Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II) (10 page)

Ailyn tried to stand. “No. I…I…She,” she said, sitting
back down, swallowing against rising nausea.

Quinlan’s eyes flashed with concern and his pretense
again fell away. “Be still, Ailyn. Here, eat the rest of the bread. I’ll look
around and see what I can deduce. Fair enough?”

She nodded, biting into the chunk of bread. Her mouth
was watering from the nausea, yet her tongue felt thick and heavy against the
bland stuff in her mouth. She refused to feel sorry for herself, though. Each
moment chewing, swallowing, and chewing lessened the wooziness. Quinlan’s heavy
steps echoing through the rooms gave her comfort.

She’d soon feel back to herself and be able to thank
him and bid him farewell. She did not need his aid or Breanne’s. If Maera could
be moved from the pile of furs to her left, then she could be fit for travel.
That was excellent news. Colm was likely simply subject to his new form,
waiting outdoors for them. Breanne had hardly blinked over her returning with a
wolf in hand this eve—this morn.

Breanne would not have harmed Colm, particularly in
her swollen state.

Aye. All would be well. Any moment now, she
would…well, perhaps lying down on the pile of furs would be more suitable for
wellness. She moved gingerly over to the spot and closed her eyes, knowing that
any moment now, Quinlan would return with answers.

Any.

Moment.

Now.

There it was again. The blue orb just out of reach.

~

Quinlan heard Ailyn from the other room, but couldn’t
make out what she was saying. “Nearly done, lass,” he called, doing his best to
hide his horror.

Blood was everywhere.

He knew the coppery smell of it all too well. The deep
red hue—nearly brown in the drying parts—told him this was hours
old.

Quinlan knelt to pick up a gauzy piece of blue
material that floated atop the small pool of it. His heart battered at his
ribs. The cloth reminded him of Maera’s costume. Of the wings. The fluid on it
was cold and sticky. Breanne could not have known of this. She wasn’t the kind
to pull off subterfuge. And she’d not had a speck of blood on her. And she
would. It was nigh impossible to navigate the narrow room and not smudge his
clothing with it.

What was this room? Dusty bottles and stacks of books riddled
a narrow shelf and table. Blood spatters dripped down the glass and down the
leather bindings. He cursed Ashlon and his jack-headed ways. Now, answers were
hours away, and he’d be having to get to them on foot, no less. He had to keep
Ailyn from this room.

The only boon he could see was that there was no body
to speak of. Pray this blood came from an animal. Even from the wolf. Better
from the beast than from her friend. He didna ken what to tell her. To tell her
nothing would be a lie in itself. What choice did he have, though?

He shut the room’s door and looked for blood on his
person. His hands were both smudged with it and the hem of his sleeve. “I’m
checking outside,” he called, and left through the rear so as to avoid the
hearth room.

The fresh, clean air cleared his very physical
reaction. He took several gulps of it. The breeze cooled his back and neck.
Memories of his days with Bruce threatened to charge forth. He blocked them,
focusing on the task at hand. Ailyn. What to tell her.

With nary a stream or well nearby, Quinlan settled on
rubbing grass and dirt over his hands and shirt, all the while scanning for
Ailyn’s wolf among the tree line. The gritty feel kept him focused. His
heartbeat slowed to a more reasonable rate, but not his mind. His imagination
ran rampant with plausible explanations for all that blood, and none readily
came.

For the third time today, he cursed Ashlon Sinclair.
He couldn’t very well leave Ailyn alone in the place with blood spattered in
the next room. He doubted telling her or showing her as much would help. She
wasn’t fit for travel, and he had no horse. His damned feet still ached from
this morning’s trek.

The mild but sunny day did little to lift his woes. If
anything, the chirping birds irritated him all the more. He’d have to stay and
tell Ailyn as much of the truth as he could. Her friend and her wolf were gone.
Only Breanne could illuminate that matter. He returned through the rear door,
deciding to rummage for whatever additional food he could find. If he fed her,
perhaps they could get to Breanne’s by nightfall.

His chest tightened upon the sight of her. She lay
asleep, curled like a child, braid a mess and flopped over her neck. He knelt
next to her and reached out to sweep a tendril from her cheek, but stopped in
midair when she frowned in her slumber. He shouldn’t disturb her. She was
dreaming.

“
Ma ’se ur toil
e
,” she murmured. “
Chan eil mi a’
tuigsinn
.”

Please.
I don’t understand.
He recognized the old tongue, but not her strange
accent. Where had she come here from? Better yet, why had she come? Part of him
wanted to wake her and question her, to convince her to answer.

