Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II) (5 page)

Her
eyes narrowed, but she took it slowly, carefully. The hem nearly dragged into
the water. Quinlan ducked to grab it lest it get wet. She jerked backward,
flinging the mantle out of reach, then hugging onto it.

“What
is her name?”

That
made her nostrils flare. She considered him a moment. “Maera.”

“Was
she on foot or astride?”

Again,
she considered him, her bearing distrustful. “On foot.” She nodded. “Aye, on
foot. Of course.” She wrapped the mantle around her shoulders and strode to the
shore. She began scanning the ground.

For
signs of her missing friend? He supposed it mattered not. Let her look for
pixies for all he cared, so long as she didna force him into a midnight swim.
The cold night air penetrated his deerskin vest and wool tunic. Better to keep
moving than to stand about and freeze. He followed her, imitating her, looking
for evidence of trespassing.

Why
Ailyn only looked along the shore couldn’t be accounted for, but once she tired
of the search, mayhap she would concede his escorting her to safety.

Nigh
full around the small pond, Ailyn halted. “I can’t understand it. No sign of
her at all? Is there another pool near here? Another body of water to be had?”

“There
is naught but the sea.” He drew a bit closer. “Pray tell, why do you only look
for her near the water?”

She
liked that question not a bit. “I have to find her.”

“Aye,
and I’d like to help but it seems deeper in the wood is a wiser bet. She can’t
have gotten far. If we each scan—”

“Why
do you care?” she said, stepping forward so that the light of the moon showed
the green of her eyes, lighting her deep red hair.

What
did she mean, why? What sort of man would he be to simply leave her? “It appears
I’ve a penchant for lasses in distress.”

That
pricked her temper nicely. She set her mouth and put her hands on her hips. “I
thank you for stopping me from walking to that fire, but I’m fully capable of
fending on my own. I dinna want nor need your help.”

“So
you keep insisting.” Better angry than frantic. “I beg to differ, lass.”

She
took the mantle off, wadded it up, and tossed it to him. Quinlan caught it with
a low chuckle. The heat of her temper shone in her eyes, yet that wariness
remained. He scared her? Was that it? Still, afeared of him, she held her
ground. Och, but a firebrand, this one.

She
opened her mouth to speak, her finger pointing when both her words and her
gesture were forgotten. Her head tipped. “D’you hear that?”

He
heard naught but the leaves, the distant hum of the rite. If he listened even
harder, the very distant hush of the sea. Or did he only imagine hearing the
sea, knowing it was close? The rite grew silent, and Quinlan didn’t know
whether to be relieved or concerned.

“They’ve
ended the ceremony, lass. We must not linger.”

“There,”
she said. “Maera?” She scanned a nearby thicket, palming her blade. “Maera, can
you hear me?”

Then
Quinlan heard it, too. A small whimper.

Ailyn
walked like a huntress searching out prey. Quinlan joined her search, his gaze
scouring for the form of a woman. He listened for another sound. Another
whimper.

“Maera,
please, can you hear me?”

The
pain in her voice—the alarm—wanted to grip him, too. A disturbing
thought echoed in his mind. The rite ended, but it had stirred something dark.
He could feel something turning the air. His mind couldn’t reason it, but his
gut warned louder and louder—something was coming.

“There!”
He saw movement. Ailyn looked where he pointed. She rushed to the spot before he
could warn her to take care. He joined her side. Despite the darkness, he
recognized the scarlet of blood. The woman’s pale gown was soaked in it.

“Maera,
no. Please, no. What have you done?” Ailyn touched the woman’s shoulder,
pulling it, but rather than to lay her on her back, to view it.

Two
long gashes broke the creamy surface of Maera’s skin, the source of the
bleeding. Ailyn tore at her tunic and pressed it to the cuts to stanch the
bleeding. All she seemed able to say was, “No.” Over and again. A command.
“No.”

