Irish Moon by Amber Scott Page B

elegant. Unusual to place the emeralds in
such a way, as though they stood rather than lay on the
metalwork.
    The man’s breathing became a snore. Breanne
chuckled, watching him. In sleep, his face showed an innocence that
reminded her of Danny, young and impetuous. But, she couldn’t
recall a trace of innocence in his awaked countenance. Signs of the
boy in the man, she supposed and brushed a wavy lock off his
forehead.
    “What have you done here?” she asked him but
wasn’t sure which one of them she referred to.
    She left the sack of food, the skin, blankets
retrieved from the cave, and closed the door. Before leaving, she
wrote him a brief note and slipped it under the disguised door.
    Four more days and she could return her
attention to the normalcies of life. Spinning, learning, husband
hunting. Breanne sighed but it didn’t help alleviate the new
heaviness in her heart. She looked back at the stone cottage and
walked away.
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    “Please, Breanne, be seated,” Niall said when
she knocked on the open door. He closed the door and took the chair
across from her, the one her mother had mutely sat in only three
days ago.
    “May I ask the reason for this summons, my
lord?” she asked, coming straight to the heart of her worry.
    “With Heremon’s death and burial, my time has
been consumed.”
    “As has all of ours, my lord,” she said,
trying to sound understanding, docile, but needing to move from
chitchat.
    He placed a hand up, stopping her from
further interruption. “I intended to speak with you sooner.
Regardless, we have much to discuss and I ask that you hold your
tongue until I finish,” he said in a scolding tone.
    Breanne lowered her gaze but her chin raised
a notch. She doubted she wanted to hear anything else from this
man. In mere days, he’d turned her world inside out with his
demands. First, forcing her to choose a husband, then protracting a
solemn swear of secrecy. Now what?
    “It should first be known by you that Shane
MacSweeney proclaimed intention of pursuing your hand in marriage.
When Ula and I spoke with you previously, I failed to mention his
name and I only do so now so that you may appreciate the
seriousness of which I called you here for.” His large belly forced
his thighs to sit wide and bulged when he leaned forward.
    Breanne frowned. She didn’t comprehend what
the man was attempting to tell her, but she kept silent, as he
wished. Prodding his temper would make her request all the more
difficult to ask.
    “MacSweeney met with me this morning and
begged off.” Niall paused and pierced her with a severe look of
disapproval.
    “My lord, I—“
    His hand shot up again, quieting her. “Better
that he did. A fine gallowglass he may be but a fine husband, I
can’t imagine. As to his sudden change of mind, I asked, concerned
for your future, our departed friend’s past, and mild curiosity,
too, I propose.”
    Please, come to the point
of this diatribe. Breanne bit her lips and
counted for patience. The knots in her belly tightened.
    “An’ he did so mighty fast, I’ll say. Not
five days ago, he asked for you with stars in his eyes, eagerness
in his words. And just this morn, a gruff and muttered inquiry as
to yourself and then simply retracted the aforementioned
intention.” Niall shook his head and stroked his full beard. “So I
put the question to him, to have the answers. You’ve not much time
after all, to be choosing and of all things, he can’t answer me.”
He swept his hand out in front of her like displaying the words
before her.
    Breanne tilted her head, confused and biting
back interruptions. She crossed her legs and shook her foot
rhythmically to the count in her head.
    Niall stood, leaving a deep impression behind
in the red velvet cushion. Breanne wanted to stand, as well, to
pace as he did. But, she couldn’t. She sat, foot-shaking, lip
biting for an eternity while Niall meandered through to reach his
conclusion.
    “He does not