Irish Moon

by Amber Scott

  It meant that Quinlan did not love her.

  Ashlon bathed and dressed in quick order, telling himself he hurried because of the hunger gnawing his gut. When he shaved his face clean, he reminded himself that it was an issue of preference not of appeal. Just because the local custom was of wearing a full beard, didn’t mean he had to.

  His rush and care were not for her. The thought crossed his mind more than once that it was their last night, last time seeing each other. What could the harm be in leaving a good memory in her mind?

  When he arrived at the main hall, diners were already seated and the meal begun. Niall’s table was always the first to fill and looked to have some time before. In fact, only one table still had available seating. He credited mere chance that it was the same she sat at.

  His stomach tightened as he approached. Fortunately, Quinlan sat there, as well, and Ashlon could count on his invitation to join them. Particularly since Rhiannon sat at the man’s left and Breanne in front.

  He took one steadying breath and approached slowly. A clap to his shoulder stopped him.

  “Showing off for the beauties today, Ashlon?” Ramsey asked. His hair was still wet and slicked back.

  “Every opportunity that I can,” he said. “Did you not participate yesterday?”

  “No. I’m a mite too old to be playing with the bucks. But, I watched and I do believe you’ve learned a trick or two since we last met.”

  Ashlon half-smiled and continued to the table. Ramsey followed. “I’ve had time and travels aplenty to see to it. New tricks, as you put it, helped pass the time and saved my hide.”

  “Oh, aye, I imagine. I must admit I envy you a bit there, Ashlon.” Ramsey took a seat, nodding to the diners. Ashlon did, as well, next to Breanne. “You must have such adventures to tell your grandchildren.”

  “I suppose adventure is one way of considering my past years. But, don’t trim your plight overly short, Ramsey. You’ve a family, a home, a nation.”

  “You forget that all these things can also be yours, should you only ask.” Ramsey spoke a bit louder and nodded to Breanne, Quinlan, Rose and anyone else within earshot.

  Ashlon gave him a hardened look in hopes of quelling the fellow’s urge to sell his point. Ashlon did not need a rally of supporters just now. He needed a different and safe topic.

  “Do you know, that I myself have said the same to Sir Ashlon,” Quinlan said, then introduced himself to Ramsey. The two men then became so engrossed in their own perspectives on why Ashlon should remain in Tir Conaill, or the very least, in Ireland, that they left him out of it.

  Breanne sat stiffly next to him and hardly touched her food. He didn’t need to look to know she was equally engrossed in the conversation but, he suspected, for her own reasons. She wanted him gone. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had her own contributions to the debate outside of the life in danger angle, which she certainly wouldn’t use.

  So that he would then not be able to further seduce her would not be an easy argument to offer either. Not that he’d been seducing her. If anything, she had been seducing him with those bewitching eyes, luscious lips.

  Ashlon drank from his cup, his throat suddenly tight. His body was too aware of hers next to his. Sitting here, being late, was turning out to be a bad idea. And they were supposed to meet in only a few hours and be alone in the night. Ashlon shook himself and tried to focus on the conversation.

  “Aye, I agree, why is that Ashlon?” Ramsey said.

  “Pardon?” Ashlon had not a clue as to what the fellow was asking him.

  “Why is it that you never say you will and yet don’t say why you will not stay on?” Ramsey clarified with a chuckle.

  Breanne faced him suddenly, her eyes full of concern. He had at least five others staring him down along with her, each with a separate degree of interest, and he didn’t want to consider how many more listened with equal intensity.

  “Never one to beat around about the bushel, were you Ramsey?” he said evasively.

  “You needn’t actually answer him, Sir Ashlon,” Breanne said. “In truth, your decisions should not concern us at all. Your choice to leave or remain is yours, not ours.”

  Was she trying to keep him quiet, trying to help? If so, the opposite effect took hold of him. Suddenly, he wished he could make clear to all exactly why he could not stay. He wanted to tell them all that the choice was not his, that it was made long ago by a man now dead. He wanted to tell her he wished circumstances were different.

