Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II) Page 8

  A tight sense to protect meeting Ailyn coiled inside him. “My lord?”

  But his king remained silent a moment.

  “Be sure to let me know what she says,” Niall called over his shoulder.

  Quinlan’s step faltered. “Breanne, m’lord? Aye. I will.” He’d hoped his king had meant to do the inquiring himself. That he could be done with this business. “I’ll speak with her at her earliest avail.”

  “Good, good. On with you then, lad.”

  A smile tugged at one cheek as Quinlan left. Lad. He suspected that to a man of Niall’s stature, Quinlan’s nine-and-twenty years seemed a pittance in comparison. Perhaps he would look in on Breanne in a few days, giving her time to attend to Maera. And give him time to forget Ailyn. He’d no taste for the kind of trouble she attracted.

  “Sooner is better, lad,” Niall called out as Quinlan let the door ease shut.

  Quinlan winced, having half a mind to act as though he’d not heard the last. But Niall called his name from the other side in the deep bellow perfected by fathers the túath over. “Quinlan?”

  “Aye, m’lord,” Quinlan said, propping the door ajar and feeling about as young as the man’s tone suggested. “I’ll speak to her today.”

  Niall waved a meaty hand in dismissal. The cat that had announced his arrival wound again around his feet. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself. Back whence I came,” Quinlan muttered. He plucked the cat up and stroked its ears. “But not before a bath and a shave.”

  If Niall meant to recruit him into his elite warrior ranks, he was taking his time to do so. Hopefully last night’s errand would be the end of his king’s efforts, though. Quinlan had lived enough war to rest of it a spell.

  He’d managed only a few weary strides when a tall shadow blocked the afternoon sun. Quinlan knew his luck and guessed exactly who glared down at him from atop the stallion.

  “Good morrow, Sir Ashlon,” he said, stepping around the horse, careful to give its reins a hard tug of notice. The stallion paid him little mind even as he was steered to follow. Quinlan might know what was coming, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get some good fun in with Breanne’s husband while the opportunity sat ripe. “Traveling north again, are you?”

  “Where is she, Quinlan?” Ashlon ground out. His impatience was like a balm to Quinlan’s sore patience.

  “Where is who?”

  “You know damned well who. I told her to come to you with anything she needs in my absence.”

  “Now that boon is brimming with possibilities,” Quinlan said, enjoying a nice, slow pace toward the keep’s west yard. “Does her brother neglect her so much?”

  “Where? Or do we repeat last summer’s sport, you and I?”

  Quinlan rubbed his jaw, where a scar reminded him of the very morning he and Ashlon came to blows over Breanne’s brother, Danny. “I’d love a nice exercise today, Ashlon. Are you certain you have time before your travels?”

  Ashlon released a growl and got off his horse, dropping the reins for the stable hand who came rushing forward. “She’s not at home. She’s not at the keep. If anyone would know her whereabouts, it is you.”

  Quinlan stopped, giving Ashlon a sly grin. “She must trust me well, then, aye?”

  The anger sparked from Ashlon’s eyes. “Have a care, friend. And know the only reason your face isn’t a pulp of blood and flesh this very moment is thanks to my wife.”

  “Aye, I heard she didna speak to you for a fortnight over this one,” Quinlan said, tapping the cheek he’d left a reminder for Ashlon.

  Since the year Ashlon had come to Tir Conaill from England herself, they’d been ungainly allies. Quinlan once fancied himself deeply in love with Ashlon’s wife, and while it proved untrue, the sting of losing the object of his desire to a friend rendered both friendships forever changed. He wasna certain the grudge between he and Ashlon would ever fade. Neither would their mutual respect born out of love for the same woman, albeit of differing kinds, now.

  At last, he pitied the man. “She’s at Heremon’s, safe and sound, doing her best to mend and meddle.”

  Ashlon visibly relaxed. “Aye, I thought as much.” Then with a wide grin, Ashlon clapped him on the shoulder. “Ho, there!” he called to the hand. “I’ll be needing that one back. And my friend will need his as well.”

