Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II) (11 page)

He’d not demanded answers. He’d merely walked
honorably through it, taking each new event in stride.

“If you find the stones, you will be free to return to
Danaan,” Breanne said. Her hand came to rest on Ailyn’s shoulder. “And I vow to
you, you’ll not face the task alone.”

Ailyn finally turned around, allowing herself to at
least hear Breanne out. “I canno’ imagine you’ll be much help, lest you have
somehow swayed your husband and can trust your baby to stay put.”

Breanne laughed heartily at that. “Oh, how I wish it
could be me. You’ve no idea how much. But alas, you’re right. I have no call to
join you, and not because of my husband’s will or my baby’s birth. It is merely
not my task to take. I would make things worse. So instead, I’ll do as I’ve
been guided and aid where I can.”

Ailyn knew who would join her. She did not need
Breanne to say his name.

“Danny?” Breanne called.

Ailyn hardly stepped clear of the door when a young
man burst through. “Aye, Breanne? Are you well? Is the babe well?”

Breanne threw her hands up in exasperation. “She’ll
come when she’s ready. I swear these men will have me pulling my own hair out
with their coddling. I’ve a mind to banish them. Better yet, to banish myself.”
She waved off the man’s fussing. “Ailyn, I present my brother, Daniel. He’ll be
your guide and protector.” She moved past them both, leaving the room.

Danny took Ailyn’s hand and bent over it. “At your
service, m’lady.”

This man was her guide? Surely he was too young, too….
Ailyn gave the young man, not even sporting facial hair yet so tender were his
years, a wobbly smile. “Breanne?” she called, following suit and leaving the
small, feminine room.

Danny followed, loping to her side. “We can depart as
early as sunrise.”

Depart? To where? For what? Irritation pecked at her
mind. She grit her teeth, rounding a corner and hitting Quinlan square in the
chest. She stepped backward, fending off too many hands clearly meant to right
her balance.

“Danny, how are you lad?” Quinlan said, letting Ailyn
knock his hands away.

“Quin!” Danny grasped the other man’s arm. They
clapped each other on the shoulder turn by turn. “How’ve you been?”

“Very well. When did you return to Tir Conaill?”

Ailyn looked past them, searching what she could see
of the rooms for Breanne.

“A fortnight past. I’ve been holed up a bit.”

“Oh? Studies? Is Patrick after you to scribe his
scriptures?”

“I’ve ducked his efforts, but, aye, he’s interested to
be sure.” Danny beamed at the older man.

Exactly how much older, Ailyn couldn’t guess, but the
difference was stark. Quinlan had a whiskered jawline, chiseled cheekbones, and
a slender scar along his jaw. His broad shoulders and meaty musculature, even
the confidence in his gait, spoke of a man who’d seen much and weathered more.
Danny’s face was handsome, but still had the soft look of youth; the bright
eyes of it, too.

She could not be delivered into such young hands. Not
if what Breanne had claimed was true. The last several dozen hours of her life
returned to feeling like a grand joke, a farce. As though at any moment her
brother would leap from a hidden spot and shout to the world that he was just
having a prank on her. A joke would make all this ridiculousness benign.

Nothing at stake, save her brother’s thick head once
she thumped him upside it.

“Where are you off to come dawn, pray tell?” Quinlan
asked Danny.

The man’s youthfulness changed before her eyes as his
gaze grew guarded and his jaw set. “Breanne asked me to show Ailyn about, help
her feel welcome.”

Quinlan’s demeanor changed as well, ever so subtly.
“You’ll be staying then?”

Ailyn averted her gaze from his penetrating stare,
looking to Danny only to find his expression too intent. As though she had
other options. She did not. Unless walking away from her world, her life, her
home and her duty counted as an option. She’d thought so but moments ago but it
wasna in her to follow through.

She loved her kingdom too much. She loved her queen
and her people. She loved her brother. She could not leave Colm behind no
matter what. Not even if he was fine and well on his own. If there was a chance
that Breanne’s claims were true and she could get them home, she had to attempt
the task.

“Aye, until Maera is well enough for travel,” she said
at last. They didn’t have to look so relieved! The fact that they did warmed
her, though.

