Irish Moon (15 page)

“Again, I thank you, sir. And you as well,
Master Blake.”

Ashlon stole a glance her way as the two men
seated him and themselves among the two rows of scarred and bearded
men. One by one each were introduced to him. A nod here, a good
shake there, lineage and relationships explained so well that by
midway through, Ashlon struggled to recall even the first man’s
identity.

She kept her head down and her back to him.
Good. No reason to raise suspicion or cause a scene. She clearly
wished to be rid of him back at the cave and he would honor both
her request for silence and divestment. Leastwise, he would once he
got her alone and showed her what he’d found.

Chapter Nine

Breanne didn’t mind being the first to arrive
in the Grianan. Actually thought it might behoove her, demonstrate
eagerness on her part. But when an hour passed with no other woman
joining her, she began to think she’d chosen badly. But she had
naught else to do. Rising with the dawn had become such a habit as
a child, it stuck.

When Heremon was alive, she’d fill her
mornings with study, transcribing notes and potions into her
Grimoire, ornamenting the pages with drawings. Being in her room
for those hours every day, she thought by the noisy activity
outside, that the entire household rose early as well.

Re-braiding her hair a
third time, Breanne guessed it to be nearing the seventh hour. She
didn’t dare leave or poke her nose out the doors to look for
another female soul. If she did, she might run into
him
. Twice yesterday and
four times the day before, she’d found herself in his vicinity and
had to reroute not only her path but her schedule, as
well.

Finn had stopped speaking to her after three
more failed rituals. Being unable to go outdoors unescorted made
Breanne feel like a trapped animal, too.

So, she came here, the only room Ashlon
Sinclair couldn’t follow her to other than her own. Sir Sinclair.
She swore the man was utterly daft. From the fever mayhap. His name
seemed to be on everyone’s lips, so fascinating were his tales over
mealtime.

She for one, cared not, was
glad
not
to have
suffered what was likely to be tall tales of grand chivalry. A
knight. But, no gentleman, to be sure. What kind of chivalry kissed
a woman like he had her?

When the door swung open, din from the hall
carried and followed Rose inside. Breanne beamed.

“In St. Brigit’s name, where have you been
all morning Rose? I thought I might perish waiting for you and the
other women.”

Rose looked up, startled. “What are you doing
here, Bree? Have you lost your way?” she said, recovered.

“If I’m marrying, I had better be acquainted
with the ways of running my household. So, I’ll be spending my time
here among the fairer, my peerage, learning.”

Rose’s eyebrows drew together. She grinned.
“Who are you hiding from, then? Niall? O’Shannon?”

“Neither. Is as I’ve said, naught else. I
thought you would be pleased.”

“Your mother will be, for certain.” In a
burst, the door opened again and Rose’s girls stormed the room.
Kimber went straight to Breanne on sight. The others greeted her
and went about their fairy make believe.

Rose sat next to her with a huff. Her eyes
were puffy, dark circled. “Have you not slept well, Rose?”

“I have. Slept like the dead but can’t seem
to get up and about. Exhausted is what I am.”

“Are you feeling well?”

“Tired is all.” She yawned. “Whenever Ryan is
off, I feel more worn than when he’s home. The help he is with the
girls, I imagine.”

“Shall I make you something to help?”

“Ah, no. I’ll be fine, you’ll see. Sheena,
none of that now. We speak like ladies, don’t we?” Sheena’s cheeks
reddened and she covered her mouth when she nodded. “Kimber, play
with your sisters and let Breanne be for now.”

“She’s fine, really.”

Rose helped the little girl down, kissed her
cheek. “It’s not for your sake. It’s for mine. Little ears pick up
big words and I have a favor to ask of you. But, first, let us move
to my corner or Rhiannon will be steaming from her eyes discovering
you in her chair. We can be as territorial as a buck in spring in
here. Some would leave their mark if they could.”

Breanne chuckled at the image despite the
kernel of worry for Rose. She looked more than sleepy. Three more
ladies entered the room, chattering, pausing to give Breanne raised
eyebrows then settled into their areas.

“Are you very schooled in herbs, Breanne? I
know I’m callus and a poor friend indeed for never asking about
your study before, and I’m hoping you’ll forgive me for it. It’s
just that I have need to know now where, before I didn’t.” Rose
tossed an unfinished embroidery piece onto Breanne’s lap. “It’s not
that I’m only tired, Bree.”

