Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II)
~ ~ ~
Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a warning—dinna tempt this one. There was no place or call for it. He wasna of a mind to marry, and she wasna the kind to expect less. Still, her blush gave her creamy complexion a lovely glow, and the glint in her eyes dared him. “To feast your eyes and let your hands roam,” he replied, his voice thick.
Her lips seemed to beg to be kissed, parting as they did over his words. Desire stirred in his groin, unexpected and not wholly welcome.
“You want me?” Ailyn said, tilting her head.
Of all the reactions his flirtations wrought over the years, and he’d received plenty, even the rare outrage, Quinlan could not recall ever confounding a lass over it. He wasna sure how to respond. So he ignored the question instead. “If you’re ready to rest, I’ll keep watch now.”
She looked from his face to where he still held her wrist. Quinlan let go, his heart beating unaccountably faster. Ailyn looked back to his face, her gaze settling on his mouth. “Do you kiss?” she asked.
His body hardened. Did he kiss? He resisted snorting in response. The artistry he’d been told he plied upon a woman’s sweet mouth brought women to their knees, offed their clothes, and begged him to their beds.
What was her game? She seemed genuinely to be asking. Not so much interested in receiving one as merely curious. He wished he’d not released her wrist. “Only if you return it, lass.”
~~~
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Acclaim for Enchanted Moon…
“Clever, captivating and creative...Enchanted Moon is a multi-layered tale of truth, lore, and a touch of magick that lulls you into believing you know what is coming next...until you learn you had no idea at all. A wonderfully spun tale!”
-Aedan Byrnes, author of The Vengelys Series.
"Enchanted Moon is a well woven, exciting, and magical adventure that pulls the reader in from the first page."
-Jessica Stewart, HOT Club Member
For Mike,
who was there all along.
Acknowledgments
When life’s events brought me to my knees this year I nearly gave up my dreams. Readers like you pulled me through and helped me stand tall again. For every review, every Facebook comment, Pinterest pin and email, I deeply thank you.
A blessing comes in facing much loss. That is in finding truth. I am blessed by the events of my life giving me knowledge of who my true family is. Who my true friends are. Who I truly am.
Tammy, Wanndy, Clarisserin, Debeena, Kelli, Cindalena, Sydne, Susan, Brenda I am eternally grateful for the rock hard strength, sage words and soft shoulders you gave me this year.
Also by Amber Scott
Irish Moon
Fierce Dawn
Soul Search
Wanted
A Love Soul Deep
Play Fling
The Sweetest Fling
Coming Soon:
Stealing Dusk
Ashes Falling
Fae Moon Rising
Enchanted
Moon
By Amber Scott
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Start Reading
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Copyright ã 2013 Amber Scott
Tholden Press
Cover Art by Digitalbaus
Edited by Carrie Smoot
Enchanted Moon is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1484872390
ISBN-10: 1484872398
Chapter One
The pounding rhythm of all five steeds matched Ailyn D’Eru’s own heart, beating one inescapable truth—the queen was dead. Aye. The queen was dead. How could she be? Faster than the guard could gallop, surely the news would spread, whispers and gasps lowering a pall over the banquet’s revelries. Ailyn couldna think of that. Neither could she fret over all four Fae tribes stirring with the same panic driving her fellow guard.
The north wind tasted of change—acrid and biting.
Beneath her sure stride, Gallos’ withers strained. His head pulled at the reins, asking for more. She gave it, aiming to gain ground. The night’s unforgiving cloak descended upon them, the moon a mere sliver to light their way.
They would soon be missed. When they were, it would take no scholar to surmise that a worse reality than death befell the kingdom. Heir to Queen Tullah’s throne, Princess Maera, had fled her mother’s bedside and the castle.
None could find her.
“Facius, search north,” Colm, captain of the guard, called. His voice barely carried above the roar of hooves and hiss of breaths. They could not risk slowing, though. Not yet. Facius took Colm’s arm. They exchanged sober looks before Facius split off, following orders.
“Colm!” Ailyn shouted, urging her gelding up closer to her brother’s stallion, adjusting the bow slung over her right shoulder.
Her brother as commander gave her no more than a glance. “Saden, Brynn, head to Sterling Peak.”
Ailyn brought her steed up to where Facius’ had been.
Together? Certainly each of them should search individually. Aye? As always, she filtered his directives first as a sister, then forced herself instead to see his command as a subordinate. Aye, there was the abandoned summer cottage. Maera was never one to rebel. Even as a child, she wore her nobility with quiet certitude. She’d not run far. The familiar would be safe. Unless she’d not fled, but been taken—the unspoken fear among them.
“Where will you have me?” Ailyn asked, eager to prove her worth.