Perhaps they were the exception among the mortal
world. Perhaps not all of them wanted to harvest Fae magick. Or perhaps none of
them knew who she really was.

Which kept her safe.

The moment she located Breanne in the small maze of
rooms, she would glean the details. Who knew what and exactly how all of this
madness would bring her home. She would locate the bloodstone, Sunstone, and
Moonstone—then be well again.

All would be well again.

It had to be.

Chapter Eleven

They were up to something. Quinlan could practically
smell the ruse emanating from Danny like steam. Ashlon had been far too
conversational. Breanne flitted from room to room; the woman was not wont to
flit. Danny couldn’t lie his way out of a sack. And Ailyn looked, well,
befuddled.

She’d had much to handle, though. Her friend, him, the
wolf, Breanne’s ministrations. He watched her carefully, taking in every nuance
from the way her nose crinkled, the freckles dotting her creamy skin, the
bemusement in her eyes. She was in over her head, surely.

He couldn’t guess why, though. Breanne would know.
Would she tell him? Only one means to find out. “Be sure to show her the
abbey’s renovations. Patrick will be pleased to make her welcome. And my
sister, too. Rose adores a guest. I warn you, Ailyn, she’ll talk a new hole
into your ear, but she has a good heart and knows all there is to know about
these parts.”

Ailyn smiled tightly and nodded. Danny as well.

Excusing himself, he searched for Breanne. Instead, he
found Ashlon sharpening his blade outside. “She’s resting,” Ashlon said, before
Quinlan could open his mouth.

Interesting. Either fatigue had its grips on his
instincts, or even Breanne was avoiding him. The memory of the blood-soaked
room weighed on his conscience. Ashlon was not the man to ask, though. In fact,
sharing the incident might cause Breanne troubles. For now, he had to trust
that if something was amiss, Breanne would tell Ashlon. She would not have left
Quinlan and Ailyn at Heremon’s to begin with had she known of danger. If naught
was well, none wished to share it with him.

“Resting, you say?”

“Aye. She’d like you to come another day.”

Niall would be disappointed. He saw no cause to
insist, though.

Best to leave well enough alone, he decided.

At least until dawn.

At least until he rode out and followed Danny and
Ailyn to decipher what deceptions were afoot.

~

“Let it never be said that Ashlon will woo the king’s
court,” Danny said, his attention on Quinlan as he rode away.

Breanne poked her brother in the ribs. He was tall
enough now that she had to aim well, and fast enough now that he almost blocked
her jab. “My husband doesna need to impress a king. He only needed to spark
Quinlan’s suspicion, which he has, methinks.”

“Aye, he wore his suspicion like a mantle. But let’s
be honest. Quinlan is not a man known for taking up a cause.”

“Posh! He took up Robert the Bruce’s cause, did he
not?”

“Only to run from a broken heart and a smidge of
humiliation when you chose another to marry.” Danny happily pointed out. “We’ll
not mention the merits of your choice, being that you’re in a delicate
condition.”

Apparently, the men in her life showed affection
through insults. The sharper the insult, the deeper the bond. Breanne worried
at her lower lip, letting the barb slide. What if Danny was right? Just because
Quinlan was suspicious did not mean he would act on it. He had no real
motivation to do so. He had known Ailyn all of two days, come the morrow. He
and Danny were not close enough to warrant him interfering in the name of
friendship. Not like Ashlon would in the same position. But then, Ashlon saw
Danny as a lad still. He likely would all his life. Danny had grown into
manhood at Ashlon’s side, learning, following, and matching him in physical and
mental feats.

Ashlon would intervene just to keep an eye on Danny
and care not for any insult the action might be on Danny’s pride. Quinlan,
though, she could see washing his hands of whatever they were up to. His
curiosity might be enough. “Let us hope we’ve inspired our carefree friend into
being nosy, at the very least.”

“Should I delay come morning until I’m sure he’ll
show, or follow?” Danny asked.

