by Amber Scott
He had never guessed the Bloodstone, resting inside the stronghold, would create this kind of harm. He’d have left it where she found it, might have sunk the rock into the depths of the sea rather than face this corollary.
“Breanne,” he said, his voice choked. “Breanne, open your eyes. Breanne, please, don’t yet leave this world. I beg of you, stay with me.” He bent his head and pressed his forehead to hers. Her skin was dangerously cold, clammy. “Do not let him take you.”
Ashlon lifted her closer, rocking her there in his arms, fighting off the sting in his eyes. He didn’t know how or when she had become so important to him, but no longer denied it was true.
“Please, open your eyes. I need you here with me.”
A rush of warm air passed through the wood, ruffling his hair. It washed over, between them. With it, Breanne breathed in a deep, shaky breath and began to cough in his arms. Ashlon pulled back. Her eyes opened and adjusted, blinking several times.
“What happened?” Breanne asked like a child coming out of a dreaming sleep.
Laughter bubbled low inside of Ashlon and spilt from his chest, echoing in chortles through the shadows and moonlight. He couldn’t resist hugging her tightly to him.
“You did it,” he said after squeezing her close.
“I did what, exactly?” Breanne looked confused but returned the hug, somewhat.
Ashlon tilted her upward to sit in front of the exploded rock.
Breanne rubbed her head and got to her knees. She wobbled some and he supported her elbow until they both stood over the dusty chest and rubble.
“I did.” She shook her head in amazement. Her hand covered her mouth, but it didn’t tremble. “I always dreamed I would someday, knew somewhere deep down, that I could but, oh Ashlon—.” She faced him, her smile reaching past her fingers’ cover. “I charged the rock to break, and it broke.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “I don’t believe you realize what you’ve just accomplished. And I cannot fathom how, but I will never question my faith in miracles again.”
It was Breanne’s turn to laugh deeply. The husky sound stirred his body. The color in her cheeks was rosy again; her lips plump and reddened. Relief could not fully define what surged through him as he watched her joy.
He laughed, as well, and swept her into his arms and spun her. She clung to him then dropped her head back, looking up to the stars and moon and sky.
“Do you know, it rather felt miraculous,” she said. “Like a life of its own that went beyond me, through me, like I was not me at all.”
He set her to her feet but kept his arms about her waist. She did not seem to mind them there and he could not yet release her.
“I often considered what it would feel like. But, nothing prepared me for that. I don’t wonder that Heremon warned me so frequently to take care of what I desired. The force of it was nigh powerful as, well, as love, I suppose.”
Ashlon frowned, involuntarily tensing. The ache came back.
“As you feel when you love another so fiercely, so thoroughly, that your own existence seems secondary. Do you ken what I mean?”
The ache clutched his heart. Her eyes sparkled with delight and her words came out in pants of excitement. A hundred reasons why he should not kiss her sprang to mind. And not a single one managed to stop the beating need coursing through his entirety.
He knew the very instant recognition laced her features, her gaze falling upon his mouth, and took its invitation. He pressed his mouth to her and felt suddenly desperate to feel, to know, her every last living inch.
Her hands fisted into his mantle, she rose up on her toes to meet his ardor with her own, clamoring for the same closeness he sought.
Breanne’s mind went blank save one thought. Tomorrow, he would be gone. She could not bid him stay or hope he would ever return. She appreciated the magnitude of his task’s completion. Her portend, Heremon’s letter. Tomorrow, he must be gone from there.
But, tonight he could be hers.
As though he reached her conclusion, as well, Ashlon’s hungry kiss suddenly slowed. Desperation left his touch and an exquisite tenderness took its place.
His hands stroked her in sure, loving caresses from her hair to her lobes to her collarbone and down the length of her arms. At her hands, he laced his fingers into hers as his mouth pressed and suckled hers. His fingers tickled her palms while his mouth inflamed her.
