by Amber Scott
She couldn’t even glance his way during dining a day ago without hating her lot and all that came with finding him. Even her belly had clenched and rolled with one smile.
Now she saw the truth. She’d just refused to see the obvious, which was that he needed her. Whatever this chest meant or held, and that must be important for Heremon to have gone to the effort of drawing it, she had to help Ashlon locate it.
And then he could leave.
Breanne winced. The wish she’d had didn’t seem as good of one now. Not that she meant to keep him here. How could she? Why would she? A few hypnotic kisses weren’t enough to want him to stay and become a clansman.
She was set to marry—someone--within four short weeks. Little sense she’d have to be dwelling on the fact that she was not to be his.
No more kissing.
She would treat the transgressions of lust as lessons, intentional or not, and use them as a guide for what she should feel when her husband did the kissing.
That way, she could still consider the memories without feeling badly. And he certainly set the standard high. Why, if Quinlan’s kiss had been half as wonderful, Breanne had no doubt she’d still be fully and absolutely in love with her childhood friend.
And then Rose would be happy, her mother would be happy, Niall would be happy. And she could be….unhappy.
It wasn’t that she didn’t still love Quinlan. She did. She just didn’t want to kiss him, or feel his hands on her body, like Ashlon’s hands.
Was she being too hard on Quinlan?
Perhaps she should give him another chance as he’d asked, but truly this time. She should kiss him. She should kiss Gannon, too. Mayhap. And why not Ashlon again while you’re spreading your affections about, a tiny voice said?
She sighed again and rolled again.
Erlene tsked, folding her bedcovers. “If you like, I can ask your mother up to check on you, but I’ll promise you she’s never changed orders on me before and I don’t liken will do so now.”
“No, thank you, but I know you are right. I do need rest.” More than Erlene would ever guess. “But my mind is busy as a bee in summer. I canno’ seem to clear it.”
“What you need is something tae read. I ‘ave a small book of lyric and it puts me tae sleep before I even finish one page.”
While the last didn’t surprise Breanne, that Erlene owned any book did. There she went again, judging and misconstruing what was right in front of her face.
Reading was an excellent idea, though, and Breanne closed her eyes, remembering the book she’d tucked into her truck. Heremon’s Grimoire. Wonder filled her just knowing she possessed it. The knowledge comforted her enough that she promptly fell asleep.
* * * *
Ashlon woke from his short rest to a visitor. Quinlan Blake. He’d forgotten the agreed upon lessons. He was supposed to be helping young Quinlan catch Breanne’s heart and simultaneously learn the language and land. He rubbed his eyes and answered the knock, pushing away the guilt niggling his brain.
He’d been ravishing the very lady this man had set his heart on and Ashlon didn’t need it pointed out how dishonorable that made him. Not only to have given in to base need by tasting her delicious lips again with no intention of marrying her, but he also must keep their association from Quinlan. And this bargain, from her.
A matchmaker would not do to be weaseling the territory he was asked to aid conquering for another. Not that he’d made any progress in the issue. Their single conversation could hardly be counted as a lesson. Still, the whole situation smacked indecent.
He felt to be a rogue.
He longed for the day that he could end subterfuge and secrecy from his life. Never before had he been a user of other persons to meet a desired end. The fact that Quinlan had come to him with the bargain and that Ashlon’s intentions with Breanne had been platonic a day ago did little to help him feel better.
He must end the lessons and find another route to learn the language. Mayhap he should skip learning Gaelic altogether now that he had secured Breanne’s help. But then if he needed it further….
Quinlan knocked again, called his name.
Ashlon answered the hostel room door ready to end their partnership with a grimace on his face. Quinlan entered the small room unfazed, beaming brighter than any man should at the early hour.
“Why have you not moved to the keep?” he asked while Ashlon put on his boots.
He didn’t give the truth, that he was loathe to be so close to Breanne after their heated embrace only hours ago, or that it might make him so much more fond of the people here.
