by Scott, Amber
“Bad?” she managed to say, flustered over her reaction to him. She’d not behaved toward him so last eve. Perhaps it was the effects of the concoction Breanne had given her. Aye, that must be the answer. “News?”
He nodded in a mock solemn fashion. “It appears Breanne’s husband made off with her.” He continued to nod, his eyes scanning her face. “And took both horses.”
Ailyn tried to stand. “No. I…I…She,” she said, sitting back down, swallowing against rising nausea.
Quinlan’s eyes flashed with concern and his pretense again fell away. “Be still, Ailyn. Here, eat the rest of the bread. I’ll look around and see what I can deduce. Fair enough?”
She nodded, biting into the chunk of bread. Her mouth was watering from the nausea, yet her tongue felt thick and heavy against the bland stuff in her mouth. She refused to feel sorry for herself, though. Each moment chewing, swallowing, and chewing lessened the wooziness. Quinlan’s heavy steps echoing through the rooms gave her comfort.
She’d soon feel back to herself and be able to thank him and bid him farewell. She did not need his aid or Breanne’s. If Maera could be moved from the pile of furs to her left, then she could be fit for travel. That was excellent news. Colm was likely simply subject to his new form, waiting outdoors for them. Breanne had hardly blinked over her returning with a wolf in hand this eve—this morn.
Breanne would not have harmed Colm, particularly in her swollen state.
Aye. All would be well. Any moment now, she would…well, perhaps lying down on the pile of furs would be more suitable for wellness. She moved gingerly over to the spot and closed her eyes, knowing that any moment now, Quinlan would return with answers.
Any.
Moment.
Now.
There it was again. The blue orb just out of reach.
~
Quinlan heard Ailyn from the other room, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. “Nearly done, lass,” he called, doing his best to hide his horror.
Blood was everywhere.
He knew the coppery smell of it all too well. The deep red hue—nearly brown in the drying parts—told him this was hours old.
Quinlan knelt to pick up a gauzy piece of blue material that floated atop the small pool of it. His heart battered at his ribs. The cloth reminded him of Maera’s costume. Of the wings. The fluid on it was cold and sticky. Breanne could not have known of this. She wasn’t the kind to pull off subterfuge. And she’d not had a speck of blood on her. And she would. It was nigh impossible to navigate the narrow room and not smudge his clothing with it.
What was this room? Dusty bottles and stacks of books riddled a narrow shelf and table. Blood spatters dripped down the glass and down the leather bindings. He cursed Ashlon and his jack-headed ways. Now, answers were hours away, and he’d be having to get to them on foot, no less. He had to keep Ailyn from this room.
The only boon he could see was that there was no body to speak of. Pray this blood came from an animal. Even from the wolf. Better from the beast than from her friend. He didna ken what to tell her. To tell her nothing would be a lie in itself. What choice did he have, though?
He shut the room’s door and looked for blood on his person. His hands were both smudged with it and the hem of his sleeve. “I’m checking outside,” he called, and left through the rear so as to avoid the hearth room.
The fresh, clean air cleared his very physical reaction. He took several gulps of it. The breeze cooled his back and neck. Memories of his days with Bruce threatened to charge forth. He blocked them, focusing on the task at hand. Ailyn. What to tell her.
With nary a stream or well nearby, Quinlan settled on rubbing grass and dirt over his hands and shirt, all the while scanning for Ailyn’s wolf among the tree line. The gritty feel kept him focused. His heartbeat slowed to a more reasonable rate, but not his mind. His imagination ran rampant with plausible explanations for all that blood, and none readily came.
For the third time today, he cursed Ashlon Sinclair. He couldn’t very well leave Ailyn alone in the place with blood spattered in the next room. He doubted telling her or showing her as much would help. She wasn’t fit for travel, and he had no horse. His damned feet still ached from this morning’s trek.
The mild but sunny day did little to lift his woes. If anything, the chirping birds irritated him all the more. He’d have to stay and tell Ailyn as much of the truth as he could. Her friend and her wolf were gone. Only Breanne could illuminate that matter. He returned through the rear door, deciding to rummage for whatever additional food he could find. If he fed her, perhaps they could get to Breanne’s by nightfall.
