by Amber Scott
Breanne laid the man on deerskin and wrapped him in every woolen blanket Heremon owned. Hopefully, the items wouldn’t be missed when Niall’s men inevitably searched the dwelling. With one last press of her hand to the man’s cheek, she silently promised him he was safe and to return posthaste, then left.
Finn joined her on the path freely, and relieved her of the ugly imagery her mind had formed of carrying him back by the neck scruff kicking and yowling and scratching. They made good time and once within the keep walls, Breanne knew he would be forced into silence. Now was her last and best opportunity to speak what she must.
“You will tell no one, Finn. Heremon said tell no one. Out of respect for Heremon, I will ask you to obey my wish, his portending.”
Finn nodded soberly and Breanne entered the kitchen door, where she’d snuck from only hours before. She left Finn in her bedchamber with a bowl of wine and a plate of leftover venison to go wake her soon-to-be stepfather. Sadness ached inside of her as she tried to prime herself for Niall O’Donnell’s disappointment.
He answered soon after her first knock and looked disheveled but alert. “What is it?” Urgency rang in his words.
“It’s Heremon, my lord. He has fallen. Please dress quickly. We must retrieve him.” She couldn’t meet his eyes and her hushed words felt inadequate.
“Fallen. Fallen where?”
“He no longer lives, my lord.” The tears stung before they fell. She tried to stop them and couldn’t. “The cliffs. He’s fallen from the Slieve League. Near his home. We must retrieve him.” She wiped the tears and met his gaze.
Niall closed the door hard. Dumbfounded, Breanne reached her fist up to knock again when the door flew open. Niall exited, fully dressed and motioned her to follow. “You saw him fall?” With surprising efficiency, he had four men ready and waiting within moments of her first knock.
She shook her head. “I found him. I thought I heard something and found him on a small outcrop some twenty feet below the edge.” She stuck to his queries, grateful to save explanations of why she’d been there for later.
“Where in proximity of his home did you see him, Breanne?” He tightened his sword belt and tucked his mantle as he spoke.
She understood that they weren’t taking her with them and explained in as much detail as she could where he lay. She bit back the sobs that threatened her composure. He needed her calm, not blubbering with emotion.
The five armed men left into the night air with the remaining household undisturbed. The quiet was unsettling. Breanne sat on the bottom stair where Niall had left her with a dogged nod.
She hugged her knees close and rested her chin on them. Finally free to do so, she exhaled and let the sorrow come. Her world felt inside out, backward. This pain in her chest that radiated from her heart wasn’t foreign. It was familiar despite the years of healing and burying she’d done. She had known this loss before and every fiber of her recognized it.
Life is change, she reminded herself but it didn’t help dry her tears. She liked her life. It had become steady and simple again after her father’s death and all the change it produced.
She and Ula had left their home and joined the O’Donnell chieftain in his. Being an only child, Sean O’Donnell left no brothers to care for his family. Niall took them in both as Sean’s cousin and as the man he’d served and died for.
For ten years, that home sat empty aside from the caretaker Niall assigned to it. With her mother marrying, the home became solely her inheritance. An only child herself she had no brother to share it with nor a sister to split the estate into suitable portions for each to take with her own marriage. Only her, only her marriage.
She wondered what it would be like to return to it after so many years. Would it hurt? Would it feel like a different place entirely after so long? Soon she would know, unless she chose a man with property of his own and they chose to rent or sell the manor.
“Breanne, why are you crying?” The softly whispered words startled her, though she knew immediately who asked them.
“Danny. Did I wake you?”
“Nah. I can hardly sleep is all. Are ye all right?” He came down the stairs to sit next to her. His rumpled hair and bedclothes made her smile.
“Aye, lad. I’ll be perfect now that you’re here to keep me company.” Breanne wiped her face dry and gave the boy a warm smile. He rested his head on her shoulder and she hugged him into the crook of her arm. “Look at how big you’re getting on me. It feels like yesterday you were in my lap and now I only get hugs in secret when no one else can see.”
