Irish Moon

by Amber Scott

  “Breanne.”

  Without turning to see the emotion that strangled his voice, Breanne said, “We must go tomorrow night.”

  She imagined he shook his head in the silence before replying.

  “Where?”

  “I know where the chest is.”

  “You solved the script. When? Why did you not say so? Where is it? Quickly, we must go now.” He stepped close to her.

  Breanne turned about. “We canno’ go now. We would be missed.”

  “You would be missed. I will not. Tell me where it lies and I will retrieve it alone. ‘Tis probably safer, as well.”

  “You canno’ leave either. And you will not go without me.”

  “I beg to differ my lady. Clear of translating the script, I require no further assistance, would not have asked of it if another option were available. I will go now and without you.”

  Breanne didn’t doubt he meant what he said. His eyes were fierce, his mouth set. He didn’t seem to realize that they were intrinsically linked and not by the book or by the chest but by events set in motion by a generation past. And she didn’t know how to explain this fact without sounding heretical or mad.

  She searched for another, equally true, explanation while he searched her eyes.

  Ashlon held her shoulders and stooped low. “Breanne, please, I know there is an invisible draw between us. I feel the pull of my soul and body to you, but I dare not risk losing that chest. There is more at stake in its loss than I am at liberty to share with you or even claim to know myself. Please, I need you to tell me where it is now. If I wait any longer, I fear the consequences will damage far more than my life but yours, all of Tir Conaill’s even.”

  “Aye, I know. Heremon spoke as much in the time of your arrival and I realize now before it, as well. He has been long preparing me for this day and only now did I see it.”

  Ashlon ran his hands through his hair. The music inside took on a frenzied beat as the song reached the crescendo. The fast beats matched the tension between them.

  “If you know, as you say you do, if what you say is true, then you will tell me now.”

  Breanne slowly shook her head and braced for his outrage. “Please believe me, Ashlon. I do not mean to impede you, in fact, the opposite. The chest is safe. I know where it lies, I must first discover how to get there.”

  Ashlon frowned. He shook his head. “You know its location but not how to reach it?”

  She could see he did not ask her these questions, was venting more than naught. The music paused. Silence spread its wings around them.

  “When the moon reaches its zenith tomorrow night, we will go. Meet me outside of the rear bailey postern.”

  “I will go. You will stay. I will not put you at risk.” He sounded better if not a bit saddened.

  Breanne turned to go inside. He grasped her wrist.

  “Is there more riddle to solve? Is there some person to ask for direction?” He must feel rather powerless.

  “Aye. And I have.”

  Ashlon nodded but his frustration was clear. He wanted to press her for detail but seemed to rein in the urge. The old ways were nigh extinct in England and elsewhere. So, she didn’t think he fully comprehended the weight of her words, but trusted her all the same, or tried to.

  Something she had said must have rung true for him not to fight her further. She wondered what it was.

  “Strange that seven years can feel like a glimpse now and one more than eternity.” A soft ballad penetrated through the doors and walls and cloaked the damp night air.

  Breanne hugged herself against the flutter inside of her. He was hers. To protect. Ashlon Sinclair was hers. He just did not know it yet. This was his home. He just had not discovered that yet. But, he would with her help.

  Breanne watched the play of frustration in his eyes and could see it was not from feelings of impotence alone. He was fighting something else, as well. When he turned and met her eyes, she no longer wondered what he fought. It read there clearly.

  He wanted her. She needed to distract him from any further wanton thought fast or he’d have her pinned and lost in heated bliss again with somebody certain to catch them.

  “Gannon O’Shannon is the most clever man I know. I gave the script to him.” She meant not just to distract him but to reassure him, as well. “He may have it solved now but, of course, we must wait nonetheless, for the full moon and last guests. It will be safest.”

  Ashlon’s eyes narrowed on her. “You gave the book to another to translate? Is the book not so private and important as you led me to believe then?”

  “Nay. It is both. I only gave Gannon the lines, rewritten and told him it was a riddle, a challenge. He will not understand the connection it has to you or even to me, let alone the chest.” Though her words came well, they seemed to be worsening the look of things rather than improving them.