The
woman’s face was ashen, her breathing shallow. She lay on brilliant, filmy
fabric that was also covered in blood. No, not fabric. More like…wings. A
costume of some sort.

The
prickling air stole in around them. An alluring warmth came with it. The
sensation could not be what he imagined. Surely, merely a storm brewed on the
horizon. “Here,” Quinlan said, and interceded. He scooped up the woman and
wrapped his mantle around her. “We canno’ stay here, lass. I feel a rain
approaching. We must get to shelter.”

She
pinned him with a wide-eyed stare. “You don’t understand. Her win—she’s
hurt. I must get her back. Now. She’ll die if I don’t.” Emotion choked her
words. “Please, help me get her to the water.”

“The
water? Are ye mad? She’ll drown to be sure. Nay.” He tightened his hold on the
woman his arms. He’d be damned if he’d let her bleed her death. Tir Conaill was
too far on foot. Had he not followed Ailyn, he’d have an inkling of where his
horse might still be tethered.

Ailyn
pulled at his shoulder, shaking her head. “You cannot take her. You do not
understand. Please!”

“Follow
if ye wish, lass, but I’ll not see her drowning and if ye stay, find you they
will. The worshippers or the storm. But they’ll not find her.”

He
strode east, away from the thickening heat that filled his gut with dread. The
woman lay as a dead weight in his arms and the ground seemed to conspire
against his feet. Nay, ’twas the darkness trying to stop him.

On
a pained groan, Ailyn followed, breathing hard. Again, she pulled on his bicep,
coming to stand in front of him, making a sorry attempt to take the woman from
his arms. “She’ll die!” Authority rang in her words.

A
deeper authority overruled hers. Her fear and pain stabbed him with guilt. But
if he trusted his feel for the land he’d known all his life, he’d find their
way to his steed, then onward to Breanne’s. “I’ll fetch her a healer. You’ve no
call to trust me, Ailyn, I ken that. But I’m asking you to anyway.”

The
dark feeling and warmth neared enough to feel like a bog pulling his legs under
him. Quinlan growled, refusing to give in to the burn in his thigh muscles and
biceps. He searched her stare. “That rite wrought a dark force to life, lass. I
can feel it coming. If you’ve any sense in your head, believe me or not, but I
implore you—run!”

Ailyn’s
gaze widened as though she thought him mad. “Run?”

“Aye.
Run!”

Her
mouth parted but she had no words. Her eyes went from his to the woman in his
arms to the woods.

Again,
he felt the eerie claw of danger looming closer. “Do not fear for your friend.
I’ll follow. I swear it.”

With
one backward glance, Ailyn ran. She moved as lithely as a doe. She ran, leapt,
and within a few fast breaths, disappeared beyond a copse of trees. The
darkness thickened, visible now. A greenish gray fog unfurling along the
ground, slinking toward his booted feet. His stomach turned.

The
weight in his arms felt to double. Triple. Every step took more effort.

He’d
failed to witness the full rite, so he couldn’t begin to surmise its purpose.
What did he know of the old ways beyond the snatches of stories Breanne had
shared in her training? He could tell Niall O’Donnell why the clan’s herd had
lost numbers. His king should have sent a
galloglas
for this deed. Such a trivial thing to think of now as the thick stuff flowed
around his calves, curling forth, feeling the area.

Like
sludge, it seeped upward. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his word to
Ailyn. But he’d die trying. His only relief was knowing that Ailyn had fled.
She’d heeded his warning. Even stranger than the possessive relief was a
thought that echoed in his head—
protect
her with your life.

The
thought unnerved him. The unearthly sensation that surrounded it sent his mind
reeling, too. Certainty over whom it referred to dug deep inside him. The
thought did not refer to the woman in his arms. But to the one who fled. If the
notion was true, if Brigit or even the Lord Christ himself had bestowed on him
such a task, only one question remained.

How
could he keep such a flighty yet headstrong lass such as Ailyn safe?

