Irish Moon

by Amber Scott

She wouldn’t entertain the thought. If it were true, it meant that someone had discovered more than her absence, they’d discovered the circumstance of it, as well. Chains do not go on gates when a person is missing, they go up when one has escaped and is not allowed to return the same way.

  Breanne tried in vain to pull the base wide and squeeze through. She gained no more than a hand full of splinters and scraped skin.

  She did not have another choice but to enter the bailey at the main. With a deep steadying breath, Breanne walked the wall’s edge, resuming the ruse she’d earlier concocted. She had been unable to sleep and woke early to gather herbs. Using part truth would enhance her story’s authenticity should Niall himself be doing the asking. And so she planned to say she’d fallen asleep looking at the sunrise dismiss the stars and moon.

  What could be wrong in that? Surely, she would only be scolded for not taking an escort or guard, but no more. Her belly didn’t seem to care how simple the matter should be. It roiled in dread.

  She waved at the tower guard and smiled at all passersby. They greeted her equally politely and none seemed concerned over her arrival. She chose the kitchen side door to enter through as was her habit and was nearest to the stairwell leading to her bedchamber.

  To calm herself, Breanne imagined herself walking up the stairs, after a cheery kitchen welcome, a stolen scone. Eating would settle her stomach and she would enter her chamber to find Finn fast asleep at the unused foot of her bed.

  She would change, braid her mussed hair and return below as though naught in the world could be amiss, including the loss of her virtue or the missing love of her life.

  Love? No, not love, passion. Desire, but let it not be love that tore inside of her. For if she loved him and he’d left, without likelihood of returning, that would devastate her. One night’s magic was worth eternity and she would deal with her virtue loss later, when an impending wedding night became a reality rather than an idea.

  The kitchen staff ignored her and she barely found a biscuit to take along. The small scrap helped little and she ran up the stairs only to come to a full halt at the top of them.

  Looking quite grim, arms crossed and sitting on a stool directly in front of her door sat Niall O’Donnell. Breanne’s belly fell to her toes and her hard breath knocked out of her.

  Niall turned his head when she gasped. He stood and gestured that she might come to her room and enter it. With leaden steps, she did and found the room ransacked. Her bed was stripped, her bedding upturned. Her trunk lay on its side, the contents spilled and broken. Her book was not in sight.

  Breanne inhaled sharply and walked through the door.

  “What happened?” she said, her discovery forgotten. “Who did this?” What were they looking for?

  “I know not, nor can I guess as you’ve seen fit to ensure, Breanne. I’ll allow you a moment to locate your belongings and count the losses. Then, you and I have affairs to discuss.”

  Breanne met his eyes and saw the disappointment in them keen and fresh. It made her feel smaller than a field mouse. She nodded her head. It was clear he knew enough that any fabrication she’d managed would be seen through, particularly since her room appeared robbed.

  “When was it found in this fashion?” she said and began righting the toppled furniture.

  “Rose alerted your mother before dawn.”

  Her mother. She must be fretful to the point of madness after finding such a mess and no daughter to speak of. Breanne felt terrible, to be sure. What words could ever measure her level of regret? None came to mind and likely wouldn’t. At best she could receive her penance and hope to one day repair the tatters their trust must be in for her.

  “As I readied my guard, it came to light that you were not in the room when this violence occurred. I care not to know what you’ve done to incur this upon yourself. I only care that you do not have the chance to do so again.”

  Breanne nearly choked on the lump that rose in her throat. What punishment would fit this crime? Moreover, what exactly did Niall believe her crime to be?

  “But you knew me to be safe,” she said.

  “Aye, we did. But, such matters will wait until we finish here. Are you missing anything of import? Do you recognize what the person was after?”

  Breanne replaced the contents of her trunk, broken mirror, candles, cracked jars and bowls, her buried book. Naught was gone, only broken or torn. She hugged the satchel inside her cloak closer and shook her head. “I canno’ know. I find nothing gone.”

  “Come along then, lass. Your mother and Quinlan await us.” His voice was laden with emotion and sounded defeated.

