Irish Moon (38 page)

Breanne wanted to lean her face against his
palm and shut out the storm inside of her. She wanted to return to
the cover of his arms. She’d led Finn straight to the stone. She’d
failed to protect Danny, so blinded by her own circumstance that
naught else penetrated.

But, no more. She nodded at Ashlon and set
her jaw.

They reached the priory yard within
minutes.

“Where?” Ashlon asked breathlessly.

“I do not know,” Breanne said. The building’s
windows held no light, the stone carvings stared back at them.
Breanne tried the door but found it under lock and key.

“Let us search for a way in,” Ashlon said,
meeting her eyes steadily.

His words and resolve helped her keep the
panic further at bay. His strength and honor lent her courage.

She took the western, he the eastern lay of
the stone edifice. Breanne walked slowly and with purpose,
listening and watching for signs of life.

As she searched the canvas of rock and grass
and dirt, her mind hunted for reasons Finn might take Danny. She
wanted to doubt that he had but knew Danny’s face was not among her
mother’s well-wishers. And the heaviness in her belly spoke a
certainty she’d grown to trust these last weeks.

Finn had him. And once she found them, she
would know why. The only estimation she gathered was tied to Finn’s
curse. What else could be of enough import to steal the stone and
kidnap a child? She wondered as well how long the bastard cat had
been able to shapeshift into human form. Of course he could as
easily be in his original Elvin form when he had come upon Ashlon,
she expected.

Breanne crept low along the wall. She wished
she’d spent more time in the structure, visiting her uncle as he
and her mother often nagged her of in recent years. She’d meant no
disrespect in staying away, to him or to the lord. Her dreams and
ambitions had distracted her away and strangely now brought
her.

She wasn’t even certain she would be able to
retrace the steps Gannon led her down and paused to consider what
they could do to gain entry. Gannon had taken her through a
corridor, down stairs, his room had a high window that should be
along this wall she stood at.

Breanne knelt and felt along the wall behind
a small hedge and found naught but more wall. The stones were cold
and slick. Her fingers followed the curve of one as it dipped
downward and discovered another seam connecting the next rock. The
pattern repeated over and again, upwards and down. She strayed
farther and still, nothing appeared where it should. No windows,
high or low and, of course, no door.

Listening for Danny offered even less reward.
All that seemed audible was her own heart, her own breaths coming
out in gasps and streams. She would not cry, no matter how dismal,
no matter how horrific. She refused to break down.

The baubles in her hair tinkled softly. Down
the hill, in the keep, laughter and music faintly carried. Breanne
took a shaky breath, fighting to steady her spirit.

She would find them. If not her, certainly
Ashlon. He was more than capable even against Finn in whatever form
he now took. Intriguing that Ashlon had concluded the cat was the
man that had accosted him solely by the look of its eyes. Or was
there more?

Breanne’s fingers touched glass and she went
still. She bent to the ground and shadow to discern the discovery.
She was loath to break the thick stuff but hoped it was a sign that
a door would soon appear.

She rounded the corner and saw Ashlon in the
shadows. He motioned her near. Breanne treaded carefully to him
through the underbrush and bramble. The moon’s light silhouetted
his figure, his sword glinted when he shifted his weight. He looked
thinner.

“I found a window,” she said.

“No need,” he answered, but it was not
Ashlon’s voice.

Breanne opened her mouth to scream. Finn
stepped from the shadows and wrested his arms about her waist and
head. A sharp pain stabbed through her temples before the world
went black.

* * * *

Ashlon pulled his arms down again against the
heavy irons around his wrists. He clenched his teeth and gritted
past the pain, focusing on feeling a sensation of give in the stone
or links. Nothing.

He gasped and let his arms sag. Breanne and
he had not separated more than a moment before Finn had found and
taken him prisoner so easily Ashlon felt as powerless as a child.
It must be far worse for Danny. He’d woken there in the dank stone
cell with a single torch for light and echoes of cries filling his
ears.

Ashlon had called out and fought against the
binds, sent insults and challenges at the demon responsible but all
for naught. No one responded.