  Quinlan scratched the nape of his neck, squinting at the sun. “I actually am without my mount, Ashlon. I’m confident you know the way well, though.” He’d meet with Breanne about Niall’s questions after her husband got her home, if he didn’t throttle her before they got that far.

  “And miss your exquisite company? I wouldn’t think of it.” Ashlon socked his shoulder meaningfully. “Lad, he’ll have your gentlest mare.”

  Quinlan didn’t take the barb. “Only if she’s your slowest as well, lad,” he said with a wink.

  The young man looked from man to man, then slapped his knee with a laugh. “I’ve the perfect mount for you, m’lord. The perfect one to be sure.”

  The stable hand walked out of the stables with a sleek and rearing dapple-gray stallion. The magnificent horse nearly outshined the boy’s beaming grin. “Will he do, m’lord?”

  Ashlon scrubbed his face, giving Quinlan a sidelong glance that begged him to say no.

  Which meant, of course, he had to say, “Aye, lad. Saddle that wild one up at once.” He turned to Ashlon. “I’ll be sure Breanne knows you helped me find my newest steed.”

  “Do that. Just please make it before you break your neck falling from it, will you? I like my own bed this time of year.”

  Quinlan guffawed, his good humor erasing the night’s confusion and wear. The idea of Ashlon being banished from the marital bed had him thinking: how bad a break could a man take and still enjoy a solid gloat?

  Chapter Nine

  The blue orb didn’t merely glow among the trees. It pulsed as it floated forward, just out of Ailyn’s reach. It whispered to her, but she could not comprehend the words. They were in a tongue she did not know; yet, she felt the meaning was critical.

  A matter of death itself.

  If she could only reach her fingers out just a bit further, she could grasp the light and pull it close. Tuck it away and keep it safe. Safe from whom, she didna know. But the orb escaped her reach and the faint murmur that emanated from it, that begged her attention, became a thudding. Deeper, louder. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes. The trees bent under the force of it. The thudding became a pound. The orb vanished.

  “No!” Ailyn gasped. She’d come so close!

  The pounding penetrated her dream, drawing her back to reality. She forced her eyes open despite the stabbing pain in them. The room tilted.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” a woman said, exasperation in her loud voice.

  The stabbing pain moved to her temples. Ailyn rubbed them, trying to locate the woman and recall where she was. The room was small and sparsely furnished. The crackle of a fire explained how warm her back was. Too warm. Sweaty. She rolled onto it, scooting away from the hearth, though it wasna as close as she first thought.

  A creaking sounded as the woman opened a door. Men’s voices filtered into the room. Again, it tilted as Ailyn tried to sit. Then it righted, and her eyes landed on a familiar, handsome face. The clean-shaven jaw made him look younger, boyish, and a bit less disarming than before. She was grateful for as much, because she found herself gawking until memory rushed back.

  “Quinlan,” she said, sitting up fully and looking around. It all came back to her. “Where is Maera?”

  Quinlan didn’t hear her, though, or mayhap chose to ignore her, instead leaning against a wall in amusement. She followed his attention to the woman…Breanne. The healer. She would know where Maera was. She’d cared for Maera and cared for Ailyn as well. Even Colm.

  Oh, by Morrigan! Colm! She glanced about, looking for signs of her brother-turned-wolf. Nothing. What would tell her he was here, though, and not part of the dream? What a strange dream!
What did it mean? So real her fingers seemed to tingle from the closeness she’d reached—

  “You’ve no reason to be cross, Ash. The baby is active and happy. As am I.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re free to traipse across the countryside.”

  Breanne crossed her arms under her ample bosom, meeting her husband glare for glare. Alarm shot through Ailyn. What was she about to need escaping from?

  “When will you accept the fact that I’m not one of your fair English lasses, incapable of hard work?”

  Quinlan glanced Ailyn’s way. “Were you hard work, lass?”

  Breanne stepped between them, hands on hips. “She wasna, and you know it, Quin. Dinna be making matters worse here.”

  Ailyn got to her feet, only to lean against a wall herself. Where was her bow? Her blade? Whatever potage Breanne had given her last night was having lingering effects. Certainly, ill intentions were afoot. The fire so hot. The pain in her temples so sharp.