  “Before we go to them, my lord, I must speak of Heremon to you,” she said, unsure what aim she had except a bargain for time.

  Niall faced her outside of the doorway. “Ah yes, I should have spoken with you of it earlier. With all of the arrivals and preparations, it slipped my mind—.“

  “I believe I know why he was murdered. I believe I know the poison the killer used. Together, we may be able to ascertain who is to ….”

  “Heremon was not murdered, Breanne,” he said, his voice a boom of thunder. “I found in his cottage a closet full of herbals and concoctions that he experimented with. I have established his death as an accidental, self-induced poisoning.”

  Breanne felt as though he’d hit her. It couldn’t be. Heremon had been hiding Ashlon, the chest, it must be linked to his strange death. She shook her head in denial.

  “I speak the truth. I found the mislabeled jar myself, quite by accident, and brought it here to compare its properties to that matching my own for the heart. By its pungent odor and consistency, I have concluded the facts just presented to you. I am sorry to have left you in the dark regarding the matter.”

  Breanne frowned, thoroughly confused. Heremon mislabel a concoction? She simply couldn’t envision it. It went well past the Druid’s habits of collecting, making clear inscription, and logging. The habit had been the bane of her study, her most hated role as an Ovate apprentice.

  But, Niall did not look open to argument. He looked to be fast out of patience and time for her. Breanne snapped her open mouth shut. She could not very well tell him of Ashlon and the chest in any case, so she would have to find Heremon’s killer on her own, once the current storm in her life passed.

  Ula and Quinlan sat together in armed chairs on one side of the room, opposite the empty one intended for her. She’d last sat in this seat with demands of a husband laid upon her. She preferred the past to what loomed for her there now.

  Breanne sat, adjusting the satchel under her cloak so that the book didn’t jab her ribs, then rested her hands in her lap. Niall shut the door as softly as a serpent’s hiss ready to strike.

  She looked at Quinlan first in hopes of gauging what was about to happen. But, his features were schooled well and he did not meet her eyes. Niall had his back to them, his head tipped toward the sky outside the window.

  “I marry today, Breanne,” Ula said. Her eyes were on her lap.

  “Aye.” She did not know what else to say.

  “It should be a happy occasion. And the lord knows, I deserve one.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ve concluded your behavior must be an act of jealousy, a rebellion, and I will say this once so that my own conscience holds no regret.” She looked at Breanne. “I love you. You are my first child and none can take your place.”

  “I love you, as well, Mother.”

  Ula closed her eyes a moment, smiled tightly. When she opened them, they were cold and sent a chill down Breanne’s spine.

  “I ask for truthfulness in your answers, Breanne, and please know that I will recognize a lie. Now then, who is he?”

  Breanne swallowed. “Who is who?”

  “The man Quinlan spied in your bedchamber window last night, the man you spent the night with.”

  “No man has been to my chamber save you, Quinlan, and that with your sister and my mother. You are mistak
en in what you saw.”

  Quinlan met her eyes. He looked sympathetic but shook his head. “I fear I made no mistake, Breanne. He peered out your window, waved to me. Do you wish me to describe him? I am able to.”

  “Aye, I do wish, for I swear that no man has been in my chamber.” She did not want to lie and so could not answer the second part of the question, not in front of Quinlan. “Mayhap you saw the man who ransacked my chamber.”

  Niall kept his back to them and seemed as though he were there only for support. She didn’t realize until then that her mother was who she faced in reprimand.

  “Do you deny you were with a man, alone last night?” Ula said.

  Breanne’s cheeks burned hot. Who could have been in her room? Why were they not interested in the same conclusion she easily drew? “Nay, I do not deny it. I deny that a man came to my room for the reason you imply. I insist that Quinlan witnessed a thief not a lover.”

  “I saw you leave with him, Breanne,” Quinlan said. “And your chamber was in no disarray when I verified your departure, worried as you can imagine, by entering the chamber with Rose when you did not answer my knocks and yelling.”