Her lips parted, full and pink. Quinlan leaned closer.
She smelled like heather. Her breath carried the scent of the broth, spicy
smelling. Whatever Breanne had given her, she would have done so for good
reason. He should leave well enough alone and focus on ensuring that they were
safe.

He scoured the home again, this time looking for
answers surrounding the blood, until he found himself facing the door again. He
could smell the blood from outside the door, faint but present. Not even a dull
arrow could be found. Two choices formed in his mind. First, if the force he’d
sensed last night had been real, Ailyn was in danger. Second, they did not have
time for her to rest.

He felt foolish for wasting the thirty minutes
contemplating the matter, wandering the rooms like a dolt. The danger was clear
enough. He opened the door once more, to be certain and to try to estimate if
perchance someone—Breanne?—had simply muddled a slaughter. If an
animal, where was the meat?

Images from last eve’s bonefire surfaced in his
memory.

Chills spiked down his arms and back.

Aye, they had to leave. At once. He closed the door as
quietly as possible and returned to Ailyn’s side. Freckles dotted her nose; not
a single scar marred her skin, shiny from sleep and sweat.

“
Dè tha thu ag
iarraidh
?” she asked.

What
do you want?
Quinlan gently shook her shoulder. “Ailyn, lass. Wake up.”

She stirred, then shot upward, eyes wide. “The
bloodstone,” she said, her voice hoarse. She covered her mouth, searching his
eyes as though she’d uttered a blasphemy.

Quinlan clenched his jaw. “You were dreaming, lass.”
He watched for her to adjust, gauging how much the dregs of Breanne’s ministrations
remained. “How do you feel?”

She pushed back her hair and slowly nodded. “Did you
find Maera? Co—the wolf?”

Quinlan shook his head. “We’ll need to get to Breanne
and discover where she put them.”

“Put them?”

“Aye,” he said, the white lies forming fast in his
head. “This old place is not fit for living. Certainly not fit for healing. I’m
sure she relocated them while you slept.”

She looked skeptical. “How?”

“I dinna know, lass, but we’ll be finding out once we
leave here. Are you well enough to stand? Can you walk?”

Her eyes searched his. “Aye, I think so.”

“It was only a dream.”

She frowned at him, getting slowly to her feet as he
stood as well.

“Dreams will drag your spirit away if you let them, my
grandmother used to say.” Wariness shone in her gaze, and Quinlan admonished
himself for saying such an inane thing. “We’ve no horse, but if you need, I can
help you walk a pace of it.”

“I’m much better now, but thank you. I should think I
would be fine now.”

With a quick nod, he led the way, exiting through the
front, keeping his senses keen. Never assume, he reminded himself. The simplest
answer was oft the right one, true enough. But this day and last eve had been
anything but simple. As he was finding Ailyn to be, as well. He wanted to ask
about her dreams. He wanted to ask about her accent, about what she’d said in
her sleep. Her demeanor warned him away from it, though.

Best to leave her be. Best to get her to safety, ask
Breanne his questions, and again be on his way. He led her through the trees to
the overgrown path Breanne used to take nigh every day. Smitten as he was those
years ago, Quinlan sometimes followed her at a distance, wondering how he could
make her see him as more than a friend.

The notion seemed foreign now. His sister had insisted
then that Quinlan merely picked Breanne because she was the only lass not to
swoon in his presence over just one of his cheeky grins. Mayhap she was right.
Thankfully, he’d become a man and lost the desire for all ladies to swoon. It
actually became a bit annoying at a point.

They’d made their way around a craggy hill and would
soon wind through a short valley toward the rear of the O’Donnell
túath
keep. Grateful he was that they
could walk in silence. No nervous prattling—as some females were wont to
do. Nor complaining. Ailyn merely kept up, keeping her gaze alert. That is,
when it wasna burning a hole into his back.

“You’re keeping something from me,” Ailyn said, just
as the keep came into view.

Och, but he’d nearly made it to Breanne’s inquisition
free. “I dinna know you well enough to keep anything from you, lass.” He could
feel he’d not skirted her interest, though. If anything, her interest seemed to
have grown.

She stopped walking and grabbed his forearm. “You
found something, didn’t you? Where is my br—my wolf?”

He faced her, seeing he was right in the way she
narrowed her eyes. She’d not be letting the matter go. “That’s twice you’ve
almost called the wolf something else. Is he your pet? Is that it?”

