Irish Moon (26 page)

She peered down but couldn’t see past the
growing crowd in the yard. Without a second thought, Breanne left
her room to look out the corridor’s window. She gasped when her
eyes landed on Ashlon, sword raised in arms against Quinlan.

“What in the world are they thinking?”

She returned to her room to grab her sapphire
cloak and replace the book in her trunk. Finn gazed at her through
sleepy eyes but didn’t ask what she was hurrying about for.

Breanne almost tripped down the flight of
stone stairs, she went so fast. Upon reaching the yard, she was
shocked at how large the gathering had grown in the small space of
time. Rose and Rhiannon stood at the edge. Rose waved her over.

“Can you see much from your chamber,
Bree?”

She shook her head. “What are they about,
then, Rose?”

“It’s a test of skills,” Rhiannon said with a
faraway smile. “Sir Ashlon means to take on every last man among
Niall’s guard.”

“We need a better view, girls,” Rose said.
“Come now, let us think a moment before its over and done and we
miss the lot of it swooning here in the back of it.”

“I don’t understand,” Breanne said. “He
battled Quinlan just now, might be still. Are you certain they do
not fight, Rose?”

“Of course not. My brother counts the knight
as a friend. He is simply the first in line to take Sir Ashlon to
test. Now, look there. Do you both see that window?”

Rhiannon nodded expressly while Breanne held
her hand to block the sudden slant of sunlight. She couldn’t see
much at all and looked back to Rose. Her friend was walking away
with Rhiannon, back into the keep. Breanne rushed to catch
them.

“He can’t mean to take on every man. That
would be more than twenty.”

Rose led them up the west stairwell. “He’ll
take on every man he can and whoever bests him will take on the
next and so on until the winner is named. Whatever man succeeds the
most, with the best skill demonstrated, to be judged by the
O’Doherty’s. They’ve men in, as well,” Rose said as they
climbed.

Rhiannon clapped and squealed. After her
spinning lesson with the girl, Breanne counted her as a friend.
Rhiannon had taken pity on her once it became obvious to them both
how terrible a hand she had at the needle and wheel.

But, as she gushed and blushed over the games
in the yard, Breanne found herself getting quite annoyed.

“How many do you imagine he’ll sustain?”
Rhiannon said to Breanne. “I’ll wager he has more’n a bit of
stamina, that one. Think you five, or six? More?” Her pretty blue
eyes sparkled.

Breanne wanted to point out that Ashlon would
not be up to so many after his recent illness and that he really
had no business engaging in arms at all. But, neither Rose nor
Rhiannon knew about the man delirious with fever, stripped bare and
ministered to by her in absolute secrecy.

And the risk was worth this of all things?
All her worry and sneaking about, suffering the mindlessness his
kisses put on her, the very distraction of it when she should be
focused on finding a husband or helping Niall find Heremon’s
murderer.

She almost hoped he got wounded. No not
wounded, fatigued, really and suddenly fatigued. That would teach
him making a spectacle out of himself for every man and lusting
woman in the whole clan. By the time they reached the window Rose
had spotted, Breanne was ready to go back to her room. But when she
glimpsed the shillelagh coming down fast at Ashlon’s head, she
stood her ground.

Rhiannon squealed, her hands fluttering in
the air, knocking into Rose and Breanne. Breanne suppressed the
overpowering urge send her away.

Ashlon deftly blocked the heavy club and with
a fast twirl of his silver blade, unarmed the man. He’d beaten
Quinlan then, and was securing his second defeat. The tall man
knelt in defeat before Ashlon and bowed. The crowd roared with
cheer and applause.

The next opponent stepped into the circle,
which widened its berth in anticipation of the coming spar. Ashlon
and the burly man holding a mace were in their direct line of
sight.

“Ah, but he’s all man that one. Do you see
the muscle on him?” Rose asked.

Breanne didn’t need clarification on which
man she referred to with all the fat on his opponent hiding any
muscle tone. She flushed, remembering just how muscular he was. His
smooth nearly hairless chest, hot to the touch, glistening in the
moonlight, recalled far too freshly in her mind.