  Breanne felt like a rabbit backed up against a wall of rock too high to jump, too wide to scurry around. She did not want to admit last night’s deeds to any person, especially to the man who sought to marry her. Quinlan did not deserve to be so betrayed. It would crush him if he found out.

  Not that she would continue to encourage, or rather not discourage, his attentions. She would beg off from his interest at the first opportunity. Though, Ashlon had left Tir Conaill and her, without a word, he could return within a few days.

  She just needed more time get her bearings. So much had happened and now they asked her to reveal what she had thought no one would ever discover. Her intentions last night were to only have a single night with him, one moment to feel heaven. Time enough later to face the loss of his departure. “You say you saw me leave with the man. At what hour? How can you be certain it was me you saw?”

  “I grant you, I did not see your face. I saw your blue cloak, the one and same my sister gifted to you, your favorite. And I saw the way he held you close, kissed your cheek, and rushed you out the main doors.” Quinlan’s voice was strained.

  “You said you are able to describe the man?” She clung to hope. She’d worn her green cloak last night, still did now but what would it improve to point out that which she could not prove? Her mother looked well past impatient. Niall kept his gaze away from them.

  Quinlan shifted and said, “As tall as me, lean, broad, black hair. One of the arrivals from O’Doherty no doubt,” he said to Ula.

  The description was too close to Ashlon’s. He could have mistaken the cloak’s color and spotted her joining Ashlon outside the gate. But, why would Quinlan lie about where he saw them, or their greeting?

  “His hair was sparsed with nearly white streaks but I saw no other aging in his movements. He looked quite virile.” His meaning was unmistakable when he frowned his mouth in disgust.

  But, how could she tell them that she did not know who he spoke of, that she was with Ashlon who had no graying whatsoever? And who could that leave as the person’s Quinlan truly saw? The fright from being cornered grew into confused anger.

  “When did my room become in such disarray then?”

  “Within an hour later when Rose returned to check on your return, telling me I must have been mistaken in what I had witnessed.”

  “You were mistaken.”

  Ula sighed in exasperation. “You are avoiding the matter at hand. I will play no more ruse. Give us the man’s name so we may secure your betrothal.”

  She saw no way out of it. “I will not lie to you mother. I was not alone, nor in my room last eve. But, I promise you that Quinlan is mistaken in who he saw. It was not me. And the man he described is not one I recognize.”

  Niall was the only listener that did not gasp in outrage. Ula stood, her hands on her hips, looking more furious than Breanne ever recalled. Quinlan shook his head and looked as though he did not know her.

  Breanne’s chest welled with emotion. Why could they not see that something far more important than her virtue’s loss had occurred last eve? Because they knew not of Ashlon’s circumstances. And she could not explain any part or the entirety.

  “Do you require I ask Quinlan to find the man himself and bring him forward? Or will you make affairs simple for us all by finally being forthright?” Ula crossed her arms. Niall came to her side.

  He gave Breanne a surprisingly understanding look. “Don’t become distressed, Ula. Breanne will name the man. It is our wedding day. She has not meant harm, have you Breanne?”

  “No. I wish no hurt to any and though you may find it difficult to believe, have strived to prevent hurting all of you.” Breanne waited for Ula to be seated. “Quinlan, I would like to first apologize for misleading you. I in no way ever meant to deceive you.”

  Quinlan curtly nodded and if she didn’t know better, looked supremely relieved. Well, seeing the issue over with must cause some relief. How long had he been forced to sit and wait with her mother and stepfather, all wondering what scandalousness she was about?

  “I fear, mother, that my answer will greatly disappoint you for there will be no betrothal. The man I spent last eve with is gone.”

  “What do you mean he is gone?” Niall demanded.

  “He left me last night at what hour I know not. He does not mean to return.”

  “He will have no choice,” Niall said. “He will honor the promise made in bedding you, or were you not in fact bedded?”

  “Niall, please,” Ula said, blushing for Breanne’s sake.

  Strangely, the crude question did not embarrass her. She felt no shame in experiencing Ashlon to the fullest definition last night, ruinous or no.

