Irish Moon (21 page)

She wouldn’t enlist him
again, shouldn’t have when she asked him to
lookout
,
but she
hadn’t had another choice. The guilt and worry simply wasn’t worth
it and now he’d proved himself a normal child with ample curiosity
and little fear of life’s follies. Breanne would have to impress
upon Sinclair the same for all their better interest.

But how
,
when remembering the simple
foresight had caused a collapse and left her more guarded than
ever? A tonic would do, so long as she didn’t make the poor girl
sleep for days. And then to slip away, perhaps a cloaking
incantation?

It was a lot to hope
for
,
but worth a
try if she could reach the cave and warn the daft knight to leave
Tir Conaill and not look back. She saw his image again, walking
away from her and shook it off like a chill. She couldn’t yet
replay the prophecy and didn’t like the ache it weighed on her
chest.

Her duty to him was not
yet over
,
regardless of her resistance and denial. Were he here, she
would demand an explanation from Heremon’s own mouth. She would ask
the sage why she should protect Sinclair and
moreover
,
how?
She could barely blend herbs for his fever
,
let alone arm him with magickal
defenses.

And even with explicit warning to him, he had
ignored her aid and come to sit in the lion’s mouth. If a single
man in the tuath knew of his presence that night, prone and
unconscious or not, he’d change from honored guest to suspect
prisoner within a blink.

Breanne punched a fist into the deep
blankets. “Bloodthirsty. The whole lot of them.”

A soft knock aggravated her worn nerves.

“Lady Ula sent me to tend you,” a brisk voice
said through the door. She didn’t wait for Breanne to answer and
kicked the door open to accommodate a large, steaming pot.
Following her, two men brought in a small bed and crammed it into
the far corner, shoving her trestle desk and chest of drawers out
of the way.

The woman placed the large pot on the rug and
helped Breanne sit up without explanation. “Steady there,” she said
and shot looks to the men assisting her. When they soon left
without so much as a nod, the woman plunked Breanne’s feet into the
water, the privacy of her exposed calves well kept.

Though the blissful hot
water sent warm shivers to her bones, she didn’t like being treated
so abruptly. “I appreciate my mother’s
thoughtfulness
,
but please inform her that I need a minimum of
care.”

The woman put a hand up.
“No, m’lady. I am here to tend to you. Food and wine will arrive
shortly. In the meanwhile, rest and soak.” As she spoke, she
straightened the dishevel left by the men
,
then sat upright, hands in lap and
silent until another knock came.

Along with a laden tray,
she brought in a footstool, delivered by whom Breanne could not
tell, unable to see past the large sturdy back of the woman. “What
is your name
,
please?”

“Erlene, m’lady. Eat
this,” she said
,
then took a seat on the stool before the now cool pot of
water. She pulled one foot out, dried it and rubbed the entire sole
in vigorous circles.

Breanne gripped the
mattress for fear of falling off and almost moaned at the painful
pleasure in her feet. Erlene’s arms flexed
,
but her brow was smooth and even.
“Eat.”

She did. And while
Erlene’s tending put her body at full ease, every passing hour
rubbed tension back in. She should have sent Danny with a
responding note, nosy or not. Now what would she do? Ask Erlene to
turn her back while she cast and mixed
,
then offered her a nice bitter
bedtime drink?

Feet done and thrust back into bed, Breanne
finished the meal and wine under careful watch. Was it too much to
hope Erlene would see the tray back down? Aye. Erlene sat on the
cot just past dark, freed two wool socks from her bulky calves and
lay down. It was.

“Don’t fret, m’lady, I’m a light sleeper and
will wake should you need anything at all,” she said louder than
necessary.

Did she think Breanne deaf in her fatigue?
Breanne rolled her eyes and did not reply. She tossed and turned
and stared at the slit of starry sky, not caring at all if her loud
thumps and sighs bothered Erlene.

Would he be there now? How many hours would
he wait until giving up, disappointed? She cursed herself for
caring that he might be offended by her absence.