Breanne’s mouth fell open. “What is it,
Rose?”

Her friend jabbed the dull end of a needle
into her hand. Breanne took the hint and plucked it through the
cloth. Rose held a broad smile on her face while she spoke, cueing
Breanne to follow suit.

The kernel expanded.

“Rose. You’re scaring me.”

She snorted. “No need to be scared. I’m with
child is all. Well, I think I am. I’ll know for certain within a
sennight or so.”

Breanne inhaled but clamped her mouth shut
when Rose’s eyes pinned her with warning. She forced the smile
back.

“Ryan, he wants a son so badly, a boy to
rough and tumble, to pass his name. Men, they don’t feel like men
without another prick in the home to prove it.”

“I canno’ foretell the gender so early as
that, Rose. Not until midway through, and I’m not certain you
should rely on my say as I’ve never done it afore.”

“You can tell me if it’s a boy?” Rose
frowned.

“Aye, well, perchance. But, that is not what
you were asking me, is it? Rose, what are you asking me?” The
expansion of worry spread to her chest.

Rose lowered her gaze, the smile stuck.
“Kimber is but a year and a half grown. I’ve had them all right
behind the next and I love them more than my own life, more than
anything, but Breanne, I feel beaten with this one.”

Breanne shook her head slowly. Not that. Rose
couldn’t ask her to do that.

“You’ve no idea what it feels like, Bree. No
better than a broodmare, I am.”

“Do you know what you’re saying, Rose? Have
you lost all your senses?”

Rose shook her head, the smile barely moved
when she spoke. “Is it better it kills me, leaves my girls without
a mother, Ryan without a wife?”

Breanne saw the desperation glittering in
Rose’s eyes and the worry inside of her became fear. “You’re right,
Rose. I do not know. But, I do know that I may be able to help you
so that you might make it through and if you do, you’ll not rue
it.”

Rose shook her head still. Breanne’s words
didn’t seem to penetrate her. “I want Ryan to have his boy and I
know in my heart that this babe is male. Leave it to a man to
exhaust me so, make me wait so long. Just like his father.” Her
smile became tender. A tear slid down her cheek.

“Aye. A boy like his father. Rose,” she
whispered. “Take a breath. My mother has come in.”

Within a breath, Ula spoke Breanne’s name and
rushed to their corner. “Do I trust my eyes? My very own daughter,
here, among us? Why, I haven’t seen you in here in the morning
light since you were eleven years.”

Breanne returned Ula’s embrace. “It canno’ be
such a shock as that, now. As you said, I will soon have my own
household to run. Where better to prepare for it than here with all
of you?” She spoke loudly and gained a few of the smiles she’d been
soliciting with the remark.

Only Rose would see through it, she hoped,
and Rose was under enough burden of her own that she might not
press the matter.

“A splendid idea. Now, give me that.
Embroidery was never your best talent and is a pleasure you’ll not
have time for until your later years if your marriage is
successful. And of course it will be. Here, why don’t we polish
your spinning skills. Rhiannon, will you be a dear and help Breanne
with her spinning this morning?”

Breanne glanced back at Rose, hoping she
could see the promise to finish their conversation. Sheena stole
Rose’s attention away before she could be certain, making her first
spinning in four years time go even worse.

Sucking on her index finger, stuck for the
second time, Breanne silently cursed Sir Sinclair and his
mesmerizing kiss for forcing her into a punishment worth all her
sins—women’s work.

* * * *

“Only a man with a wish for death will go
through that door,” Quinlan’s distinct voice said.

Ashlon turned in its direction, head cocked.
“Oh, and why is that Master Blake?”

“Quinlan, Sir Sinclair, if you please, and
that is the Grianan. One must be of the fairer sex to enter though
what man in his right mind would want to? A veritable nest of hens,
clucking away all day long, that it is.”

“Grianan?”

“Aye, it is exclusive to the ladies of the
clan. Built in the sunniest corner of any man’s castle, to keep
them happy and out of our hair.”

Ashlon suppressed a laugh. Quinlan Blake had
a lot to learn about women. But, who was he to point it out? “I am
in search of his Highness, King Niall O’Donnell.”