“I will be traveling on soon. It would only improve what I sleep on and I can’t see a reason to overextend my welcome.”
“Nonsense. Niall has already mentioned to me that you should consider a private chamber in his keep and to get you into one before the wedding guests arrive and all are one on top of the other.”
The chieftain had only tried to persuade Ashlon once, but apparently had not given up, as he’d thought. A private chamber that might only be doors away from hers couldn’t be a good idea, except that they could better communicate.
But they’d be doing no communicating aside from polite conversation in passing once she translated the script.
“When will the guests arrive?”
“Within this sennight, no later. As much time as we will spend in your tutelage and since you already dine with us in the great hall, I cannot see a reason to refuse.” Quinlan followed Ashlon out the door. “Or is there something you’re not telling me? Sir Ashlon, is there another reason you wish to stay away?” They stepped outside and Quinlan’s eyes narrowed on Ashlon.
And what could he answer to that? Yes, Master Blake, I cannot seem to keep my thoughts or hands or mouth off of your intended bride?
“I’ll consider it,” Ashlon said. What he would consider was a more irrefutable excuse.
Quinlan clapped him on the shoulder, beaming once again. He couldn’t be more than twenty and three and still had an innocence about him that Ashlon found reminded him of his brother Christophe.
His chest panged at the realization. They had different coloring, heights, weights, but their practical way was identical. Also similar was how each handled uneasy topics through veiled avoidance, circling and dancing the matter to death, as Quinlan had done yesterday.
“Shall we ride again?” Quinlan suggested, gesturing to the already saddled steeds in wait for them.
Ashlon took a breath of the chilly morning air to clear his head as they rode north. The thunder of hooves and brisk air did little more than make him feel more alert and thus more aware of his missing Christophe.
The pain’s freshness still surprised him, as well as how sudden it could come upon him after so long. The older brother he had lost by tragic accident contrasted with the man just ahead, riding carefree and unaware of his companion’s thoughts.
Yet another reason to stop their meetings.
Quinlan reigned in his stallion so that it was nose to nose with Ashlon’s.
“I’ve considered what we spoke of yesterday. I broached the subject with Niall and he took to the idea amiably.”
“I thought I made it clear that I have no interest in Lady Breanne’s keep,” Ashlon said.
“You did and I have honored your decision. I asked Niall that I might see the holdings and that I would be asking your consult on its security.”
Ashlon’s anger cooled a bit.
“He saw it as a gesture of courtship and assumes I have made progress with Breanne. I probably should have dissuaded his assumption, but interest in seeing the keep outweighed my sense of obligation.” Quinlan’s horse nickered. “Since her father’s death, I’m not sure of any aside from those handling upkeep have entered it.”
Ah, so that is why he smiled like a boy today. The promise of small adventure.
“And what will you tell the Lady upon seeing her?”
“That will depend on what we discover, I suppose. Niall w
on’t mention it as I asked it remain a surprise in the event that I do secure her hand. Not that I doubt I will. She has loved me for nigh ten years. And with your help, I can live up to expectation and be a befitting husband.”
Ashlon suspected the ride to the keep was more for Quinlan’s benefit than Breanne’s. This way he could estimate how much he’d be biting off to chew by winning her.
It was an ideal time to bring up ending his help, but Ashlon found himself a bit curious, as well. To leave it unoccupied in such a prime target position, he wondered if Niall were either less than competent, his meandering ways notwithstanding, or had another motive.
He’d also be lying to deny that a small voice whispered to him that an abandoned keep could be an excellent hiding place. A small chest among a bevy of forgotten furniture could be left for all to see and none to suspect.
The voice grew louder, negotiating the notion with his rational brain that said it could never be so easy as accidentally coming across the chest. And Ashlon found his own anticipation grew with it. So much so that the pain of loss faded to the background and he was able to live in the present again.
