Irish Moon (7 page)

Mixed with warmed water, she lifted the man’s
head and brought the bowl to his lips.

“Drink,” she said as sternly as she’d ever
heard herself speak.

He sputtered in protest,
wasting part of the mixture. Breanne used her knee to prop his
head, curled an arm around his neck and forced his mouth open. She
poured another mouthful in and covered his mouth tightly. He
coughed and choked a bit
,
but ingested most of the hot liquid.

She repeated the process until the remaining
liquid was gone along with her strength. The man spoke slurring
words she didn’t understand. But he didn’t open his eyes, he
settled down.

While she wiped a wet rag
over his face and neck, her mind worked on a strategy to retrieve
Heremon. She would leave Finn with the man, hide them in the room.
Mayhap the door could be locked. If not, she would have to hope
re-disguising it would suffice. Then she’d get back to the
O’Donnell keep, wake Quinlan, no, Niall. She would be in serious
trouble
,
but that
was that. It couldn’t be changed and certainly was not so important
that it took precedence to getting some men and some rope and
bringing Heremon up from that tiny little ledge.

How could he have gotten
there? Had he gone mad and fallen? Had he been pushed? But, the
fall was not so far that he wouldn’t survive. Breanne couldn’t see
Heremon to have died of natural cause
s
, standing at the edge of rock,
only to then fall on his own and land so mysteriously.

Breanne viewed the nearly
naked man on the floor. His skin was flushed with color. He had the
answers she needed. And if Niall couldn’t get them from the man,
she would find a way. She might not succeed with a
potion
,
but knew
a poison that disrupted the bowels so much
,
a man would beg for
death.

Breanne felt his forehead. It still burned,
but not so hot as before. She nodded to no one and ran a hand
through her loosened hair. The braided strands pulled painfully
against the movement. Sighing, she began to unravel the thing and
twist her waist length hair into a knot instead. She realized that
Finn had gone silent. His silence was worse.

The first waves of sorrow were accompanied by
fear. And soon guilt joined in. She should have come earlier. She
should have followed him sooner. She should have told someone. A
tear slid down her cheek and the first sob coughed through her.
Breanne covered her mouth almost as though to keep the pain inside
or lessen the outward force of it. But her hand only served to
muffle the sounds of crying.

Heremon wasn’t an easy person to know. His
affection was difficult to win and praise came in meager supply.
But, she had grown to respect and even love the man. He was her
teacher and had believed in her. She knew that, not because he told
her but because he showed her. He had taken the time and withstood
risk and ridicule by taking her on as his primary student.

“Bards come and go and believe themselves the
blessing of life itself. But an Ovate is rare to discover, a hard
win, and worth a thousand of them,” Heremon had said to her more
than once.

Breanne smiled weakly as tears and her
eyebrows gathered tighter. With her knees to her chest, she tipped
back and forth, and didn’t notice the door had opened. They were no
longer alone.

“Kill him.” Finn’s eyes glittered with
malice. He stopped at the man’s waist.

“I canno’, Finn. He may know what happened to
Heremon. He may be here with Heremon for a reason.”

Finn slowly shook his head. “Nay. He clearly
killed a man you clearly do not fathom the worth of. He doesn’t
deserve to breathe the air I take into my lungs.”

Breanne’s heart ached again for Finn. Had
Heremon’s death sealed his curse, never to be lifted now? Seven
times failing proved that she couldn’t lift it on her own. Or would
Heremon’s death change the prophecy that an Ovate would end Finn’s
enchanted sentence?

“I understand your
anger
, b
ut this
man may not be at fault
.
We canno’ assume blame with only his presence
here to evidence it.”

Finn’s stare locked onto hers and she saw his
pain, raw and fresh. But killing the man did not bode well.

“Slit him open and leave him to choke on his
own foul blood. We must get help before Heremon falls from that
ledge. We cannot afford your uncertainty.”