  As he opened his mouth to speak some fragment of these truths, Ramsey took pity and spoke up. “Or perhaps, his heart is torn, belongs someplace other than with us?”

  Ashlon knew Ramsey referred to the brotherhood, that he had not recovered from the loss of it. Quinlan might guess as much, as well. The ladies, though, leastwise Rhiannon, must not have known overmuch about his past.

  “Were you in love, Sir Ashlon? Does your heart long for love lost?” Rhiannon asked breathlessly.

  Rose snorted. “Lust is more like it. It’s all you men ever think about, isn’t it?”

  “What was that you said, Rose? I couldn’t quite hear over Lady Breanne’s enjoyment of the meal.”

  Breanne jabbed him in the ribs. A chorus of laughter relieved the tension and Breanne’s shoulders dropped a notch. Ashlon wished he could feel relieved, as well, but that filthy ache from the morning was returning fast. He finished his meal quickly and made excuses for his early departure, blaming the days games and fatigue.

  He didn’t go back to his room. He walked. The night was cool and clear and the moon was low and yellowish. He had naught to do but wait for her.

  Breanne watched him from her window as his shadowy outline transversed the inner bailey yard. As she estimated, Gannon had come through, an hour ago. Sitting next to Ashlon, she felt sure he would ask about the text. But he hadn’t.

  Gannon had found her after the meal and slipped her the small note. His expression brimmed with triumph. And while he didn’t ask any questions, he made her promise to let him know every last detail regarding its success. And that if she ever saw fit, he would love to know who created the puzzle as they were masterful at it.

  Near the stables, Ashlon walked heavily as though a great weight were on his shoulders. She wondered what the man would be like once the weight lifted. Would she see the boyish charm she’d glimpsed in his fever and with a former fellow knight?

  Would he remain long enough for it to even become apparent or would he leave, the chest in his arms as she’d foreseen? Breanne wanted the time to swim past but stand still, as well. The unmistakable presence of change lingered near. She hoped she could weather its storm.

  Another hour and she would know. Laughter and dance still carried through the keep from the night’s festivities. Finn slept contentedly on her bed. The clear night air smelled dewy. She could go to him early, she supposed but sensed an unnamable reason to stay.

  She began to gather what she would need, Heremon’s book, her athame, three white beeswax candles. With one last glance at Finn and her room, Breanne snuck the door shut and tiptoed down to meet Ashlon.

  Her green cloak blended well with shadow and wall and though she got the feeling someone followed, saw no one along the way.

  Ashlon sat where she had asked him to wait, pulling petals from a flower, sitting in the dirt and grass. He stood as she approached and Breanne was glad for the dark and her hood because she didn’t want him to see what he did to her, or what his leaving would cause. He could not stay. She would force him away if she had to, but her heart didn’t hear reason. It only wanted him near.

  Well, it could have its way for a handful of hours more.

  Ashlon gestured his hand that she should lead and so she did, unhurt by his silence. Down the valley slope, along the craggy rock path, she hurried and he followed.

  His steps were noticeably softer tonight than the other morning. Breanne took it as a sign of support and compliance. Surely he finally believed in h
er. If so, that belief would certainly soon be shaken, for she didn’t think her practice in magick would enforce it.

  Ashlon could not call her a witch when his brethren Knights had suffered so much under the same accusation. But he might yet fear what she must do.

  Soon he would know the old ways more intimately than she guessed he could comprehend.

  Breanne weaved down the hill and to the stream. Without verifying he was near, she retrieved the chalice and bent to the stream. Ashlon remained quiet.

  As they approached the Sacred Grove, she paused and performed the ritual blessing on the old oak’s roots. She placed the empty chalice into her satchel and faced Ashlon.

