Irish Moon (31 page)

With each block, a flash of something akin to
anger lit in Quinlan’s eyes. As they approached the call of time,
Quinlan’s eyes took on a frenzied glint and Ashlon became sure that
the man was bent on winning. But, there was something more, as
well. Ashlon couldn’t fathom why Quinlan would suddenly harbor
anger for him.

Unless he knew of Ashlon’s encounters with
Breanne and, thereby, the inevitable breach in trust. Impossible.
The only two that could speak of it wouldn’t. Breanne would not for
the sake of her reputation. And Ashlon would never risk a lady’s
social virtue even if he were able to honor it with marriage.

Niall announced the round’s end and applause
roared around them. Quinlan and Ashlon grasped forearms in a sturdy
shake, pleasing the crowd all the more. Quinlan’s grip tightened
and his eyes narrowed on Ashlon. “May the best man win,” he
said.

Ashlon merely nodded but when he followed the
path of Quinlan’s gaze to the open window, he understood the man’s
sudden ire. There, with her hands clasped to her heart, waving a
square of sheer blue and beaming an ear-to-ear smile at Ashlon
stood Lady Rhiannon.

Her flirtation was unmistakable and her eyes
did not move from his face to Quinlan’s. Ashlon’s did. On it, he
saw fleeting but clear dejection before Quinlan strode away. He
looked back to the window and found Rhiannon gone. Only Rose
remained and she appeared to be lost in thought.

The crowd dissipated, most leaving to ready
for the evening meal. Ashlon needed a bath, too, and left for his
small room, feeling more excited than before. He shouldn’t have
been so happy to see the source of Quinlan’s ire, but he was
regardless. It meant that Breanne’s reputation remained intact and
that their encounters, were they discovered, might not mean a
betrayal of his new friendship with Quinlan.

It meant that Quinlan did not love her.

Ashlon bathed and dressed in quick order,
telling himself he hurried because of the hunger gnawing his gut.
When he shaved his face clean, he reminded himself that it was an
issue of preference not of appeal. Just because the local custom
was of wearing a full beard, didn’t mean he had to.

His rush and care were not for her. The
thought crossed his mind more than once that it was their last
night, last time seeing each other. What could the harm be in
leaving a good memory in her mind?

When he arrived at the main hall, diners were
already seated and the meal begun. Niall’s table was always the
first to fill and looked to have some time before. In fact, only
one table still had available seating. He credited mere chance that
it was the same she sat at.

His stomach tightened as he approached.
Fortunately, Quinlan sat there, as well, and Ashlon could count on
his invitation to join them. Particularly since Rhiannon sat at the
man’s left and Breanne in front.

He took one steadying breath and approached
slowly. A clap to his shoulder stopped him.

“Showing off for the beauties today, Ashlon?”
Ramsey asked. His hair was still wet and slicked back.

“Every opportunity that I can,” he said. “Did
you not participate yesterday?”

“No. I’m a mite too old to be playing with
the bucks. But, I watched and I do believe you’ve learned a trick
or two since we last met.”

Ashlon half-smiled and continued to the
table. Ramsey followed. “I’ve had time and travels aplenty to see
to it. New tricks, as you put it, helped pass the time and saved my
hide.”

“Oh, aye, I imagine. I must admit I envy you
a bit there, Ashlon.” Ramsey took a seat, nodding to the diners.
Ashlon did, as well, next to Breanne. “You must have such
adventures to tell your grandchildren.”

“I suppose adventure is one way of
considering my past years. But, don’t trim your plight overly
short, Ramsey. You’ve a family, a home, a nation.”

“You forget that all these things can also be
yours, should you only ask.” Ramsey spoke a bit louder and nodded
to Breanne, Quinlan, Rose and anyone else within earshot.

Ashlon gave him a hardened look in hopes of
quelling the fellow’s urge to sell his point. Ashlon did not need a
rally of supporters just now. He needed a different and safe
topic.

“Do you know, that I myself have said the
same to Sir Ashlon,” Quinlan said, then introduced himself to
Ramsey. The two men then became so engrossed in their own
perspectives on why Ashlon should remain in Tir Conaill, or the
very least, in Ireland, that they left him out of it.