“This man is in no shape to kill anyone and
can’t have been for some time. If you take pause for a moment and
view the man as he is, you will see I speak truly.” She waited
while he grudgingly turned to view the gleaming body he meant to
slaughter. “A fever such as this is not brought on in minutes. He
may not make it past whatever ails him and no man is strong enough
to kill in this condition.”

“And pushing an old man off a cliff takes
immense strength, does it? If not for luck having Heremon’s body
finding that ledge, it would be lost to the sea.”

She wouldn’t acknowledge
his tone by responding in like. She must
remain
calm, speak calmly. “Even
walking to that edge himself would be impossible.” She wasn’t
certain she spoke the truth
,
but she felt deep in her bones that this man must
live. She must persuade him to wait. More than persuade, he must be
convinced because Breanne couldn’t leave the man
alone
,
yet had to
get help before Heremon fell and was lost to the sea.

Finn eyed the man and Breanne watched for the
venom in his expression to give way to compassion, understanding,
or at least acquiescence. “He isn’t going anywhere. I will bring
Niall and others for Heremon. Niall will see the man answers for
what he may have done or find the person who should. Heremon was
his most trusted advisor, was his Brehon advisor for years.”

Finn lowered his head slightly and closed his
eyes. Breanne’s hope rose then fell again when the cat shook his
head. “You will not give this man over to Niall.”

Taken aback, Breanne scowled. “Of course I
will. I must. He may know something.”

Finn glared at her in his typical
condescension. “Don’t you think Heremon would have brought the man
to the keep if it were his intention? Has it not crossed your mind
that the man is here for a reason?”

Breanne didn’t know how to gauge this about
face other than as another outlet for his sorrow and anger. “No. I
found him outside, fallen. I didn’t conclude that Heremon had him
here at all, let alone by secret.” A strange and disquieting
sensation took hold of her as implications and fears scrambled her
thoughts.

“At this rate, Breanne, I will live a
thousand years in this cursed place.” He shook his head slower.
“The table? Did you not notice the pile of men’s clothing, a sword,
next to the table in the herb closet?”

Breanne shook her head equally slowly. She
hadn’t. She’d been so keen on finding the herbs that she’d barely
noticed the table itself. She rose and went to the room and was
struck by the obviousness of the pile, particularly the large,
heavy-looking sword. Its hilt was encrusted with three large
emeralds and a trail of sapphires inlaid in gold filigree.
Beautiful.

“I still see no reason not to tell Niall. He
needs care. He should be moved to the keep.”

“Do you recall what Heremon spoke of in his
presage?” Finn said the name reverently. A new note of misery rang
in his words.

Breanne furrowed her brow and struggled to
remember the words from what felt like days ago, longer. She wanted
to leave. She’d made a plan and Finn was changing it all. Niall
would know what to do. Niall would care for this man, retrieve and
handle Heremon’s body. She couldn’t do it, none of it. She
wouldn’t.

“I don’t see how that pertains to any of this
or how Heremon may help us now. I’m going for help. Stay or leave,
just don’t kill the man.” She strode for the door.

“You’ll kill him yourself if you give him to
Niall.”

She ignored his words. He was barbing her
again and she would not give in. Breanne counted her breaths and
paced them with her steps. It gave her direction and kept her mind
clear to think.

She’d rouse Niall, bring him and whoever else
he saw fit back to this place. The pines lead to a small cluster of
birch and then to a line of oaks. The path was clear if you
focused. Focus. Remember, so you may make it back.

“How would I kill him? I am trying to help
him. He’s the one that was ready to gorge him on the spot.” She
talked to herself to keep the anger at bay, and the guilt.

Niall would command the situation far better
than she or Finn. Yes, he would be equally distressed by Heremon’s
death. But, he was a levelheaded man. He certainly wouldn’t kill
the man directly. He would make certain death was deserved.

What could Finn have meant? She knew better
than to conclude he’d thrown the first lie at her that came to
mind. He was far too calculating a beast to do so.

Think
,
Breanne. How could your leaving
kill the man? Would Finn complete what she thought she’d stopped?
No. She’d seen the change in him. Heard it.

