Page 41 of The Crown of Moonlight
She doesn’t look at me.Instead, she drops the small kilt on the bench beside me, moves around to gather the excess fabric at the back of the great plaid, and pulls it tight.The wool whispers as she draws one side across my right shoulder and slides it down my chest.She brings the other side up to meet it.
Her hand lingers along my collarbone, and she pushes a large pin in place to hold the folds.The heat of her palm remains like a haunting after she removes it.
I could bring my mouth down on hers.My body responds at the thought, but that would change things neither of us can afford to change.
Would the oathbands consider that a violation?Or would they stay dormant?Not knowing what they’ll react to is a threat all its own.
Flora steps back and hands me a second belt that contains a flat, round pouch and an empty scabbard.Thankfully, she allows me to put that on myself.
“Weapons?”I ask, my mouth still dry.“I’ve never seen a Highlander dress without an impressive collection of knives and daggers.”
“I’ll bring down what my brothers had that they didn’t take with them,” she says a little hoarsely, “and we’ll pick up your sword on the way.Faolan’s preparing my mother’s…grave, but if you need anything else from the armoury, he’ll give it to you when he’s finished.”
I wonder if Faolan has any self-control to lend me.Flora can’t even say the wordgravewithout breaking inside.She hasn’t had time to grieve, and I’m pulling her away from everything she loves.
I refuse to take advantage of her vulnerability.But the way she tugs at my heart, the way I want her, I’ve never felt this before.
We have seven nights to reach Muilean before the doorway opens.How I’ll survive that long in her company without breaking my oaths or breaking one or both of us, I can’t begin to think.
The candles gutter in the sconces as she shuts the door behind her.It feels as though she’s taken some of the air from the room along with her.
These seven nights may kill me in more ways than one.
Chapter 18
Gift of Illusion
Flora
T
he moon rides low above the battlements of the Guard Tower by the time Chyr and I are ready to leave the keep.Ash and grief swirl through the courtyard air, dissolving into the ice-crusted puddles left by the overnight rain.
Throughout the keep, the fires still burn, the stench of corpses masked by herbs and juniper boughs added to the flames.By morning, Morag and Catriona will clean the fireplaces and toss the last evidence that the queen’s soldiers were here onto the midden heap.
Faolan has already left to deliver messages in the village, and he’ll ride from there to Ben Aran to help Iain build a shelter.The horses will need to stay away from Dunhaelic as long as danger remains.
All of them—Catriona, Morag, and Faolan—refuse to abandon Dunhaelic in favour of somewhere safer.
My goodbyes are said—to the living and the dead—and I will not let them break me.My mother rests in the crypt beside my father, not far from all three of her sons.Whatever happens next, I will console myself that at least they will be together.
I wipe a fresh layer of ash from Bramble’s mane and check our supplies.Bramble’s bridle jingles as she stomps her foot, and her breath rises in a cloud.Eira, the pale mare I’ve chosen for myself, flicks an ear, watching wary-eyed as I check the girth on her saddle a final time.She’s less sensible than Bramble, but she’s strong enough to carry two for as long as needed.I mount and extend my hand to Chyr.
His breath hisses as he pulls himself up behind me.He’s in no condition for us to leave tonight, but he’s right that we have little choice if we’re to reach Muilean in time.We’ll need to avoid using routes where the Raven Queen’s patrols might travel, and seven days is barely long enough for that.
“Be careful,” Catriona calls.
“You, too.All of you,” I answer.“And make sure the escape tunnel is finished as soon as possible.I’ll speak to Ailean about it on our way through the village.”
I do my best not to cry as I walk Eira to the gate.Morag turns away with her shoulders shaking, and Catriona moves to fold her into a hug.They stand together, heads bowed and their woollen plaids pulled over their hair to protect against the falling ash.
Family isn’t always the one you’re born to.The wave of love I feel for this place, these people, catches in my throat.But living has to be more than surviving another day, another battle.Love is fighting with all I have to preserve a place in our world for the good and the light—love is not giving in to darkness.
The bridge creaks as we cross it, and Eira sidesteps nervously.Bramble crosses without a fuss, trailing behind us on a long lead rope tied behind my saddle.
Ahead of us, the moon gleams dark on the burned wood and blistered ruins of the outbuildings.I count the charred carcasses of cattle and sheep in the fields, letting the atrocities fuel my resolve.Then we reach the remains of Padraig’s house and turn to follow the stream that runs up the back side of the Sacred Wood.I look back for a last glimpse of Dunhaelic Glen and the distant keep.
All my limbs go cold at once, and a lump of ice settles in my stomach.The bit clinks as Eira tosses her head.
