Irish Moon (33 page)

Then she found his hardened flesh, grasped
it, reveling when he physically jerked, groaned. Fascinated, she
watched his face as she explored that which she could only imagine
before. It occurred to her that while her body craved to feel this
part of him plunging inward, he might not fit.

As though reading her thoughts, Ashlon half
grinned and kissed her nose. Then he slid his hand upward and
parted her swollen flesh for entry. She closed her eyes tightly,
but opened them when his finger entered her, his thumb pressing
above, sending charges of pleasure through her.

Breanne cried out and Ashlon went deeper,
twisting and withdrawing, returning and pressing until a small fire
kindled there, growing with every nuance. His name fell from her
lips and she clutched at his shoulders. She widened her legs then
narrowed them, itching for a relief she couldn't name. Then he
replaced his long deft fingers with his prick's plump tip. Her
entrance parted and clung to this new feeling and intrusion,
inviting it forth.

Ashlon slowly entered her heat, cupping her
face and showering her in kisses. A small sharp pain came and went
as his length filled her fully and wholly, then stopped.

Ashlon did not move. Breanne’s body felt
completed by his.

But it was not enough.

Her need transcended the satisfaction and
began to build anew. Breanne writhed her hips under his, eager for
an unnamable prize. She bit into his shoulder, his neck, gasping
his name.

She wriggled and pressed for more of what she
could not define. More of him, of the wondrous pleasure swirling
through her. Her mind begged him.

Ashlon withdrew and returned to her in slow,
strong thrusts. Her body was so wet and the slippery sounds mingled
with her own and her lover's labored breaths. Ashlon pulled away
and pierced her with his gaze, heavy lidded and glassy. Breanne
struggled to keep her eyes open but something was growing in her
with each of his thrusts. In and out of her, deep and long, faster,
then faster still until he buried himself so deeply her breath
caught. Need tangled with pleasure to create a sugary sweetness
that grew in turns, spread and tightened. Ashlon’s mouth came to
hers and she returned the deep kiss, moaning into his mouth as her
pleasure reached a precipice.

He moved slowly and pressed his hips in
perfect, sweet circles to hers. She rocked her hips up, driving him
deeper, harder until she fell from the precipice into shuddering
waves around him. Her body clenched and spasmed.

Ashlon called out her name and groaned deep
against her neck. His prick throbbed inside of her, sending a
wondrous new peak through her. The magick of feeling him swept her
upward, coursed through every fiber of her body and carried her
back to earth in a soft float.

Breanne opened her eyes. Ashlon’s breathing
came hard and trembling. Caught in her own sweep of pleasure, she
just barely discerned him reaching his own. She kissed his
glistening temple and wrapped her legs about him.

The forest around them became audible again
as reality crept through the dark. Ashlon didn’t speak, only kissed
her brow or arm or shoulder, occasionally her palm, lying beside
her.

He covered their entwined bodies in a cocoon
of clothing and moved her head to nestle on his shoulder. Breanne
did not mean to fall asleep but without a single thought or worry,
exhausted and replete, she fell away.

Listening to her breathe, Ashlon envied the
luxurious slumber and yet thrilled in witnessing it. Her beauty and
bravery stirred him. He’d never experienced such perfection before.
Her skin had been creamier, her breasts fuller, her curves more
tempting. Her returned passion shook him almost as much as how
remarkable her body felt joined to his.

He would stay there, breathing in her
breaths, trembling with wonderment for all his days. If he could.
If he had a choice it would be her, here, for eternity.

But, he did not have a choice. His eyes
rested on the chest, his fingers on her skin. Dawn would soon rear
the ugly head of responsibility. Until the last of night, he would
savor her. It would be all he had to take with him and he wanted it
to last.

Chapter Twenty

Ashlon blamed the chill in the air for the
water in his eyes when he carefully removed his body from the
tangle of hers. Eyes closed, he pressed his lips to her brow.

“Dream of me, Breanne, as I will of you.”

