Irish Moon

by Amber Scott

  He only had to stop once, a fact that struck him with pride. As well, the pain had dulled considerably along his short tenuous trek to the door he readied to knock on. He kept his expectations low and prepared a reasonable story for his shocking state to whoever answered.

  He knocked hard several times, allowing time for the resident to rise and decide to answer their door at such an ungodly hour. A robbery, he decided would be the most plausible excuse for his lack of dress and unkempt appearance. And it would be—might be—true. Perfect.

  When several moments, certainly enough for a person to hear him and waken, passed, Ashlon felt the owner had slunk low behind the door, and listened there, debating if he should risk opening his home. “My sincerest apologies for the rude interruption of your slumber, sir or madam. I am Ashlon Sinclair, of the Remington Sinclairs, and have met the misfortune of marauders. They’ve left me without a stitch of clothing and in need of your charitable assistance,” he said in his most soothing and approachable tone.

  He was a gentleman, a knight schooled in chivalry. He was no threat, yet the door did not open. At last he supposed the home empty and tried the crude knob. It gave and opened. Warm air enveloped him when he stepped inside. “Hello there,” he called, hoping now that someone would be there.

  His vision warbled and he turned to the door. Before he could reach it, he vomited. The heaves racked him but produced no results save a pithy amount of bile. Ashlon gasped, lowered to a crouch and sat next to the liquid. He was in bad shape. He hated admitting it but he needed help. Better than that, he needed that help to come find him because he couldn’t be sure he’d make it back to the cave. He’d pushed too far and his body committed mutiny.

  * * * *

  Breanne’s heart beat hard and fast. Someone was following her. She didn’t see them or hear them but she couldn’t shake the feeling and walked as fast, as quietly fast as humanly possible. It wasn’t Finn. She wished it were Finn with another one of his sick pranks. Finn was passed out drunk when she’d left him to steal into the night.

  She prayed Niall hadn’t assigned a man to watch her. He constantly scolded her headstrong nature behind closed doors to her mother. Day upon day of eavesdropping outside their chamber door gave her that insight as well as the one about marrying.

  Breanne stopped and tucked between two close oak trees. She closed her eyes and spoke a prayer for concealment and protection. Sorely, she missed her boline. She’d nearly brought her athame as a temporary replacement but the casting blade was too small to fit her thigh sheath and at the last minute she decided it wouldn’t damage well enough to bother.

  Now, she regretted the change of mind. Listening for signs of footsteps, Breanne held her breath for several counts in turns. It calmed her racing pulse and cleared noise. The oak’s woody scent calmed her, too. Soon she breathed regularly. Surely, she’d lost anyone who tried to track her?

  With a chant of gratitude, Breanne sprinkled breadcrumbs and stepped out of the shadows. The moon’s light hit her path well and Breanne saw the coastline in the distance. She hurried along, this time with anticipation. Would he be awake, she wondered? Her belly trembled at the thought.

  She approached the cave slowly after lingering outside long enough to light a candle. She entered the cave and found it empty. Absolutely empty. Turning and gasping, she looked about, kicked the covers. Only the food sack lay beneath them. Both annoyed and worried, Breanne rushed from the cave and skimmed the area.

  Nothing. She saw him nowhere and not a single sign of him. Not even a strand of grass pressed into the earth. Breanne threw her hands in the air and sprinted toward Heremon’s. The men. What if the men had discovered the stranger, or worse?

  Before fear took hold of her, she saw Heremon’s door stood open and rushed to it. The candle’s light almost extinguished, flickered and returned to life once inside the house. She saw him before the room glowed, recognized his silhouette. Immediately she went to her knees in front of him. His closed eyes slammed open wide and pinned her with an accusatory look.

  She reached to touch his brow and his hand snaked around her wrist. She winced. “I will not harm you,” she said in English, shaking her head.

  His eyes narrowed but he dropped her arm, his falling to the floor. Accusation in his gaze gave way to entreaty. She smiled to reassure him and held a finger up.

  “Don’t move,” she said.