The flush raced from her cheeks to her belly,
spreading lower. Her heart leapt as the huge opponent suddenly ran
at Ashlon, swinging his mace in crisscross motions and sending him
backward. The crowd swam with the men. If an onlooker got too
close, they’d be surely injured, possible killed with that mean
looking thing.

“I cannot watch,” Rhiannon said.

The larger man wasn’t as swift on his feet
and Ashlon had him on his back with a move so fast Breanne couldn’t
have explained its process were she to retell what she had
witnessed. She found herself leaning forward, gasping.

The crowd roared again.

“Blimey, that’s more man than I knew
existed,” Rose said.

Breanne rolled her eyes. “He’ll tire soon.”
She said the words but hoped he proved her wrong. He wasn’t a
peacock about his wins.

Rose shot her a curious look, one eyebrow
raised. “What has the man done to you this time, Bree?”

Breanne frowned. The image of his mouth
sucking her neck popped into her mind. “I don’t know what you mean,
he’s done nothing at all to me.” She cursed her cheeks for the heat
climbing into them. Worse, for the warm ache far lower.

Rhiannon was blissfully unaware of Breanne’s
cold gaze, so enraptured by the sight of Ashlon taking on yet
another opponent, this one a mite smaller than the last. The loser
had finally managed to get back to his feet and didn’t seem the
least bit offended by the expedient end to his turn. He accepted
many a handshake, nodded at Ashlon with a look on his face that
seriously smacked close to admiration.

“Pardon me for not being utterly smitten with
the man as everyone else seems to be,” Breanne said, and crossed
her arms. But the scowl on her face was doing little to stop the
heat in her belly. His bare biceps were so well defined. The strong
set of his jaw, the ease with which he danced around his
opponents….

“And, may I say, I’m glad to hear it,”
Quinlan said low, behind her. Breanne started and swung around,
almost bumping into him. “Are you ladies enjoying our brutish
sport, then?” He kept his eyes on Breanne.

“Oh my, yes,” Rhiannon said breathlessly.
“Thoroughly enjoying the fine display of prowess. I must say we’ve
the best view thanks to your kind and clever sister.” Her eyelashes
fluttered, her gaze torn between the fight below and the man before
her.

Breanne almost rolled her eyes again. Glad to
hear it, he’d said in that husky tone. Of course he was glad to
hear it and that meant he still had her hand in mind. He’d made no
overtures in the time since their ride, discounting carrying her
upstairs when she’d fainted. She’d not only begun to hope he’d
given up the notion of marrying her, but had nearly forgotten his
interest these last two days.

Ever since she’d returned that morning, she’d
been too consumed with other things to recall his vow to try to do
better. That husky tone spoken far too close at her back was more
telling than the words themselves and had instantly chilled the
heat in her.

“Was your turn over as quickly as the
others?” Rose asked, a half smile curving her lips.

Quinlan gave his sister a mocking glare.
“More,” he said, rubbing his backside.

Rhainnon burst into laughter. Rose chuckled.
Breanne smiled, as well. She did miss him. He’d always managed to
make her laugh, even in the worst of moods.

Quinlan smiled warmly and equally at each of
them and, for a moment, Breanne counted him as back to himself, not
in the least bit awkward.

“Are you very much attached to watching
Breanne? If not, I would ask a private word with you?”

Breanne swallowed, glancing at Rose, who had
her gaze on the clash below, for help. Rhiannon eyed them
suspiciously.

“Will you return after, Quinlan?” Rhiannon
asked.

He nodded, taking his eyes off Breanne’s for
only a moment, long enough for her to close her eyes shut and
re-open them determinedly. If he wished privacy, she saw no way
around it. To help quell rising nerves, she reminded herself of his
promise not to kiss her again without permission.

“As you please,” she said and took his
offered arm.

They walked to the end of the corridor and up
another flight to the rooftop.

“Did he really best you that fast, Quinlan?”
Breanne clung to the earlier topic, hoping to sustain its relief
now.

“He is very skilled. It was over much faster
than I anticipated it to be. I’ll not be surprised if he lasts
another ten men at this rate.”

Too bad. He’d taken her question as serious
interest when all she’d wanted was another jest. They came to a
stop near the wall, the fighting behind them.

“Thank you for speaking with me. I know you
are distressed in doing so.”