He retrieved the chest, still securely locked
and otherwise undisturbed. Rock and rubble fell away but did not
wake her. He bade her a farewell wish and made his way back to the
keep.

He didn’t have the courage to wake her and
see her pain at his departure. And he couldn’t risk her insisting
she come with him, still under the insinuation of Heremon’s letter,
impressing her help.

Ashlon left feeling like a coward and a
thief. The burden the chest bore was far heavier than its light
weight. The walk back was hard.

As a measure to relieve the ache inside of
him, he penned a missive to her and entrusted it under the seal of
her door. He had only one other action to feel guilt over. He
needed a horse and hoped Niall would forgive his taking one with
him.

Mounted and armed, fed and heavy, Ashlon
plodded down the road that led away from Tir Conaill and the Lady
Breanne O’Donnell. With the wedding’s ceremony and feast, he
wouldn’t be missed, nor the horse for some time. Only she would
feel the absence.

He shouldn’t have done it. He knew that now.
But, he didn’t rue it all the same. It had been the single most
breathtakingly beautiful experience of his life. Were it never to
recur, he would still count himself more blessed than any other
man.

But, he left behind a broken heart and ruined
woman. Breanne had the wherewithal and resilience to recover, he
knew. He just wished she didn’t have to. He wished he could finish
this task, be freed, and return to her. But, Jacques had been clear
all those years ago.

He might not survive after its completion.
Securing the Bloodstone that lay inside the chest would the hardest
part of all. For in doing so, Ashlon had been warned that he would
face a choice that might end his own life.

Jacques had been vague but stern. At the
time, Ashlon did not fear possible death. At the time, he hadn’t
anything to lose. He did now. He had a future to lose. But that
future would never be possible with the past living and breathing
into it.

Ashlon shook his mind from dwelling on what
he could not yet change. The Blue Stack Mountains lay ahead. Ashlon
slowed his horse and found the path Jacques had described. The
thunder of hooves kicked his heart into a frenzied beat.

Someone had followed him.

The morning sun had nearly crested the
horizon. Ashlon took to the nearest copse of trees, trying to hide
the black steed in shadow while he still could.

He dismounted and listened, dismally hoping
he was wrong.

The hoof beats slowed to a walk and a man’s
voice carried through the foliage.

“Sinclair,” it said and seemed to echo in the
deep, mountain walled valley. “Sinclair, answer if you can hear me.
I’ve come to aid you, not ask your return.”

Ramsey. He should have known the knight was
up to something last night. A final effort?

Ashlon came forward reluctantly as Ramsey’s
steed came into view. “What makes you believe I am in need of any
assistance?”

Ramsey chuckled. “Naught but your secretive
air last eve and a refined instinct I have learned to trust in.” He
dismounted and joined Ashlon.

Ashlon couldn’t help the wariness at Ramsey’s
following him. Jacques had been specific that he tell no one, no
fellow knight, no friend. The only person who you may trust will
not ask, Jacques had said.

“You’ll miss the wedding celebrations,
Ramsey. And although I appreciate your concern, I assure you I only
mean to leave here.”

“I don’t believe you. Fair enough, Ashlon. I
will not ask to know what you are about. I will however insist that
you allow me to join you in it.” Ramsey’s gaze was intent. He did
not even glance at the chest strapped to the black’s back.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well, we could take issue and come to blows,
if you wish.”

“Very well, but, I warn you, I mean to ride
through to eventide without rest.” Ashlon’s wariness subsided. What
harm could come of Ramsey’s help? At worst, he would try to open
the chest or steal it and Ashlon would not let that happen.

If Ramsey had any idea of the valuable object
within reach, he did not show sign of it.

Ramsey nodded, mounted his bay and followed
Ashlon with only one question. “Where is it we are going,
then?”

“The Giant’s Causeway.”

* * * *

Breanne stretched her sore limbs and yawned.
The trees shaded her well and birds’ songs melodiously awoke her.
She had been having the most delicious dream about Ashlon Sinclair,
and didn’t realize anything was amiss until she finally opened her
eyes.

