Irish Moon

by Amber Scott

  She did not have time to call Finn a liar and knew he was not.

  Finn was right. She would never risk Danny’s life, brother or no, even if it meant sliding within his evil, allowing it into her heart and through her veins. But, not without Danny safely out of his grasp.

  “I will do it. I will do whatever you ask. But, only if you release him. Now.”

  “I cannot release him now. He is my insurance that you will succeed and that if not, I will.”

  He couldn’t want to kill the boy either. She could not let him hurt Danny.

  Breanne saw only one possibility. “If I fail, you may use me.”

  Forgive me, Ashlon.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The cries stopped. Ashlon strained to hear other signs of life. He was running out of hope. Water dripped from the stone ceiling in steady repetition. The chains clanged with every movement. The prayer had done little to aid him. He felt worse. But, he would not consider failure.

  There had to be a way out of the irons and cell. He wished he could borrow from Breanne’s giftedness. Somehow, she would see an escape possible. He told himself to remain calm, to think.

  His tunic clung to his body, sweaty. His wrists stung from the scraping metal. The dripping tapped a rhythm into the dirt floor and irritated his already weathered mind.

  He needed something to pick the lock. Nothing on his person was suitably slim and hard though. If only he still wore the chain and Knight’s emblem. But, wishing had gotten no help yet.

  The water dripped and his eyes gazed upon it as his mind went blank. It was close enough to touch. Ashlon reached out his hand and let a drop run into his fingers. It was warm and smooth and not water at all but oily.

  Without questioning such happenstance or possibility, he hurriedly slicked his hands and the metal cuffs in the dripping lubrication. A thud outside the door warned him someone was coming.

  Wincing and pulling, he finally squeezed one hand through. His thumb knuckle could be broken but he did not have time to care. He forced the other hand free and stood next to the door ready with his only weapon left, his fists.

  Whoever came through that door was about to experience Ashlon’s full fury. He did not know what he would do if Breanne or the boy were harmed or worse in the course of his failed mission.

  A key turned in the lock, jangled, and the door came open inward. Ashlon hid behind it, his fists laced and raised. His fingers squished with oil as the tightened together. He tasted blood. Rage rose like a fire in him so well he could almost smell smoke.

  A tall lean figure shadowed the cell and turned just in time to meet face to fist and crumple to the dirt. Ashlon stepped into the open and went still.

  Father Connelly lay in the dirt, a ring holding three keys lay in his hand.

  “Christ’s blood, what is he doing here?” He peered at the bald man and shook his shoulder. “Father, are you well, can you hear me?”

  The man’s eyes came open. They landed on Ashlon and Father Connelly edged backwards, his hands defensive above his face. “Do not harm me, I beg you, Sir Sinclair. I mean you no harm. I swear it.”

  Ashlon narrowed his gaze on the man a moment. He’d lost trust in clergy a long time ago, before the Pope’s betrayal even. Too few carried any real faith in their hearts, more lived in greed and lust. He could not trust one simply because he released him, in fact, might not for that very reason.

  “To your feet, Father.” Ashlon dragged him upward by the arm. “Where are Breanne and the fiend.”

  Father Connelly shook his head. “I don’t know. I only found you by chance. I’ve come from the feast, urged here by what I cannot name. But, something has gone terribly wrong Sir Sinclair.”

  “Explain yourself. Now. How came you by keys to a dungeon cell if you did not aid in my placement there?”

  The man’s eyes danced with fear. His body trembled with it. “As I said. I found the need to return, my gut telling me something had gone awry. I am right, but I did not put you in the cell. If I had, why would I then release you?”

  True enough but still Ashlon felt unsettled. “Where has he taken her?”

  “Not here.” The man began to cry. He tried to jerk his arm back. “Please release me. We must leave at once. There is a fire above.”

  Ashlon only paused a moment to gauge the man’s expression. He saw no lie and shoved him into the corridor to lead the way. “How can you know they are not here?”

  “Master O’Shannon is getting help. I stayed. I have trusted the wrong man. I have only myself to blame.”