  “Before we enter, I must ask of you to clear your mind as fully as possible of all fear and prejudice. If you please, save any questions, or conclusions, for after your chest is retrieved.”

  Ashlon’s frown deepened. “I will try. But, I warn you, the very telling me to do so has made me wary already.”

  “It canno’ be helped. I know it is difficult to trust me so blindly, but I have given you my word and my actions show honesty thus far.”

  “They have.” Ashlon cleared his throat. “Very well, I will try my best.”

  “I’m afraid mere effort will not be sufficient,” she said softly. “I require your vow that you will work diligently to maintain a clear mind. If you do not, we may fail in retrieving the chest.” Breanne kept her voice even and unassuming. “Unless you may stay among us another month.”

  “You have my word,” Ashlon said, a bit too quickly for her heart.

  But her heart was not important at that moment. Her head was. With a deep breath she cleansed it and feeling somber, entered the grove. From the first step Breanne became aware of the full moon’s effect on the grove. Magick permeated the very air, sweetening it, creating a low vibration that her body responded to with a quickened pulse.

  Nights like this were what she had lived for before Heremon’s murder, what had kept her going through failure after failure over years of virtually lone study. On a night such as this one, she remembered why she had worked so hard and her commitment was inevitably renewed.

  She wondered if Ashlon could feel it, too. Could he sense the tingle of it on his skin, smell its allure? She didn’t look at him to see. She kept onward to the stone slab that her Druid master had used as his altar, to her destination.

  The leaves and grass sparkled with dew and enchantment and the forest felt full of watching, curious eyes, all on her. She sensed they were there without having to see them in the flesh. Fairies, small, secretive little creatures were out to play and among them she wouldn’t be surprised to know an elf or two came along.

  They were said to be human sized, inquisitive creatures that sometimes lived recklessly and came through the Otherworld’s veil to see how the human half lived. They weren’t so easily hidden though, as a fairy might be and so Breanne never expected a sighting.

  She pictured them green skinned with long pointy ears reaching past their head’s top. In myths and legends they were hailed to be so beautiful so as to hurt the human eyes that could not break away, bringing tears and eventually blindness to witnesses of it.

  Breanne was proud to share it with Ashlon, were he aware of it or not, because this was Ireland at its most magnificent and fascinating. If he opened his heart to it, he’d be smitten forever with its wonders.

  Deep into the trees, the clearing came into view. The songs of toads and crickets softened as they stepped into the near perfect circle lit by the overhead moon.

  Breanne turned to Ashlon, fighting down the panic in her belly. She didn’t want to disappoint the trust Heremon had placed in her and she had promised his soul, wherever it might be in heaven or Otherworld, that she would find who had killed him and fulfill this task’s completion.

  Ashlon’s face was upturned, staring at the moon above, his mouth open. A smile spread from her lips to her heart watching the awe touch him. What must it be like to have had his faith so shaken by past events and to see this splendor now? She hoped it nourished his soul and offered a bit of faith in her.

  When he looked at her, questions showed in his eyes but he held them back and only nodded at her. Breanne didn’t miss the swallow he took either.

  She took his hand and led him to the stone altar. To him it likely appeared to be no more than a good and square-ish shaped boulder among others that were round. Breanne saw differently.

  The stone slab glowed faintly and its energy vibrated through her. When she’d told Ashlon they could not come here, she had meant that they could not yet retrieve the chest. Gannon’s deciphering did not spell the path she’d traveled countless times, it showed the words that would lay open the stone and reveal the chest inside.

  But, revealing the chest depended on a level of magick Breanne had never experienced before let alone created. She took a trembling breath and knelt, as well. She withdrew the candles and placed them in a three points along the stone’s tabled surface. Her hands shook.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Ashlon press his eyes closed and mouth words she hoped were not heavenly prayers for escape or forgiveness. They needed the earthly Goddesses’ ears tonight, not the heavenly father’s.

