Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II) (24 page)

 
“Aye.
Breanne can help. I feel sure of it.”

He looked sure. He sounded sure. Yet Ailyn felt it a
lie. That as much as Quinlan wanted to trust, to stay strong and chart their
course, fate had other plans.

She could not shake the thought that no matter how
they proceeded, now that she had her pendant, they were on a path set for
Samhain that they could not walk away from, no matter how many turns they took.

“We can use the pendant. Mayhap it can light the
tunnel to help us navigate the best route to freedom,” she said, tucking the
object under her tunic and adjusting her clothing. The fabric felt odd and
cumbersome after such intimacy that they’d shared.

“Aye,” Quinlan replied, fastening his mantle. The sea
breeze blew his wavy locks, giving him a dangerous appeal.

Ailyn scolded herself. She’d made love to him but
moments ago, yet there she was eating up his incredibly handsome visage like a
starved man at a feast. It was as if her mind clung to the distraction her
attraction offered. She didna wish to face what truly mattered. She didna wish
to think of Maera, her brother, of the bloodstone, or the veil.

In the lingering glow of feeling Quinlan’s body join
in perfect union with hers, the world had been pushed away so that he felt more
real than any quest or consequence. Why could she not stay here with him? Alone
in a sea cave with naught but his arms and their passion to sustain them
through the storm above.

Because that wasna how life worked. Love brought
naught but turmoil. Jealousy, obsession, broken hearts. A life without such
keen passion was a better-lived, safer existence. One that she would soon be
free to seek. Once the disaster her brother tricked her into had been resolved.

Pensive, Quinlan held the “key” Daniel had given them
in his hand. “Naught more than a useless stick is what it is,” he muttered.
Giving her a crooked smile, he tossed it out into the sea. A high-pitched,
whiffling sound came from it as the wind carried it downward.

Ailyn turned to make her way back into the cavern, and
then halted as the sound grew louder. She spun back around in time to witness
the key fly upward, a trail of glittering gold following. It careened up the
cliffside
. Quinlan gripped a craggy wall, leaning out to
peer up. Ailyn’s pulse quickened in her throat. What had he done by throwing it
away? She watched his scowl intently, inching closer to the lip of the cave
mouth despite her fears of a bloody death below. Quinlan jerked back into the
cave, emitting a surprised grunt.

The key landed with a clatter at his feet, a
sprinkling of golden dust in its wake. He knelt, and shot a glance up at her.
Mischief lit his face.

“What?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted an
answer.

He held a finger up, then gently retrieved the key.
“Danny lad doesna know all, methinks, lass.”

Ailyn’s apprehension deepened. “What do you mean?”

He stood, key in hand. The mischief in his eyes was
gone. In its place shone hard determination. “I’ve an idea. But you’re not
going to like it.” He leaned out of the cave mouth again, this time peering
upward. Then he looked down, wincing. “I have serious doubts of our chances of
finding a suitable exit.”

He paused, staring at her, perhaps awaiting a
reaction. Ailyn gave none. She was no fool. Nor blind. She could guess what he
intended. “You’ll fall to your death.”

“Possibly. Or, with this in hand, I’ll scale the
cliff, locate help, and return for you— either through the entrance, or
with a very long, very sturdy rope.”

“Madness is what that is. I’ll never agree to it.”

“Not madness. You saw the key return.”

“Aye. The key. Not the key plus the weight of a man.”

“You’re not even considering it, lass.”

“If one of us can be taken to safety by the key, then
why not both?”

He cocked his head. “I’ll not be testing this on both
of us.”

“You’re not testing it at all. You’re trusting a stick
to, what, carry you to the ground above?”

Something flickered in his gaze. Ailyn refused to
wonder what else he had surmised about the key. She refused to listen to any
more of such nonsense as this. More and more, her life felt like some twisted
jest by the gods. “You intend to leave me here. Alone.”

“You’re a capable warrior, Ailyn. You’ve real power in
your veins, which I lack, and between the two of us, I’m far likelier to locate
aid.” He stepped close, taking her face in her hands. “Your life matters more
than mine.”

She hated the verity of his argument. Pressing her
lips together. “And if you fail and plummet to your gruesome death, you
sentence me to one as well. How is that reasonable? How is that fair?”