  “You have not answered me.” And he was making little sense. They reached a stairwell. The smell grew stronger. Where was Breanne?

  “I searched every room in the priory and here, below. They may have been here but are now gone.”

  They reached the main. Flames licked the walls and were spreading fast directly above where his cell had been. The oil. Someone had set the fire then, intended to kill him a coward’s way.

  Ashlon followed the priest out. He spat on the ground. The metallic taste was gone and a tinge of bile replaced it. In the night air, calls could be heard. Help came, buckets in hand. The flames would be out fast, not yet out of control.

  He had to find her.

  Ashlon faced Father Connelly. His mouth turned downward. “What did he offer you to gain your interest, Father? Wealth, power, is he on orders?”

  The priest shook his head, tears streamed his face.

  “Tell me what it took to sell your faith and put your niece in harm’s way. Tell me what price a boy’s life is worth to you.”

  “The boy Danny is safe. I found him. He is with his mother.”

  “You lie.”

  Father Connelly gasped. “I held no ill intent at any moment in the course of my aid. I myself am a victim of lies. Never would I put a life at risk to further my own gain. You must believe me.”

  “What did he promise you?” Ashlon asked, his voice menacing. He curled his hands into tight fists.

  Oncomers paid little heed to them and hurried to the building’s interior. A chain of men formed and buckets lined and passed to and from the priory. Father Connelly stood taller and looked Ashlon in the eye.

  “He duped me into believing a relic was to come to Tir Conaill. A most holy piece, and that having it would give us the credibility I’ve long craved. I admit my folly. I have helped the man to decipher code and its mystery and promise sucked me in. But, do not think to so easily judge me.”

  “If Breanne or Danny have been harmed, mark me, priest, my judgment is the least you will feel.” Ashlon turned on his heel, his name a mumble in the foreground noise. Somebody had recognized him.

  No matter. He might look the knave for abandoning the call to assist the fire’s extinguish, but he cared not. He strode away, ignoring the call, to the only place his mind concluded the fiend would take her. It was the same place Ashlon now realized he’d first seen Finn.

  The black that had carried him back there was his first choice, but he couldn’t see wearing the steed any further. He took the bay in the next stall and didn’t bother with more than a harness. The bay seemed pleased to be getting a midnight ride and his neighbors whinnied their jealousy.

  Nobody came to check the disruption, likely helping with the fire, and Ashlon made an easy escape into the dark. Strangely, he knew the way into the dark valley, skirting the wood’s edge, the moon watching through heavy clouds.

  Let it rain on him, on the fire. Let the pregnant clouds pour down, winds whip, thunder bellow. It would match the hooves and hurry and heartache he tried hard to keep at bay.

  Danny was safe. Breanne would be, too.

  Ashlon abandoned the horse at a sturdy oak and stole into the dark toward Heremon’s cottage. He smelled the salty waves that crashed below. The cliff area suddenly seemed taller, as though a jutting arm trying to reach the stars ready to fall short and collapse into the water.

  He heard her before he saw her and realized he’d sens
ed her there the whole time. Ashlon flexed his hands, went to the place his sword should hang and fell on air.

  It had helped him naught on the road that day so he had no remorse. Instead, he stalked closer. Peering about the cottage’s edge, he glimpsed blue billowing fabric. His chest tightened.

  Breanne.

  He crouched low and peered farther until he saw her in full view. She stood holding the stone, eyes closed and entranced similarly to last night. She swayed slightly on her feet and the wind moved the fabric of her cape and gown. Her skin gleamed in the moonlight, bare under the cloak.

  The wind rippled the cloak away, exposing a perfect thigh.

  Ashlon exhaled and only then did he realize he’d been holding his breath. The stone glowed in her hands, raised chest level. Her mouth moved but he heard no words carry to him.

  He leaned out more. There, before Breanne, knelt and bowed was Finn, in human form. The fiend’s eyes were shut. He looked to be at worship, her a pagan goddess ready to receive. Ashlon nearly choked on the impressible fear the scene faced him with.

