Irish Moon (12 page)

“I canno’ presume to guess at Shane’s motives
in bringing you this or speculate why it’s delivery would cause you
suspicion.” Her chin rose. “I will have it back, if you please, my
lord.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed on her. “My men
searched Heremon’s by the light of day, Breanne. Among other
curiosities, this knife was found, sheathed in the ground within a
whispers distance of the departed’s front door,” he said in a
furious whisper.

Breanne’s mouth fell open. “Mark me, my lord,
it is not possible. I left it on the ground as I said. Whomever
brought violence upon Heremon, must have found my boline and left
it apurpose.”

“How did you come by this weapon?” He sat
again and it eased some of her fear.

“Heremon,” Breanne said and her voice
trembled. “I have two matching knives. The one you held, I carry as
protection. The other is my athame.”

Niall sighed and scratched his head. “Where
and how in the name of our lord did Shane know it to be yours?”

Breanne shook her head from side to side,
slowly. Shane MacSweeney might gaze upon her now and then but in
all her days, they’d spoken no more than a handful of occasions. “I
canno’ guess, my lord.” She took a shaky breath. “I do not know.
Mayhap the two are independent of one another?”

Niall considered this, tapped the arm of the
chair with a thick finger.

“Is it possible he’s heard of my being the
one who found Heremon? Could he be begging off upon hearing such
tittle-tattle?” Breanne knew it was a reach, but took it, desperate
to keep his questions away from that night and all the details
she’d omitted. Omissions she didn’t trust herself to succinctly
recall under this level of duress.

Niall winced, a small crinkling formed around
his eyes. “I will look into it.” He sounded appeased.

Breanne slouched a bit, the pressure and fear
dissipated by his words and tone. For a moment, she thought he
might be set on accusing her of Heremon’s death. If he did so, her
only help would be from a talking cat she hadn’t seen since
yesterday morn or a sick stranger she hadn’t returned to assess.
The former would likely show up bedraggled with splotches of memory
loss. The latter could be roaming the countryside.

When Ula had whispered the summons to her an
hour prior, Breanne had prepared herself to ask for more time to
choose a husband given the recent tragedy. Now, as she watched
Niall puzzle over his erroneous conclusions, eyeing her in turns
but remaining uncomfortably silent, she cared less about marriage
than ever before.

She would marry a mule rather than face that
tone and look of betrayal again. But, he’d believed her and was all
she cared for.

“I should have inspected the area myself,” he
said. “Third hand information muddies waters that would have been
clear had I studied the area firsthand.” He seemed to address
himself more than her. “I propose I shall do just that at the
earliest I may.”

“My lord?” Breanne hoped she’d misconstrued
his ramblings.

Niall looked up at her as though suddenly
recalling she still sat in wait for his dismissal.

“Notwithstanding, Breanne. MacSweeney is no
longer a suitor and as you did not know of his intention
originally, there will be no remorse for lack of interest now, do
you hear?”

Breanne nodded. Bowed and retreated, she
exhaled loudly and the exasperated sound echoed off the corridor
walls. At least he’d not asked she swear by her statements. The
lord surely would have struck her down for taking his name so
vainly under the guise of protection. She entered her chamber and
strapped the returned weapon to her thigh.

If Niall chose to investigate Heremon’s
personally, how much time did she have to remove the stranger, she
ruminated? Two days and nights had passed since last she saw him.
She had left the note along with provisions. Might he be well and
gone? Breanne’s belly flipped. She would likely not see him again
if he left.

The afternoon clouds dimmed the sunlight. She
could not wait until nightfall. If she went to him, it needed to be
soon. In the years she’d known him Niall did not practice
procrastination.

Breanne went to her window and measured the
drop below. At least four cubits, she estimated, to the ground.
Luckily, her narrow window faced the rear of the keep and the
bailey there generally sat empty. If she missed the evening meal,
her mother would look in on her. Unless….

She eyed her bed a moment then stuffed the
plump covers with three gowns, shaping them to look like a sleeping
form. Satisfied, Breanne nodded at her handiwork. Now all she
needed was an accomplice. Only one name came to mind among those
she could implicitly trust. He was one person Ula would not
distrust, who would also not question her, nor try to dissuade
her.