He’d fouled it all to hell. Breanne was
likely captured, as well, Danny’s and her lives might now be at the
fiend’s whim to dispose at will. And he could not break the binds,
nor bend them. But he could not give up either.

He had to get to them.

Ashlon wiped his brow against his bicep. He
tasted salt when he licked his lips. The cell was small and short
and smelled of earth. The irons were old and heavy. Ashlon stood
and tested the length and spread of his body in the cell again. He
could reach the ceiling but not the floor. If he stretched to full
length he could touch the far wall with a toe.

But what good would any of these abilities
gain him? From deep within, Ashlon allowed the throaty roar to rise
and cried out in anguish. He kicked the wall behind him until his
foot throbbed through his boot.

Blood trickled down his wrist and he cared
not if his blood were poisoned. The clang of iron and his grunts
echoed against the walls and clamored for kingship above the
distant cries for help that he could not stop or save.

He cursed Jacques de Molay for ever coming to
his father’s estate and offering him a position in the brotherhood.
He cursed the throne and the papacy for their greed. He wished them
all, it all, to hell for the pain he now suffered.

But in the recesses of his mind he knew he
would not take a moment of it back. He would relive it all, even
this terrible hour, to be with her again.

He fell back against the wall and lifted his
head heavenward. It was the only and last thing he could think to
do. A pitiful and hollow act as it might be, he spoke the words,
ignoring the anger staggering his heart.

“Christus vincit! Christus
regnat! Christus imperat! Exaudi, Christe. Ecclesiae Sanctae Dei
salus perpetua. Redemptor mundi, Tu illam adjuva
,” Ashlon said, his hands rising up with each word.
Strengthen, assist, he repeated the prayer over and over until a
low hum filled him.

He closed his eyes and recalled Breanne
standing before the stone slab in the forest. He returned to that
place and time and smelled the trees and felt the stars in the
vastness impressing down upon them.

The dew shimmered, the night hummed around
them. He looked at her, unafraid and watched the light uncurl. He
softly called out her name.

* * * *

Finn woke her with a drench of cold seawater
that had her sputtering and choking awake. He sat on his haunches
before her with a smile that was more catlike than any he’d given
her in feline form. She met his eyes and knew Ashlon’s conclusion
as accurate.

Breanne heard Ashlon’s call deep inside of
her. She could not answer. The features from her portend, the man
that held Ashlon’s life in his hands, stared back at her. Finn. The
eyes were unmistakably his. And the color was not the single
indication. The pupils were elongated as a cat’s and coldly
assessed her.

The look made her skin crawl at the nape of
her neck and her stomach turn. In human form, Finn was
uncomfortably handsome. No greenish skin or hunched backs there. He
was tall and muscular and pretty faced. The gray streaks even added
to his appearance and gave a distinguished air to him. But, it also
looked like cat fur.

She had not seen the obvious similarity when
the presage had occurred. But it was clear now as well as her need
to stop the prediction’s fulfillment.

“Where is he?” she said. Her throat burned
and her voice was hoarse. Water dripped down her nose, tickling the
tip of it.

“Which one, Breanne? The boy or the man?”
Finn leaned close and licked the drip from her nose. His tongue was
prickly and warm.

“
Danny. Where is Danny?”
She trusted Ashlon to be alright and alive. More than sensing his
call, he was a man capable and used to maneuvering in and out of
tight spots.

Finn chuckled and traced a sharp nailed
finger down her cheek. He considered her, his head tilted.

“I once thought you would be mine, that you
were meant for me. I should have known I would need to rely on
myself in the end. Leave it to a woman to ruin a perfectly good
situation with sentimentality.”

“I am yours, Finn. You’ve made sure of that
by bringing me here. You don’t need Danny any longer. Let him
go.”

He shook his head at her. His eyes fell to
her breasts.

“Can you imagine what it was like for me,
Breanne, all this time being foisted upon incompetent after
incompetent? Can you guess the longing I felt, the
frustration?”

She did not care. “Retribution for your sins,
I have long presumed.”

