Knight's Blood

by Julianne Lee

  She said, “Is that all you have to say?”

  No. But it was all that came to mind he dared utter just then.

  She asked, “How did you know he was dead?”

  “Because you aren’t. I know you well enough to know you must have fought him. If you were unsuccessful in stopping the assault, and he left you alive, you still wouldn’t have let him go. I don’t expect he lasted much longer than it took you to climb to your feet and tie up your trews. Am I right?”

  “I stopped to eat first.”

  “Ah. Well, I guess if you were hungry that was the thing to do.”

  “It was a fair fight.”

  “Of course it was.” He thought over his next words for another long moment. He could only hope for her to answer “Yes,” but didn’t expect it. He ventured, “Nemed?”

  She tensed for a moment and looked up at him, then pressed her face to his chest again. “No. One of the reivers. Once they let me up, I went after him. Cut off his prick and balls, and threw the entire set into the fire.”

  Alex gasped. “Ow.” His own testicles tried to climb up into his body and a nervous laugh rose, but he swallowed it. This wasn’t a matter for laughter. He asked, “How long ago?”

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  He wasn’t sure how to answer that, for what he really wanted to know was how long she’d been dealing with this, but he managed, “Good.”

  The sobbing resumed and her tears wet his chest. The thing he wanted to ask now was whether she would be all right, but he didn’t think he’d get an accurate reply on that soon. So he held her and let her cry for a bit, until the sobbing stopped and she began to wipe her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a weenie.”

  Alex had to chuckle at that, and murmured, “Big day. Lots to take in. I’m just glad you’re here, and you can cry all you want.” He wasn’t all that far from tears himself, and kissed her head to keep himself from them.

  “More to take in than you think,” she said. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” She wiped her eyes and looked up at him again, and he tensed to know what the other news could be. “Apparently there’s a good possibility I’m one of the Danann.”

  Alex relaxed. “Oh. I knew that.”

  “How?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve seen Trefor. He’s my son, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t give him those ears.” For a brief moment he hoped she would take the opening to talk about Trefor, but she didn’t. There was only silence, and he took heart in that she’d told him about her ancestry. “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head. “Not a clue. Not until it was pointed out to me. I’m still not sure. I’m not certain I care for it either.”

  A smile touched Alex’s mouth as he remembered there was something happy he could tell her. “Would it help to know you’re a countess now?”

  She rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand, and mumbled with a wet, swollen mouth, “Pardon?”

  “Robert made me an earl. Faerie or not, you’re now the Countess of Cruachan.”

  She leaned back to look him in the face as if she were checking to see whether he might be kidding.

  “Seriously. I’ve got the letter of patent in my saddle bag if you want to see it.”

  “It’s real?”

  “Signed, sealed, and presented to me by Sir James Douglas in front of witnesses. Solid gold credibility.”

  “That’s... wonderful.”

  “You don’t sound pleased.”

  Her words stuttered and stumbled, and he had to wonder why. “I... well, I am. I’m... surprised... well, shocked, actually.”

  “Yeah. I’m probably the only American who will ever receive this honor except by inheritance. That must annoy you no end.”

  “No, that’s not it. They think you’re Hungarian.”

  “They think I’m Hector MacNeil’s illegitimate half brother, son of the previous Laird of Barra, and I’m as Scottish as anyone else. My ostensible Hungarian mother has nothing to do with anything.”

  She made a small sound of agreement and finished wiping her eyes dry. “I suppose not.”

  Gregor blew through the tent flap, made a cursory obeisance, then returned to his feet and said, “My lord and lady, supper is ready. Shall I bring it?”

  “Yes,” said Alex, and sat up on the edge of the pallet as Gregor hurried away on the errand.

  Lindsay sighed. “I’m never going to get used to the lack of privacy here.”

  Alex chuckled and rose up just enough to peel the top blanket from his bed and from under her, then draped it around her shoulders. “There. We’ll get you some new clothes as soon as we can.” He pointed with his chin to the pile next to the camp table. “Those rags are going on the fire.”

  She snuggled into the blanket, gave him a wan smile, and kissed him.

  ***

  The next morning as the company prepared to move onward in their patrol, Trefor was nowhere to be seen. Though his men were still with the company, Trefor and Morag had made themselves scarce. Alex sat his horse as the company gathered. Lindsay by his side, astride one of his rounseys, glanced around for their AWOL son. Though her helmet and sword were with his in the wagon, she wore her chain mail over his spare linens, trews, and tunic. They waited, and it looked as if they might have to leave Trefor and Morag behind. Alex’s feelings about that were mixed. It almost felt like a problem solved.

  “Hector!” Alex called out. Hector, seated on his horse, looked over at him. “Where’s Trefor?”

  Hector glanced in the direction of the forest and shrugged. “I noticed him and his lady friend off in that direction not long ago.”

  Alex whistled to one of Trefor’s men. “Go get your master. Tell him we’ve got better things to do than wait for him to finish playing patty-fingers with his girlfriend.”