Shivers danced up her spine and over her scalp. A swirling warmth lit in her belly and roiled downward to burrow between her thighs. By now, her body knew this dream and opened to it like a dewy blossom at dawn. Her body knew this want for his as well, but now her mind and heart where in compliance. The difference it made was staggering.
What had felt like a clamoring storm, building and washing her in unpredictable turns changed to sweeping dawning.
With deft moves, Ashlon lifted her and laid her onto the bed of grass, never breaking contact with her lips. Without hesitation, she reached for him, parted her legs, already hungering for him.
Her mind grew fuzzy and images of the forest and trees and his hands upon her filled her mind. His hands roved from her neck to her breast to her ankle. Vivid anticipation emboldened her as well. She let her fingers entreat lower as well, down his broad chest, across his belly to the lip of his tunic. The magick that vibrated from without seemed to come from within her now. Reality spilled away.
Ashlon's hand slid her skirt upward, drawing a line up her inner thigh. Breanne gasped at the sheer delight of it and opened her legs further. The heat between her legs swirled and stoked. muscles there flexed and swelled at his approach. He paused, lifted and removed his tunic. Following suit, her eyes locked to his, Breanne unlaced her bodice. His gaze broke from hers and raked over her flesh. He helped her expose it, then freed his own, breeches and all.
Expertly, Ashlon undressed her and then himself. Her cloak became a blanket and the night, their cover. The cool air chilled as his body warmed.
His supple skin. His hard muscles. His soft touch.
Feeling his skin on hers satisfied and awakened a deeper part of her need than she knew possible. His hand lifted her thigh as he nestled his hips between hers. He was so close, so very close and she couldn't help but lift up to try to capture his touch. But his hand only paused and his hips drew away.
She whimpered, biting her lip.
Breanne opened her eyes and found his looking down into hers. In them, his question shone. He did not ask aloud, did not break the spell.
She didn’t need to be asked. She wanted to experience him in the fullest realm.
To answer, she moved his head to hers, raking her hands into his hair. Ashlon groaned from someplace deep inside and it rumbled in the air and through her. She lifted her hips, need driving her closer, aching for more. She let her body lead her.
Ashlon cupped her breast and teased a nipple with his thumb. Her nipple tightened. Her need climbed. She moaned, closed her eyes. His hand returned to her thigh, higher, closer to her very core. Liquid desire pooled there.
He grazed her neck with his teeth. “Breanne.” Her name felt like a prayer on his lips.
She wanted to answer it and moved her hips to his, hungering to take him in. But he was too far away. She reached her hand downward, desperate to find his hard prick, to feel its shape and size in her palm, to lead it closer.
Then she found his hardened flesh, grasped it, reveling when he physically jerked, groaned. Fascinated, she watched his face as she explored that which she could only imagine before. It occurred to her that while her body craved to feel this part of him plunging inward, he might not fit.
As though reading her thoughts, Ashlon half grinned and kissed her nose. Then he slid his hand upward and parted her swollen flesh for entry. She closed her eyes tightly, but opened them when his finger entered her, his thumb pressing above, sending charges of pleasure through her.
Breanne cried out and Ashlon went deeper, twisting and withdrawing, returni
ng and pressing until a small fire kindled there, growing with every nuance. His name fell from her lips and she clutched at his shoulders. She widened her legs then narrowed them, itching for a relief she couldn't name. Then he replaced his long deft fingers with his prick's plump tip. Her entrance parted and clung to this new feeling and intrusion, inviting it forth.
Ashlon slowly entered her heat, cupping her face and showering her in kisses. A small sharp pain came and went as his length filled her fully and wholly, then stopped.
Ashlon did not move. Breanne’s body felt completed by his.
But it was not enough.
Her need transcended the satisfaction and began to build anew. Breanne writhed her hips under his, eager for an unnamable prize. She bit into his shoulder, his neck, gasping his name.
She wriggled and pressed for more of what she could not define. More of him, of the wondrous pleasure swirling through her. Her mind begged him.