Chapter Four

Ailyn
ran. She didn’t know where she could end up or when to stop, but the look in
the man’s eyes as he spoke those words shot through her mind to pierce her
heart. He’d sensed something. Danger? Why hadn’t she sensed as much? She did
not like this human world where she felt surrounded in silence.

The
gathering at the fire. Skins for skirts. Her shoulder throbbed. She dared one
glance back. Wait, where was he? Why had he not followed? She came up short,
regret hitting her full force.

What
had she done?

She’d
abandoned Maera. She’d trusted a mortal. He’d fooled her! When he had merely
eyed Maera’s beautiful torn wings, she thought perhaps he was as he said. Only
interested in aiding her. For no other purpose save honor. She put her fists to
her temples, swearing to the goddesses.

He’d
tricked her! Shame washed her cheeks in heat. No, surely not. If he wanted
faerie bones, two were certainly better than one. Stealing Maera went against
what his actions showed, too. Logic argued that had he sought Maera all along,
he’d have been keener on looking in the first place. Yet he’d treated Ailyn as
one would an errant child. He done naught but protected her, albeit a bit
forcefully.

Much
like she’d attempted to protect Maera.

The
force he’d warned was coming for them…could magick like that exist here in the
mortal realm? Could it be so powerful as to hinder a man so clearly well built
and trained for battle?

She
had to go back and find them. Ailyn spun, searching the shadows for signs of
him. Maera’s dress would catch moonlight despite the shadows. Despite the
blood. By Bridget, the blood. So much blood. Her wings were all but severed.
The most sacred sign of her noble birthright, cut through. From the passage? By
the gatherers?

Ailyn
had utterly failed her duty. Failed her brother and her childhood friend.

She’d
failed the guard, the queen, and the entire kingdom.

Returning
in the direction she’d come, Ailyn stalked carefully, looking, praying for a
glimpse of Maera’s raven hair or the man’s broad shoulders. Her bare feet were
almost numb and certainly cut. This was all his fault. If he’d let her be, she
could have brought Maera to the water. Ready for the veil. Aye, that is what
she should have done. His damned obstinate stance. As domineering as any Fae
Northman. He should have left well enough alone.

No,
the fault was her own. She should have left Maera, then led the guard back to
the glade. If not all of the men, at least Colm. She should have dragged Maera
out from the first or called out for someone, or swam faster. She should have
accepted what Maera had in mind. She should be better at this after so many
months of training.

A
branch snapped and the sound echoed through the quiet stillness. Ailyn froze.
Chills prickled her skin. How different this wood felt compared to home. She
could not feel this place inside of her. No tingle. No warmth. A low growl
pierced the quiet and brought her up short. The throb in her shoulder stabbed
to her stomach where it beat low, hard. The growl was close and sounded like
none she’d heard afore.

Ailyn
held her breath. She stood very still, scanning the trees and shadows.
Something moved. The outline of a deep gray wolf emerged no more than a furlong
in front of her.

A
scream climbed up her throat, only to stick there. She tightened her fist
around the hilt of her dagger. The wolf, as large as any she’d ever seen,
inched closer. Again, it growled, its hackles rising. Fangs baring.
Dinna run. Dinna show fear.
Ailyn backed
up a step, two, three. Something met her heel. She backed over it daring not to
look at what she hoped amounted as nothing more than a gnarly root.

The
wolf tipped its puckered snout to the sky. Its fangs were pale silver blades in
the darkness. Blood showed on its mouth. Maera’s torn wings flashed in her
mind’s eye. Her beautiful wings. The beast’s howl ripped through the still air
and sent terror trampling over every thought in Ailyn’s head. She turned. Every
brown-blooded Fae knew outrunning a wild creature was impossible, yet she could
not stop her legs from attempting just that. She fumbled forward, panting. She
tripped over a rocky outcropping, cutting her palms when she hit the ground.

The
beast’s huffing breaths closed in. She righted herself and plowed onward.

