Irish Moon by Amber Scott

stay down, Ashlon evaluated his surroundings and plotted. The
cave was no taller than he at its highest point and much shorter at
its mouth. Rich earth scented the air. The light above filtered
through a gap in the stone where the earth fell away. Or perhaps
the hole was manmade, a primitive dwelling. The idea fascinated him
and he looked for other signs of inhabitation. The floor was mostly
earth, even and a table-like stone sat at the far end.
    He’d seen a similar stone slab before, during
one of many initiation rites of the brotherhood. The stone
symbolized the power of the brotherhood’s bond, unity. In his own
rite of passage into the Templar, he’d placed his hand on stone and
sworn his oath of duty, honor. He had believed the words to his
core.
    He still did, though they mattered not now.
The brotherhood’s name was so besmirched, so shamed that even its
brethren, the weaker of it, had disavowed themselves. It came down
to cost, Ashlon reasoned. He had no price to pay for continuing to
believe, even now, on his own.
    Ashlon removed the covers. His skin prickled
in the chill and he moved slowly to the mouth of the cave. The
movement offered two things: he tested his strength after having
eaten and he judged his outer surroundings. What he saw, sent him
back in, retreating to the depths to hide in shadow. The rustling
of footsteps in brush got closer. Ashlon snaked the strap of the
satchel with his foot to drag it back from the stream of
sunlight.
    Just outside, a twig snapped. Ashlon’s hand
involuntarily went to the place where his sword should be. He felt
foolish upon finding it empty. He saw only one defense. In a quick
movement he grabbed the pile of blankets and swept them over his
crouched figure. Enveloped in darkness, the sound of his labored
breathing flooded his ears. He strained to hear above it for a sign
of danger approaching.
    “MacSweeney,” he heard faint and muffled.
“Over here.”
    “What have ye found?” The man’s voice was so
close and low that Ashlon envisioned him bent, ready to enter the
cave.
    * * * *
    “Leaving the explanation aside of why you
were out, on your own, without a single other person knowing of it,
at such an hour, answer me this: did you go inside?” Niall stopped
his slow methodical pace to stand in front of her, bent at the hips
with his arms crossed.
    Breanne forced her gaze up to meet his eyes
while mentally rifling through what she could and could not tell
him. “Yes.” She decided to be brief and obtuse in order to barter
more time to figure out the details of her forming falsehoods.
    “Before or after?”
    “Before or after what?” she hedged. The hard
wood seat creaked under her when she shifted as though to announce
her nervousness.
    Niall’s eyes squinted, assessing her. “Before
or after you found Heremon on the ledge some twenty feet below.
Before or after you happened to see a man, lying prone and surmised
him already dead and gone to the Otherworld.”
    A throat cleared behind him and Niall said,
“to meet his maker,” in correction.
    “Before. I knocked, peered in the window. It
was cold.” Breanne filtered out details about Finn, about the groan
she heard. “I tried the knob.”
    “And?” Niall’s face reddened.
    “It wasn’t locked, my lord.”
    He resumed his pacing of the room. The three
men behind him wore stoic expressions and almost appeared to be
guarding the door. Against intruders, of course.
    “What did you find there?” he said in rhythm
with his pace.
    “I found it dark, empty.” Did they already
know of the stranger Heremon had took in?
    “Did you notice anything amiss?” Niall
asked.
    “Amiss?” She wasn’t stalling. She wanted
clarification.
    “Embers still burned in his fire when we
arrived. Furniture had been moved.”
    Breanne’s heart picked up speed. Had they
located the closet? “I lit the fire, my lord. I thought it best to
wait for him, that he must be out and would return.”
    “And the