  “You do not understand what it is you’ve shared, what it is you’ve put at risk. If any learn of this chest, if it is lost to me again, I will lay the blame at your feet.”

  Breanne gasped. “There is no need to become angry. I swear to you here before God and the universe that I do understand the gravity of your quest well. I might even understand it better than you yourself do.” Outrage swelled inside of her. How dare he? From the start, she had done naught but aid him and without reward or gain.

  “I can hardly see how that is possible. Life and custom may differ here than in the rest of Europe, but make no mistake that the knowledge I carry goes past the depth of an Irish lass.”

  Breanne’s fists balled tight. She couldn’t believe the gall of the man. “Absolutely unbelievable--.”

  “Exactly my feeling, my lady, unbelievable. If I were in a different position than at your mercy, I would demand to see this man and repair the damage you’ve inevitably done.”

  “You speak from the wrong end, sir,” Breanne said, her arms crossed. “I am far more clever than you can comprehend due to the closed-minded mentality all English appear to favor.”

  “If I counted myself as one, I might take exception to such an insult, but since I do not, you have wasted your breath.” Ashlon shrugged but his eyes shined with ire.

  “Alas, I forgot, you are a man without a country, a noble knight without a cause, no more’n a bounder who I will be happy to see leave here.”

  Ashlon half-smiled. “Well, you have only to wait so long as you see fit. Go now, my lady, fetch your errand boy and let us be off to find the chest you claim to have found. Ah yes, I forgot, you only know the place and not the way.”

  Angry tears stung Breanne’s eyes. She wouldn’t let him do this to her. She would not let him see her cry. She had half a mind to show him exactly how clever and capable she was but couldn’t think of a single trick at that moment. There weren’t exactly a pile of unlit candles lying about the yard.

  Behind Ashlon, the doors opened. A handful of flushed guests joined them to cool in the night air. Ashlon took a step back from her and though he still appeared angry, smiled for the benefit of the others.

  Breanne did the same. A breath later, Quinlan appeared with Rhiannon on his arm. They looked handsome together, glowing from the dance they must’ve shared. Breanne turned to go inside before they saw her among the crowd.

  Ashlon managed to bend close enough to whisper, “It appears yours is not the only hand, Quinlan is interested in, Breanne.”

  She inhaled sharply and looked at him. Ashlon knew she meant to marry, then? Did he also know her impending choice was at Niall’s behest? So be it. She should have realized that he would ask of her, being forced to depend on her as he was. Breanne strode toward the door then stopped and faced him. She would not let him get the best of her.

  “You make it clear how little you know of an Irish woman’s heart, Sir Ashlon. I have no need to compete with another. The man I set sights on will fall to my feet in love and make no mistake, will never take interest in another.” She squared her shoulders and resumed her retu
rn.

  At the doors, Breanne pressed her lips to her hand in a kiss. She let a small flame dance on her open palm then blew it out as if blowing him a kiss. She didn’t linger to enjoy the astonishment that lifted his features but the mere glimpse made the rest of her night worth dancing away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ashlon woke at dawn with more than a headache from over imbibing. His chest ached as well. An uncomfortable weight had settled there during the course of last evening. But, he did not blame Breanne. He blamed himself.

  He had gotten too close to her and to here. It must account for his dread and sadness rather than the elation and anticipation he should feel. They would leave tonight to retrieve the chest and within mere hours of its discovery, his seven years of surreptitious living would end. He would be free of the burden Jacques left him.

  So, why wasn’t he feeling well, light and hopeful? He raked his hands through his hair and gave up on getting any more sleep. His mind was too tense. What he needed was a distraction.

  Last night, the dancing and drinking turned out to be a poor attempt to keep his mind off the bewitching creature, Breanne. Today, the effects only worsened the strange longing he felt for her. Even in heated argument, his body responded to her. Something about her lit his soul on fire, so much so that his mind played tricks on him.

  She’d garnered assistance and he should trust her in the decision’s wisdom. She’d done naught that would make him believe her otherwise capable and honest, yet he’d attacked her. Last night, he was sore to admit it, but in the growing gray light of another Irish spring day, the truth came more readily to him.