Ula secretly spoiled the boy like a
grandchild but without any signs of public affection or approval.
Danny had seemed to learn early her mother played by rules with
him. Breanne never wondered at the private affection, what she saw
as respect for his mother’s role. Danny’s mother loved him to the
moon and stars and back again. Breanne kept her affection discreet
at first as well, following her mother’s lead but soon realized she
didn’t need to.

That boy was loved and coddled by so many
women, the one that ended up with his heart would have extreme
standards to live up to. Breanne hurried before she changed her
mind about embroiling the boy in her well-meaning deceit.

She descended the stairs two at a time and
spotted Danny right away. As she made her way to him though, Rose
called to her from the Grianan entrance. Breanne stopped, torn
between her plan and appearing suspicious to her friend. Danny’s
attention was rapt in play with a boy two years senior. Elias, she
believed was his name. Rose beckoned.

Breanne hid her defeat as best she could and
walked to Rose. The youngest of Rose’s four girls sat upon her wide
hip inside the doorway. When she saw Breanne, Kimber reached for
her gleefully. “Beene,” she said, one of the six words the toddler
knew.

How could she feel overly disappointed with
such a welcome? Breanne took the child to her, smooching her chubby
cheek noisily.

“So?” Rose looked at her expectantly. “What
did the auld Donnell have to tell you this time?” she
whispered.

Breanne followed her into the room, gaining a
few glances from the other women busy spinning, sewing, mending.
The other children paid her little mind, though Rose had another
older girl, Sheena, at her hip straight away.

“Nothing of import,” she whispered back as
they sat in Rose’s usual corner. Breanne adjusted Kimber on her
lap.

“Do you have to keep all of it to yourself,
then? Every last bit. Can’t you spare a wee bit for my hungry
ears?”

Breanne smiled at her dramatic tone. Ryan
must be out scouting, for she only got this way when he first left
her. She wished she could unload some of her burden on Rose. “Shane
MacSweeney is no longer interested in asking for my hand,” she said
low, with a shrug.

Rose inhaled sharply and Breanne stifled a
guffaw at her friend’s greedy curiosity. “He was at a time then?
Interested in you?”

“Aye, apparently. But, he’s changed heart
just today.” She retrieved a tunic to fold from the basket at
Rose’s feet.

“Whatever for?” Rose asked sounding both awed
and defensive. “Does he think he’s such a catch, then?”

“I care not, Rose. I’m happier for it. Two
others are plenty to handle with all else happening of late,”
Breanne said and too late realized she’d not yet told Rose of the
other two.

Rose’s accusatory look proved she’d caught
the juicy tidbit quicker than a fly in a web. Kimber scampered from
Breanne’s lap at the sight her mother’s expression.

“And who might the other two fellows be?”

Breanne was trapped. She almost felt good
about being cornered into spilling some of the information brimming
in her brain. Her stomach tightened despite the bright thought.

“Gannon O’Shannon for one,” Breanne said,
then waited in hopes that one name would be enough food to tide her
friend over.

“Truly? Gannon?”

“Aye,” she answered, not liking the amused
tone in her friend’s voice. “I’ve yet to hear it from him, but
Niall has spoken for him.”

“But, Bree, he is so young and so,” Rose
said, stammering a bit. “So, well, skinny. Although, they do say he
carries all his muscle in his britches.” She wriggled her
eyebrows.

Breanne’s face colored red. “Rose,” she
exclaimed.

“Come now. Tell me you do not wonder about
some of them,” Rose said. “A husband is a lover, Breanne. Don’t you
wonder what to expect? A big man is a treasure. That, I
promise.”

Breanne covered her face and shook her head.
“Do not tell me, Rose. We may speak of any man but Ryan.”

“Admit to it then,” Rose said,
half-laughing.

“Admit to what?” Breanne’s hands moved to her
ears, ready to plug them if Rose said another word about Ryan or
his britches.

“To spying on the soldier’s at bath with me
when we both were still girls. To playing the games of guessing
that we played. Admit that you’re not the prude I suddenly see
sitting before me simply because you’ll finally be taking a man to
your bed.” Her voice threatened to rise with each word so that all
the other women heard her lewd talk.

