Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II) (4 page)

He
didn’t look like the others. No mask, no paint, no ugliness to speak of. He
looked as brown-blooded Fae as herself. The realization gave her pause enough
that her fight weakened. His face drew close to hers.

His
odd-colored eyes narrowed. “If you value yer pretty neck, lass, you’ll shut up
and stop resisting me.”

~

Quinlan
meant every word he spoke. Her every squeak put their lives in mortal danger.

Yet
the fool lass wriggled, bucked, and tried to stab Quinlan with her small blade
again. He dodged it, then stood with her in tow. He forced her back a few
steps, deeper into the shadows. He didna have the patience left for any more
surprises this night. First, the dark rite, discovered nearly by happenstance.
Then seeing exactly what end the king’s lifted cattle had been meeting and why.
Now this fool woman about to walk into the middle of it all.

Unless
she was part of them.

Nay.
Her reaction to the scene told him otherwise.

A
low din arose from the gathering. Chanting, dancing. The low beat of a bodhran.
Whatever other explanation for a lass wandering the wood in the wee hours of
dawn she might have, he’d be hearing it later.

“Shh,”
he hissed at her ear, knocking her blade to the ground. “You’re either one of
them and I’ll be forced to bind and gag ye, or you’re about to walk into death
itself.” She struggled less. “The choice is yours, but know you’ll not be
taking me with you.”

She
seemed to have come out of the shadows themselves, only to fight him like a
wild thing.

He
pinned her chest to his, gripping her mouth anew. She went still. But her gaze
lit with defiance. He knew the look. Fighting fear itself, she was.

Quinlan
held her dainty wrists tight, but not so tight as to cut the lass’ blood supply
from her cold, wet hands. The distant bonfire’s roar and crackle competed with
the low chanting. Nary a lull. Good. Had either of them been detected, an outcry
would have risen, a charge of fury to follow.

He’d
seen men killed over far less than witnessing a secret rite with stolen cattle.
Until she’d walked toward that fire, theft and attempts at the old ways
appeared to be all that was afoot. Now, his gut swore more. More than stolen
cattle. More than an ancient reenactment.

“If
I release you, will you be silent?”

She
jerked her head from side to side.

“Good.
Lest you be lying, know this. If you holler like a banshee, I’ll not be leaving
your side.” He let his words sink in. “If they find you, they’ll be finding me,
too. I’m only one man to take on so many.”

She
nodded.

Warily,
he released her. She spun on him.

The
look in her eyes told him she had it in her heart to slit his throat clean. Who
was she? It mattered little, he supposed and the tense set to her mouth spoke
volumes. Somewhere on the freezing autumn ground, her blade had landed.

He
drew closer, hoping she would see his eyes and appreciate his gravity. “Whoever
you are, you’ll be killed if ye stay. Go back whence you came, lass, if you
value your life or your virtue.”

Anger
narrowed her eyes. “Neither matter is your concern.”

“True
enough. And I’ve little patience for fools. You’ve clearly little sense to be
wandering about in the dead of night.”

“Let
me pass, or else!” Her voice went shrill despite her near whisper. She
attempted to stride past him.

Quinlan
blocked her way. “Or else? Have you any idea what you are walking into, lass?”

“Ailyn
is my name, not lass, and I’ll thank you to mind it. I care not what I nearly
walked into, nor do I intend to. I’ve far more pressing matters to attend to.”
Again, she strode. “Life and virtue matters.”

Again,
he blocked. “Well,
Ailyn
, forgive me
if I dinna trust your sensibilities at the moment. You’re soaked through,
beyond disheveled, and in a fuss.” Wet tendrils escaped her long, thick braid.
Her pants might be protecting her, but her tunic clung to her like a second
skin. “Have ye gone daft and been swimming?” He shook his head. “I’ll be damned
if I leave your pretty neck vulnerable to the slaughter.”