The
wolf growled at her heels. Ailyn screamed. She could not outrun the wolf. But
she wouldna let it kill her. She halted and tucked low, dagger in hand. She
rolled onto her back, blocking her face with one hand and aimed to plunge into
its ribs, to where its heart would beat its last.

Her
back hit the ground, but the teeth her arm anticipated did not come. Neither
did the press of flesh under her knife afore it popped through. The wolf’s paws
hit her chest, knocking the air from her. It captured her wrist in its mouth.
But no pain came save from her fall. Ailyn gasped, shocked.

Steamy
puffs hit her face. Its nostrils flared. Its deep, amber eyes bore into hers,
but it did not bite through her arm. Ailyn’s hand shook, her dagger shaking
with it. She readied to kill it but something stayed her hand. The wolf
growled. Her wits collected enough for her to make a fist, thankful to her
brother for day after day, hour after hour of his tutelage. The beast was no
straw man and her favored hand wasna tied behind her back.

Her
good hand was free. Ailyn curled a fist and punched the wolf in the face. Her
knuckles crunched with pain. With a grunt, its jaws tightened on her arm. Pain
shot up the length under its bite. Then doubled when its mouth went slack.

“Oomph.”
The wolf collapsed atop her, crushing her brief moment of wonder over her own
feat.

Ailyn
wriggled to free herself. When it lurched to one side, she thought it was
awaking. She drew her fist back again. Instead, the stranger stood above her.

“Hell’s
fury,” he said, staring at the fallen wolf, his chest heaving. “You clobbered
it.”

Ailyn
got to her feet, not sure whether to be happy to see him, or to clobber him as
well. “I’m lucky to be alive, no thanks to you, and that’s all you have to
say?”

He
gave her a withering look, adjusting Maera in his arms. “Are trouble and you
bedfellows, lass, or do I get to add ‘cursed’ to my list of attributes?”

He
set off, stepping over the wolf with as much concern as he might give a tree
stump. Ailyn sheathed her dagger and followed, the glow of her narrow triumph
receding fast. The wolf was enormous. How she had managed to knock the animal
out she’d have to evaluate later, once life returned to some semblance of
normality.

She
caught up with Quinlan and Maera. “Where are you taking her?” She dared not ask
him what had taken him so long. Because she’d then recall how foolish she’d
felt in thinking he’d lied to her. And feel shameful all over again that he
hadn’t.

“The
O’Donnell tuath isna far.” He whistled and clucked his tongue, gaze darting.

Ailyn
was reminded of her fellow guard calling his stallion. This world of mortals
was proving uncomfortably similar to her own. “You’ve a horse with you?”

“Aye.
A true boon it would be if
ye’d
help me find him,
’ere my arms give out completely.”

Her
gaze went to his arms. The muscles strained, bulging, making her belly quiver.
The banquet, Maera, the veil, the wolf. The chaos was showing its marks on her
awareness. The mere sight of a man’s arms shouldna affect her so. Neither
should the sight of his strained, muscled neck. She tore her gaze away,
searching for a horse.

She
probably should have slain that wolf. Too late now. Ah, but if her brother
could see her now. Years’ worth of training, forgotten in the face of trouble.
First, going to the glade on her own, then allowing Maera to pass the veil.
Trusting a mortal who certainly would kill for her meager magick—which
was proving nonexistent here anyhow.

The
mess she’d made. How would she ever begin to right so many wrongs? She could
start with returning her liege home. Safely. Without getting them both
slaughtered and in time to prevent a total collapse of the century-long,
four-tribe alliance.

“I
ken you’ve had a rough go of it, Ailyn, but we’ll be needing our wits about us,
you and me, if we’re to make it away from that power.”

Ailyn’s
cheeks heated over the dash of salt to her wounded pride. Were her ruminations
so transparent? She set her chin high and scanned the wood, treading with care
and in step with him. “Can you call it to you again?”