His chest tightened upon the sight of her. She lay asleep, curled like a child, braid a mess and flopped over her neck. He knelt next to her and reached out to sweep a tendril from her cheek, but stopped in midair when she frowned in her slumber. He shouldn’t disturb her. She was dreaming.
“Ma ’se ur toil e,” she murmured. “Chan eil mi a’ tuigsinn.”
Please. I don’t understand. He recognized the old tongue, but not her strange accent. Where had she come here from? Better yet, why had she come? Part of him wanted to wake her and question her, to convince her to answer.
Her lips parted, full and pink. Quinlan leaned closer. She smelled like heather. Her breath carried the scent of the broth, spicy smelling. Whatever Breanne had given her, she would have done so for good reason. He should leave well enough alone and focus on ensuring that they were safe.
He scoured the home again, this time looking for answers surrounding the blood, until he found himself facing the door again. He could smell the blood from outside the door, faint but present. Not even a dull arrow could be found. Two choices formed in his mind. First, if the force he’d sensed last night had been real, Ailyn was in danger. Second, they did not have time for her to rest.
He felt foolish for wasting the thirty minutes contemplating the matter, wandering the rooms like a dolt. The danger was clear enough. He opened the door once more, to be certain and to try to estimate if perchance someone—Breanne?—had simply muddled a slaughter. If an animal, where was the meat?
Images from last eve’s bonefire surfaced in his memory.
Chills spiked down his arms and back.
Aye, they had to leave. At once. He closed the door as quietly as possible and returned to Ailyn’s side. Freckles dotted her nose; not a single scar marred her skin, shiny from sleep and sweat.
“Dè tha thu ag iarraidh?” she asked.
What do you want? Quinlan gently shook her shoulder. “Ailyn, lass. Wake up.”
She stirred, then shot upward, eyes wide. “The bloodstone,” she said, her voice hoarse. She covered her mouth, searching his eyes as though she’d uttered a blasphemy.
Quinlan clenched his jaw. “You were dreaming, lass.” He watched for her to adjust, gauging how much the dregs of Breanne’s ministrations remained. “How do you feel?”
She pushed back her hair and slowly nodded. “Did you find Maera? Co—the wolf?”
Quinlan shook his head. “We’ll need to get to Breanne and discover where she put them.”
“Put them?”
“Aye,” he said, the white lies forming fast in his head. “This old place is not fit for living. Certainly not fit for healing. I’m sure she relocated them while you slept.”
She looked skeptical. “How?”
“I dinna know, lass, but we’ll be finding out once we leave here. Are you well enough to stand? Can you walk?”
Her eyes searched his. “Aye, I think so.”
“It was only a dream.”
She frowned at him, getting slowly to her feet as he stood as well.
“Dreams will drag your spirit away if you let them, my grandmother used to say.” Wariness shone in her gaze, and Quinlan admonished himself for saying such an inane thing. “We’ve no horse, but if you need, I can help you walk a pace of it.”
“I’m much better now, but thank you. I should think I w
ould be fine now.”
With a quick nod, he led the way, exiting through the front, keeping his senses keen. Never assume, he reminded himself. The simplest answer was oft the right one, true enough. But this day and last eve had been anything but simple. As he was finding Ailyn to be, as well. He wanted to ask about her dreams. He wanted to ask about her accent, about what she’d said in her sleep. Her demeanor warned him away from it, though.
Best to leave her be. Best to get her to safety, ask Breanne his questions, and again be on his way. He led her through the trees to the overgrown path Breanne used to take nigh every day. Smitten as he was those years ago, Quinlan sometimes followed her at a distance, wondering how he could make her see him as more than a friend.
The notion seemed foreign now. His sister had insisted then that Quinlan merely picked Breanne because she was the only lass not to swoon in his presence over just one of his cheeky grins. Mayhap she was right. Thankfully, he’d become a man and lost the desire for all ladies to swoon. It actually became a bit annoying at a point.