  It was not the idea of her asking for help. It was that he felt enormously useless in his own quest. He hated his dependence on not only her but a stranger’s charity, as well. His independent and self-sufficient nature found the ongoing dependence more than distasteful. He found it abhorrent. But, he had no choice.

  Also, though he’d never say the words aloud, under torture even, he’d been jealous. It was the fact that she had asked a man. Women and men did not make good friends in his experience. Which meant that she had more than Quinlan in mind for her betrothal.

  First, walking upon her and Quinlan ready to embrace. Then to find out another suitor wooed her, one she trusted enough to beg a favor. It went beyond the grain.

  Ashlon stood and shoved his boots on. Aside from his mantle, he’d left all clothing on before passing out on his pallet. And though his head now ached, he was thankful for the oblivion the drink had given him.

  If he lay another night torturing himself with images of her mouth and body pressed wantonly into his, he might go mad. One single day, and he would be gone. Once the chest was laid in its rightful and permanent rest, he could go completely raving mad, could entertain ridiculous thoughts of love and family, of settling down. Until then, he must remain sane and busy. The thought should have offered comfort. Instead, it made his chest feel all the heavier.

  After breaking his fast, curing his weak stomach, with a biscuit and dried meat, Ashlon headed toward the O’Donnell keep. The wedding was tomorrow. A shame he would not be here to witness the celebration. He didn’t doubt it would well shadow those he’d already participated in. Damned but the Irish knew how to live.

  Not a single soul went without a hearty dance, singing, and clapping, and laughing. The energy of the music and joy had pulled him in and lifted him up. So much so that he forgot his anger and thoroughly enjoyed the remaining evening.

  Breanne had been mesmerizing. She only rested a moment here and there to wet her lips on wine and water then returned to dancing. She oftentimes was the center of the dance, being hailed and applauded as was well deserved.

  She had an angel’s grace and a devilish spark.

  Ashlon shook his head. He needed her out of his mind, fogging it up with her draw.

  Few men were about at the early hour, likely sleeping off their own night’s worth of drink and cheer. Aside from a few servants, fuidir, Quinlan had called them, Danny was the only other person in the bailey yard. He sat leaned against the stone wall, a black and gray striped cat at his feet, and ate a pear. He was talking to himself.

  Ashlon chuckled and approached as silent as possible though he was in plain view. He hoped Danny was distracted enough in daydreams and pretend that Ashlon might give him a bit of a scare.

  “Dead wrong you are there, Finn. Breanne cannot be in love. She hardly seems to like Sir--.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Danny nearly shot straight up into the air and did knock his head against the stone in a hard thump. Ashlon chuckled but felt badly when the lad rubbed his head and appeared more than perturbed with him. He looked a mite panicked.

  “Sir Ashlon. I did not see you.”

  “Aye, I know it. Are you all right? I did not mean to scare you unconscious.” He knelt before Danny, touched his head gently.

  “I’m fine. You got me good, though. I did not hear or see you at all.”

  “I could tell. You were talking to yourself, arguing with yourself in fact.” Ashlon took a seat on the ground and leaned his head back. It deservedly throbbed.

  “To myself? Oh, aye, I sometimes do. When, no one else is about to hear it. What is it I was saying, that is, what did you hear?”

  “Naught to blush about, Danny. It sounded like you were considering Lady Breanne’s affections. And you referred to the name Finn.”

  “Finn is the cat, Breanne’s cat. When I talk to myself, I use him to do it is all.” Danny spoke fast.

  Ashlon winced inwardly. He hadn’t wanted to make the boy feel awkward. “I’ve done the same myself. But, I chose a horse to speak to myself with. A fine stallion I was forced to sell some years past.”

  Danny smiled wide. The cat named Finn, swished its tail in the dirt. It narrowed disturbingly light green eyes on him and seemed to look right into Ashlon. Feeling silly at the notion, Ashlon reached to scratch behind its ears. It ran, hissing a stream on its way.

  Danny laughed. “He’s not a friendly one, Finn.”