Well, the near present, anyway. Approaching the home Breanne had grown up in, played in, made him think of their encounter last night. Before the kiss, before her attempt at bravado, he thought of her stubbornness.
Giving her the book had earned her cooperation far more easily than he had expected. Worse, she seemed to think that she was meant to help him, that Heremon had spoken from the grave and told her that Ashlon was her continued responsibility.
She’d gone from resistant and annoyed, to optimistically determined so fast it had made his head spin. He didn’t look forward to the stubbornness she’d displayed rearing its head again when he ended her convoluted notion that she and he were a part of this together.
Hell, she hadn’t even asked what the quest was that she supposedly was fated to help him with. She didn’t even question it.
The outer bailey was surrounded in a tall and thick stone wall. The only entrance or exit was a narrow but heavily banded and barred gate. Quinlan managed it open and soon they entered the keep itself.
The couple and their small son, the family in charge of its upkeep these last years, stayed out of their way, going about their daily chores with no more than a few curious glances.
He wondered if they suspected the future master might have just walked in. The furniture gleamed, dusted and polished, and was unworn save for by time itself. They strolled through each room in silence akin to respect for the dead.
Dead is what the place was in its own way. Though the items within were still new and cared for, none of the manicured rooms were lived in. They reminded Ashlon of his childhood estate in England after Christophe’s death. They were equally empty and silent then.
Ashlon shook off the past, cleared his throat. “Should we inspect the tower’s parapets?”
Quinlan seemed startled from reverie, as well, nodded after a quick jerk close to a shudder.
Ashlon kept his eyes peeled for the chest and wouldn’t allow himself to be disappointed if he didn’t see or find it. Looking over the rooftop edge of the tower, the valley and community spread out before them. It was a beautiful view and he counted Lady Breanne auspicious in inheriting it. Did she recognize or know that none of her gender in other lands could hope for land entitlement alone?
Few men even received such a generous amount. He wouldn’t upon the death of his father, being the youngest of four sons. He was fortunate to have been chosen to join the Templar Knights and still carried that first sense of pride when Jacques hand-selected him.
It was a strong and smartly built fortress, despite its age being centuries older than Niall’s or the others. Niall’s in fact was new by comparison, a decade old. This keep had a separate kitchen and, possibly, dungeon. Quinlan offered some history surrounding it.
Breanne’s stronghold had once been the main of the community, before the Normans invaded. A female warrior had once defended it against invaders. The woman was conceivably one of Breanne’s ancestors. But the Normans were determined conquerors and blended with the Gaelic residents, becoming more Irish than the Irish, and so the saying came to be.
Standing and gazing upon the beauty of the green valley was as good a moment as any to end their agreement. Ashlon cleared his throat and put lingering connections to his past to rest.
“Master Quinlan, I am sorry to say that I can no longer act as your instructor in matters of the heart.”
Quinlan faced him, crestfallen. “No. I cannot ask another and, Sir Ashlon, I need the help. I have mucked things up so badly that you are my single hope.”
“Surely, you exaggerate. The Lady Breanne does not seem so unapproachable as you imply.”
“She is not. I easily approach her, it is what comes out of my mouth after the fact that gives me trouble. I implore you. Do not abandon me yet.”
“I dare not stay here long enough to offer any suitable help and I fear to receive any returned education as we agreed. I feel it will waste both our time.” Time he should spend searching.
“Not at all. Why you’ve already helped immeasurably.”
Ashlon frowned. How was that possible? They’d discussed little yesterday that he applied to Quinlan’s situation.
“Sir Ashlon, you made me realize something quite important during our last talk. I realized that before I was made aware of Breanne’s feelings for me, I had no nervousness at all in her presence. Now that I know, I do. I feel if we work on relieving my nervousness, I will soon succeed.”
It was hard not to smile at Quinlan’s eager countenance, nodding his head, gesturing his hands for emphasis. He looked like he talked of a plan of attack not a design to woo a woman.