  Of Morrigan’s trinity, she needed Macha for destruction. From Brigit, she would ask help in opening the well within the stone where the chest lay. And Sheela-na-gig for providence and help in birthing the chest forth.

  Ashlon’s mouth stopped moving but his eyes remained closed. No matter, so long as he did not intercede with the ritual.

  Breanne opened Heremon’s book to the image of the chest. She rotated the book so that the image became upside down. She read the words in reverse and then forward again. With Gannon’s help, their meaning was now clear to her.

  She lit the candles, thankful to have Ashlon’s eyes shut, with a soft blow and whisper to each. She withdrew her athame and released a shaky breath.

  “You’re not going to try to kill me with that tiny thing, are you?” Ashlon whispered.

  Breanne sagged and gave him a glowering look. “No,” she whispered back. She returned her attention to the slab.

  “It’s much smaller than I recall. I can’t believe you accosted me with such a puny blade.”

  Breanne glared at him. “I didn’t. I accosted you with my boline. They are a set. But, I was a bit distracted that morning and fear I left it in the grass.”

  “Aye, you left it there. Then you walked away from me unprotected.”

  “Aye, now, please keep quiet, Ashlon,” she said, exasperated, ignoring his scolding tone. “I need to concentrate and you should, as well.”

  “My apologies. Nerves, I suppose.”

  “Shhh.”

  Ashlon winced and closed his eyes again. But, she hadn’t missed the bewildered look in them upon seeing the lit candles and her hand lifted ready to scry the air. She hoped he could handle whatever happened.

  Breanne started over.

  She took another breath and was relieved to notice it came out smoothly this time. The interruption had helped ease her tension, as well. She felt ready.

  Scrying the air in a clockwise circle around them, Breanne spoke the words in Gaelic. She enclosed them in, feeling the energy compress and surround them. The magickal vibration was still subtle but present.

  She began the chant in slow careful words, keeping in counts of threes until the trance pulled her in and drew her up. The edge of trees surrounding the clearing blurred, becoming moonlit green, haze and mist. The stone shifted and the candles disappeared.

  Breanne rose, the book with its glowing pages set aside. Ashlon remained as still as stone as she lifted her arms to the sky and reached into the depths of her being for her last draw of hope and love and need.

  The night air roared in her ears, through her body as the vibration grew. With the words as arrows she shot them into the night air, willing them to find their target and splay open the stone well.

  As her
body drained, she fought to collect her composure and stay on her feet, terrified that she might fail. Like a bolt of lightening, something bright uncoiled from her. Breanne fought to harness the power and charged the altar with it, knocking her onto her back, unconscious.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ashlon didn’t believe his eyes. The silence brought them open in time to witness a blue-ish air of curling lights reach out and slice into the large rock she’d brought them to. He’d never seen anything of the like and it all occurred soundlessly before him.

  When Breanne fell back in an apparent faint, Ashlon caught her, saving her head from cracking open on a sharp rock. He was torn between shaking her awake and demanding to know why in the world she had endangered herself so, and holding her close.

  Holding her won out. His eyes flashed from the fallen chunks of stone to the extinguished candles, still smoking, and back to her pale face.

  He bent his head close to hear she breathed. His heart galloped in his ears. He touched her neck to feel hers softly beat. Both her breathing and heartbeat felt far too shallow and he feared he might lose her.

  Ashlon stroked her hair and whispered her name while he cradled her. The chest’s lid crested the remaining square of rock, but he cared naught but for her. If she were hurt, he would never forgive himself or Jacques for bringing about such a disaster.

  Her eyes did not move, nor her limbs. Her mouth’s normally rosy hue looked whitish and dry. And worst of all, he had no inkling of a notion as to how to help her. The ache that had woke him that morn gripped him now, sharper than ever before.

  He would rather lose the chest than her, would choose to lose his own life instead. He’d shout to the heavens, command them to open up and bless her, but he’d not risk letting her go. Instead he held her closer, kissing her cold brow.