Breanne winced. “It’s not that I’m distressed
Quinlan. It’s more that I’m nervous, I expect. We used to be such
friends and now….”

“I have gone and muddled it with a kiss.”

She didn’t know which she liked less, the
memory his statement brought or the fact that he’d brought the
subject up. She’d rather it stayed dead and buried on both
counts.

“I have no good excuse for it, Bree, other
than to say I’d had drink and was nervous myself.” He clasped his
hands behind him. “But I believe I have a solution that will help
rid both of our nerves.”

Breanne looked up. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly.” He rocked on his toes. “What do
you say to returning to being no more than friends?”

Breanne didn’t know what to say. Relief
flooded her but also guilt. “But, I thought you spoke with Niall,
that you’ve asked for me?” Was he giving up then? Had she crushed
his hope?

“I have and I do not rescind that request, no
mistake. I simply feel that if we return to being friends, then
mayhap we will both remember the ease with which we handled each
other’s company and the next kiss will not go so badly.” He smiled
broadly.

Breanne’s relief ended but she did remember
the resolution she’d thought of the morning before. She could try
the kiss again, to see if he could create the wonder Ashlon
had.

She toyed with her cloak hem. The wind
billowed it. Quinlan’s gaze pierced hers, hope shining there. She
wouldn’t deny it went badly, as it wouldn’t comfort him and only
prolong the memory of it.

“How do you propose we do such a thing? How
can we act as friends and yet try again to test those waters?” She
tried to keep an open mind.

Quinlan looked down. “I don’t know, perhaps I
can make you laugh a bit and then when you’re ready, we might sit
and proceed slowly and then give each other an honest opinion of
it. Is it not what a friend would offer?” He peered at her through
his lashes.

Breanne’s stomach got a funny squirm in it.
She gulped in some air and gripped her cloak. She didn’t need him
to spell out his intention of trying the kiss again here, now. She
could tell in his shy manner and didn’t doubt he’d been working up
the courage to ask it of her for some time.

“It sounds friend-like, to be sure. And what
will we do if the same happens as the last?”

“Well, I must say I’m hopeful that you’ll not
slap me,” he said and rubbed his cheek.

Breanne smiled and tilted her head. He was
jesting with her again. It helped lighten the heaviness that
occupied her squirmy belly.

“Alright then. I expect now will do,” she
said.

Quinlan brought his head up. His Adam’s apple
moved down and up. He nodded and stepped closer.

As his head lowered, Breanne placed a hand on
his chest. “Do you mind very much if we talk it through as we go? I
think it will help my own nerves, that is if you don’t mind.”

Quinlan smiled.

“I know, its not terribly romantic this way,
but I really believe it will help,” she said.

“Fine then. What would you have me do?”

“You might put your hands, well, upon my
shoulders?”

He did.

“And I could keep mind about your waist?
There, how does that feel?”

“Fine. It feels nice, I suppose.”

Breanne stopped from frowning. “All right
then. I’m ready.” She closed her eyes. Her heartbeat thumped in her
throat so hard she could nearly feel its pulse in her tongue. Would
he shove his tongue in like the last time? Would it weaken her
knees like Ashlon’s had?

Ashlon’s face swam into her mind’s eye. The
hazy look his eyes got when they were on her face, on her mouth,
the way her whole being seemed to buzz in awareness of him. The
squirm in her belly changed to a flutter.

Quinlan’s lips met hers. They were soft and
gentle and kissed her tenderly several times. When he was pulling
his away, she seemed to be bringing hers close, like their rhythms
weren’t in sync. Then his mouth lingered a moment. Breanne
swallowed. She concentrated on breathing through her nose, though
it didn’t seem to be getting her enough air.

His lips parted first, his tongue warm and
wet on her upper lip and Breanne found herself envisioning a
serpent’s tongue slithering in and out as his was now.

Breanne parted her lips and tentatively
pressed her tongue to his. Quinlan’s body flinched slightly, his
tongue pulled back then he seemed to return to his earlier
determination. Gently, he returned her kiss and they allowed their
tongues to explore, their lips to press, part and reconnect. After
several moments, Quinlan closed his mouth to her, pecked hers
rather quickly and stepped back.