“I’m almost a grown man, Breanne. I can’t have the other men seeing you and my mum coddling me. They’ll poke at me ‘til I bleed with it.”
“A man already, Danny? Here I was hoping you’d wait at least another four or five years before I lost you to brawling and warring and rutting. Can you not wait a bit longer?” Breanne meant her words, though she said them in a playful tone. Ten years old was too young to be thinking of growing up. She wanted to see him remain a sweet boy, blushes and all, the little brother she never had.
“Mayhap a little longer, I suppose,” Danny told her after a consternate rub on his hairless chin. “But only when the men are not around. I can’t have you giving me kisses in front of them.”
“I promise,” Breanne said and bent to give him one on each dimpled cheek. “But, I’ll miss it dearly.”
“Breanne?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you crying?” Danny’s face flushed with tender concern.
“A bit of a rough day is all. Now that you’re here with me, it all seems trifling.”
“Is it because you have to marry?” Danny fingered the edge of his bedrobe, avoided her gaze.
His directness both refreshed and discomfited her. Children could be so perfectly honest. “In part, yes. I had hoped I’d fall in love before I chose a husband. It looks like I may have to go the other way about it.”
“Like the tale last night? The pretty one about the fairy princess and the mortal she took to the Otherworld?” Danny gestured grandly as he spoke, his voice filling the empty passageway with the music of childish wonder.
Breanne nodded eagerly. “She took him then? Did she clobber him over the head and drag him back with her?” Danny chortled with laughter. “Think you and I shall go about it in the same manner, Danny? I’ll need a big club.” Breanne tapped her lips, pretending to think of where she could find such a thing. Danny giggled, covering his mouth to hide a snort.
“Ah, Breanne, was he not the best bard you ever heard in all you life? His words made magick right there before us all. I swear I saw the princess walk right through the room,” Danny said, looking for her agreement.
Breanne nodded. It sounded like she’d missed quite a show and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t wish she’d been there instead. A little pang of jealousy shot through her at Danny’s praise for the bard. Their words were magickal, held more real power than the boy guessed. She wished she could say the same about her own.
“Well, Danny, I best be off to bed. I think you ought to as well before your father finds us and fines me three embroidered tunics for keeping you up late. We have a big day ahead tomorrow, well, I do leastwise, what with finding myself a club and all.” She didn’t let herself remember what tomorrow really brought, or of everything that had ended today.
Danny giggled harder, but nodded. He threw his arms around her, breaking her heart with happiness and love. Breanne rocked his small frame to and fro in hers.
“I love you, Dan,” she said and kissed his head.
“I love you, too,” he said with such feeling that Breanne knew she’d better leave fast or end up crying again on his shoulder.
Chapter Five
In the light of dawn, Breanne woke with a single panicked thought: what if he wakes and has no food or explanation? Will he leave? She yanked the covers from her, the cool morning air feeling good on her hot skin, and dressed hurriedly. She h
ad to get back to that cave and the man now, before Niall placed an inevitable hold on her leaving the grounds without escort. With a murderer lurking about and no studies for her to be leaving to, she’d lose her freedom fast.
Finn lay unperturbed at the edge of her bed, sleeping soundly. Breanne nudged him. He rolled over but didn’t open his eyes and she knew by the limpness of his body that he wouldn’t soon be rising. She didn’t doubt he’d finished half the bottle of wine last night, perhaps more.
No matter. Far better that he stayed. The less he dealt with the stranger, the less he could interfere and have her second guessing her actions. Her belly quivered at the thought of meeting the man alone, by daylight, with him awake. She blamed hunger and left without preamble for the kitchens.
The scent of bacon roused her stomach as she entered the busy room. Several freshly baked loafs of grainy bread cooled on the open window’s ledge. The servants, some fuidir and others free and part of the feine, spoke and moved with liveliness, paying her no mind as she filled her satchel with a loaf and choice meats. News of Heremon’s death must not have reached many ears, Breanne concluded and was glad she’d woken when she did.