  “He is a man of honor, Niall but I fear, he may have no other choice.”

  Niall bent forward. “It will be his only choice. His name, Lady O’Donnell.”

  Breanne took a deep breath. Niall was wrong. Only one thing would bring him back. Love.

  “Sir Ashlon Sinclair.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  “I must admit I was surprised at your leaving. Now, don’t look at me that way, Ashlon. I do not pry. I merely conjecture.” Ramsey smiled up at the sun.

  Ashlon didn’t bite. He didn’t know what irritated him more at this point, seven hours into their journey, the afternoon’s heat wearing the horses even as they now walked, or Ramsey’s incessantly cheerful disposition.

  The man had discussed the passing beauty, his adopted clan, his love of hunting. And now, he had returned again to Ashlon as his favorite topic to dissect at length.

  “I do not wonder so much as the reason as the fact that you left alone and at such a dreadful hour. Did you not comprehend the risks of doing these two things simultaneously?”

  Ashlon clenched his jaw. “I saw no risk at all. In fact, I saw less risk.” Of being detained, of being noticed gone.

  Of course, Breanne would have noticed. Ashlon chest tightened uncomfortably. He tugged at his tunic collar. His sword banged at his thigh in beat with the steed’s walk.

  “None told you then, during your stay? Well, you had not been there long, had you? A fortnight or so?”

  Ashlon grunted his acknowledgement.

  “And that explains it then. It’s a good thing I saw you leave and was hard put to stay asleep this morn, then. I may have saved your life, Ashlon.”

  Ashlon chuckled derisively. “Oh, Ramsey, how’s that?”

  “Well, any good Irishman worth his weight in cattle would tell you that the whole land is enchanted and a full moon is an imp’s playground for mischief and mayhem.”

  He guffawed aloud, the laugh erupting from deep within him. Ramsey looked better than pleased with himself, making him wonder if lightening Ashlon’s heart was what he’d been about all day long.

  “No, Ramsey, none shared that little tid
bit with me.”

  “I can see you don’t believe me. You’ll soon enough know for yourself of the magick in this land.”

  Ashlon couldn’t help thinking he already did and of Breanne. There were none like her. He found her to be bolder and braver than most men, yet honest and loving and utterly feminine. But, if she kept sneaking into his thoughts, he’d never make it to the Causeway.

  “Not the kind we heard talk of in whispers and rumors among the Knights, mind you, Ashlon. What I speak of is the stuff of myth and legend. Fairy princes, Elvin kings,” Ramsey said.

  Ashlon only half heard his friend. He’d be galloping back to her with his heart in his hand and a seven-year vow in shambles at his feet.

  “You’re scared, aren’t you?” Ramsey said.

  Ashlon scowled at him in response. “I have long outgrown fear, my friend. The Pope himself, you can thank for that.”

  Ramsey snorted. “A grand lot of hog’s shite, that one is.”

  “I assure you, years of evading assassins has a way about killing all fear in a man.”

  “Then you’re not scared of what Ireland offers you? Home, kinship, a future, none of that shivers your skin, then?”

  Ashlon shook his head. How could he fear what he might not have a chance at winning? “Overestimated, all of it, if you ask me,” he said with a full grin.

  Ramsey laughed. “The beautiful lasses, the welcoming homes and hearths, the ongoing revelry? None caught your eye?”

  “Aye, who needs it?”

  Ramsey took cue and said, “Right you are. Off with us then.” He heeled his bay into a canter.

  Ashlon followed suit, glad to be done, until Ramsey’s next rising urge to prod him back the road they came.

  Their horses’ hooves were all he heard for some time, blessedly, until another distinct sound pricked his senses. Ashlon slowed his horse and motioned for Ramsey to do the same. They left the narrow road and came to a stop.

  Ashlon listened to the sound of another rider approaching. Both men dismounted and crouched in the wood. Thankfully, Ramsey didn’t question Ashlon and kept low and silent in the foliage cover. The sound drew nearer, grew louder, until Ashlon readied to watch the traveler pass them by.