 
“It’s
neither. But, you are far more able and far more courageous than you give
yourself credit for, lass.” He kissed her nose, rubbing her cheeks with his
thumbs. “If you can think of any better solution, I’m entirely open to it.”

Her mind searched for one, but she only circled back
to what they’d already decided. “Let us at least explore the passageway as
planned, ’ere you risk your neck.” A neck she’d grown very fond of wrapping her
arms around. A neck that had risked enough for her already. “If we find you’re
right, then I’ll agree to the alternate.”

He gave her a look that reminded her she really had
little say either way. If he wished to trust the key’s power and attempt to
scale upward, she couldna stop him. Short of taking the key for herself, that
is. Which she wouldna do. With so many lives at stake, she could not abide
simply remaining concealed in wait. She didna wish such loss to burden the rest
of her days.

Though she knew down to her very soul that losing
Quinlan would darken every night until her last breath.

Quinlan chewed on her suggestion a moment, then gave
her a single nod. “Can you make the pendant glow? We’ll need the light.” He
gestured for her to lead the way.

Her acute tension eased away as she retrieved the
pendant with a shaky hand. Willing it to give light with every ounce of her
energy, she strode to the back of the cavern, past the trickling water. Past
the dust swirls and shaft of sunlight. The roar of the sea faded with each
step. The pendant warmed in her palm, its light at last growing. Ailyn grinned,
turning to triumphantly show Quinlan.

But he wasna there.

“Nay!” she called out, pendant forgotten. She rushed
back to the cave mouth, knowing full well what she found there would change
everything. The whiffling sound of the key met her ears. The hint of golden
sparkle in the air drew her frantic gaze. She halted at the spot he’d earlier
stood, gripping the cave wall and forcing herself to look down into the violent
sea.

Nothing but tall, foamy waves filled her vision. “Quinlan!”
she screamed, her heart slamming against her ribs. Her legs wobbled with fear.
Please. Please surface.

Nay, dinna surface. Dinna be in the waters at all. She
squeezed her eyes shut a moment then bade them open. She peered upward. The
craggy surface menaced worse than the fathoms of sea. The wind whipped at her
hair, loosening tendrils from her braid. Salty spray stung her cheeks. Storm
clouds loomed on the horizon. She strained to see any sign of him. The deep
green pattern of his mantle, the coppery glint of his hair, and bronzed skin.

Nothing. She saw nothing to give her hope. No golden
dust, nor faintest whiffle.

Pain cinched around her heart. A sob choked her
breathing. She stumbled back, hugging the wall. Her foot hit metal. With a loud
clang, his sword fell to the ground. He’d left it behind. Hugging herself, she
fell to her knees, telling herself the drop was not so great a distance. Surely
Quinlan had made it. Surely the furlong or so would be an easy feat with the
aid of magick.

He’d not leave his sword if he didna plan to return to
her. Unless he feared its weight would hinder him. Or worse, if he feared she
would need it, sure that he’d not return at all.

Despite desperate hopes against it, the image of
Quinlan’s body battered again and again against the rocky bottom filled her
mind. She covered her face, nigh choking on emotion. “Foolish man! What were
you thinking, Quinlan?”

Nay. She’d not assume the worst. She wiped her tears
away, mindless of the pendant’s filigree scraping her skin. She swallowed the
emotion. “Morrigan, hear my plea. I beg you to show me what fate Quinlan has
met. Brigit, please, hear my words, I invoke you to show me the way.”

Naught but the salty wind met her senses, though.
Where was the nudge she so desperately needed now? Silent. Day by day, ever
more here in this mortal world, the Source waned. Not all magick, though. The
goddesses might be silent, but the pendant wasna. It warmed in her hand still,
sending a soft hum over her palm and up her arm.

Defeated and broken but yet resolved, she retreated
from the craggy edge. She would believe he’d made it until she discovered
otherwise. She
had
to. Believing
otherwise would crush her will to go on. Colm, Maera, and all of the Fae world
needed her to trudge forth. To fight until her dying breath.

As her father would have hoped her to.

As her mother had.

On weak legs, she strode back to the passageway.

A faint echo drew her attention. She halted, looked
up, straightening. Aside from the trickling stream and distant waves, though—there!
She heard it again. Was it her name?

Her heartbeat skipped into triple time. She let the
pendant fall from her fingers to her chest, peering up the crevice, listening.