The sound of the door shutting below announced Ashlon
returning from his sword sharpening. They needed to return below as well. Ailyn
must think her the rudest hostess in two realms. “Nay. I trust the vision.”
She’d seen Quinlan aiding Ailyn. Unfortunately, she did not know at what point
that came. She followed her desire to incite him to get involved, seeing it as
part of the vision. But part of her doubted her own intentions. As Danny had
pointed out, Quinlan’s heart had suffered because of her. If she were honest
with herself, the vision of him and Ailyn had given her hopes that he would
find a love like hers. She and Quinlan had been friends all their lives. She
wanted to see him happy. “We’ll do our best to let it be. If he’s meant to
involve himself, he will.”

They had much to do if they were to get Danny and
Ailyn prepared for the journey ahead. Horses, weapons, furs. If the weather
held, they might reach Giant’s Causeway by nightfall. The creaking stairs
reminded her to return below.

“I imagine Ailyn has a hundred questions for me by
now.”

Danny nodded absently, looking to be deep in thought.
Breanne knew the look well. Her sweet brother had become a cerebral man. He had
fine skills at the sword, but his mind was sharper than any blade known to man.
Now, to clear the way for him to apply it to what would amount to saving an
entire race of people. Ailyn’s people.

If Breanne had deciphered her vision accurately, that
is.

~

Quinlan had never counted the man as a friend. Seamus
McFarland had needed to hear no more than the words “blood” and “soaked” to
comply readily with Niall’s requested inquiry into the missing cattle. With
three of his men, Seamus had followed Quinlan back to Heremon’s abandoned home,
eager to discover the source of the blood—human or animal.

 
“Late this
morning, you say?” Seamus shouted as he dismounted outside the hovel.

“Aye,” Quinlan answered, tethering his horse to a low
tree limb.

Seeing the four burly
galloglas
approach the home, all muscle and fists, had Quinlan questioning the verity of
taking what he’d found to Niall. His king needed to know of such things,
though. Just as well that Breanne hadn’t answered his questions yet. Quinlan
once again left out the parts about finding Ailyn, Maera, and the wolf. If
there looked to be a tie to the three and the blood, he’d readily share the
connection. But his gut told him naught.

Something else was amiss, unrelated to their arrival
at the home. Surely it was an odd coincidence at this point and more than
likely the blood connected to the slaughtered bovine from the rite. Now that
Ailyn was safely gone, the five men could properly assess the room.

Seamus shouldered through the door as though a
criminal lay in wait on the other side. Quinlan could just imagine the upturn
they’d put on the home’s contents. Could not be helped, though. Breanne would
be heartbroken to find her mentor’s home in disarray. It had to have been she
who kept the place up enough for it to remain in a somewhat habitable
condition.

“Which room, Quinlan?” Seamus called.

Quinlan moved past the other men and led the way.
Seamus motioned for them to hang back as he opened the door. A stink so foul
that he could not describe it overwhelmed them. Gone was the fresh metallic
odor from this morn. Flies buzzed around the room. All five men stepped back,
covering their mouths with sleeves and collars.

What had caused such rapid decomposition?

Seamus’ forehead wrinkled with determination right up
through his bald head. “McKee, Jamison, go with Quin through the rest of the
house. Look for other signs of blood. Get me any weapons you find. Anything
that could rip through flesh.”

Admittedly, Quinlan had only made the barest of sweeps
through the place this morn. He might be skilled in battle, but he wasn’t one
of Niall’s guards. He’d no idea where to begin in such a situation. He lingered
long enough to watch Seamus and his other man prop the door full open to air it
out and begin rolling up their sleeves.

The blood had become a dark crimson-brown. Aside from
the stench and the flies, nothing had changed that he could spot. He strode to
the room next door, what he surmised to be Heremon’s old bedchamber. A slender
mat lay in one corner—he should have placed Maera in here rather than on
the pile of furs. He briefly wondered where Breanne had taken Maera. Perhaps to
her home. Perhaps she’d not been resting, but tending to the woman instead. Why
secret the woman away at all, though?