  “No, I’d say he’s not.” Ashlon pushed Breanne from his mind. “Seeing as we’re both about with not much to do, is now a good time to see to your swordsmanship, Danny?”

  Danny leapt to his feet. “Aye, Sir Ashlon, it is.”

  By the noon hour, Danny was worn out and Ashlon was warmed up. His head’s pain dulled considerably and the exercise had done a fine job of preoccupying his mind. The continuance of Niall’s games, kept it that way.

  By the third round, five warriors remained: himself, two of the O’Doherty clan, two of the O’Donnell clan, one of which was Quinlan.

  Ashlon had not heard Quinlan’s name announced the previous eve, but was not surprised to see the man join the ten that began the day’s battles. They’d had only time enough to exchange a nod of acknowledgement before Niall called the games to commence.

  The crowd today seemed twice as big and ten times as loud. Ashlon took each man on with vigor. He did not mean to win, only to wear down the ache inside. Every time he felled a blow, blocked a stab, sidestepped a thrust, the heaviness dwindled. In its place a wonderful numbness took residence.

  The hours swept by him. So, when Quinlan came to stand before him, and Niall announced theirs would end the day’s competition round, Ashlon was surprised. Not because his newfound friend remained a contender, for Quinlan had done well yesterday against him, but because the day was gone.

  He would meet her within hours, he realized. And for the first, he allowed Breanne back into his thoughts. The ache was gone. Only new anticipation filled him as he lifted his sword ready.

  “You’ve done well, Ashlon. I should have asked your help in swords, rather than in love.” There was a subtle edginess to Quinlan’s statement.

  “Would it be such an upset to have an outlander win out?” Ashlon half-smiled and brought his sword down onto Quinlan’s.

  “Ashlon, you should know by now, that you are counted as one of us. You have
only to petition for your official status to call yourself an O’Donnell clansman.” He blocked the blow well and swooped down one in return.

  The clang of metal rang in the yard and the crowd was more than usually hushed. He could tell Quinlan then and there that he meant to be gone before morning light but saw no reason to. Better to sever clean and quick. If any knew aside from Breanne, many would try to stop him.

  Ashlon grunted as Quinlan parried and turned. The day’s work began to show. His movements were a degree slower, his arms heavier. Quinlan must be equally fatigued, but his blows came without sign of it. In fact, they, too, held an edginess to them.

  With each block, a flash of something akin to anger lit in Quinlan’s eyes. As they approached the call of time, Quinlan’s eyes took on a frenzied glint and Ashlon became sure that the man was bent on winning. But, there was something more, as well. Ashlon couldn’t fathom why Quinlan would suddenly harbor anger for him.

  Unless he knew of Ashlon’s encounters with Breanne and, thereby, the inevitable breach in trust. Impossible. The only two that could speak of it wouldn’t. Breanne would not for the sake of her reputation. And Ashlon would never risk a lady’s social virtue even if he were able to honor it with marriage.

  Niall announced the round’s end and applause roared around them. Quinlan and Ashlon grasped forearms in a sturdy shake, pleasing the crowd all the more. Quinlan’s grip tightened and his eyes narrowed on Ashlon. “May the best man win,” he said.

  Ashlon merely nodded but when he followed the path of Quinlan’s gaze to the open window, he understood the man’s sudden ire. There, with her hands clasped to her heart, waving a square of sheer blue and beaming an ear-to-ear smile at Ashlon stood Lady Rhiannon.

  Her flirtation was unmistakable and her eyes did not move from his face to Quinlan’s. Ashlon’s did. On it, he saw fleeting but clear dejection before Quinlan strode away. He looked back to the window and found Rhiannon gone. Only Rose remained and she appeared to be lost in thought.

  The crowd dissipated, most leaving to ready for the evening meal. Ashlon needed a bath, too, and left for his small room, feeling more excited than before. He shouldn’t have been so happy to see the source of Quinlan’s ire, but he was regardless. It meant that Breanne’s reputation remained intact and that their encounters, were they discovered, might not mean a betrayal of his new friendship with Quinlan.