  As though he could, Ashlon thought. His vision blurred in and out as he watched her. As she moved, the room grew lighter and just as he was about to ease the panic rotting his gut by calling to her, she returned. She put a bowl to his mouth and he recognized the bitter taste and scent. He drank it.

  The broth traced a path of warmth down his gullet into his raw stomach. He prayed to keep it down and thanked God for sending him an angel of mercy in his darkest hour yet. Ashlon closed his eyes and repeated words of thanks until he noticed that the drink was working.

  When he opened his eyes he found her sitting before him, apprehension showed on her delicate features. Bow shaped lips pressed together. Wide but dainty eyebrows furrowed together making a crease in between them.

  “Are you feeling the effects then?” she asked him.

  Ashlon could only nod. He opened his mouth to speak but she shoved a chunk of bread into it before he formed the words. His mouth salivated painfully upon tasting the soft morsel and he slowly chewed it and swallowed. Her eyes appeared a dark brown but he suspected they were much lighter than the dimness appreciated. The color of honey. Honey, sweet and golden.

  A strange buzzing feeling formed in him. A reaction to her beauty or a result of the broth, he didn’t care. The sensation was miles away from the retched misery she’d saved him from. She continued to feed him and he continued to stare.

  Her hair was a coppery tinged blonde and the strands that escaped her braid curled into little ringlets. The tip of her braid rested and swathed her hip. His gaze traced the outline of her hip delineated by shadow and light. Ashlon reached out a hand to touch it with his index finger but his hand fell away weakly before hitting target.

  Breanne looked down wondering what he’d been attempting, what fascinated him so. Finding no more than the drape of clothing, she dismissed it as the pleasant haze of her concoction.

  “More,” she said firmly. Obediently, he opened his mouth for her. Breanne stifled a laugh at how readily he obeyed. The lazy smile on his face made her belly flip over. When his eyes locked with hers, it flipped again.

  “I don’t know what you were thinking, leaving the cave as you did. You may not realize, but your life is in danger and you canno’ be moving about as all that,” she said, placing another piece of meat between his lips. The color returned to them and she wished it had not. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of his lips.

  “Apologies,” he said, a mumble. A crumb of food spit forth when he spoke.

  Breanne stifled a laugh. He was better than drunk and wouldn’t be wandering again for a few good hours now. She touched his forehead to ascertain his ill health. Feeling cool skin under her palm, Breanne nodded pertly and set about making a fire.

  “Who are you?” the man asked, sounding so inspired that she returned to his side and touched his cheek.

  “Shhh. Rest now. You have a long journey ahead of you.” Then she bent forward and kissed his forehead, giving in to an urge to feel how soft his skin was. Part of her knew she shouldn’t be so intimate, tender. It took advantage of his vulnerability and compromised trust. A healer walked the fine line of trust with any charge.

  But, she didn’t regret it when her lips pressed his skin, warm, moist with sweat. His hand covered hers on his cheek and then touched her cheek. His fingers trembled. Breanne inched back and lowered her gaze to his. What she saw there startled her. Never before had she seen such intensity, such heat in another’s eyes.

  Breanne leaned her cheek into his palm and searched his eyes. His hot gaze trapped her, spellbound and unable to retreat or progress
. She needed to do neither, as he did for her.

  His hand slid back and into her hair. She covered his hand with hers, her touch intrigued by the change from stubble to smooth texture. He pulled her gently. His lips caressed hers, a whisper of touch, and his eyes closed. Breanne’s closed as well and the feel of his lips on hers magnified. A dizzying hunger for more took root in Breanne and she pressed her lips onto his, opening her mouth. The hunger grew, spreading through her limbs, down her belly, between her thighs.

  A shockwave tingled there when his tongue met hers, soft and warm. He tasted sweet. His lips on hers were so firm but pliant. She gripped his hand and leaned in for more. His tongue swept into her mouth, jolting her with pleasure.

  She reveled in this new experience and grew bold. All thought beyond the feel of it, of him, escaped her. She matched his sweep with her own, suckling his lower lip, letting her teeth drag against it, savoring the plump feel.

