Irish Moon (39 page)

Finn placed his hand there on pale skin she
knew to be as cold as the hand she held, willing it to move. Finn
dusted his fingers in a hover.

Breanne inhaled sharply as color flushed
Danny’s skin. Warmth spread through Danny’s hand, warm enough to
draw tears to her eyes and a calm to her mind. He was alive. But he
wouldn’t be for long if Finn had his way.

“Tell me Finn, how did you manage a
shapeshift into your original Elvin form?” she said, her lip
quivered. She bit it. Mayhap a sacrifice would not be necessary to
lift the curse.

Only during black magic in ancient times did
some Druid sects use human sacrifice to further their inclinations.
The rare practice died off when the priests who used it got more
than they bargained for and evil consumed them.

“Heremon’s book. In turns at each month’s
full moon, I’ve been able to resume this form thanks to a spell I
found in his Grimoire.” Finn didn’t look at her. “He refused to
help me make it permanent.”

Her eyes widened. She should have guessed
when Ashlon told her Finn had taken the stone that he had killed
Heremon, as well. Breanne jiggled Danny’s hand again. She willed
him to wake up.

Danny didn’t move.

“What makes you believe I will be able to,”
she said. “What makes you think I will even try.”

Finn smiled at her and it almost looked
sympathetic. “You will make it work to save my need of using him.
For, you also know that with a sacrifice, I will make it work
myself.” He brushed the hair from Danny’s brow. “And because you
love your half brother, though not by your father.”

Breanne swallowed the gasp. She had not
misheard him. The lifelong connection she had felt for Danny was of
blood after all. She had no time to question why her mother had
given her son to Isolde nor what became of Isolde’s baby. And
mayhap she already knew. A vision of her mother being held down, a
rutting invader atop her, flashed into Breanne's mind. Nausea rose
in her gut, but she quelled it, pushing the dark memory back whence
it came.

She did not have time to call Finn a liar and
knew he was not.

Finn was right. She would never risk Danny’s
life, brother or no, even if it meant sliding within his evil,
allowing it into her heart and through her veins. But, not without
Danny safely out of his grasp.

“I will do it. I will do whatever you ask.
But, only if you release him. Now.”

“I cannot release him now. He is my insurance
that you will succeed and that if not, I will.”

He couldn’t want to kill the boy either. She
could not let him hurt Danny.

Breanne saw only one possibility. “If I fail,
you may use me.”

Forgive me, Ashlon.

Chapter Twenty Four

The cries stopped. Ashlon strained to hear
other signs of life. He was running out of hope. Water dripped from
the stone ceiling in steady repetition. The chains clanged with
every movement. The prayer had done little to aid him. He felt
worse. But, he would not consider failure.

There had to be a way out of the irons and
cell. He wished he could borrow from Breanne’s giftedness. Somehow,
she would see an escape possible. He told himself to remain calm,
to think.

His tunic clung to his body, sweaty. His
wrists stung from the scraping metal. The dripping tapped a rhythm
into the dirt floor and irritated his already weathered mind.

He needed something to pick the lock. Nothing
on his person was suitably slim and hard though. If only he still
wore the chain and Knight’s emblem. But, wishing had gotten no help
yet.

The water dripped and his eyes gazed upon it
as his mind went blank. It was close enough to touch. Ashlon
reached out his hand and let a drop run into his fingers. It was
warm and smooth and not water at all but oily.

Without questioning such happenstance or
possibility, he hurriedly slicked his hands and the metal cuffs in
the dripping lubrication. A thud outside the door warned him
someone was coming.

Wincing and pulling, he finally squeezed one
hand through. His thumb knuckle could be broken but he did not have
time to care. He forced the other hand free and stood next to the
door ready with his only weapon left, his fists.

Whoever came through that door was about to
experience Ashlon’s full fury. He did not know what he would do if
Breanne or the boy were harmed or worse in the course of his failed
mission.

A key turned in the lock, jangled, and the
door came open inward. Ashlon hid behind it, his fists laced and
raised. His fingers squished with oil as the tightened together. He
tasted blood. Rage rose like a fire in him so well he could almost
smell smoke.