She took back to walking. Nay, more like stomping, her
derriere switching with her hips, outlined nicely in her breeches. Quinlan
smiled appreciatively. Had he hit a nerve of sorts? Good. Mayhap she’d save her
questions for Breanne and not force him to lie about all that blood. The image
of it still clouded his thoughts like a storm, conjuring the past, worrying at
him. His mind searched for answers no matter how well he knew he’d find none
until Breanne could give them.

Truth be told, Breanne herself might not have answers.
While he doubted she would have missed a room fairly dripping in blood, he’d
detected nothing amiss with her before Ashlon offed with her. Such a boorish
thing to do, too. He might owe Ashlon another scar for that one. In Ailyn and
her friend’s honor.

Quinlan cared not a speck what the wolf meant to
Ailyn. Aye, curious it was that if she knew the wolf personally that she’d
clobber it last eve. But last night made little sense, and he easily clumped
her behavior right in with the rest of that senselessness. He let her stomp
ahead of him, too happy that she nipped his bait to press her for more. “Just
let me know when you’d like to know where Breanne lives, lass. Or do you know
the way?”

He grinned at her sudden slower pace, allowing him to
catch up. If he weren’t careful, he’d be liking how easily she reacted to his
barbs.

Breanne’s door jerked open after three hard pounds and
a holler on Quinlan’s part. Ashlon glared at him. “What do you want?”

“Och, you’re not sore at me for your wife’s
disobedience now, are you, Ashlon? I’ve a mind that I’m due an apology.”

Ashlon ignored him, giving his attention to Ailyn
instead. “She’s wanting to speak to you,” he said and gestured for them to
enter. “She’s in the back room.” He allowed Ailyn to pass but blocked Quinlan,
giving him a wide smile. “Alone.”

Chapter Ten

Ailyn found Breanne sitting near a window, plucking at
needlework, mumbling in irritation. When she looked up, gratitude fairly beamed
in her face. She tossed the needlework aside. “Why do I feel a failure to my
wee unborn for annihilating her first blanket?”

Sunlight filtered in through an open window. A breeze
teased at the loosened strands of her braid that needed a good washing. A
tapestry with two horses reared up, roses scattered at their feet, adorned one
wall. A row of half-burned tallows lined the top of several shelves. The room
smelled of clover.

“You believe it’s a girl?” Ailyn said, uncertain
whether she should sit in one of the two chairs, despite feeling at once
welcomed by Breanne’s good humor. Part of her wanted to outright demand to know
where her brother and Maera were. But she needed this woman as an ally. She had
to trust that Colm and Maera were safe, wherever that might be, until proven
otherwise.

“Aye, I know it is. I can feel her bright spirit.
Definitely willful and completely feminine. The daughter her father fears
having,” Breanne said with a grin.

A daughter taking after her mother would be Ailyn’s
guess. She’d often heard the same of herself. While she recalled little of her
father, her mother had loved to share tales of how Ailyn and Colm had vexed him
with their wee antics.

“I don’t suppose you’ve any skill at needlework?”
Breanne asked.

Ailyn got the feeling she was after other answers,
though. “I stitch a neat line. But I do not prefer it.”

“Close the door?” Breanne nodded, assuaging her.
“You’re feeling well. I can see it.”

“Aye, thank you.” A muscle in her throat twitched. “If
you please, where is my liege?”

Breanne pursed her lips. “She and your brother are
both safe.”

Ailyn’s exhaled breath stuck in her throat. “My
brother?”

Breanne’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “Aye. He’s
looking after her.”

Had Colm transformed back into a man? Ailyn searched
Breanne’s face for answers, unwilling to ask the question. “Will Maera heal?”

“Aye, I believe so.” She spoke each word with care.
“Her wings will mend. Scars will remain, but they will mend.”

Wings. Breanne knew then. She knew Maera was Fae.
Ailyn nodded. “Her win—?”

“And the baby she carries is thriving.”

Ailyn’s mouth fell open. “Baby?” Maera was with child?
Her mind spun. She could not be with child. She’d only been betrothed a matter
of hours. The kingdom had yet to hear the news. The banquet would honor the
announcement. “A child?”

Breanne nodded, watching her carefully. “In the
spring.”

She needed answers. How could her princess be with
child? How could she risk that child’s life by passing through the veil? Unless
the child was unwanted. Her stomach turned at the notion. “I must speak to her
at once.”

She had to get Maera to go back. Could she go back?
Was the baby what sent Maera here to begin with? Her mind pieced together some
of Maera’s statements at the edge of the veil, the way she had covered her
stomach with her hand. She wanted the baby. Ailyn felt sure of it.