“Yes, I wonder,” Breanne said in a hiss. “But
not of your husband.”

“Well, I should hope not. If I’m catching
another woman on my husband’s prick, it better not be you.” The
seriousness in Rose’s stare betrayed her easy laugh.

“Do you worry of it, Rose?”

“I think not, Bree. Back to the subject at
hand, Gannon’s girth.” She paused so they both could giggle. “If he
can claim the prowess I’ve heard speak of, then I claim he’ll do
well by you.”

“And where do you hear such speak?”

“Breanne, my dear friend, you’ve had your
nose buried so deep these last years, you’ve forgotten the richest
source of information is right here, surrounding you.”

Breanne tipped her head in acknowledgement.
What Rose pointed to was true. She had not been a part of this
inner circle for some time, always off to a lesson or practice. No
more. She no longer had reason to shirk contribution to the
household.

“He’s more than a healthy prick, I hope,”
Breanne said seriously.

“Let’s consider,” Rose said, equally sober.
“He is a scribe and so is an artist and a scholar which I believe
would suit you well.”

“Aye, but what of my holdings? Can he protect
them, or me for what is relevant? Can he hold an axe and wield
death?”

“But, you’ve said you do not wish to have
such a man. Why you’ve kept my brother from his intentions to train
in the gallowglass with your fervor.”

By some means, they’d reached the very person
Breanne hoped to avoid. Mentally cursing, Breanne tried another
approach. “I want both. I want a man who can protect but who does
not crave bloodshed.” As her father had.

“I fear they all do. Even the docile one’s
like Gannon thrive on lust. Lusting us or lusting war, either seem
sufficient.”

“Then I’ll have to keep his attention on
lusting me,” she said and they both smiled. If only ‘twere so
simple as that, she knew. Ten years without a raid on Tir Conaill
after so many of clashing with the O’Doherty clan to the north or
Norman’s seeking a new country, were wonderful.

But, the clansmen sought out what didn’t
arrive at their door. Less than three sennights past, a group had
lifted cattle from the McRoarty’s to the south.

“I’ll not touch on it until you do, but I’m
not sure how much longer I can wait,” Rose said after a moment of
silence between them.

Breanne frowned, hesitated to ask. But did.
“Touch on what?” She reached for another stocking from the
basket.

“My brother.”

Breanne looked down, busied her hands by
searching for holes needing mending. “He kissed me,” she said. She
couldn’t look up though Rose’s silence disconcerted her.

“Aye, I know. A disaster you’d say?”

Breanne couldn’t believe the rush of relief
and sadness that flooded her when she nodded and lifted her head.
Tears welled in her eyes. “Aye,” she whispered. “Disastrous
indeed.” One hot salty drip ran down her cheek. Rose reached for
her, wiped it dry.

“Ahh now, none of that now. There’s naught to
cry for. Quinlan will not shed a tear, I’ll promise you that.”

“Likely, you’re right.”

“I am right. He spoke of it yesterday as
though relating the daily reports on the stables. ‘Twas like a job
he needed improvement on but sounded certain he could perform
better next time.”

Breanne gasped, horrified. Was the kiss as
meaningless as all that to him? Rose must have guessed her
thoughts. “He’s practical, Breanne. It is not to say he lacks
passions, but that he doesn’t easily shirk a challenge.”

She didn’t respond, focused on getting her
tears under control before any more fell. The confession was so
cathartic that Breanne struggled to keep the rest of her burdens
atop her back.

“You’ve loved him for so long, Bree. I
thought you would be happy to hear it, to know your fairy prince
may still come true.” Rose put her hand on Breanne’s. “Don’t fret
about it now. There’s plenty of time to choose, and remember, the
choice is yours and only yours.”

The missing weight of worry offered enough
liberation that remaining beleaguering felt intelligible for the
first time.

“Quinlan speaks of the women abroad, women
who are given as property, that have no say in their own fate.”
Rose leaned in. “You and I should feel privileged. They may war and
lust, but we may choose for ourselves which lusty, bloodthirsty
clod we take in union.”

More than one glance their way made Breanne
feel like more of an outsider. She should leave, relinquishing
Rose’s attention on her back to them. “Was it so complicated for
you and Ryan?”