He picked up a dust-coated tallow, rolling it in his
hand. He’d witnessed the old Druid and Breanne herself light a tallow with a
murmur and a breath. This one had not been lit before. He set it down, noticing
that there was little dust on the table it adorned. Interesting. A
leather-bound volume lay on the table next to the tallow. It had no dust at all
along its jacket. Quinlan opened it to find the pages blank. Odd. He’d have to
let Danny or Patrick know about this treasure. Blank pages for scribing weren’t
so easy to come by, as far as he knew.

He set the book back down and kicked the mat softly.
He grabbed its blanket and shook it out. No dust. Interesting. Tossing the
blanket back onto the mat, he directed his attention to the walls. An old
mirror hung on the east wall, opposite the small window. The window revealed
the day was coming to an end, and the horses were taking advantage of a
cropping of grass.

“Who’s been staying here?” he wondered aloud.

The gilded mirror wasn’t something he would have
associated with Heremon. The frame was rather ornate. It was hanging at a slant
and Quinlan reached to right it, his gaze on the reflection of the windows and
horses. The mirror wouldn’t move,. He tugged the edge a bit harder and realized
it wasn’t hanging on the wall but was fixed to it.

A commotion in the next room made him wince. Sounded
like an upturned table. Breanne would have his hide for bringing these brutes
here. He decided the room held little more than evidence that someone had cared
enough to clean all but the candle in it. He turned to leave when something
glinted bluish in the mirror, catching his eye. He turned back to it, trying to
find the glint again. He angled this way and that, but again, only the horses
and tree line were there.

“Quinlan!” Seamus called from somewhere in the home.

“Aye?”

“You find anything of interest, friend?”

He squinted at the mirror’s frame, deciding that
perhaps it was just a trick of the light. “Nay. You?”

“Jamison has. Take a look, eh?”

Quinlan tipped his head and stepped away, then saw it
again. It was a reflection, not the gilded mirror at all. Something was
on—in?—the wall. He spun around. “Sure, sure,” he called. “Be right
there.” He nudged the door so that it closed a bit. Then he moved to the wall,
where he ran his hands down the rough wood framework of the window. Somewhere
in the knotty surface lay a gemstone of some sort. Something bluish.

Where was it? He touched and pushed and fingered the
seams along the corner where the glint had come from. He peered closely, but
could see nothing. Footsteps drew near. Seamus pushed his way in. “What’ve you
got there?”

Quinlan straightened, shaking his head. “Trick of the
eye, is all.” He headed past Seamus. “What did Jamison find?”

“This,” Seamus said, a scroll held high in his fist.

“May I?”

Seamus handed it over. “I’ll be telling Niall the
blood is bovine.”

Quinlan’s eyebrows shot up. He paused in unrolling the
delicate parchment. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Look for yerself,” Seamus said, folding his arms and
widening his stance.

Unrolling the remainder of the long scroll, Quinlan
made out the hand-drawn figure of a man in a bull skull mask. The rite flashed
bright in his memory. “Where did he find it?” Moreover, how did this drawing
explain the blood?

“In the wall near the fire,” Seamus said with a nod.
“A loose board.”

Well, that explained the commotion. “What led him to
check the wall?”

“A bloody handprint.” Seamus’ voice became slower and
more pronounced with each answer, as though he was explaining matters to a
child.

Quinlan didn’t know whether to be amused or bemused at
the man’s tone. “A bloody handprint leads to a hidden cavity in a wall where
this lay inside. Is that the right of it?”

“Aye.”

“Blood, cow, slaughter?” He supposed there was a loose
enough association to settle on an animal death. There was naught to suggest
otherwise.

“And the small matter of McKee finding a pile of
hooves and limbs buried just inside that thicket,” he said, clapping Quinlan on
the shoulder. “Looks to me like someone’s been taking advantage of Heremon’s
empty abode and needs to work on their slaughter skills. Aye, aye. But dinna
feel bad, Quinlan. Any of us would have mistook that mess for murder, too.”

Quinlan nodded thoughtfully. Something about the
deduction felt off, but he couldn’t place what. His pride certainly wouldn’t
bruise over being entirely wrong. He should be relieved that it was animal
blood, and that the rite could be explained. Whoever had been here and
participated in the rite would need to move on to another shelter. Mayhap that
placed the cattle out of harm’s way.