Then what was so important as to risk even her own
child’s life?

Breanne sat in silence, sympathy in her eyes, as Ailyn
processed this news. “I must see her. I must see them both.”

“You canno’, Ailyn. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean I cannot? I must! You do not
understand what’s at stake.”

“Aye, you are likely right. How could I know or
appreciate what is at stake? All I know is what I’ve seen and sworn.”

Ailyn paced the small room, anger rising inside her.
“Sworn? What have you sworn? What have you seen?” How could she possibly
understand? “Who are you to decide such things?”

“It is not me who decided, Ailyn. I swear it.” Breanne
stood, one hand on her big belly, her gaze imploring. “I’m no more than a link
in a chain of events. My past is entwining with your future, and I cannot say
what destiny befalls any of us.”

“I demand to know where Maera is.” Her voice rose. “I
demand to see my brother!”

“Demanding will not solve a thing, Ailyn. I vowed to
keep them safe, and I will. I vowed to share what I can with you, and I will if
you will let me.”

“A pox on your vows! He is my brother. She is our
future queen. Have you no sense of what that means? How do I trust you’ve not
killed them both and harvested them for powers you crave?”

Breanne’s eyebrows shot upward. “I assure you, my
world has been upturned and twisted over by magick. I would never wish for
more. I’ve many times wished for none.” Her tight voice brooked no argument.
“I’ve no reason to kill them or you. Why would I kill them, only to heal you?”

Ailyn hated Breanne’s logic. She hated even more that
it cooled her anger. She liked her anger. It shielded her from the sheer
helplessness she felt otherwise. If Breanne refused to share where Maera and
Colm where, what use was Ailyn to either of them? She might as well simply
return home. Except, she had no way to do so.

“When can I see them?”

“I don’t know.”

She began doubting that Breanne could provide her with
any real answers. Yet Quinlan’s confidence had clearly infected her as well,
because she wanted—nay, needed—Breanne to tell her more. “How do I
return home?”

“You dinna return,” Breanne said, wincing slightly.
“You stay. Unless…it appears you have a choice before you, Ailyn.”

Ailyn disliked how unsure Breanne sounded. Why would
she not return? What choice? She shook herself inwardly, snapping out of the
allure Breanne’s words created. These mortals had no care for her welfare. Why
should they? Trusting them risked her life. “If you’ll not tell me where they
are, I will have but one choice—to find them myself.”

Breanne’s gaze flashed with something so akin to
admiration that Ailyn wavered in her conviction.

“Her wings are nearly healed. Colm guards her well in
his wolf form. They are safe. You’ll not find them, but if you wish to try, I
canno’ stop you. I can but warn what a waste it would be. I can share what I’ve
seen with you.”

This woman’s words were beguiling. They pulled at her
heart and her hopes. Part of her desperately wanted to believe, to trust, and
to have guidance. Such trust was far too dangerous, though. Certainly,
listening didna risk more than she already had in coming here, in trusting
Quinlan as she had. Evidence leaned the scales toward trust, aye, but her whole
life’s history could not be erased. Neither could her training be.

“Allow me but a moment,” Breanne said. “I ask you to
stay only long enough to hear my words. I vow on my babe’s life stirring inside
me, I mean you no ill will.”

Ailyn followed Breanne’s gaze to her own hands. They
were clenched tight, one resting against the dagger at her hip. Forcibly, she
relaxed her fingers, splaying them in the air. Dirt streaks covered her
knuckles. Scrapes. Blood. This woman had cared for her well. Whatever
hesitations Ailyn had, it behooved her to at least consider what she would say.

She leveled her attention back to Breanne, nodding
once.

“You are correct to think there are those of us who
would kill your kind. Only a generation or two past, some hunted Faeries as a
last, desperate hope to keep to the old ways. But most of us have known a
healthy fear of the Fae, never wishing to upset the balance or tempt what we
know to be a powerful race.” Her words were measured. “But the world—our
world—is in change.”

Breanne pointed Ailyn to her vacant chair and took to
pacing the room in slow strides.

“I’ve come to accept that I canno’ sustain what I know
to be true in the traditions I devoted myself to. The Lord and his son Christ
are wooing the hearts of our people. Morrigan and Brigit shall become lore.”

Ailyn should not be surprised that the goddesses’
names would still be known in the mortal realm. It was not so long ago that the
Fae world had been cleaved from this one in order to protect both races. Still,
hearing the names made her feel less lost here.