  Ashlon, a handsome man in his own right with his dark, wavy hair and pale eyes, nigh barked at his wife. “I traveled all night to be greeted by my wife—home and safe. Instead, I have to hunt her down, only to discover she’s halfway to Giant’s Causeway.”

  “Ash, you fash yourself for naught. I’m hale and hearty. As is the baby. Would you tell him, Quin?”

  “Aye, hale. Hearty. Why, I doubt even a thunderstorm would stop this one.”

  “Quinlan,” Breanne warned.

  Quinlan silently threw up his hands, but his mischievous grin spoke for him. Why had Ailyn trusted these mortals? Husband and wife looked ready to murder each other. Quinlan merely watched, entertained. Clearly they meant to harm…er, well, perhaps harm wasna the best word. She reassessed Ashlon. Aye, he was furious. But there was a warmth to his expression. Breanne’s hard stare returned the warmth. Then she reached over and pinched Quinlan, making him yelp.

  Ailyn jerked at the noise, gasping. All eyes drew to her. Her alarm renewed. They’d recalled she was in the room. If only it would stop tilting.

  “Ailyn, love,” Breanne said. “You canno’ be standing quite yet. Here, Quinlan, help her to the chair. Ashlon, dinna just stand there.”

  In quick succession, she was guided to a chair and sat into it. A bowl of some sort of broth was shoved into her hands, along with a chunk of bread.

  “You brought food?” Quinlan asked Breanne, who looked rather pleased. Until he added, “And it survived the rain?”

  Her smile fell to a scowl.

  “Do not tell me you rode here in a rainstorm, Breanne.”

  “Rode?” Quinlan asked, delight dancing in his tone.

  Ailyn would grin, too, so infectious was his humor, but nausea was sending a new sheen of sweat across her back and brow. “Where is Maera?”

  “Is this what I am to expect every time I come home, wife? Yet another tale of your putting yourself at risk?”

  Breanne gently moved the bowl up toward Ailyn’s mouth. “Maera is well. Dinna fret. You’ve had quite a bit to tax you. Eat. There will be plenty of time to ex—”

  “Breanne,” Ashlon said.

  “And forgive my boorish husband his manners. He must have forgotten them in his travels.”

  “Oh, aye, wife. Postpone my demands while you can. The list will only grow.”

  That must have been quite enough. Breanne shot to her feet and stabbed a finger at the door. The couple exited, slamming the door shut after.

  The broth helped tremendously. She sipped its salty warmth, growing ever more aware of Quinlan’s eyes on her. At last she dared a glance up. “You shaved,” she said.

  He rubbed his jaw. “Aye. D’you like it?”

  She did, but thought better of revealing as much. She shrugged, appraising him a moment. “You look…younger.”

  He didn’t seem to like that a bit; his smile left his eyes. “Aye, just a boy, I am. Only set off my strings last week, in fact.”

  Quinlan reached for her bread and tugged a piece off for himself. She got the feeling he was putting on a performance of sorts. But for whom? Certainly not for her. Where was the rigid man who’d come to her aid last night?

  Interesting. She cocked her head. “Your strings?”

  Another degree of his pretense lowered. “You aren’t Irish, are you?” he said. “Your accent, your hair, even your friend.” He didn’t seem to really be asking her so much as summing up his accounting of her. “Definitely not born or bred in Ulster.” His gaze scanned her face and stature. “Where, then?”

  Ailyn pursed her lips. She’d not be telling him the truth, but she knew too little of his world to lie well. “Where is Maera?”

  He nodded slightly. “No matter. Your origins are none of my concern. I’m only here because Breanne’s husband insisted.”

  “You don’t smack of a man who is so easily pushed around.”

  He grinned at that. “Breanne will be the only one who can answer your questions, I’m afraid. The more I recall from last night, the less I’m sure of about it.”

  Ailyn didn’t like craning her neck to see him, but felt to wobbly to stand yet. She strained to hear signs of Breanne returning, but not even muffled voices reached her ears. “She would not just leave, would she?”

  Quinlan frowned, pushing his lips out a bit, showing their fullness and making her think he must be an excellent kisser, if mortals did such things. Why would the goddess give them such lips if not for kissing, though? She caught the track of thought and stamped it out before it could lead her far. Even a mild curiosity about Quinlan or his world was far too dangerous to entertain.