A tall lean figure shadowed the cell and
turned just in time to meet face to fist and crumple to the dirt.
Ashlon stepped into the open and went still.

Father Connelly lay in the dirt, a ring
holding three keys lay in his hand.

“Christ’s blood, what is he doing here?” He
peered at the bald man and shook his shoulder. “Father, are you
well, can you hear me?”

The man’s eyes came open. They landed on
Ashlon and Father Connelly edged backwards, his hands defensive
above his face. “Do not harm me, I beg you, Sir Sinclair. I mean
you no harm. I swear it.”

Ashlon narrowed his gaze on the man a moment.
He’d lost trust in clergy a long time ago, before the Pope’s
betrayal even. Too few carried any real faith in their hearts, more
lived in greed and lust. He could not trust one simply because he
released him, in fact, might not for that very reason.

“To your feet, Father.” Ashlon dragged him
upward by the arm. “Where are Breanne and the fiend.”

Father Connelly shook his head. “I don’t
know. I only found you by chance. I’ve come from the feast, urged
here by what I cannot name. But, something has gone terribly wrong
Sir Sinclair.”

“Explain yourself. Now. How came you by keys
to a dungeon cell if you did not aid in my placement there?”

The man’s eyes danced with fear. His body
trembled with it. “As I said. I found the need to return, my gut
telling me something had gone awry. I am right, but I did not put
you in the cell. If I had, why would I then release you?”

True enough but still Ashlon felt unsettled.
“Where has he taken her?”

“Not here.” The man began to cry. He tried to
jerk his arm back. “Please release me. We must leave at once. There
is a fire above.”

Ashlon only paused a moment to gauge the
man’s expression. He saw no lie and shoved him into the corridor to
lead the way. “How can you know they are not here?”

“Master O’Shannon is getting help. I stayed.
I have trusted the wrong man. I have only myself to blame.”

“You have not answered me.” And he was making
little sense. They reached a stairwell. The smell grew stronger.
Where was Breanne?

“I searched every room in the priory and
here, below. They may have been here but are now gone.”

They reached the main. Flames licked the
walls and were spreading fast directly above where his cell had
been. The oil. Someone had set the fire then, intended to kill him
a coward’s way.

Ashlon followed the priest out. He spat on
the ground. The metallic taste was gone and a tinge of bile
replaced it. In the night air, calls could be heard. Help came,
buckets in hand. The flames would be out fast, not yet out of
control.

He had to find her.

Ashlon faced Father Connelly. His mouth
turned downward. “What did he offer you to gain your interest,
Father? Wealth, power, is he on orders?”

The priest shook his head, tears streamed his
face.

“Tell me what it took to sell your faith and
put your niece in harm’s way. Tell me what price a boy’s life is
worth to you.”

“The boy Danny is safe. I found him. He is
with his mother.”

“You lie.”

Father Connelly gasped. “I held no ill intent
at any moment in the course of my aid. I myself am a victim of
lies. Never would I put a life at risk to further my own gain. You
must believe me.”

“What did he promise you?” Ashlon asked, his
voice menacing. He curled his hands into tight fists.

Oncomers paid little heed to them and hurried
to the building’s interior. A chain of men formed and buckets lined
and passed to and from the priory. Father Connelly stood taller and
looked Ashlon in the eye.

“He duped me into believing a relic was to
come to Tir Conaill. A most holy piece, and that having it would
give us the credibility I’ve long craved. I admit my folly. I have
helped the man to decipher code and its mystery and promise sucked
me in. But, do not think to so easily judge me.”

“If Breanne or Danny have been harmed, mark
me, priest, my judgment is the least you will feel.” Ashlon turned
on his heel, his name a mumble in the foreground noise. Somebody
had recognized him.

No matter. He might look the knave for
abandoning the call to assist the fire’s extinguish, but he cared
not. He strode away, ignoring the call, to the only place his mind
concluded the fiend would take her. It was the same place Ashlon
now realized he’d first seen Finn.

The black that had carried him back there was
his first choice, but he couldn’t see wearing the steed any
further. He took the bay in the next stall and didn’t bother with
more than a harness. The bay seemed pleased to be getting a
midnight ride and his neighbors whinnied their jealousy.