Another curt glance came her way. A strange wildness haunting his eyes warned her more was amiss than she had fathomed. Her memory flashed with passing looks and hushed conversations over the last months. Ailyn forced them back, hating the questions they begat. Questions that were none of her concern. Her brother was a grown man now. She’d taken an oath to protect the queen, and with Tullah’s demise—such a far-flung truth that simply had not yet took hold—Maera’s safety fell to them next.
Worry snuck through her mind anyhow. The look on her younger brother’s face went beyond the concern of the head of the guard, grave as the princess’ fleeing was. No, the shadows within his gaze spoke of more. She felt all of thirteen years again, wanting to put her arm about his shoulder and ease his visible pain.
His lips thinned as he regarded her. “You’ll stay with me, Ailyn. We’ll circle south.” To the remaining two, he shouted, “We’ll meet at the south entrance of the keep within an hour. If you dinna return, we’ll be following you, so be sure if we do, you’ve good reason!”
The two men nodded sharply, each hauling on
their reins, Saden clucking in that way of his that Ailyn could never quite duplicate. He’d sent the men together. Apart would have covered more terrain. She’d learned early on, though, never to question her brother’s authority. Leastwise not in front of the others.
She shut her mouth despite the doubts whispering in the back of her mind. Colm was not the sort to indulge in panic. His cool head made him revered among the guard he led. He would never overstep duty or consort—no. She’d not grant the idea a single breath of life.
What sort of web had Colm tangled himself into?
Ailyn did not want to know.
The queen was dead. Tullah. Not just her queen, but her stand-in mother when hers was taken too soon. Tullah had taken Colm and Ailyn in as young children, giving them a home and purpose. “Easterly to the glade, or do you think she’d try by road—”
“Listen to me, Ailyn.” There it was again, in his voice this time. More than sobriety, more than duty. “We’ll be splitting up, too.”
“Are you certain?” ’Twould be the first time since she joined the guard’s ranks that her brother trusted her on her own. He was willing to separate from her, but not to separate Facius and Saden? “Where, then?”
“You’ll return to the keep.”
“The keep? Have you lost your wits, Colm? I’m green, aye, but surely I’m one more set of eyes and ears. I’ll stay and help.”
He shook his head. “No, Ailyn. I’m asking as your brother. I need your word.” He brought his stallion alongside her and held out his arm. “You’re my only family left. I’ll not let him take you, too.”
“Him? Let who take me? Colm, you’re scaring me. Tell me what really happened. Who took Maera?”
“If I knew, do you think I’d not be at her side this very moment, my blade buried in the bastard’s heart?”
Ailyn’s gaze searched his, unwilling to grasp his arm. “What’ve you gotten yourself into?”
He stretched his arm out again. Ailyn took it this time, gripping his elbow as he did hers, but shook her head all the same. “How can you ask me to return?
“Find Kristoph. Dinna leave his side. D’you hear me, Ailyn? Swear it.”
“I’ll only be swearing it if you’ll tell me the truth here and now.”
“If I knew, don’t you think I’d be telling you? Now, stop wasting precious time with questions and for once in your life, obey me, Ailyn.”
If not for the panic in his eyes and tone, she’d be telling him where to put his “obey” and exactly how to shove it there. Not since their parents’ death ten years past come spring had she sensed such urgency in him. She bit down, forcing back her acerbic rebuttal.
When he turned his horse and galloped away, it took all she had not to call out after him and follow. A sharp lump lodged in her throat. For once, obey. She nudged her steed into a gallop, cursing through gritted teeth, her thoughts racing with the wind. Find Kristoph, the queen’s aide. Stay at his side. An odd little niggle in her belly sent her retracing the chaos of the evening.
Colm had taken her by the elbow at the banquet to practically drag her through the kitchens and outside. Four others of the queen’s guard were waiting there in the vegetable gardens, the news of Tullah’s death kicking each of them in the gut. Riding out to find Maera. Splitting up. She should not be returning to the keep. She should be helping.
Certainly, her brother’s concerns were warranted. True enough, they had only each other and no other family to speak of, save Tullah and Maera. Telling herself she’d still be obeying—goddess, but she detested that word—Ailyn leaned her right knee in. Her horse nickered approval. Gallos enjoyed a good hunt as much as his rider, and Ailyn aimed to give him one short go at it.
The glade was not so far away from the banquet. Amid the chaos of all four Fae tribe representatives reeling over terrible news, Ailyn would not be missed. And Colm would never know she’d disobeyed.
She’d not be calling it disobedience. More like modification of orders. The creed of the guard allowed for independent thought after all, if not explicitly then certainly implicitly.
Besides, the harder she rode, the closer Gallos and she got to the sacred pool nested inside a dense forest floor, the higher her anticipation climbed. Maera had fled the keep. All assumed she had done so in reaction to news of her mother, but Ailyn had known Maera since they were young enough to braid flowers into each other’s hair.