Ashlon withdrew and returned to her in slow, strong thrusts. Her body was so wet and the slippery sounds mingled with her own and her lover's labored breaths. Ashlon pulled away and pierced her with his gaze, heavy lidded and glassy. Breanne struggled to keep her eyes open but something was growing in her with each of his thrusts. In and out of her, deep and long, faster, then faster still until he buried himself so deeply her breath caught. Need tangled with pleasure to create a sugary sweetness that grew in turns, spread and tightened. Ashlon’s mouth came to hers and she returned the deep kiss, moaning into his mouth as her pleasure reached a precipice.
He moved slowly and pressed his hips in perfect, sweet circles to hers. She rocked her hips up, driving him deeper, harder until she fell from the precipice into shuddering waves around him. Her body clenched and spasmed.
Ashlon called out her name and groaned deep against her neck. His prick throbbed inside of her, sending a wondrous new peak through her. The magick of feeling him swept her upward, coursed through every fiber of her body and carried her back to earth in a soft float.
Breanne opened her eyes. Ashlon’s breathing came hard and trembling. Caught in her own sweep of pleasure, she just barely discerned him reaching his own. She kissed his glistening temple and wrapped her legs about him.
The forest around them became audible again as reality crept through the dark. Ashlon didn’t speak, only kissed her brow or arm or shoulder, occasionally her palm, lying beside her.
He covered their entwined bodies in a cocoon of clothing and moved her head to nestle on his shoulder. Breanne did not mean to fall asleep but without a single thought or worry, exhausted and replete, she fell away.
Listening to her breathe, Ashlon envied the luxurious slumber and yet thrilled in witnessing it. Her beauty and bravery stirred him. He’d never experienced such perfection before. Her skin had been creamier, her breasts fuller, her curves more tempting. Her returned passion shook him almost as much as how remarkable her body felt joined to his.
He would stay there, breathing in her breaths, trembling with wonderment for all his days. If he could. If he had a choice it would be her, here, for eternity.
But, he did not have a choice. His eyes rested on the chest, his fingers on her skin. Dawn would soon rear the ugly head of responsibility. Until the last of night, he would savor her. It would be all he had to take with him and he wanted it to last.
Chapter Twenty
Ashlon blamed the chill in the air for the water in his eyes when he carefully removed his body from the tangle of hers. Eyes closed, he pressed his lips to her brow.
“Dream of me, Breanne, as I will of you.”
He retrieved the chest, still securely locked and otherwise undisturbed. Rock and rubble fell away but did not wake her. He bade her a farewell wish and made his way back to the keep.
He didn’t have the courage to wake her and see her pain at his departure. And he couldn’t risk her insisting she come with him, still under the insinuation of Heremon’s letter, impressing her help.
Ashlon left feeling like a coward and a thief. The burden the chest bore was far heavier than its light weight. The walk back was hard.
As a measure to relieve the ache inside of him, he penned a missive to her and entrusted it under the seal of her door. He had only one other action to feel guilt over. He needed a horse and hoped Niall would forgive his taking one with him.
Mounted and armed, fed and heavy, Ashlon plodded down the road that led away from Tir Conaill and the Lady Breanne O’Donnell. With the wedding’s ceremony and feast, he wouldn’t be missed, nor the horse for some time. Only she would feel the absence.
He shouldn’t have done it. He knew that now. But, he didn’t rue it all the same. It had been the single most breathtakingly beautiful experience of his life. Were it never to recur, he would still count himself more blessed than any other man.
But, he left behind a broken heart and ruined woman. Breanne had the wherewithal and resilience to recover, he knew. He just wished she didn’t have to. He wished he could finish this task, be freed, and return to her. But, Jacques had been clear all those years ago.
He might not survive after its completion. Securing the Bloodstone that lay inside the chest would the hardest part of all. For in doing so, Ashlon had been warned that he would face a choice that might end his own life.
Jacques had been vague but stern. At the time, Ashlon did not fear possible death. At the time, he hadn’t anything to lose. He did now. He had a future to lose. But that future would never be possible with the past living and breathing into it.