They’d made their way around a craggy hill and would soon wind through a short valley toward the rear of the O’Donnell túath keep. Grateful he was that they could walk in silence. No nervous prattling—as some females were wont to do. Nor complaining. Ailyn merely kept up, keeping her gaze alert. That is, when it wasna burning a hole into his back.
“You’re keeping something from me,” Ailyn said, just as the keep came into view.
Och, but he’d nearly made it to Breanne’s inquisition free. “I dinna know you well enough to keep anything from you, lass.” He could feel he’d not skirted her interest, though. If anything, her interest seemed to have grown.
She stopped walking and grabbed his forearm. “You found something, didn’t you? Where is my br—my wolf?”
He faced her, seeing he was right in the way she narrowed her eyes. She’d not be letting the matter go. “That’s twice you’ve almost called the wolf something else. Is he your pet? Is that it?”
She took back to walking. Nay, more like stomping, her derriere switching with her hips, outlined nicely in her breeches. Quinlan smiled appreciatively. Had he hit a nerve of sorts? Good. Mayhap she’d save her questions for Breanne and not force him to lie about all that blood. The image of it still clouded his thoughts like a storm, conjuring the past, worrying at him. His mind searched for answers no matter how well he knew he’d find none until Breanne could give them.
Truth be told, Breanne herself might not have answers. While he doubted she would have missed a room fairly dripping in blood, he’d detected nothing amiss with her before Ashlon offed with her. Such a boorish thing to do, too. He might owe Ashlon another scar for that one. In Ailyn and her friend’s honor.
Quinlan cared not a speck what the wolf meant to Ailyn. Aye, curious it was that if she knew the wolf personally that she’d clobber it last eve. But last night made little sense, and he easily clumped her behavior right in with the rest of that senselessness. He let her stomp ahead of him, too happy that she nipped his bait to press her for more. “Just let me know when you’d like to know where Breanne lives, lass. Or do you know the way?”
He grinned at her sudden slower pace, allowing him to catch up. If he weren’t careful, he’d be liking how easily she reacted to his barbs.
Breanne’s door jerked open after three hard pounds and a holler on Quinlan’s part. Ashlon glared at him. “What do you want?”
“Och, you’re not sore at me for your wife’s disobedience now, are you, Ashlon? I’ve a mind that I’m due an apology.”
Ashlon ignored him, giving his attention to Ailyn instead. “She’s wanting to speak to you,” he said and gestured for them to enter. “She’s in the back room.” He allowed Ailyn to pass but blocked Quinlan, giving him a wide smile. “Alone.”
Chapter Ten
Ailyn found Breanne sitting near a window, plucking at needlework, mumbling in irritation. When she looked up, gratitude fairly beamed in her face. She tossed the needlework aside. “Why do I feel a failure to my wee unborn for annihilating her first blanket?”
Sunlight filtered in through an open window. A breeze teased at the loosened strands of her braid that needed a good washing. A tapestry with two horses reared up, roses scattered at their feet, adorned one wall. A row of half-burned tallows lined the top of several shelves. The room smelled of clover.
“You believe it’s a girl?” Ailyn said, uncertain whether she should sit in one of the two chairs, despite feeling at once welcomed by Breanne’s good humor. Part of her wanted to outright demand to know where her brother and Maera were. But she needed this woman as an ally. She had to trust that Colm and Maera were safe, wherever that might be, until proven otherwise.
“Aye, I know it is. I can feel her bright spirit. Definitely willful and completely feminine. The daughter her father fears having,” Breanne said with a grin.
A daughter taking after her mother would be Ailyn’s guess. She’d often heard the same of herself. While she recalled little of her father, her mother had loved to share tales of how Ailyn and Colm had vexed him with their wee antics.
“I don’t suppose you’ve any skill at needlework?” Breanne asked.
Ailyn got the feeling she was after other answers, though. “I stitch a neat line. But I do not prefer it.”
“Close the door?” Breanne nodded, assuaging her. “You’re feeling well. I can see it.”
“Aye, thank you.” A muscle in her throat twitched. “If you please, where is my liege?”
Breanne pursed her lips. “She and your brother are both safe.”
Ailyn’s exhaled breath stuck in her throat. “My brother?”