Breanne sat stiffly next to him and hardly
touched her food. He didn’t need to look to know she was equally
engrossed in the conversation but, he suspected, for her own
reasons. She wanted him gone. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had
her own contributions to the debate outside of the life in danger
angle, which she certainly wouldn’t use.

So that he would then not be able to further
seduce her would not be an easy argument to offer either. Not that
he’d been seducing her. If anything, she had been seducing him with
those bewitching eyes, luscious lips.

Ashlon drank from his cup, his throat
suddenly tight. His body was too aware of hers next to his. Sitting
here, being late, was turning out to be a bad idea. And they were
supposed to meet in only a few hours and be alone in the night.
Ashlon shook himself and tried to focus on the conversation.

“Aye, I agree, why is that Ashlon?” Ramsey
said.

“Pardon?” Ashlon had not a clue as to what
the fellow was asking him.

“Why is it that you never say you will and
yet don’t say why you will not stay on?” Ramsey clarified with a
chuckle.

Breanne faced him suddenly, her eyes full of
concern. He had at least five others staring him down along with
her, each with a separate degree of interest, and he didn’t want to
consider how many more listened with equal intensity.

“Never one to beat around about the bushel,
were you Ramsey?” he said evasively.

“You needn’t actually answer him, Sir
Ashlon,” Breanne said. “In truth, your decisions should not concern
us at all. Your choice to leave or remain is yours, not ours.”

Was she trying to keep him quiet, trying to
help? If so, the opposite effect took hold of him. Suddenly, he
wished he could make clear to all exactly why he could not stay. He
wanted to tell them all that the choice was not his, that it was
made long ago by a man now dead. He wanted to tell her he wished
circumstances were different.

As he opened his mouth to speak some fragment
of these truths, Ramsey took pity and spoke up. “Or perhaps, his
heart is torn, belongs someplace other than with us?”

Ashlon knew Ramsey referred to the
brotherhood, that he had not recovered from the loss of it. Quinlan
might guess as much, as well. The ladies, though, leastwise
Rhiannon, must not have known overmuch about his past.

“Were you in love, Sir Ashlon? Does your
heart long for love lost?” Rhiannon asked breathlessly.

Rose snorted. “Lust is more like it. It’s all
you men ever think about, isn’t it?”

“What was that you said, Rose? I couldn’t
quite hear over Lady Breanne’s enjoyment of the meal.”

Breanne jabbed him in the ribs. A chorus of
laughter relieved the tension and Breanne’s shoulders dropped a
notch. Ashlon wished he could feel relieved, as well, but that
filthy ache from the morning was returning fast. He finished his
meal quickly and made excuses for his early departure, blaming the
days games and fatigue.

He didn’t go back to his room. He walked. The
night was cool and clear and the moon was low and yellowish. He had
naught to do but wait for her.

Breanne watched him from her window as his
shadowy outline transversed the inner bailey yard. As she
estimated, Gannon had come through, an hour ago. Sitting next to
Ashlon, she felt sure he would ask about the text. But he
hadn’t.

Gannon had found her after the meal and
slipped her the small note. His expression brimmed with triumph.
And while he didn’t ask any questions, he made her promise to let
him know every last detail regarding its success. And that if she
ever saw fit, he would love to know who created the puzzle as they
were masterful at it.

Near the stables, Ashlon walked heavily as
though a great weight were on his shoulders. She wondered what the
man would be like once the weight lifted. Would she see the boyish
charm she’d glimpsed in his fever and with a former fellow
knight?

Would he remain long enough for it to even
become apparent or would he leave, the chest in his arms as she’d
foreseen? Breanne wanted the time to swim past but stand still, as
well. The unmistakable presence of change lingered near. She hoped
she could weather its storm.

Another hour and she would know. Laughter and
dance still carried through the keep from the night’s festivities.
Finn slept contentedly on her bed. The clear night air smelled
dewy. She could go to him early, she supposed but sensed an
unnamable reason to stay.

She began to gather what she would need,
Heremon’s book, her athame, three white beeswax candles. With one
last glance at Finn and her room, Breanne snuck the door shut and
tiptoed down to meet Ashlon.