She told herself it was better this way, that
he would finally heed her warning and leave, perhaps going this
very night directly from the cave. Hard to believe he’d lain there
prone and bare, her hand on his heart while her own pounded so hard
she could first only feel its pulse, almost a fortnight ago.

Breanne rubbed her hand over the coverlet to
rid the memory of his smooth heat from it. Would she ever touch a
man and feel so moved again? She closed her eyes and let her mind
relive what it would about him.

Erlene’s snore came so strident, a low growl
of her nose into the stillness, that Breanne almost shrieked. Her
startled pulse soon became a trill when she saw chance’s gift to
her. Without delay, she swung her legs to the floor and tiptoed to
her trunk. She set up her altar in the corner where Erlene’s vision
would be partially obstructed.

It was difficult to be
quiet in her hurry to cast and run. She located the page she’d
earlier planned
,
then she dressed. Shoes on, she went over the chant again,
leaving off mixing the herbs the sleeping maid couldn’t drink. For
luck, she rubbed the amulet Danny gave her and chanted and cut with
her athame in the dark.

Finished with her fourth whisper of the
incantation, Breanne braved a look at the snoring Erlene. Her
serious face was slack and peaceful. Breanne slipped out with a
long look at the stuffed figure in her bed. It looked good enough
in the dark and so long as no one approached it, would work.

She put the hood of her cloak low on her head
and stole down the stairs. The air was quiet. The neat line of
pallets on the far wall showed no movements. In a breath, she moved
to the kitchen and out of the stone keep.

She gulped the cold night
air in as she paused and peered about the bailey. The moon was
descending and she guessed the hour around two in the morning. She
prayed he was there, kissed the cloc cosanca around her neck and
raced to the gate. The wind billowed her cloak
,
despite her pulling it
close.

Outside of the gate, she ran, skirts lifted,
elbows high, down the narrow path she’d worn so well. The copse of
pine and oak trees grew tall in the night sky as she sped there.
Her eyes felt wet in the cold air, her nostrils icy.

Once inside nature’s sanctuary, Breanne
slowed to a fast walk. She cut through brush, leapt the small
stream relying on instinct to feel her way back to the cave, back
to him. Instead of tiring, her body zinged with anticipation. A
hundred phrases tossed about in her head, tests of what she’d say.
But none of them seemed the right words and the single prayer
returned. Let him be there.

She didn’t think about Erlene. She forgot her
wish for Heremon. All she remembered was him, waiting, the
heartbeat, the danger. Breanne stepped past an oak and slowed, the
entrance in her view. She paused a moment, concealed in shadow to
listen to the trees.

Nothing. Not a twig’s snap nor a leave’s
rustle sounded apart or amiss from the night’s soothing song. With
a deep breath, she stepped into the moonlight, telling her heart to
steady before it made a fool of her.

She moved the foliage to allow room for her
to pass and ducked inside. There he was, legs askance, sword ready
to kill. Breanne stopped and met the shadow of his face, her heart
tight and high.

Ashlon lowered and
sheathed his sword. She had come. He couldn’t believe it, had just
given up to leave
,
and there she was glowing and panting and making his mind
swim. He couldn’t speak for it, and stepped forward, his hand out
to take hers.

Breanne gasped, he stopped. He didn’t want to
frighten her. He should reassure her, but couldn’t speak past the
lump of emotion in his throat. She’d come.

In the hours dragging by in wait, he’d
realized just how stupid a request he’d made of her. To ask a lady
to come to him in the dark of night, alone, on matters of life and
death. Preposterous to think she could or would.

Then he had damned himself
for entrusting the note to the boy, eager and capable or not. He
promised from that point forward to involve no other life in his
quest
,
save his
own. And that included hers. She was young and generous and on the
verge of beginning a new, wedded life. He had no right to expect
her help. He’d decided to find another way.