Ashlon suppressed a chuckle, imagining Breanne’s reaction to being attacked into marriage, as it were. They seemed such an ill-fitted match, Quinlan and Breanne. While he was sober but innocent, she seemed intent and worldly. Perhaps that was what intimidated Quinlan.
“I also must admit something to you. Some time ago, the very night my sister related Breanne’s true feelings toward me, I imbibed. A lot.”
“We all have and will in the rough course of love, Quinlan. ‘Tis naught to be ashamed of.” The breeze brought the scent of rain.
“Please, allow me to finish. As I said, I imbibed. And as I’ve recently related, I am not experienced in the ways of ladies. Which is not to say, I am not experienced. But Lady Breanne is of good breeding and is a lady, despite having somewhat masculine tendencies.”
“She seems not the least masculine to me.”
Quinlan’s face reddened a bit and he lowered his head. “I kissed her.”
Ashlon went quiet.
“I kissed her that night and I fear that I destroyed her feelings for me in that single kiss.”
Ashlon needed to the get the direction of the conversation back in hand, feeling more than curious. He felt annoyed, as well. Thinking of Quinlan in a heated embrace the likes of which he’d experienced only hours before was more than annoying. He didn’t like it and that unsettled him.
“She slapped me.” Quinlan looked at him.
Ashlon struggled to keep his features unreadable, to hide the sudden relief the last statement shouldn’t have given him. Quinlan’s was opposite. All of his discomfort showed openly on his young face.
“If you’re asking me for help in the art of kissing, I will have to disappoint you,” Ashlon said.
Quinlan guffawed and the stretch of uneasiness between them vanished.
“No. I thought not. And I’ve never had a similar reaction, if I may be so boastful.”
“You may.” They headed back in, the subject officially dropped. He’d failed to end their bargain, but since he had no honorable designs on Lady Breanne other than the translation, he might as well continue it. In a few days, he would have the chest back in his possession and be on his way, away from Tir Conaill.
* * * *
&
nbsp; Of all the sordid ways Finn fancied waking Breanne, she cringed most over his licking between her toes. While it wasn’t surprising that he welcomed her awake with the tactic, she was surprised to see him.
“Where were you off to this time?” she asked after scuffing away from his disgusting tongue. Though groggy, she was glad he woke her. “Where is Erlene?”
“Dismissed. I sent her to your mother posthaste for a new chore.”
“I am not a chore and I know very well you did not speak to her. I’d have woken to bloody screaming, to be sure.” She swung her feet to the floor, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Your mother came for her shortly after I arrived this afternoon,” Finn said, switching his tail.
“Is it evening already, then?”
“Nearly the dinner hour. I imagine a bath will arrive shortly since Lady Ula said to Erlene she’d never seen you rest so soundly since you were a babe and then dismissed her.”
Breanne smiled. She’d hardly had time with her mother in the last few months, even during her time among the ladies, Ula was rarely present long enough to enjoy her company. Ula had a thousand and three arrangements to complete in less than enough time, as she liked to say these days.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said and went to her trunk. “I’ve found Heremon’s Grimoire.”
Finn perked up and followed her. “Where did you find it? When did you get it? Is there something we can use for the curse?”
“I don’t know yet, Finn. I just got it last night. But my hopes are high. Mayhap it will unlock my gifts, finally.”
Finn nosed through her arms and into her lap as she opened the volume there. “Have you seen it before, Finn? Do you know how it works, backward, forward, scattered?”
“No. I haven’t and I don’t. While Heremon asked much of me in your training, do recall, I was never his. Only yours,” Finn said. “If he held any tool in aiding me, he refused to offer it.”
“There’s no use in being angry with Heremon now, Finn. Unless the dead can hear, or care, which I doubt.”
Finn kicked off of her lap and went to her bed. He scratched the bundled covers. “Yes, well I hope he hears and hates it. I hope he turns in the grave. And when you do release me, I hope I see him in the Otherworld and I will tell him further then, as well.”