  The tingle warmed, changed, into an ache unlike any she'd ever known. It made her heart beat harder, her breathing feel desperate. She needed something more, craved a satisfaction she could not name but sensed it there in his lips pressing hers, his tongue twining and tormenting her mouth.

  His hand stroked her jaw and explored lower, brushing her throat, tickling her collarbone and all the while taking Breanne's hand with it. She couldn't let go and as it drew farther and farther down, a strange, wonderful beating of anticipation built in her.

  Ashlon groaned from deep in his belly as an all-consuming want drowned what little rationale the concoction left him with. Somewhere he knew no good could come of it but he couldn’t seem to stop. His body awoke, his attraction hardening with powerful swiftness. He fought the urge to allow his hands exploration of her breasts, close as they may be, sensing she might not be aware of how well her kisses and soft panting undid him. Yet he did not stop either. She felt so good, so lush and vibrant until, like a slap to the face with icy water, she broke away.

  He opened his eyes and saw shock and fear and confusion take turns expressing in her eyes. Her parted lips glistened, were red, from their kiss. Damn his body but it wanted more. He wanted to return his mouth to her, to taste her more deeply, to touch the flesh.... He felt a catch in his chest as she withdrew another inch.

  He reached for her, an entreaty. But she jerked back. Ashlon dropped his head back and rolled his eyes heavenward. What had he done? He was no scoundrel, but the kiss proved such a vigorous endeavor it left him no strength to move after her. She retreated and stood.

  “Apologies,” he mumbled again and bore his eyes into hers. “Won’t happen ‘gain.” Ashlon closed his eyes and his last remarkable thought was that he’d just offended an angel. Then he succumbed to sleep.

  Breanne exhaled loudly. He slept. She couldn’t keep drugging him so, or he’d never be awake long enough to give her answers let alone be on his way from here.

  She ran a hand over her brow and sat in the nearest rickety chair. He’d kissed her. Or had she kissed him? Both, she decided. And what a kiss it was. Sweet St. Bridget that experience placed her only other kiss in stark relief. The difference amazed her. This man’s lips were like a charm, spinning into her body, caressing depths she didn’t know existed.

  Compared to it, Quinlan’s kiss became sloppy, rigid, and forced. How could a stranger’s mouth, one he was barely aware of due to the herbs’ effects, feel so natural and yet surreal all at once? So startling and magickal?

  She didn’t have an answer and didn’t soon want one. Any man having such an effect over her was dangerous. With a touch he’d make her witless and vulnerable to his very whim. She didn’t trust it, or him.

  The remainder of the week was all she’d give him. If he wasn’t well and off within this very week, she’d be forced to give him over to Niall. She’d have protected him well enough, as Heremon’s sight had seen her to, and she refused to feel guilty. He was not her responsibility after all. Heremon was. Once he gave clarification, assuming he saw nothing and caused nothing, regained good health, what was left to protect?

  Breanne opened the closet door, apparently unfound by Niall’s men, and dragged the man into it. She couldn’t manage getting him onto the table, so moved the long narrow piece to the far wall. His belongings sat in a pile, undisturbed since the last she spied them.

  Jutting rectangular emeralds on his sword’s hilt glowed in the candlelight. Breanne touched her fingertip to one. It was a finely wrought weapon. It’s seams were flawless, the design equally strong and elegant. Unusual to place the emeralds in such a way, as though they stood rather than lay on the metalwork.

  The man’s breathing became a snore. Breanne chuckled, watching him. In sleep, his face showed an innocence that reminded her of Danny, young and impetuous. But, she couldn’t recall a trace of innocence in his awaked countenance. Signs of the boy in the man, she supposed and brushed a wavy lock off his forehead.

  “What have you done here?” she asked him but wasn’t sure which one of them she referred to.

  She left the sack of food, the skin, blankets retrieved from the cave, and closed the door. Before leaving, she wrote him a brief note and slipped it under the disguised door.