  Not even for a moment.

  She would locate Maera and Colm, and together they would return through the veil. If Maera knew it would appear, certainly she would know how and why it did. Certainly she could replicate as much and get them home.

  “Where is your wolf?”

  Her wolf. Oh, if only he knew just how accurate his quip was. Her brother once again confounded her. Yet again, he’d kept her on the outside of his world until it was too late. Only this time, it wasn’t a tree he’d climbed too high for her to fetch him out of. She had no inkling how to fetch him out of this mess, now how he’d gotten into it. She could hardly guess what the mess was to begin with, save that her future queen had abandoned her people and brought a wolf with her to do so.

  Perhaps Maera had thought he could protect her in this world as a wolf. No, Colm could do far better as a man than a beast. Unless Maera needed him disguised. But why?

  “Whatever it is, Ailyn, you’ll not be able to think your way out of it.”

  “What was that?” she asked, her attention back in the room.

  Quinlan’s expression gave away the man she’d met last night. One wiser than his young face revealed. “You were lost in thought. Ruminating. A sage old man once told me that whatever the situation, whatever hole you ever find yourself in, thinking will not climb you out.”

  She frowned, wishing she felt better and could physically seek her brother out. His statement piqued her interest, though. “What climbs you out?”

  “Action,” he said simply, and did a spin. When he stopped, her dagger lay in his hand..

  Unable to ignore his winsome smile, Ailyn took the blade, returning it to its strap. Her belly flip-flopped. More and more she grew wary of this dichotomy in him—serious one moment, utterly disarming the next. She did not want to find any mortal engaging. If she were a hunter, she would use all to her avail to seduce and stalk her prey.

  Surely that is what Quinlan did now. Or did he show these two sides to everyone?

  A small voice spoke one piece of logic to her, though—if these mortals knew what she was and wished to kill her, they’d had ample opportunity. Which meant they had no idea she was not as human as they. Which meant she must keep the fact secret. Her life depended on it, and it would be easy enough. For the first time since she’d laid eyes on Maera and had reached out to touch her beautiful wings, Ailyn was grateful to have been born of brow
n blood. Ailyn had little magick left in her bloodline, and enough generations that wings had long ago become moot. Only rarely was a brown-blood born winged. Maera though, while her white bloodline’s magick waned, too, it had only done so within two or three generations.

  There was great hope among her people still that the bloodline, given the right pairing, would return to its original glory. A magick so deep, pure, and strong as to protect the Fae realm and any of its ancestors. Much hung in the balance over whom Maera married. Every seer known to any of the four tribes was sent to foretell her true, best match.

  None had. Yet. All still hoped, though. Even Ailyn hoped.

  “Off again?”

  Warmth spread over her cheeks. “Aye,” she admitted. “Breanne gave me a dram, and I’m finding its effects rather unsettling.” Admitting as much shouldn’t put her at risk, what with him assuming her human.

  “I’ll not let my pride be pricked, then. It’s not often that I bore someone, especially a lovely lass such as yourself. I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.”

  Had she offended him? My, but he thought highly of himself! Remembering that she was currently at his mercy, though, she bit back a witty retort about the kind of lady he must surround himself with. “Truly, the potage put me into a deep sleep, and I’m groggy.”

  He laughed, holding up a hand. “I’m teasing you, Ailyn. Dinna fret. In fact, I’ll happily harass Breanne into sharing what she’s done with your friend and the wolf.”

  Ailyn sagged a bit in the chair from her relief as he left her. The hard thud of the door recalled her dream. The orb had felt so real. Even now awake, she could vividly remember its feel, the sound of it. The urgency it had inspired in her.

  “Bad news, lass,” Quinlan announced, returning to sit next to her and lean on his knees.

  He must have practiced such postures through all his teen years, because it had a very specific effect. His chin tucked, his eyebrows up, and his wide shoulders were accentuated somehow. Ailyn forced herself not to simply drink in his comeliness. When her eyes locked with his, for at least a full three seconds, she lost the ability to think.