“Ailyn?”

Her gasp sounded more like a squawk. “Quin, is that
you?” If it wasna, let it at least be Daniel. Or Colm. Anyone who could help.
But more keenly than any other, she hoped it was Quinlan. “Quin?”

A rush of water poured through the crevice, forcing
her back a step. Another gush splashed over the rocky wall and floor, revealing
a small bit of fabric. Ailyn reached for the wet material, immediately
recognizing the colors to be of Quinlan’s mantle.

She pressed it to her chest in a tight fist, giddy
with relief. So giddy that she only briefly wondered how he found the crevice, how
he conjured such a brilliant way to assure her that all was well. She would
skin him alive for striking such fear in her soul, but not unless and until she
escaped as well. Now on far sturdier legs, she set off toward the passageway at
the back of the cavern.

Chapter Twenty-three

“Enough. If the scrap of tartan doesna find its way to
her, so be it,” Jamison said.

“Unacceptable. Force him to bring her to me,” the man
said, his hand tightening on Quinlan’s throat.

He strained against the man’s steely grip. “Dinna
count on such luck, Jamison,” he grit out.

“Aye, well if the fabric is not lure enough, we’ll
fish her out by some other means.”

Kristoph lifted Quinlan off the ground, backing him up
so that he dangled off the edge.

His struggles were of no avail and would plunge him to
his death, a death he’d already narrowly escaped thanks to the wooden staff
Daniel had called a ‘key’. Quinlan could hardly breath let alone call down to
Ailyn to warn her. His cheeks washed with hot anger and shame.

Never could he have guessed this is what his leap
would bring him to. Not two seconds after hitting the ground with a hard thump,
Jamison had greeted him with a menacing laugh.

“What took you so long, friend?” the burly
galloglas
had said, rising from his lackadaisical lean
against an oak.

Having only enough time to scramble to his feet,
Quinlan was easy prey. Plus Jamison brought help—Kristoph, Quinlan
presumed given the curved scar Daniel had described along at the man’s neck.

A scar all too familiar now that his mind kicked up
the memory of Jamison’s mark beneath his beard.

“Scream if you can. She’ll not hear you,” Kristoph
said, his strange violet gaze taking Quinlan in. “She’ll hear naught but hope
drumming through her veins now. Hope for you. Hope for Colm. We’ll need no
further bait.”

The man spoke more to Quinlan than to Jamison,
watching every word’s impact and deep impact they had. Blows to his heart, to
his pride. Wounds that stung worse than any cut. He’d failed her. He was wont
to keep her safe and pulled a trick that now proved foolish beyond words.
Forgive me, lass.

He struggled against the hold, mindless of the
precarious footing he would find along the rocky edge. Ailyn’s mother had shown
him the true elements necessary for the rite to work. A triad of the
bloodstone, Ailyn, and her true love.

If they killed him they would have one less element.

So be it.

Did they know as much, though? Or did they, too,
mistake the pendant as the third piece? His life was worthless if he let her
down. His eyes strained to see more of Jamison than the blur in his periphery.
What dark arts were these that held him invisibly and stronger than any chain
or man? Krisoph leaned so close that his nose nigh touched Quinlan’s. His hot
breath smelled like…honey and heather? He smelled like Ailyn.

Nay! Impossible. A trick. Quinlan fought to suppress
the burning hot possessiveness clawing up his chest over the idea that this man
had ever been so close her as to smell like her. The violet eyes held his in an
icy stare. “So this is what she wants, is it?”

Chilly fear ran down Quinlan’s back. The sky above
darkened by degrees. As if it night’s cloak threatened to steal the day. His
thoughts tumbled, tripping upon themselves, over and again coming back to
Ailyn. She wouldn’t know the trap the key brought him to.

Jamison’s smiling visage showed just beyond Kristoph’s
back. “Daniel!” he called in a shout over one shoulder.

Daniel?!
Bile
shot up Quinlan’s throat. It’s bitter taste recoiled his tongue. Kristoph’s
invisible grip cinched tighter on his throat. He refused to fall for Jamison’s
ploy. Daniel would not betray Breanne. He would not betray Ailyn. Not even to
save his own skin. Daniel might be young but he was far from naïve and Ashlon
had helped instill character in him sturdier than the oak Jamison—
nay!
From behind the very oak Jamison
had stood in wait came one all too familiar figure.