Maera was not one to flee.
When her father, the king, passed four years ago, Maera remained steadfast through every court debate, every tearful rite from the first candle’s flame to the last ash tossed into the south sea winds. Head held high.
As the first gnarly trunks came into view, Gallos’ pace faltered. His nicker became throatier.
“What is it?” Ailyn asked, stroking his neck, peering into the dark shadows. Despite her urging, Gallos slowed to a walk, his hooves plodding with reluctance. A prickle of awareness touched Ailyn’s skin.
The faint violet shimmer caught her eye, startling her. No more than a tendril, it was. A wisp of glow, but enough for Ailyn to recognize it. Magick. The rare force of nature weaving through the wood. It had to mean something.
“The veil,” she gasped, pulling Gallos to a stop and dismounting. Of all nights, why would it reveal itself this night? Not that she frequented the wood at twilight, logic argued. Still, it appeared too coincidental to overlook a possible link to Maera’s disappearance. Letting her mind connect the events somehow, though, brought no ready answer. Other than an added element of risk, the veil appearing couldn’t be related to Tullah’s death or Maera going missing.
Unless…
No. Maera wouldna come here. The awareness tickling her skin sank through to her stomach, where it swelled and grew heavy. But if she were taken, would her captor come here?
Her heart refused to consider that Maera would abandon her people at all, and never by crossing the rare thinning between the Fae and human worlds. But her training made her evaluate all odds without emotion. The more she did so, the more she saw that aye, Maera could very well be here of her own accord—or not.
If Ailyn were a princess whose mother had just died, alone and facing turmoil between four tribes, an uncertain future, and a looming forced marriage, would crossing through to the human realm appeal to her?
By Morrigan, aye.
“Bitseach!” Ailyn swore. Not for the first time had she thought of Maera in such unfriendly terms, either. Devoted to the crown and her duty as Ailyn might be, she also knew the cold friend Maera had become—a far cry from the warm girl she’d once called heart sister.
The wind whipped at Ailyn’s long braid, tugging strands free to tickle her face. The shimmer snuck deeper into the wood, night beckoning her forth. Gallos was having none of it, though. He dug his hooves in when she tried to lead him toward the light.
“She’s in there, boy. I can feel it,” she said, adjusting her bow and quiver.
In answer, Gallos reared up and shook the reins free of her hand. Before she could react and catch them, a sizzling crack resounded in the sky. The veil was thinning, revealing a portal between two worlds.
Gallos let out a terrified whinny, bucking and tearing down the low slope. Ailyn opened her mouth to call after him, then stopped. No use. He was gone. The light caught her attention again, alluring. Beguiling.
Ailyn knew better than to be seduced forward. Nay, she’d follow of her own free will and from a good distance. The need for caution warred with the beckoning as well as with the deep intuition that she would find the future Fae queen if she followed.
The future of an entire land of folk rested on the decisions of one young woman, and look where she’d be leading them. Ailyn might have spit, but somewhere between the banquet and here, her mouth had gone dry. No other soul knew where she was. Colm might eventually guess, given enough time. She should follow orders. She should return to the keep.
On foot.
Precious hours would be wasted. The v
eil would close. Maera, if she had in fact come here, would be gone, possibly forever. Lost to the barbaric humans. Carved up to capture her magick. Slain for naught. Her glorious wings to be hung above a fire.
Could Maera be so selfish? So daft?
Ailyn didna want to believe it, but try as she might, she could not ignore a deep inner voice that spoke up loudly. They’d been girls together. Had braided flowers and bruised knees, and yet, after all of these strained years…how well could she truly know her princess?
Ailyn took a steadying breath. The truth was, she did not know Maera. She could not say what any man or woman would be capable of, given the same circumstances. Were it her, she might flee, too, escaping a world of pain, responsibility, and an uncertain future forever.
The shimmer hung in the air. A low, whispering breeze soothed her senses. Magick. Not the fledgling antics and tricks that peppered a few Fae bloodlines, including her own. No, this spoke of the ancient Source housed within Tara. Enchantments from ’ere the world had been cleaved in two—Fae and mortal—that source had given freely.
Ailyn could stop her.
She could drag Maera back to the castle. Ailyn would protect her people and fulfill her sworn duty. She would discover what Colm had become embroiled in, if anything at all.
The shimmer spread, its tendril lengthening, lighting a slender path into the thicket of trees. The skin on her palm prickled. Colm would either kill her or disown her. Certainly revoke her appointment in his ranks.
She reached toward the light, wonder fluttering up her chest.
Aye, Colm might kill her. Or thank her.
She retrieved her bow and one arrow. Should Maera have been brought here unwillingly, her captor would hear no more than a whisper before meeting his swift end.