“Allow me, good sir,” Quinlan said, without
question.

Ashlon followed, feeling the pull to stay
despite the young man’s warning. She could not remain in the room
forever, though. Eventually, he would gain a private word with her,
be able to steal a note her way. And meeting with Niall was an
inevitable necessity.

The man seemed to talk in circles and Ashlon
wondered from the start, sitting across from him at his table of
men, if he’d injured his head during his spell of illness. No other
appeared to have difficulty understanding Niall O’Donnell, but
Ashlon struggled to find the man’s meaning at times. So, he’d put
off the conversation in hopes that speaking with the girl, Breanne
O’Donnell as Quinlan informed him yesterday, would end its
need.

Quinlan rapped his knuckles on the ajar door.
“Sir Sinclair to see his Royal Highness.”

Hearing Quinlan’s sarcasm followed by Niall’s
guffaw, Ashlon prickled with annoyance.

“Send him in Quinlan. Send him in.” Niall
approached the door, waving inward.

“Ashlon, my good man, I thought I told you
we’re kin in these parts and none of this royal high and mighty
hog’s farts around them, then? I eat with my men because I am a
man. They’ve chosen me to lead and so I do but, it makes me no
better a person in theirs, mine, or the good lord’s and goddess’
eyes now does it there?”

Ashlon pressed his lips together and bowed.
They had appointed this man as leader? What could they, or Jacques,
have been thinking in giving this man a grain of influence over
their lives? Did he confuse his enemies to death?

“I’ve come to ask for a private audience with
you, my lord, of a personal theme. At your pleasure and leisure, of
course.”

“I will be pleasured now, Ashlon,” Niall
said. “Come in, sit. But no more formalities, do I have your
word?”

“As you wish, my lord.” Ashlon took the
nearest seat and waited for Niall to join him. When he did not,
Ashlon proceeded with the dreaded inquiry. “I have been welcomed so
well by your clan, my lord and wish to express my sincere gratitude
as well as--.”

“It is our pleasure, Ashlon. You will soon be
more Irish than we ourselves are Irish, so as the saying goes from
the Normans, Gaels, Picts. We all love the land and it becomes a
part of us like flesh on our bones. So much so that you’re willing
to chew off another’s flesh to keep yours alive and well. So, I’d
say Ashlon Sinclair that you should begin working up an
appetite.”

Ashlon squinted, watched the man pace and
gesture as he spoke. “Your land and people have been most giving. I
am sure it is the very reason Jacques de Molay sent me to you.”

Niall nodded somberly, gaze held aloft by a
high window. “I shall marry soon, Ashlon. I marry Lady Ula in less
time than I can quite believe. It will be a grand celebration I
promise you’ve never seen the likes of. Have you taken a wife
yet?“

“No, my lord. In service of his holiness, I
had not considered the possibility.” But that had not really been
true for seven years. With exile and disbandment came a change in
Ashlon’s prospects for the future that he didn’t allow
consideration yet. A wife. A home. Until he ended this journey,
neither were options.

“I have not. Ula will be my first and only
wife. It is a strange thing to find life never really ends until it
ends. Old is not dead you see. And old is me, Ashlon.”

Ashlon remained uncomfortably, impatiently,
silent.

“Your friend is wise to recommend us to you.
Now, then, what may I be of service to you this morn?”

“My lord?”

“Your wish to speak in privacy, Ashlon. Let
us be on with it.” Niall’s gaze remained on the window, his hand
wafted in the air.

“The Grand Master of the Knights of Solomon,
the Templar Knights bade me come to your doorstep in my hour of
need. Specifically, he gave your name as a person who would offer
aid and trustworthiness in completing a task he set me to before
his tragic death. I petition that aid now.”

“Ah, yes. I do know of tragedy, my good man.
I do know of that.” His stare lowered. “I confess your friend was
not only wise but careful, as well. Terrible betrayal that
business. You will not be the first of your brothers to seek solace
within Ireland’s long arms.”

Ashlon’s patience waned. He did not want to
lose it with this kind man, but the chieftain was quashing both his
hope and bearings in fast order. The first mention of Jacques’ name
had little effect and the full title and explanation seemed to have
less. Had Jacques misspoke? Had Ashlon remembered inaccurately?