A scream of rage bubbled up his chest. His arms, his
chest, his head strained against the invisible bindings. The scream released in
a muted growl and never in all his life had he felt so weak. So powerless.

The newest betrayer would not meet his eyes. Shamed is
what he was and well deserved, too. Quinlan would have spat. He would have
drawn his blade and run Jamison through. Kristoph, as well. Daniel, though, he
would save. He would drag him bound and gagged to his sister. To her husband
who had shown him how to become a man.

Jamison cuffed a hand to Daniel’s shoulder. “Be a good
lad and fetch the lass, Danny. We’ve little time for error, mind you.”

Kristoph’s attention didna waver from Quinlan’s face,
but the men behind him were all Quinlan could see. He watched, horrified.

Daniel gave Jamison a jovial grin, his appearance
strikingly young. Bright naiveté shone in his eyes. He bent to the ground a
moment. When Danny stood, he tossed the wooden staff—the key that had
powerfully jerked Quinlan up the cliff’s face to this very spot—up into
the air. Then with a grin, he caught it. Was this a game to him? Had his
journeys to discover the lore addled his mind? Would he be cursed to wax and
wane through aging?

The sense of betrayal cut Quinlan deep, but alongside
it, sorrow ebbed forth. Breanne would now lose her brother, too? Certainly her
mother was on death’s bed. She would have no family left save the one she was
creating. He could not worry for Breanne’s heart now, though. Not with the
invisible grip on him seeming to seep into his skin, penetrating the muscle and
clogging his airway. It wasn’t merely difficult to breathe. The air itself did
not feel like air. Not the nourishing cool relief his body needed.

Nay, more like breathing fog. He could taste cloying
sweetness in it. What luck could possibly strike now? Naught that he would
count on.
 
Enchanted staffs,
magickal pendants and speaking ghosts would not give him air to breathe. Nor
would they conjure a band of warriors to his aid.

Kristoph’s gaze danced with delight as though the man
fed off Quinlan’s struggling. Not merely fed, exalted in it. Quinlan’s forced
himself to stop fighting for air. He imagined he’d fallen deep into the waves
below and in order to surface, he had to stop kicking, turn his stomach upward
and keep holding his breath. He shut his eyes, clinging to the image when
suddenly the bindings gripping him released. He fell to his knees, coughing.
His throat felt raw, his stomach churned.

The dirt he stared at as he fought to recover might
have been the most beautiful sight except a trail of dark blue invaded it,
smoke coming off of it. Stench vile beyond words emanating upward and sending
him back onto his heels. There on the ground before him lay Kristoph. Niall
O’Donnell stood above the Fae man’s twitching body, a blue soaked dagger in his
hand. His shoulders heaved. Anger glittered in his eyes.

“My king,” Quinlan gasped, awash with intense relief.
“Thank all that be.” Unable to get to his feet, he pointed at Jamison.
“He…he….”

“Enough, lad,” Niall said, turning a dark look on
Jamison, raising his blade. “D’you have any notion what pain I’ll wreak upon
you should any soul in my land die by your choices here today, Jamison?”

“My lord, let me ex—.”

Niall had Jamison by the throat before another word
could escape. He lifted the smaller, yet still brawny man off his feet,
growling. Jamison’s face grew red as he struggled against his king’s angry
grip. Niall spat, shoving Jamison backward. The man landed, stumbled and fell.
He stayed upon his arse on the ground, his face mottled with rage.

“I dare you to run,” Niall said, leaning over him long
enough to stare him down then backhand him. “Where is the lass?” he asked
Quinlan, his disgusted gaze on Jamison.

“In the tunnels,” Danny said, popping up from a crouch
nearby.

Niall straightened, giving Danny his attention. His
eyes narrowed on him. “You’ll take us to her, lad. At once.”

Danny screwed his mouth from side to side as though to
ponder this deep order. He snapped his fingers then retrieved the wooden staff
from the ground. Quinlan’s throat felt scalded and his limbs were shaky yet he
got to his feet. The idea of Niall aiding his rescue of Ailyn should propound
his relief. Instead, his gut filled with foreboding. Something wasna right
here. Something more than a blue bleeding Fae man’s throat slit or the havoc
that came before.