She headed for the same door as last night but stopped short when Erin Burke’s plump frame blocked her way. “And where do ye think you’re off to this morning, Miss O’Donnell?”
Breanne rushed to the first lie her brain could formulate. “To the Friary. Gannon O’Shannon. My uncle has invited….”
A loud crash behind of something distinctly ceramic stole Erin’s attention and Breanne took the chance to slip past her and sprint down the slope of yard before the old cook could follow and call after her.
Just past the gate, Breanne stopped to catch her breath and peek-check for Erin barreling after her. Could Niall have already warned the staff that she was not to be out alone any longer? Seeing the coast clear, Breanne continued in a fast walk down her usual trail with the hood of her evergreen cloak concealing her blonde strands.
Eating along the way, she skipped her usual blessings and prayers until she reached her destination. There she knelt outside of the cave, asked Morrigan for her protection and sprinkled a few crumbs of bread on the mossy ground. She entered the cave slowly, her belly fluttering with turns of fear and excitement.
When she saw him, she stilled. Sunlight filtered through from both the entrance and a small hole in the stone ceiling. Breanne looked at the hole in wonder and followed its path down to rest her gaze on his face. Her breath caught for a moment. Tiny sparkling dust particles danced in the stream of light bathing the man’s smooth, whiskered skin.
His strong jaw lay tilted up and his features were cast in lovely relief in the morning light. His features appeared so chiseled they could be that of a sculpture. Thick black eyebrows arched over his heavy, long lashed eyes. Soft black curls framed his face. His lips were full and soft looking.
Breanne reached her hand out to touch his cheek and only then realized that she’d walked over and knelt next to him. It startled her from the distraction seeing him had cast on her. Her cheeks filled with heat and she thanked the lord and goddess that no one had witnessed her foolish behavior.
English. Yes, he looked English. Were he well, the two or three days growth of beard that shadowed his jaw would be cleanly shaven. Her eyes traveled over the rest of him, evaluating other signs of his heritage. He was tall yet still broad shouldered and lean. His chest was bare of any hair and Breanne wondered what his skin would feel like on her palm.
Her belly flip-flopped and shivered. Again, she blushed and mentally shook herself. Such thoughts were new to her. Even her girlish crush on Quinlan hadn’t evoked such lasciviousness.
She did have to touch him though, to ensure he remained free of fever. Why not on his chest, a small impish voice asked? Tentatively, Breanne reached her hand forward to hover above the outlined of pectoral muscle, where his heart would be. Would she feel its beat, she wondered, mesmerized by the tingle of emotion swirling through her?
Slowly, she placed her hand on him. His skin was warm, not hot but the surge that went through her body was. The sensation jolted her and she jerked her hand away. No fever. That is all she needed to verify. She should leave him the food and go. But she didn’t. She replaced her hand, keeping a watchful eye on his face for signs of awareness.
He didn’t stir. She pressed her palm slightly and felt his heart thump steady and strong. It assured the healer in her but stirred another part. Breanne gradually slid her hand down his skin, fascinated by the smooth texture and warmth. More wondrous was the heat his body seemed to send into hers. Not heat as the sun gives, or fire, for this did not feel at all uncomfortable. It didn’t warn not to get too close. This heat did not burn, and yet did somehow.
The man’s skin goose-bumped under her touch and Breanne jerked back her hand. She tore his eyes from his sleeping face and focused her attention on placing the satchel and wineskin in an obvious and close place. Too late, she thought to include a note warning him not to leave the cave. It was enough food to last more than a day and she didn’t know when she’d be able to return.
Worry made her movements hasty and her brow furrow. She couldn’t tarry much longer or Niall would have a search party after her and of all her luck it would include Shane MacSweeney. She rued her lack of forethought but couldn’t see a way around it. He’d wake no later than tonight, surely. She would simply find a way to return, explain, and get some explanations, as well.