Breanne’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “Aye. He’s looking after her.”
Had Colm transformed back into a man? Ailyn searched Breanne’s face for answers, unwilling to ask the question. “Will Maera heal?”
“Aye, I believe so.” She spoke each word with care. “Her wings will mend. Scars will remain, but they will mend.”
Wings. Breanne knew then. She knew Maera was Fae. Ailyn nodded. “Her win—?”
“And the baby she carries is thriving.”
Ailyn’s mouth fell open. “Baby?” Maera was with child? Her mind spun. She could not be with child. She’d only been betrothed a matter of hours. The kingdom had yet to hear the news. The banquet would honor the announcement. “A child?”
Breanne nodded, watching her carefully. “In the spring.”
She needed answers. How could her princess be with child? How could she risk that child’s life by passing through the veil? Unless the child was unwanted. Her stomach turned at the notion. “I must speak to her at once.”
She had to get Maera to go back. Could she go back? Was the baby what sent Maera here to begin with? Her mind pieced together some of Maera’s statements at the edge of the veil, the way she had covered her stomach with her hand. She wanted the baby. Ailyn felt sure of it.
Then what was so important as to risk even her own child’s life?
Breanne sat in silence, sympathy in her eyes, as Ailyn processed this news. “I must see her. I must see them both.”
“You canno’, Ailyn. I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean I cannot? I must! You do not understand what’s at stake.”
“Aye, you are likely right. How could I know or appreciate what is at stake? All I know is what I’ve seen and sworn.”
Ailyn paced the small room, anger rising inside her. “Sworn? What have you sworn? What have you seen?” How could she possibly understand? “Who are you to decide such things?”
“It is not me who decided, Ailyn. I swear it.” Breanne stood, one hand on her big belly, her gaze imploring. “I’m no more than a link in a chain of events. My past is entwining with your future, and I cannot say what destiny befalls any of us.”
“I demand to know where Maera is.” Her voice rose. “I demand to see my brother!”
“Demanding will not solve a thing,
Ailyn. I vowed to keep them safe, and I will. I vowed to share what I can with you, and I will if you will let me.”
“A pox on your vows! He is my brother. She is our future queen. Have you no sense of what that means? How do I trust you’ve not killed them both and harvested them for powers you crave?”
Breanne’s eyebrows shot upward. “I assure you, my world has been upturned and twisted over by magick. I would never wish for more. I’ve many times wished for none.” Her tight voice brooked no argument. “I’ve no reason to kill them or you. Why would I kill them, only to heal you?”
Ailyn hated Breanne’s logic. She hated even more that it cooled her anger. She liked her anger. It shielded her from the sheer helplessness she felt otherwise. If Breanne refused to share where Maera and Colm where, what use was Ailyn to either of them? She might as well simply return home. Except, she had no way to do so.
“When can I see them?”
“I don’t know.”
She began doubting that Breanne could provide her with any real answers. Yet Quinlan’s confidence had clearly infected her as well, because she wanted—nay, needed—Breanne to tell her more. “How do I return home?”
“You dinna return,” Breanne said, wincing slightly. “You stay. Unless…it appears you have a choice before you, Ailyn.”
Ailyn disliked how unsure Breanne sounded. Why would she not return? What choice? She shook herself inwardly, snapping out of the allure Breanne’s words created. These mortals had no care for her welfare. Why should they? Trusting them risked her life. “If you’ll not tell me where they are, I will have but one choice—to find them myself.”
Breanne’s gaze flashed with something so akin to admiration that Ailyn wavered in her conviction.
“Her wings are nearly healed. Colm guards her well in his wolf form. They are safe. You’ll not find them, but if you wish to try, I canno’ stop you. I can but warn what a waste it would be. I can share what I’ve seen with you.”
This woman’s words were beguiling. They pulled at her heart and her hopes. Part of her desperately wanted to believe, to trust, and to have guidance. Such trust was far too dangerous, though. Certainly, listening didna risk more than she already had in coming here, in trusting Quinlan as she had. Evidence leaned the scales toward trust, aye, but her whole life’s history could not be erased. Neither could her training be.