Then she had arrived and
now she stood, her breath calming
,
but her eyes revealing equal emotion, unmasked.
He forced himself not to stare at the high valley of cleavage
rising and falling, pressing against her gown with each inhale and
exhale. Even without looking directly at them, they shone in the
slit of light.

“Thank you for coming, Lady Breanne.”

“I had no choice.” Her voice shook and he
thought her angry with him.

“As did I. You are the
only person I may turn to in a matter
—
.”

“Of life and death, yes,
as I read. What you do not realize
,
however, Sir Sinclair, is your tactic to ensure I
take your note as grave, will prove true. Your life is in
danger.”

“Aye.”

“Aye?” She gasped, searched his face. “And
yet you stay? You are more fool than I credited you for.” She
turned away.

“Please, don’t leave.” He reached for her,
but she stopped and faced him on her own.

“I don’t intend to. Leastwise, not until
you’ve left Tir Conaill. Mark my words, Sir Sinclair, someone means
you harm. Heremon’s murder may not be your design, but I’ve no
doubt now is related to your presence. Whoever poisoned him will
come for you.”

Ashlon saw now she was not
angry
,
but
impassioned, trying to convince him and shaken by it. This was not
the reaction he’d anticipated. He’d thought to explain himself,
calm her ire at his audacity in sending the note, then enlist her
help with the text. Once deciphered, they could be on their
separate ways. But she appeared genuinely afeared for his
life.

“I cannot depart Ireland or here until I’ve
discovered where Heremon hid an item I traveled with when he found
me.”

“And I urge you to replace whatever you’ve
lost at the nearest port’s market. If you stay, you will court your
own demise.”

“The item is irreplaceable and be not
overmuch concerned with what I court. I am capable of protecting my
own neck and have utmost experience in it.”

She crossed her arms. “If you will not leave
on your own, I will be forced to assist you. Do not doubt that I
will report your connection to Heremon’s death if it means ridding
your welcome here.”

“It won’t. Lady Breanne, I asked you here to
the same end you seek. I will leave, but cannot until my belonging
is found. If you wish me gone, you can be key to my efficient
departure. You can help me find what I require.”

“I don’t see how. Heremon left me with little
to no information beyond seeing you well. I know of no hidden
belongings.” Her arms remained hugged to her and her words came
more softly.

Ashlon pulled the book from under his tunic,
slowly so she would not think the movement suspect. “In the room
you bade me remain while I healed, I found this. Immediately I
sensed its importance, if not to me, to the man who saved me.”

Breanne’s eyes landed on the book and
widened. Her mouth fell open and her arms shot out to take it. He
let her.

“Thief,” she said, running a hand over the
surface, turning it over. “You took this from him.”

“Not from him, from his residence, yes. I
felt compelled to keep it with me, with no ill intention. Were he
alive, I swear to you, it would be returned with severe apology.
But somewhere, somehow, when I found it, I….”

“You lie.”

“I do not lie. I did not feel I’d
stolen.”

Her eyes darted from his eyes to his mouth
and back to the book. “Did you know Heremon was already dead then?
Did you see something? What have you kept from me?”

“Kept from you? I’ve hardly laid eyes on you
to have kept anything from you. To all of your questions, I gave
honest answers.”

“Yet you take from a dead man, who died
protecting you.” Her eyes were narrowed on him.

Ashlon raked his hair and stepped forward. “I
have no memory of his death, that I swear. I admit, though, that at
no point did I feel wrong in taking this volume.” As he spoke, he
realized the strange truth of his words. How had he not considered
this before? Why had taking the book seemed a natural thing to do?
“The tonic you ministered, could it have dulled my senses enough to
remove guilt?”

“No. It might create false happiness, a sense
of the surreal, but does not prevent the opposite.” Her eyes were
back on the book, her voice more calm. “Are you certain you saw,
heard nothing? I found you outside, lying in brush. Could you have
come there on your own, followed Heremon or someone else?” She
hugged the book where her arms had been before.