Ashlon shook his mind from dwelling on what he could not yet change. The Blue Stack Mountains lay ahead. Ashlon slowed his horse and found the path Jacques had described. The thunder of hooves kicked his heart into a frenzied beat.
Someone had followed him.
The morning sun had nearly crested the horizon. Ashlon took to the nearest copse of trees, trying to hide the black steed in shadow while he still could.
He dismounted and listened, dismally hoping he was wrong.
The hoof beats slowed to a walk and a man’s voice carried through the foliage.
“Sinclair,” it said and seemed to echo in the deep, mountain walled valley. “Sinclair, answer if you can hear me. I’ve come to aid you, not ask your return.”
Ramsey. He should have known the knight was up to something last night. A final effort?
Ashlon came forward reluctantly as Ramsey’s steed came into view. “What makes you believe I am in need of any assistance?”
Ramsey chuckled. “Naught but your secretive air last eve and a refined instinct I have learned to trust in.” He dismounted and joined Ashlon.
Ashlon couldn’t help the wariness at Ramsey’s following him. Jacques had been specific that he tell no one, no fellow knight, no friend. The only person who you may trust will not ask, Jacques had said.
“You’ll miss the wedding celebrations, Ramsey. And although I appreciate your concern, I assure you I only mean to leave here.”
“I don’t believe you. Fair enough, Ashlon. I will not ask to know what you are about. I will however insist that you allow me to join you in it.” Ramsey’s gaze was intent. He did not even glance at the chest strapped to the black’s back.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well, we could take issue and come to blows, if you wish.”
“Very well, but, I warn you, I mean to ride through to eventide without rest.” Ashlon’s wariness subsided. What harm could come of Ramsey’s help? At worst, he would try to open the chest or steal it and Ashlon would not let that happen.
If Ramsey had any idea of the valuable object within reach, he did not show sign of it.
Ramsey nodded, mounted his bay and followed Ashlon with only one question. “Where is it we are going, then?”
“The Giant’s Causeway.”
* * * *
Breanne stretched her sore limbs and yawned. The trees shaded her well and birds’ songs melodiously awoke her. She had been having the most delicious drea
m about Ashlon Sinclair, and didn’t realize anything was amiss until she finally opened her eyes.
A cloudy but warm day greeted her and upon mentally registering that the sky and trees were real, that this was neither her bedchamber nor a part of the dream, she bolted upright. Her gown fell from her chest and Breanne gasped as the cool air hugged her breasts and shivered her nipples.
She’d slept there all night long and it was well into the day. With panic panging her belly, Breanne scrambled to her feet, covering herself and dressing simultaneously.
Where was Ashlon? Gone. He’d left her there in the night and he’d taken the chest with him, she saw. Heremon’s altar was no more than crumbles now. Its hollowed center did not even appear able to fit what had lain resting inside.
Breanne fastened her gown as best she could. Dread gripped her, sending nausea and prickles shooting through her guts in turns.
Her only hope was that the guests and residents still slept despite it nearing the noon hour. It was a fragile attempt but kept her rational enough to gather all evidence of her presence, to thank the goddesses lest she displease them, and leave in a walk.
Should a guard of men have been sent after her, she did not want to appear disheveled and out of sorts. She needed to seem calm and leisurely. As she neared the edge of wood, and no guard could be seen, Breanne gave up the ruse and ran the remaining distance.
She focused on excuses for herself rather than ones for Ashlon’s departure. He had not even said goodbye. Did he care so little for her then? Was the experience not a shared wonder?
Breanne shook her head to clear it, and blinked back tears. First, make a safe return. Regret could be saved for a private moment at some other juncture. Right now, she needed her wits, not her emotions.
The slender but heavy gate creaked when she pulled it ajar then came to a stop. Heavy iron chain linked through the top allowing no more than six inches gap. Someone had fastened the gate since the midnight last night. To prevent her passage?