  Dew glistened bright as the stars on the grass around them. The cliff’s edge dropped behind her.

  One small push from Finn and she’d be gone.

  Ashlon pulled at the neck of his tunic and swallowed. He wanted to rush the fiend unawares but knew he would thereby endanger her. If not for the noise, he would find a weapon in the cottage. His heart screamed for him to take action while his mind bade him wait.

  He must trust her. She had found a way to free Danny, Finn’s lure. She would not put herself in undue jeopardy, stubborn or no. Ashlon caught movement in Finn’s posture and pressed back against the stony wall. He looked to the sky, wind whipping his hair and burning his eyes.

  The moon was low, as low as the night he’d come to Tir Conaill, desperate to find sanctuary. He had found much more than that. He had found love and hope. The family and faith he had lost, that seemed so long ago, had become tangible.

  Losing Breanne was not worth any price. He’d throw the stone into the sea to be forever lost, sell it to the devil to do with as he may, so long as she was safely back in his arms.

  A mournful wolf’s howl echoed in the night air. The ocean roared below. The grass hissed as blades pushed together under the wind. A hum grew in the air. It was the same undeterminable sensation he’d felt when she’d freed the chest.

  Ashlon wiped his brow and bit his lip. Another moment. He peered painstakingly slowly around the wall. The wind prickled with energy, tickling his ears. He watched her raise her arms up, stone held and glowing molten amber.

  Finn looked ready to pounce. Ashlon’s mind fell blank and a baser part of him took hold. He shot to his feet and ran to her as a light unfurled from the sky down toward Finn.

  Eerie green eyes met his and time became like a long silvery thread before him. Breanne collapsed to her knees as the light struck Finn.

  Ashlon reached out for her, willing his body not to encumber his intention, to become graceful and swift.

  Breanne opened her eyes. She shook her head and screamed. “No.”

  But, Ashlon could not hear her and could not stop. With one last leap he wrapped his arms around her, brought her onto him as he hit the ground and rolled away from the cliff’s lip.

  He could not see Finn but heard his unearthly moan rise up from the ground. It chilled his soul.

  Ashlon closed his eyes and braced for an immeasurable fury, covering Breanne’s head with one hand, clutching her close with the other. All the while, he could only reason a prayer of pleading with God himself to find mercy for them, to protect them from whatever evil Finn was.

  The pain in the mournful cry tore at Ashlon’s heart, yet he did not look. And despite the peril Finn had put Breanne or Danny in, sympathy for the creature tore in his heart. Its pain sounded so familiar and haunting, how could he not?

  Then the cry stopped. The dull noise that had swelled and hummed around them suddenly swept away. Quiet enveloped the air.

  For a long moment, neither moved. Ashlon held her tightly, reveling in her warmth and softness, safe though trembling. Safe. He breathed in her scent of wet lavender and heather.

  Breanne lifted her head and met his gaze. “Are you completely daft?”

  Ashlon could not help but smile. “Aye. When I am with you, I lose all sense, Breanne.”

  She looked furious and bewildered yet smiled, as well.

  “You could have killed us both,” she said.

  “Better to die with you than to let you die,” Ashlon said and pulled her face close.

  But Breanne pulled back. “Finn.”

  Ashlon followed her gaze to a circle of ash where grass and rock had been. “What happened to him?” He scolded himself for so easily forgetting its eminent danger.

  Breanne stood. Ashlon was loath to release her but the way she moved begged no argument. Breanne knelt at the circle and touched the ashy residue.

  “He passed through the veil,” she said.

  Ashlon frowned. “He’s dead then?”

  Breanne shook her head. “I do not know. Perchance I killed him, or he may be facing his fate in the Otherworld. Either way, he will not return here.”

  He didn’t know how to verbalize the questions her statement struck in him and chose to remain confused. There would be time enough for her to explain her ways to him. For now, he only needed to feel her close, alive and vibrant, again.