Danny had set off, though and Niall kicked Jamison in
the back, encouraging the man to his feet. Then he offered Quinlan an arm to
steady him as they strode to follow.

“My lord, I know where she is,” Quinlan said,
preferring to stand on his own despite his weak feeling legs. “No need to take
them with us. Surely better that you take them back to Tir
Connail
and I join you there with her.”

Niall halted, grunted thoughtfully. “Aye, I ken your
concerns. Ho there, Daniel!”

Danny paused. He’d gained a bit of distance in his
eagerness but Quinlan could see his youthful demeanor had receded to his
appropriate age. There was the Daniel Quinlan had come to know. It was too
great a space to see the man’s eyes, to gauge if the consequences of his
betrayal was taking hold of him.

Or if there were no consequences for the man to stomach
because he’d acted in collusion all along.

Nay, Quinlan could not believe it. There was no motive
that matched up to Daniel’s actions. Why aid Ailyn, get the parchments, put his
life at risk only to draw Jamison to Quinlan at the final hour. Jamison stood a
pace to Niall’s left, a small grin on his face.

A sick realization hit Quinlan square in the gut.

Ailyn’s mother’s message.

Three elements joined to harness ultimate power. If
Ailyn was but one of the three critical elements, another being the bloodstone,
the last element was the power of love.

“Daniel, bring me the staff,” Niall ordered.

Impossible. How could Daniel have ever foreseen that
Quinlan and she would meet that fateful night? His mind was spinning tales. It
was reeling. Overwhelmed from the events. The hairs on Quinlan’s arms stood on
end as he watched Daniel consider Niall a moment then obey. He slowly walked
back toward them, the wooden staff in his hand. The heaviness of a man grown in
his gait.

Breanne’s vision might have pointed Daniel toward
matchmaking possibilities. But how would he know Ailyn would be there that
night? How would Daniel or Jamison know for that matter? How would they
orchestrate Quinlan interrupting her path, unless…?

Dread crawled up his spine. His gaze swung from Daniel
to Niall. He did not expect his king to be watching him, searching his face.
Awaiting the truth to sink in?

“You are right, Quinlan.” Niall paid no mind to
Jamison joining his side. “Dragging these two along is a waste of good man
power.” He jerked his head toward Jamison. “They’ll be of better use to me at
the rite. And to be sure, muddled orders enough already.”

Quinlan stepped back, shaking his head. “I dinna
believe it.”

Niall closed the space between them as Daniel
approached. “You dinna need to believe it, Quinlan.” His breath smelled of
mead. “That is the undeniable thing about truth. It is what it is no matter
what we do, no matter how we fight it, refuse it, or twist it. There it is.
True all the same.”

“You sent me to the rite to meet Ailyn, not for lifted
cattle at all.” He needed to hear the words. “You knew of Breanne’s vision and
placed me in her path to test if we would attract.”

Niall shook his head. “No such luck as that, lad.
Kristoph saw the power between you both. But attraction is not so powerful as
love. For that insight, my beloved wife deserves credit.”

“Una?!” He couldn’t believe it. Not of Breanne’s
mother. She was far too kind a soul, too giving to ever scheme and lie. Even if
it were in her nature, she’d been so ill for so long now.

“As she lay in bed one night, weak, pale,
contemplating her death,” Niall said and to his credit, emotion choked his
words. “She considered that it would have been
verra
nice to see you happily wed afore she parted. She feared Breanne had broken
your heart.”

Quinlan’s heart did break now, thinking of the woman’s
fate. “And look at the honorable man who won her heart. Why, my liege? How?”

“Can you truly not understand?” Niall said, pain
welling in his eyes. “Would you not give anything to save your love’s life?”

Ailyn’s sweet face came into sharp focus in his mind.
Aye, a thousand deaths he’d give for her life. What he wouldn’t face to simply
know she lived to see one more dawn. But such things were not up to him. Fate
had plans man should never twist or tempt.

Daniel came to an abrupt stop a few feet from them.
His visage was becoming wizened.
 
Jamison’s grin spread wide as if anticipating a great show. Quinlan
backed up, shaking his head. “I’d not sacrifice a hundred lives for one, no
matter how dear I held that one.”

“You say the words. Let us see if you prove them true.
Take us to her.” Niall’s eyes hardened. “Now.”