon lifted it from its resting place, wiping it clean and dry, gathering it into his arms as one would a child. His face wore relief and amazement. He looked at her with gratitude shining in his eyes and another emotion that made her heart ache. One she couldn’t define.

  It was more than protection, fate required of her. And the certainty of knowledge went deeper than Heremon’s presage, further than his letter, past her own prediction. She knew then that she must become like a rock in a storm as certainly as knowing her own name. The prediction was simple and irrefutable to her in that moment as the music swept about in waves of notes crashing and pulling hearts and minds.

  Ashlon Sinclair was her fate, her destiny.

  And that meant her destiny was in peril, not simply his life.

  The doors opened behind her and she did not need his scent or deep voice to know it was him.