Free Irish Moon by Amber Scott Page B

raised. “What route were you takin’ that could
send you so far off to eat a good hour to get to be standing at the
very place you started from?”
    Breanne struggled to maintain her smile and
add a look of innocence as her mind ran to find an acceptable fib.
“An hour. Why did you expect I’d be seeing you an hour ago?” She
choked out a weak laugh but maintained steady eye contact.
    “My soon to be brother-in-law informed me not
five minutes ago of your plans. I’ll tell you I got him worried
when I told him I hadn’t seen you. Best we plan a visit another
day, Breanne. I believe you’d better check with Niall just now.”
His brow lifted higher in disapproval before he left her standing
in the yard.
    Breanne nodded curtly, shut her mouth and
went back inside. She wouldn’t have believed a person’s brows could
reach that level had she not seen it for herself numerable times.
The look still impressed her not just by its contortion but by the
undeniable effect it had on her. She’d been reduced to a
seven-year-old miscreant caught in naughtiness, not the best way to
approach what would likely be an inquisition about more than her
morning’s activities.
    * * * *
    Noisy activity outside the cave woke Ashlon.
The angry chirping of birds first entered his dreams then
penetrated them and he sat up groggily. He tried rubbing the sleep
from his eyes but it clung to him like a spider’s web, dulling his
awareness.
    Rock surrounded him and for a moment he
thought he’d dreamed the heathen man and missing chest. He jerked
his body around to view the small space and still saw no
familiarity, but recognized that he was in a cave. No water, no
skiff, a different cave than the one he’d taken shelter in when
he’d oared his skiff into the cove, his last memory before the
fever took hold.
    To his left lay a satchel and wine skin. He
reached for both and his arms shook from the effort. Daylight
poured in from above and before him. He opened the satchel and
found food. He ate slowly, refusing to give in to the desire to
gorge himself. He surmised that his recollection of the kind-eyed
man was real and that for some reason, he’d brought him here.
Beyond that he couldn’t hope to understand the actions of an
Irishman but was thankful for the food and independence.
    He was safe, although weak, and had found Tir
Conaill despite the storm, lack of a map, and cover of night. He
counted himself more than lucky. If luck continued to be on his
side, he’d find the chest where he took shelter, bring it to its
destination and be left to start anew.
    He stuffed in another mouthful of bread and
chewed. It was the most delicious food he could recall having. The
chirping that woke him continued outside the small shrub shrouded
entrance and he guessed a mating season’s lover’s quarrel. He was
too weak yet to look and verify his conclusion but it amused him
nonetheless.
    He felt surprisingly optimistic for having
woken in a strange place, obviously in poor health. No, that wasn’t
right. He didn’t feel poorly so much as weakened, hungry, and
foggy. Otherwise, life seemed to be gloriously going his way. And
why shouldn’t it after so many years of hardship, lies and caution,
he asked himself and tore off another piece of peppered
venison?
    Finally, the end was in sight. The end of a
long journey he wished at times another man had been given. But,
Jacques had been clear that he was the only one who could
accomplish the undertaking, even indicating that he was meant to.
Sitting in the cave, covered in furs and wool, Ashlon still didn’t
see why another knight had not been given this fate. For the first
time in a long time, he was glad it was him.
    Strange thing to feel happy about such
circumstance, but he did. At that moment he couldn’t fathom a
single other place he’d rather be. His future was nearing, he could
feel it and the knowledge brought with it a sense of
wonderment.
    Comfortably full and satisfied that the food
would