The
hard look he gave her softened by degrees. He clucked and whistled again. His
arms shook with strain. A low, mournful howl sounded. His gaze shifted. “You
didn’t kill the wolf,” he said and laid Maera gently onto the ground. “It will
be coming for you.”

“Coming
for me?” she sputtered. Aye, she should have slit its throat. Nothing to do but
right the mistake. She grabbed her dagger and strode to the wood.

Quinlan
grabbed her arm. “There is no time. I know of a place where we can find cover,
but I’ll need your help, lass.”

“Not
lass. Ailyn,” she said, too late realizing how petulant her correction must
seem, all events considered. “What do you need of me?”

He
hesitated a moment. “Fine. Ailyn. If we’re to be familiar, call me Quinlan.
Keep watch for your wolf as I attempt a fool’s trick.”

Ailyn
frowned but nodded all the same. A fool’s trick did not rouse much confidence.
Mankind had no magick left. She could actually feel just how little remained,
and he would ask the goddesses for a fool’s trick? She might be better off
carrying Maera herself.

But
she had agreed, and setting off in this similar but foreign world might get her
killed all the same.

One
thing did console her. Her sword arm had recovered enough from the wolf’s
attack, the wound now at a mere throb. If the wolf came, she’d not fail again.

Maera
lay very still, barely breathing. The man knelt at the base of a tree, shaking
his head. Ailyn shook her head as well. His wide shoulders were at odds with
the slender trunk and low hanging branches. She was beginning to see what he
meant by a fool’s trick. This fool had no idea how to beckon the power of the
wood. Not that she could do better in either realm. It pained her to watch as
he retrieved a short tallow and placed it on the ground, murmuring words as he
attempted to do what she couldn’t guess. Light its flame, perhaps?

Did
mortals have magick after all? She watched and waited, feeling the air for the
prickle of an incantation. She felt naught but the damp cold.

A
stillness settled around them, though. The kind of stillness that hearkens a
storm. Ailyn bent to Maera, checking her breathing, her wounds. Her pallor
remained, and these moments felt a waste. “Perchance I can take a turn carrying
her.”

He
shook his head, waving her off.

Ailyn
stepped around so that she could see his profile. He had his eyes closed. He
whispered words she could not understand. It was no wonder mankind had lost its
connection. Look at how they went about it! “What are ye trying to conjure
there,” she asked, the urge to take Maera on her own increasing moment by
moment.

He
glanced up at her, frustration masking his face. “I grew up hearing of the old
ways. It’s a protection spell,” he admitted and lo but, he clearly hated his
honesty.

“You’ll
never accomplish it if you dinna even believe it exists,” she said. She wanted
to say more, far more. But she could not risk his discovering who she truly
was. “Have ye never done such a thing?”

He
got to his feet looking ready to kick the tree over.

“The
wolf is the least of my concern. A wolf I can handle. I ken you can as well.
But everything in me warns me against that force.” His eyes glittered in the
dark.

Her
throat went a little dry. “Force?”

“You
dinna feel it then? Did not see it?” He ran both hands through his hair. He
looked to the trees, to Maera, closing his eyes as though desperate for some
measure of patience. “It sounds mad. I ken as much.”

Ailyn
swallowed. The old ways. Fae ways. Her ways. Before the goddess cleaved their
worlds in two, the only way to protect the magickal from the non. Except some
magick remained. That which mankind grubbed away before the veil sealed shut.
And mankind missed the magick. So much that they would kill for it given the
chance.

“No.
I believe you.” She should sense it, too. She should feel things. The breath of
life in these trees, the whisper of an answer to her questions. Was it this
place...or was it her? What might the veil have robbed her of?

How
could she evade a dark force she could not feel? How could she possibly save
Maera in a world that did not speak to her?

He
faced her. “I will not boast of having any talent in the old ways. I thought
perhaps…it matters not now.” He shook his head. With a frustrated sigh, he
retrieved the tallow, putting it back inside a small satchel at his waist.