The
only boon her determination awarded was that each step drew them further from
the rite, deeper into the wood’s concealment. She sidestepped him again, but a
hint of a humor teased one side of her mouth. Or was that more anger?

She
widened her stance and afore he could predict what she was about, she kicked at
his face, her heel aimed at his throat. Quinlan barely dodged the kick, more
surprised at it than anything. He stepped into a drop swing and braced his arms
around her. His shoulder hit the ground. With a twist and a buck, she flung him
off of her and scrambled to her feet.

“This
should serve me a fine lesson in chivalry.” Quinlan rubbed his jaw where her
foot had whacked, and he couldn’t help but be a mite impressed. He towered her
by a head at least. She made up for the lack in height with sheer bravado,
though. “Nicely done, lass. I’ve no desire to imprison you, but I’ll not let
you pass, either.”

She
threw her arms up in exasperation. The hum and beating grew louder in the
distance. “I value my life plenty and can protect it better than you ever
could. I warn you. You are interfering with official matters.”

“I’ll
happily cease. Simply turn back whence you came,” he said, getting to his feet.

She
looked naught but ready for battle now. “How long have you been here, in this
spot? Did you see anyone else pass here?”

The
tremor in her voice revealed the fear her bravado masked. Scared yet
courageous. Trembling, but fighting still. She’d lost someone, then. It would
explain her daft behavior. “None but you, lass. Who is it that you seek?”

For
a moment he thought she’d bury her face in her hands to cry. Instead, she
squared her shoulders and contemplated him a moment. Thankful he was for it,
too. He couldn’t abide a crying female and with a mouth that lush, he’d end up
kissing every tear away. Kiss? Quinlan shook that idiot idea off fast.

The
low hum from a
carnyx
carried on the breeze like a
warning call. Leave here, it whispered. A swift departure was in order. The
ceremony had begun.

He’d
no call to keep her in conversation. Particularly, with attempts at darker arts
under way. Few knew of the true old ways and perhaps even those knew not what
power could be conjured in them. But the participants believed, and Quinlan had
firsthand knowledge of what desperate acts mankind was capable of when clinging
to beliefs.

He’d
no call to force her to leave, but would, if she didna of her own accord. He’d
discovered what he’d come for. His king would not be pleased, but at least he’d
be satisfied.

The
music lifted, louder, sweeping through the air, its magick carrying close. Some
sort of energy prickled over his arms. She must have felt it, too, because her
eyes widened, her gaze darted about from her arms to the trees to the fire.

“
Gabh
!” she called, her palm outstretched.

Quinlan
scowled. What was she attempting? Speaking the old tongue, treating the word as
only an Ovate would. Like a command. He’d witnessed Breanne attempting the
enchantment more times than he could recall, years ago. When nothing happened,
Ailyn repeated the words in a hiss. Panic laced her features and he guessed
that which she sought.

Her
blade.

Seeing
the glint of the handle, Quinlan kicked his toe beneath it. It rose in the air
between them. He caught it first. Her eyes widened. He offered it to her on an
open palm. A treaty of sorts, he hoped. Yet she didn’t take her dagger.

The
prickle of the energy in the air irritated his skin and sent his heart racing.
A stark thought seeped through.
What if
the rite held real power?
“We must leave here. Our skins will be safer deep
into the woods. Away with me now, lest they find us here. Whoever you’ve lost,
I’ll help find.”

She
tipped her head. Had she no sense? He’d be damned if he’d take her over his
shoulder and run with her screaming like a banshee. The deep thump of a bodhran
startled her. Her gaze darted to the bonfire, its flames just visible through
the few trees.

She
grabbed for her blade, then retreated, frowning. “I have to find someone,” she
said.

Quinlan
closed the space between them, and took hold of her upper arm. “Whoever it is,
they are not here. As I said, none have passed.”

She
wrested it free, looking at him like one would a snake. “I must look elsewhere,
then.”

Turning
on her heel, she strode back into the woods.