Nobody came to check the disruption, likely
helping with the fire, and Ashlon made an easy escape into the
dark. Strangely, he knew the way into the dark valley, skirting the
wood’s edge, the moon watching through heavy clouds.

Let it rain on him, on the fire. Let the
pregnant clouds pour down, winds whip, thunder bellow. It would
match the hooves and hurry and heartache he tried hard to keep at
bay.

Danny was safe. Breanne would be, too.

Ashlon abandoned the horse at a sturdy oak
and stole into the dark toward Heremon’s cottage. He smelled the
salty waves that crashed below. The cliff area suddenly seemed
taller, as though a jutting arm trying to reach the stars ready to
fall short and collapse into the water.

He heard her before he saw her and realized
he’d sensed her there the whole time. Ashlon flexed his hands, went
to the place his sword should hang and fell on air.

It had helped him naught on the road that day
so he had no remorse. Instead, he stalked closer. Peering about the
cottage’s edge, he glimpsed blue billowing fabric. His chest
tightened.

Breanne.

He crouched low and peered farther until he
saw her in full view. She stood holding the stone, eyes closed and
entranced similarly to last night. She swayed slightly on her feet
and the wind moved the fabric of her cape and gown. Her skin
gleamed in the moonlight, bare under the cloak.

The wind rippled the cloak away, exposing a
perfect thigh.

Ashlon exhaled and only then did he realize
he’d been holding his breath. The stone glowed in her hands, raised
chest level. Her mouth moved but he heard no words carry to
him.

He leaned out more. There, before Breanne,
knelt and bowed was Finn, in human form. The fiend’s eyes were
shut. He looked to be at worship, her a pagan goddess ready to
receive. Ashlon nearly choked on the impressible fear the scene
faced him with.

Dew glistened bright as the stars on the
grass around them. The cliff’s edge dropped behind her.

One small push from Finn and she’d be
gone.

Ashlon pulled at the neck of his tunic and
swallowed. He wanted to rush the fiend unawares but knew he would
thereby endanger her. If not for the noise, he would find a weapon
in the cottage. His heart screamed for him to take action while his
mind bade him wait.

He must trust her. She had found a way to
free Danny, Finn’s lure. She would not put herself in undue
jeopardy, stubborn or no. Ashlon caught movement in Finn’s posture
and pressed back against the stony wall. He looked to the sky, wind
whipping his hair and burning his eyes.

The moon was low, as low as the night he’d
come to Tir Conaill, desperate to find sanctuary. He had found much
more than that. He had found love and hope. The family and faith he
had lost, that seemed so long ago, had become tangible.

Losing Breanne was not worth any price. He’d
throw the stone into the sea to be forever lost, sell it to the
devil to do with as he may, so long as she was safely back in his
arms.

A mournful wolf’s howl echoed in the night
air. The ocean roared below. The grass hissed as blades pushed
together under the wind. A hum grew in the air. It was the same
undeterminable sensation he’d felt when she’d freed the chest.

Ashlon wiped his brow and bit his lip.
Another moment. He peered painstakingly slowly around the wall. The
wind prickled with energy, tickling his ears. He watched her raise
her arms up, stone held and glowing molten amber.

Finn looked ready to pounce. Ashlon’s mind
fell blank and a baser part of him took hold. He shot to his feet
and ran to her as a light unfurled from the sky down toward
Finn.

Eerie green eyes met his and time became like
a long silvery thread before him. Breanne collapsed to her knees as
the light struck Finn.

Ashlon reached out for her, willing his body
not to encumber his intention, to become graceful and swift.

Breanne opened her eyes. She shook her head
and screamed. “No.”

But, Ashlon could not hear her and could not
stop. With one last leap he wrapped his arms around her, brought
her onto him as he hit the ground and rolled away from the cliff’s
lip.

He could not see Finn but heard his unearthly
moan rise up from the ground. It chilled his soul.

Ashlon closed his eyes and braced for an
immeasurable fury, covering Breanne’s head with one hand, clutching
her close with the other. All the while, he could only reason a
prayer of pleading with God himself to find mercy for them, to
protect them from whatever evil Finn was.