A cloudy but warm day greeted her and upon
mentally registering that the sky and trees were real, that this
was neither her bedchamber nor a part of the dream, she bolted
upright. Her gown fell from her chest and Breanne gasped as the
cool air hugged her breasts and shivered her nipples.

She’d slept there all night long and it was
well into the day. With panic panging her belly, Breanne scrambled
to her feet, covering herself and dressing simultaneously.

Where was Ashlon? Gone. He’d left her there
in the night and he’d taken the chest with him, she saw. Heremon’s
altar was no more than crumbles now. Its hollowed center did not
even appear able to fit what had lain resting inside.

Breanne fastened her gown as best she could.
Dread gripped her, sending nausea and prickles shooting through her
guts in turns.

Her only hope was that the guests and
residents still slept despite it nearing the noon hour. It was a
fragile attempt but kept her rational enough to gather all evidence
of her presence, to thank the goddesses lest she displease them,
and leave in a walk.

Should a guard of men have been sent after
her, she did not want to appear disheveled and out of sorts. She
needed to seem calm and leisurely. As she neared the edge of wood,
and no guard could be seen, Breanne gave up the ruse and ran the
remaining distance.

She focused on excuses for herself rather
than ones for Ashlon’s departure. He had not even said goodbye. Did
he care so little for her then? Was the experience not a shared
wonder?

Breanne shook her head to clear it, and
blinked back tears. First, make a safe return. Regret could be
saved for a private moment at some other juncture. Right now, she
needed her wits, not her emotions.

The slender but heavy gate creaked when she
pulled it ajar then came to a stop. Heavy iron chain linked through
the top allowing no more than six inches gap. Someone had fastened
the gate since the midnight last night. To prevent her passage?

She wouldn’t entertain the thought. If it
were true, it meant that someone had discovered more than her
absence, they’d discovered the circumstance of it, as well. Chains
do not go on gates when a person is missing, they go up when one
has escaped and is not allowed to return the same way.

Breanne tried in vain to pull the base wide
and squeeze through. She gained no more than a hand full of
splinters and scraped skin.

She did not have another choice but to enter
the bailey at the main. With a deep steadying breath, Breanne
walked the wall’s edge, resuming the ruse she’d earlier concocted.
She had been unable to sleep and woke early to gather herbs. Using
part truth would enhance her story’s authenticity should Niall
himself be doing the asking. And so she planned to say she’d fallen
asleep looking at the sunrise dismiss the stars and moon.

What could be wrong in that? Surely, she
would only be scolded for not taking an escort or guard, but no
more. Her belly didn’t seem to care how simple the matter should
be. It roiled in dread.

She waved at the tower guard and smiled at
all passersby. They greeted her equally politely and none seemed
concerned over her arrival. She chose the kitchen side door to
enter through as was her habit and was nearest to the stairwell
leading to her bedchamber.

To calm herself, Breanne imagined herself
walking up the stairs, after a cheery kitchen welcome, a stolen
scone. Eating would settle her stomach and she would enter her
chamber to find Finn fast asleep at the unused foot of her bed.

She would change, braid her mussed hair and
return below as though naught in the world could be amiss,
including the loss of her virtue or the missing love of her
life.

Love? No, not love, passion. Desire, but let
it not be love that tore inside of her. For if she loved him and
he’d left, without likelihood of returning, that would devastate
her. One night’s magic was worth eternity and she would deal with
her virtue loss later, when an impending wedding night became a
reality rather than an idea.

The kitchen staff ignored her and she barely
found a biscuit to take along. The small scrap helped little and
she ran up the stairs only to come to a full halt at the top of
them.

Looking quite grim, arms crossed and sitting
on a stool directly in front of her door sat Niall O’Donnell.
Breanne’s belly fell to her toes and her hard breath knocked out of
her.

Niall turned his head when she gasped. He
stood and gestured that she might come to her room and enter it.
With leaden steps, she did and found the room ransacked. Her bed
was stripped, her bedding upturned. Her trunk lay on its side, the
contents spilled and broken. Her book was not in sight.