“Not
on your own, you won’t.” He could just imagine the lass winding through the
trees only to emerge on the other side of the rite, ripe for the plucking. “If
you’ll listen to sense, I’m offering help.”

“I
neither want nor need your help!”

But
her voice belied that with every passing moment her fears grew. Her confidence
didna falter in her skills. She looked as much a warrior as any he’d man on in
a raid with the skills to match. What scared her, then? He knew better than to
test a man, or a woman’s pride. The prickle on his arms pinched. Whatever
enchantments the rite might have stumbled into, the sensation in the air grew,
too.

“Let
us away from this,” he said, attempting a placating tone and failing miserably.
“Once safe, I vow we shall find your friend. This land is my home. I know it
well. Agreed?”

 
She didn’t like it. The set of her jaw
said as much, but after a moment she acquiesced and followed him when he
stalked into the wood. The prickle in the air receded, along with the hum and
roar. He took them deeper still. They’d near the cliffs soon. The sea’s briny
scent hung heavier in the air.

Through
the winding path amid the trees, in the damp air, wet as she was, she kept up.
More impressively, she cooperated, following, only glancing about a bit. Not a
single protest. A new sound carried to his ears. The faint crash of the ocean.
Slieve
League cliffs.

“A
bit further is all....” He paused, looked.

She
was gone.

He
spun right, left, again. Around. “Lass?” he called low, insistent. The air hung
still as a frozen pond. They’d escaped the dark magick, he was certain, yet
where could she have gone to? Quinlan stepped carefully back through the dense
patch of trees, listening for signs of her. Breathing, movement, anything.

A
tight, high-pitched scream rent the air. Quinlan’s stomach fell. He stalked
through the thicket. “Lass? Answer me. Ailyn?” If they’d found her, made off
with her, he couldna live with himself. “Lass,” he called out in a deep bellow.
A faint answer. He brushed limb after limb away, the branches snapping,
scratching. He stumbled toward the sound of her voice, through a patch of trees
and into a clearing.

“Maera,”
she called out.

He
turned toward the sound. She swirled into view, seemingly from the shadows of
the trees, thick locks of her hair swinging free of her braid. But her cheeks
were no longer dry. “It’s gone,” she said upon seeing him.

“What
is gone?”

Shaking
her head, she walked into the water. “How can it be gone?”

“Are
ye daft? Come out of the water.”

She
waded further in, sweeping her hands through it, sending waves and ripples over
the inky, moonlit surface. Quinlan strode to the water’s edge. Over the
shoulder like a barbarian it was, then. He’d have to carry her kicking and
screaming. And newly wet.

Ah,
but the fear she’d struck through him, and yet the relief, even now as she
kicked and tossed at the pool. He could throttle her.

He
approached her as he would a wounded deer. “What is gone?”

She
threw her hands out in despair. “She has to be here.”

“If
she passed this way, we’ll find her.” His toes ached just looking at her in the
shining ripples. She must be numb through. “Come out of the water, Ailyn.”

“Find
her?” she asked, coming forward a step. “How?”

Aye,
that was it. Lure her to safety. Far better a pixie to deal with than a
banshee. “Whoever it is you were calling. You asked if had I seen another.”

Her
eyebrows knit together. “You...would help me find her?”

“Aye,
but only if you come out of the water.”

An
odd look it was that she gave him, but she complied. Sloshing, she walked out
of the pool, sending more moonlit ripples. The distant thrum faded. Quinlan
took off his mantle, offering it to her. The odd look deepened. Mayhap not odd,
considering how harsh he’d been with her. In all his life he could not place a
single female, save his sister and mum, having looked at him so suspiciously.
Not merely of his intentions, which she doubted obviously enough. But also, she
questioned his skill.

He
wasn’t out to prove himself. Just to protect her from herself. He pushed the
wool at her again. “We’ll not be searching far nor wide if you freeze to your
death, lass.”