“It is not regrettable as much as the way of the
cycles, I suppose,” Breanne continued. “What I can do is keep the knowledge
blessed to me well and adjust, as we all must.”

As
we all must.
Ailyn failed to yet comprehend what she was explaining, except that it
meant Breanne knew things. Future events. Past. Ailyn couldn’t guess. But she
listened, stomach tight, anxious to be to the end of it. What else could she do
but hear the woman out? The veil was gone. Now Maera and Colm, too.

She needed this woman on her side if she wanted to see
her brother again. That much was clear. “Quinlan suggested you had certain
gifts.”

Breanne paused in her pacing. She crossed her arms
atop her belly. “Do you know the history of the bloodstone, Ailyn?”

Did she jest? History? “Aye, I know the tale. The
stone that severed the Túatha
dé Danann
from the mortal realm.” The stone that saved all
Faerie folk, so ordered by her people’s mother, Anu. “What do you know of it?”
she asked.

Breanne smiled softly, perhaps acknowledging Ailyn’s
flagrant doubt.

“I know it has two sister stones. The Moonstone, which
breeds the magick of your realm. And the Sunstone, that tempers the remaining
magick in mine.” Breanne’s eyes were intent as she spoke. “They have been
carefully passed down through generations.”

“Aye, until the Bleak Years.” What did any of this
have to do with her situation?

A ruckus outside the door made her pause in asking.
Breanne poked her head out of the door a moment. “I’ll not be much longer.”

The distinct sound of nails on wood sent Ailyn to the
door as well. Colm? No. Not a wolf in sight. Merely Breanne’s husband and
Quinlan looking unabashed over their scolding.

“Dinna be leaving, Quin. I need a moment with you as
well.”

“And I you,” he said, his gaze passing over Ailyn and
coming to rest at her neck. For a brief second, his eyebrows drew together.
Then he looked back to Breanne with a rascally grin.

Breanne rolled her eyes at the men, pulled Ailyn away,
and maneuvered her back to the chair, letting the door fall heavily shut. “Now
where was I? Ah, that’s right. The stones.”

She knew the tale well enough. Her mother used to tell
her moon stories to put her to sleep. Ailyn’s hand went to the pendant at her
neck, her heart squeezing, missing her mother. That anger she was beginning to
associate with this place, with this situation, itched back up her spine. “Forgive
me, Breanne, but I dinna ken what three mythical stones have to do with my
present circumstances.”

“You, Ailyn, will find the stones before the wrong
person does.”

The hairs on her arms stood on end. “The stones do not
exist. They are tales to keep Fae children from tempting the veil, from
wandering from their mothers’ skirts.” The hairs along her scalp tickled to
attention as she watched Breanne slowly shake her head.

“They are as real as you and I. As magickal as the
portal that brought you here. They are real and they are your destiny, Ailyn.”

Ailyn cracked a smile, her mind spinning. “You’re
mistaken, Breanne. Whatever dream you’ve dreamed is not of me. I have no gifts.
I am as brown-blooded as a faerie can be.”

“What you seek requires no magickal skill, Ailyn.”

“I seek nothing but my way home. I’ve no mind to find
stones that do not exist. I’ve no call to go on a mad hunt while my brother and
my future queen ruin thousands of lives second by passing second.” She’d
revealed too much. Her anger bubbled higher, though. Such nonsense. Such
wasteful nonsense. “I want to endear my plot to you, I do. But I canno’ pretend
when I’m faced with the absurd.”

“You needn’t win me over, Ailyn. I am on your side. I
ken you have fears.”

Fears? What did she know of fears? Ailyn stood up,
entirely ready to leave here. She no longer cared where she could go, or if she
could even get home. She would not stay here. That she knew. That she could do.
She reached the door, too angry to speak, her face hot with it, tears threatening
her eyes.

She would not cry, though. There was naught to cry
over. Her brother was grown. He would have to answer for his own life’s choices
and their consequences. Her heart tore at the thought—a sharp, stinging
pain in her chest. She would travel as far as her legs would go, and wherever
that ended, she would between and there and here find a plan—a purpose
for herself. Her hand turned the knob, but she did not pull it open.

Something small inside her held her there, waiting for
Breanne to say something to keep her there. But Breanne was silent. The low
timber of Quinlan’s voice filtered through, his muted conversation with Ashlon
sounding jovial.

She envied him. How did he put on such gladness after
all that he’d helped her through in a matter of days? He knew little of what
he’d really helped her through. He only knew that she was lost, was searching
for her friend, and then, like a mad pixie, befriended a wolf.