  Ashlon knelt next to her. The light of dawn was creeping into the eastern sky in front of them. In the center of the circle, covered in residue, lay the Bloodstone. The faint blue hue had returned to it, the color of Ashlon’s memories of rites and secret ceremonies in a world gone.

  With his heart in his throat, Ashlon took Breanne’s hand. She glanced at their fingers laced together then looked up at him. Birds began an orgy of chirping. He saw it there in the light glow of her honey eyes. Promise.

  Breanne thought for a moment she might have gone mad. It was over. Finn was gone. Trouble and tragedy and terror, stopped.

  Ashlon was back, the stone safe and years worth of study fulfilled. She had faced the worst mortal fear a woman or man could and now, looking at the emotion shining bright in Ashlon’s eyes, all she wanted was to feel alive.

  A jolt of need ran through her and, mad or not, she had to feel his mouth, his touch. She needed to taste him and touch him. Her eyes fell to his lips. She tried to speak the words and could not find any.

  Her breathing became shaky. She tightened her fingers on his. He responded by pulling her closer, then letting go to cup her face. Both of his hands furrowed into her hair, pulling softly, massaging and caressing.

  His brows drew together. She let her hands fall from his arms and touch his chest. She wanted to feel his skin, hot and smooth like the day she had in the cave. That same wonder returned now and combined with the need growing in bounds inside of her.

  Ashlon shook. His frown deepened. And for a moment she thought he might be angry. But, when his next breath melded with hers as he kissed her so wholly that the world spun, all her worry disappeared.

  Their lips met and she saw and felt and smelled and tasted him alone. The salt of his skin, the sweet of his mouth. Her hands found skin and glorious muscle, her nails raked, trying to get more. His hands left their tender hold to find her waist and breasts and derriere.

  Pleasure tickled her flesh and satisfaction sang in her soul. He was more than she ever knew she wanted and better than anything she had. He was the sun and the wind and sent stars of heat and need coursing through her body.

  She helped him shed his clothes and let her gaze wander over the Adonis look of him in the breaking dawn of day. And she gloried in the appreciation his eyes shone when he removed her cloak and gazed upon her naked form. He lay her down.

  Ashlon bent his head to her hardened nipples, making Breanne moan in ecstasy. He suckled them rhythmically while teasing the tips, taking equal turns whilst pressing his body between her thighs.
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  When she could stand no more, he broke away from her breasts. But, then he went lower. His tongue traced a shivery path down along her belly and hip and lower still until Breanne thought to grab her hands into his hair and stop him.

  “Ashlon,” she said. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Loving you to the absolute fullest possible extent,” he said, not looking up, his tongue skimming the top of her apex. “Making you mine.”

  Breanne closed her eyes and swallowed. He didn’t move. Her heart beat faster as she slowly released her tight hold on his hair. Whatever he meant to do to her, she must trust him not to hurt her. He had not hurt her before.

  He still waited. She exhaled a shaky breath and let her thighs fall open. The ache of need throbbed there and only worsened when he moved downward and touched his tongue to her mound.

  Breanne bucked with surprise. Ashlon waited again and took his time. He began at her topmost peak and drew tantalizing dips downward. Her body moistened and swelled. He groaned against her, his mouth making lapping sounds as he suckled her flesh. Astonished at his skill, Breanne arched into his wet touch as his tongue dove into her core. He cupped her rear, lifting her so as to bury his face deeper. Within crazed moments he enflamed her desire with his licks and touches and strokes. He sent circles of pleasure spiraling through her, building into a tunnel of want.

  As she approached the same crest he took her to before, Breanne gripped her hands into his hair, willing him closer, deeper, craving more. More. Yet he resisted. He suckled and licked, pulling gently back until she felt his hot kiss there no more. The chill of air did little to abate the heat he created.

  Desperate, her eyes flew open and found his. She followed his gaze until she saw his arousal standing proudly before her. She joined his kneeling position and grasped his length. Ashlon's head tilted back but his gaze remained locked to hers, asking for some unnamable gift. Understanding washed through her. The wet heat he created throbbed, emboldening her to lower her mouth to his prick and gingerly press her lips and tongue to it.