The idea made her feel immensely better. “Until tonight then,” she whispered. Her hushed voice echoed in the small stone room and the feeling she had of quiet awe when she entered, returned.
On her walk back, Breanne tried to find the hole that created the tunnel of light, but gave up as the pressure of time closed in on her. Within ten minutes, she slipped back through the gate and remembering her lie, headed in the direction of the friary. Just in case.
“Breanne O’Donnell,” a man’s voice said. “You’ve got yourself some explaining to do.”
Breanne’s heart skipped a beat when she recognized the voice to be her uncle’s. She stopped and faced the man with her most charming smile to placate the annoyance she heard in his words. “Uncle Patrick. Good morning to you. Why, I was on my way to see you just now and here you are.”
“I doubt such a story,” he said gruffly, his eyebrows sharply raised. “What route were you takin’ that could send you so far off to eat a good hour to get to be standing at the very place you started from?”
Breanne struggled to maintain her smile and add a look of innocence as her mind ran to find an acceptable fib. “An hour. Why did you expect I’d be seeing you an hour ago?” She choked out a weak laugh but maintained steady eye contact.
“My soon to be brother-in-law informed me not five minutes ago of your plans. I’ll tell you I got him worried when I told him I hadn’t seen you. Best we plan a visit another day, Breanne. I believe you’d better check with Niall just now.” His brow lifted higher in disapproval before he left her standing in the yard.
Breanne nodded curtly, shut her mouth and went back inside. She wouldn’t have believed a person’s brows could reach that level had she not seen it for herself numerable times. The look still impressed her not just by its contortion but by the undeniable effect it had on her. She’d been reduced to a seven-year-old miscreant caught in naughtiness, not the best way to approach what would likely be an inquisition about more than her morning’s activities.
* * * *
Noisy activity outside the cave woke Ashlon. The angry chirping of birds first entered his dreams then penetrated them and he sat up groggily. He tried rubbing the sleep from his eyes but it clung to him like a spider’s web, dulling his awareness.
Rock surrounded him and for a moment he thought he’d dreamed the heathen man and missing chest. He jerked his body around to view the small space and still saw no familiarity, but recognized that he was in a cave. No water, no skiff, a different cave than the one
he’d taken shelter in when he’d oared his skiff into the cove, his last memory before the fever took hold.
To his left lay a satchel and wine skin. He reached for both and his arms shook from the effort. Daylight poured in from above and before him. He opened the satchel and found food. He ate slowly, refusing to give in to the desire to gorge himself. He surmised that his recollection of the kind-eyed man was real and that for some reason, he’d brought him here. Beyond that he couldn’t hope to understand the actions of an Irishman but was thankful for the food and independence.
He was safe, although weak, and had found Tir Conaill despite the storm, lack of a map, and cover of night. He counted himself more than lucky. If luck continued to be on his side, he’d find the chest where he took shelter, bring it to its destination and be left to start anew.
He stuffed in another mouthful of bread and chewed. It was the most delicious food he could recall having. The chirping that woke him continued outside the small shrub shrouded entrance and he guessed a mating season’s lover’s quarrel. He was too weak yet to look and verify his conclusion but it amused him nonetheless.
He felt surprisingly optimistic for having woken in a strange place, obviously in poor health. No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t feel poorly so much as weakened, hungry, and foggy. Otherwise, life seemed to be gloriously going his way. And why shouldn’t it after so many years of hardship, lies and caution, he asked himself and tore off another piece of peppered venison?
Finally, the end was in sight. The end of a long journey he wished at times another man had been given. But, Jacques had been clear that he was the only one who could accomplish the undertaking, even indicating that he was meant to. Sitting in the cave, covered in furs and wool, Ashlon still didn’t see why another knight had not been given this fate. For the first time in a long time, he was glad it was him.
Strange thing to feel happy about such circumstance, but he did. At that moment he couldn’t fathom a single other place he’d rather be. His future was nearing, he could feel it and the knowledge brought with it a sense of wonderment.