  Four more days and she could return her attention to the normalcies of life. Spinning, learning, husband hunting. Breanne sighed but it didn’t help alleviate the new heaviness in her heart. She looked back at the stone cottage and walked away.

  Chapter Seven

  “Please, Breanne, be seated,” Niall said when she knocked on the open door. He closed the door and took the chair across from her, the one her mother had mutely sat in only three days ago.

  “May I ask the reason for this summons, my lord?” she asked, coming straight to the heart of her worry.

  “With Heremon’s death and burial, my time has been consumed.”

  “As has all of ours, my lord,” she said, trying to sound understanding, docile, but needing to move from chitchat.

  He placed a hand up, stopping her from further interruption. “I intended to speak with you sooner. Regardless, we have much to discuss and I ask that you hold your tongue until I finish,” he said in a scolding tone.

  Breanne lowered her gaze but her chin raised a notch. She doubted she wanted to hear anything else from this man. In mere days, he’d turned her world inside out with his demands. First, forcing her to choose a husband, then protracting a solemn swear of secrecy. Now what?

  “It should first be known by you that Shane MacSweeney proclaimed intention of pursuing your hand in marriage. When Ula and I spoke with you previously, I failed to mention his name and I only do so now so that you may appreciate the seriousness of which I called you here for.” His large belly forced his thighs to sit wide and bulged when he leaned forward.

  Breanne frowned. She didn’t comprehend what the man was attempting to tell her, but she kept silent, as he wished. Prodding his temper would make her request all the more difficult to ask.

  “MacSweeney met with me this morning and begged off.” Niall paused and pierced her with a severe look of disapproval.

  “My lord, I—“

  His hand shot up again, quieting her. “Better that he did. A fine gallowglass he may be but a fine husband, I can’t imagine. As to his sudden change of mind, I asked, concerned for your future, our departed friend’s past, and mild curiosity, too, I propose.”

  Please, come to the point of this diatribe. Breanne bit her lips and counted for patience. The knots in her belly tightened.

  “An’ he did so mighty fast, I’ll say. Not five days ago, he asked for you with stars in his eyes, eagerness in his words. And just this morn, a gruff and muttered inquiry as to yourself and then simply retracted the aforementioned intention.” Niall shook his head and stroked his full beard. “So I put the question to him, to have the answers. You’ve not much time after all, to be choosing and of all things, he can’t answer me.” He swept his hand out in front of her like displaying the words before her.

  Breanne
tilted her head, confused and biting back interruptions. She crossed her legs and shook her foot rhythmically to the count in her head.

  Niall stood, leaving a deep impression behind in the red velvet cushion. Breanne wanted to stand, as well, to pace as he did. But, she couldn’t. She sat, foot-shaking, lip biting for an eternity while Niall meandered through to reach his conclusion.

  “He does not speak a word to me. He offers no explanation nor apology. Had you not agreed already to choosing five weeks hence, had I informed you of his intentions, I’d have held him to them. But as I’ve said, I don’t.” He paused to estimate her with his gaze. Then with a florid gesture and bow he produced a dagger in his palm.

  Breanne recognized the weapon instantly. “My dagger. Where did you find it?” She reached for it, happy to have it returned.

  Niall snatched it away. “I’ll be doing the asking, Miss O’Donnell.” His voice held such menace. He’d never regarded her so before. Always, since the day she and Ula walked into his home as wards, he’d called her Breanne.

  Breanne’s brain began to scramble for answers. Shane MacSweeney brought him the dagger? Where had he found it? How? More of import, why would locating it end his desire to wed her? She swallowed hard against her throat’s hard beating.

  “You’ve left out important information surrounding your lucky discovery of Heremon. I’ll have it now.”

  “My lord, I canno’ give what I do not have. I am perplexed and feel as though I did not hear you correctly.” Her voice lilted up. “I left that very blade on the ground quite a good distance south of Heremon’s home. I last saw it there, hours before I found him in peril.” The small part of her relieved at Shane’s decision now felt betrayed, as though the man had set her up to take some fall.