Finn’s eyes left her breast line and returned
to her face. “What do you know of my sins? What do you know of any
sin, aside from that of the flesh?” His tongue curled on his
lip.

“What has any of it to do with Danny now?
Leave him be if you want my cooperation or help.”

“What makes you believe I seek either?”

“You’ve brought me here. You have the
stone.”

His gaze went back to her breasts. With her
arms pinned back, sitting, she could do little to hide them as they
pressed against the fabric.

“Perhaps, I only seek a taste of the feast
you’ve paraded before me for these last, long years. Did you
consider that?”

She wanted to cringe but couldn’t allow him
to see her fear. Bathing, dressing. It had seemed innocent enough
to do before a cat, enchanted as he might be. She never thought of
him as a man. A sense of filth crept beneath her skin.

“Not at all,” she retorted. “I merely assumed
you preferred to violate a beast over a woman. Minerva seems more
your taste.”

Finn slapped her soundly, leaving a ringing
thud in her ear. He stood and paced the room. Quickly, Breanne
gauged it. Several torches, irons hanging from the ceiling, a large
stone table.

He circled the table, his hand trailing the
surface. “You deserve to die out of sheer ignorance, Breanne. Never
with all my Ovates, have I counted myself so doomed as when Heremon
gave me to you. You cannot even boil water, let alone make a map of
time to travel and see.”

Breanne felt for give in her binds, her
fingers were growing numb. She needed to help Danny. The door was
behind Finn, behind the table.

“Then why am I here? To rape, is that all,
Finn?” Breanne laughed. If she could get him close again, she might
be able to hurt him, kick him, something. But, the farther he
walked, the longer he gazed upon the table, the higher her fear
climbed.

A sick feeling formed in her belly. Finn had
not answered her regarding Danny, not even once. Surely, he was
alive, hidden somewhere. Certainly, Finn only used the boy as a
lure and a pawn.

The only other act Finn might need Danny for,
Breanne would not entertain the thought of. Finn might be desperate
but he could not be so soulless as to attempt a sacrifice. In a
blur, Finn produced a knife from behind. In another flash, he
produced the stone.

He lifted each in either hand and smirked at
her. He set them down on the table. It was her boline. She last
used it to demonstrate her cunning for Ashlon in the woods, then
left it on the ground, befuddled by his effect on her.

She kept silent, her brow arched and her face
placid.

The Bloodstone glowed amber as though a flame
danced within it but not from the torches’ reflection. It held its
own light and the color worsened her sickness. Finn’s intentions
tainted the previously blue light. Or had she only imagined the
color, changed it based on her own desires for protection?

Finn stroked the stone’s topmost surface with
a finger and the light within followed his path, swirling and
expanding. Breanne felt she might vomit.

Her heart hummed a moment. Ashlon. He was
growing desperate. He’d come back, sought her help, and now might
die for it. And if he died she could not forgive herself.

She loved him. She might not be able to ask
for his heart. She would keep him safe.

But, first, Danny.

While Finn stroked and continued his silence,
she coiled the energy inside her heart and envisioned it spreading
out in wavy fingers, touching the floor, feeling the walls for
signs of Danny.

Finn’s gaze narrowed on her. “That’s enough.”
He came to her.

Breanne readied for another slap, or worse,
but he only jerked her to her feet and dragged her to the table. He
produced her dagger and slit the bindings. Within a blink, he stood
opposite her and within another Danny lay upon it between them with
the stone at his feet.

She gasped and touched his face despite the
prickling sensation in her hand. His skin was pale, his lips were
blue tingeg and she saw no signs of breathing.

“He lives,” Finn said when she pressed her
head to Danny’s heart. “He must for the rite to work.”

Breanne listened for a beat. She took his
cold hand in hers and jiggled it. The room felt small, sickeningly
warm, yet the door seemed so far away.

She needed to get her blade back. She needed
to get help.

Finn opened the laces of Danny’s shirt. A
glimpse of the man he would grow to showed in the outline of his
muscles and collarbone. She had to ensure he lived.