She pushed away low branches as she walked. A
branch slapped at her cheek, leaving a stinging stripe. She rubbed
at the pain, her mind on the path and Finn’s words still. Her skin
felt warm where the branch whipped her.

Suddenly, the realization sprang to mind.
Mayhap Finn meant literally her departure would kill the stranger.
Mayhap, he needed her there. But, how could Niall be brought? She
didn’t wait for her mind to answer. She turned and went back,
moving fast and deftly back to Heremon’s home. The fever. The man
would succumb if she didn’t wait for it to break.

She broke through the doorway and rushed to
the stranger’s side. “Has he worsened?” She felt his head. It was
cooler, much cooler. Then he didn’t need her here. She
straightened.

Finn stood and joined her from his position
at the man’s feet. “He’s English.”

“What? How do you know…?”

“He spoke. Mumbled. The
worst French I’ve ever heard in a distinctly English accent. And
he’s nobility. The Irish may be the most hospitable
people
,
but even
hospitality has limitations when a former Brehon advisor to his
clan’s chieftain, a Druid priest of high respect, has met a
mysterious demise with an English noble in residence.”

She wanted to say he was reaching, that the
conclusion would be based on loose evidence and that Niall had
better judgment. Surely an Englishman would mumble his native
tongue. But, Heremon’s words chose that moment to spring back into
her muddled brain. The emeralds…he is yours…tell no one. Protect
him.

Breanne looked at the stranger’s face. No. It
couldn’t be. Not her. Not him.

She looked at Finn, searched his eyes
suspiciously. Had he been there to hear the words and already
concluded the obvious that she always seemed to miss at first
glance? So be it.

Breanne stood and surveyed the room. She
needed to hide him and get back to the keep. His head was cool and
he should sleep for a day with as much valerian root as she’d
ground into the mixture. “They will want to search the place. Where
can I take him?”

Finn smiled his cat’s grin. Gloating beast.
“If you believe you can better disguise the closet, we may put him
there. Or,” Finn rolled onto his back as though to scratch it.

“Or what?” Breanne fisted her hands into her
skirt.

“There is a cave nearby.”

“How close?” She knew her limitations in
successfully dragging a man this size.

“Close. It is sacred. He will be safe there.”
Finn’s tone was casual.

“And your thirst for blood? Where is it now?”
Breanne pinned him with her eyes. If she would have to trust him
with more than simply watching the man whilst she left, she wanted
assurance.

“Rest your
fears
,
Breanne.
If I still wanted his head, I’d have had it while you were off
wandering the woods.” He managed to sound bored.

Though his point rang
honest, Breanne trusted the instincts that sprang up alongside the
prophetic words. She would take him to the place Finn suggested,
ensure he was safe there herself
,
but Finn would come back with her. She’d drag him
by the tail if need be.

It took her a full and
arduous fifteen minutes to get the man from the cottage to the
cave
,
despite how
close it turned out to be. And though just a few cubits inside the
forest boundaries, the small cave was concealed well by foliage. If
a person didn’t already know it was there, they’d be hard pressed
to detect it.

Breanne laid the man on deerskin and wrapped
him in every woolen blanket Heremon owned. Hopefully, the items
wouldn’t be missed when Niall’s men inevitably searched the
dwelling. With one last press of her hand to the man’s cheek, she
silently promised him he was safe and to return posthaste, then
left.

Finn joined her on the path freely, and
relieved her of the ugly imagery her mind had formed of carrying
him back by the neck scruff kicking and yowling and scratching.
They made good time and once within the keep walls, Breanne knew he
would be forced into silence. Now was her last and best opportunity
to speak what she must.

“You will tell no one, Finn. Heremon said
tell no one. Out of respect for Heremon, I will ask you to obey my
wish, his portending.”

Finn nodded soberly and
Breanne entered the kitchen door, where she’d snuck from only hours
before. She left Finn in her bedchamber with a bowl of wine and a
plate of leftover venison to go wake her soon
-
to
-
be stepfather. Sadness ached inside
of her as she tried to prime herself for Niall O’Donnell’s
disappointment.