Her green cloak blended well with shadow and
wall and though she got the feeling someone followed, saw no one
along the way.

Ashlon sat where she had asked him to wait,
pulling petals from a flower, sitting in the dirt and grass. He
stood as she approached and Breanne was glad for the dark and her
hood because she didn’t want him to see what he did to her, or what
his leaving would cause. He could not stay. She would force him
away if she had to, but her heart didn’t hear reason. It only
wanted him near.

Well, it could have its way for a handful of
hours more.

Ashlon gestured his hand that she should lead
and so she did, unhurt by his silence. Down the valley slope, along
the craggy rock path, she hurried and he followed.

His steps were noticeably softer tonight than
the other morning. Breanne took it as a sign of support and
compliance. Surely he finally believed in her. If so, that belief
would certainly soon be shaken, for she didn’t think her practice
in magick would enforce it.

Ashlon could not call her a witch when his
brethren Knights had suffered so much under the same accusation.
But he might yet fear what she must do.

Soon he would know the old ways more
intimately than she guessed he could comprehend.

Breanne weaved down the hill and to the
stream. Without verifying he was near, she retrieved the chalice
and bent to the stream. Ashlon remained quiet.

As they approached the Sacred Grove, she
paused and performed the ritual blessing on the old oak’s roots.
She placed the empty chalice into her satchel and faced Ashlon.

“Before we enter, I must ask of you to clear
your mind as fully as possible of all fear and prejudice. If you
please, save any questions, or conclusions, for after your chest is
retrieved.”

Ashlon’s frown deepened. “I will try. But, I
warn you, the very telling me to do so has made me wary
already.”

“It canno’ be helped. I know it is difficult
to trust me so blindly, but I have given you my word and my actions
show honesty thus far.”

“They have.” Ashlon cleared his throat. “Very
well, I will try my best.”

“I’m afraid mere effort will not be
sufficient,” she said softly. “I require your vow that you will
work diligently to maintain a clear mind. If you do not, we may
fail in retrieving the chest.” Breanne kept her voice even and
unassuming. “Unless you may stay among us another month.”

“You have my word,” Ashlon said, a bit too
quickly for her heart.

But her heart was not important at that
moment. Her head was. With a deep breath she cleansed it and
feeling somber, entered the grove. From the first step Breanne
became aware of the full moon’s effect on the grove. Magick
permeated the very air, sweetening it, creating a low vibration
that her body responded to with a quickened pulse.

Nights like this were what she had lived for
before Heremon’s murder, what had kept her going through failure
after failure over years of virtually lone study. On a night such
as this one, she remembered why she had worked so hard and her
commitment was inevitably renewed.

She wondered if Ashlon could feel it, too.
Could he sense the tingle of it on his skin, smell its allure? She
didn’t look at him to see. She kept onward to the stone slab that
her Druid master had used as his altar, to her destination.

The leaves and grass sparkled with dew and
enchantment and the forest felt full of watching, curious eyes, all
on her. She sensed they were there without having to see them in
the flesh. Fairies, small, secretive little creatures were out to
play and among them she wouldn’t be surprised to know an elf or two
came along.

They were said to be human sized, inquisitive
creatures that sometimes lived recklessly and came through the
Otherworld’s veil to see how the human half lived. They weren’t so
easily hidden though, as a fairy might be and so Breanne never
expected a sighting.

She pictured them green skinned with long
pointy ears reaching past their head’s top. In myths and legends
they were hailed to be so beautiful so as to hurt the human eyes
that could not break away, bringing tears and eventually blindness
to witnesses of it.

Breanne was proud to share it with Ashlon,
were he aware of it or not, because this was Ireland at its most
magnificent and fascinating. If he opened his heart to it, he’d be
smitten forever with its wonders.

Deep into the trees, the clearing came into
view. The songs of toads and crickets softened as they stepped into
the near perfect circle lit by the overhead moon.

Breanne turned to Ashlon, fighting down the
panic in her belly. She didn’t want to disappoint the trust Heremon
had placed in her and she had promised his soul, wherever it might
be in heaven or Otherworld, that she would find who had killed him
and fulfill this task’s completion.