  The knight gave him a sour look, but nevertheless said, “Aye, my lord,” and tugged his reins to comply. But he pulled up as two figures emerged from the trees. Trefor and Morag, his arm around her shoulders. And though he stood straight, he also appeared to be leaning some considerable weight on her. Her tiny stature didn’t lend itself to the task, and she stumbled a little. Trefor’s face was deathly pale and clammy. At this distance his mouth seemed to have disappeared, for it was nearly as white as the rest of his face and pressed closed as if he feared vomiting.

  “You all right?” called Alex.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.” He reached his horse and with care and enormous effort pulled himself up to mount. Then Morag mounted her own horse. Trefor sagged for a moment, then sat straight again in his saddle. “Let’s go,” he repeated.

  “All right.” Alex wasn’t so sure, but they needed to proceed and Trefor’s problem had to wait. They were headed to rejoin Sir James and would take some time finding the army.

  But as luck would have it, a messenger from James found them before they got very far. That very afternoon as they reached the place where they would encamp for the night, one of James’ squires found them and was escorted to where Alex sat his horse to oversee the work. The squire handed over a travel-worn packet of paper, then hung back to await orders regarding a reply. Alex unfolded the message and began deciphering James’ horrible, medieval scrawl. Bad enough that the theory of penmanship was these days held only by monks who copied books, but the creative spelling and bizarre orthography of the times made messages such as this nearly as indecipherable as secret code for Alex. He frowned in concentration as he read. Near as he could figure, James meant to tell him he was throwing in the towel in the south for the time being and heading back to Stirling for a while. This late in the summer, that probably meant he would winter there and venture south again next spring. The letter went on to release the MacNeils from service. They were to return to Eilean Aonarach until Robert would need them again.

  Good. Alex had fully intended to return to James’ army and continue fighting for the remainder of the summer, but was just as glad at this juncture to be
able to go home and regroup. Not just to reorganize himself in his earldom and establish his authority over Cruachan, but perhaps also to work out some personal issues.

  He looked over at Lindsay. There was a lot to work out.

  Quickly he gave his brief reply of acknowledgment to James’ messenger. As the rider moved off again on his mission, Alex noticed Trefor among his men and overseeing his own encampment from horseback. He still looked ill. Recovering, but pale and slouching. His eyes closed as if resting for a moment, then he opened them to gaze off toward the forest. Alex wondered if he’d had a drinking binge the night before, but that didn’t sound much like Trefor. The guy hated mead, there wasn’t a great deal of wine to be had just then, whiskey didn’t exist yet, and he’d always been able to hold his alcohol in any case. It would have taken a buttload of drink to make him this sick.

  Then it clicked. Luck. It had been lucky the runner had found them, particularly on this very day. It had also been lucky the message brought by the runner was a release from James. They were now able to go home, which surely was where Trefor wanted to be. Trefor was sick because he’d been busy bringing Alex luck. Now Alex wondered how this was going to come back and bite him in the ass. He was pretty sure he didn’t like Trefor messing with his karma, and wished he’d stop.

  Alex walked his horse over toward Trefor and sidled close to speak in a low voice. “Okay, Mr. Luckybritches, nice work this morning. So how come you didn’t just do your woo-woo stuff and have us accidentally find your mother instead of giving me all that crap about it?”

  Trefor went sullen and glanced sideways at him. “Are you high? It damn near killed me to have you be found right away by a courier that was already looking for you. Finding Mom would have been a way bigger deal. That just wasn’t within my power. Hell, if I could do stuff like that, I’d have stayed in the twenty-first century and gone to work for Donald Trump.”

  “How did you know there was a courier?”

  “Morag.”

  “And she had nothing to do with James suddenly changing his plan?”

  “No.”

  “Not that she’s admitting, anyway.”

  “That, too. Besides,” Trefor regarded Alex with the irritation that was beginning to seem habitual when talking to his father, “I wanted you to want to find her. It’s my opinion you should have dropped everything the instant you knew she’d gone missing, and gone in search of her.”

  “You don’t think I did exactly that?”

  Trefor’s face reddened with anger. “I know you didn’t. I watched you out here, traipsing around with James like you were on vacation. The Plunder Tour of Northern England. Breakfast included with the room.”

  “That’s hardly fair. I told you why I had to come south. Not to mention that if we hadn’t come south — “

  “But you weren’t looking for her. And I wonder whether you have told her that yet.”

  Alex went silent. For one fleeting instant he wished to put his dagger through his son’s throat, and his fingers even twitched to do it. The thought fled before a surge of shame, and he said, “She won’t believe you.”

  “More’s the pity for her having such faith in you.”

  “When we found her I was looking for her.”

  “Big deal. Have you told her you thought Nemed was my father?”

  “Who are you, my marriage counselor?”

  Trefor only gazed blandly at him.

  When no reply came, Alex said, “We have some talking left to do.”

  “Talk fast. She needs to know this stuff.”

  “As I said, she won’t believe you. You heard her; she doesn’t believe you’re her son. She can’t get past the fact that you’re not a baby.”

  Trefor’s eyes darkened and glistened, and he looked away for a moment. Then he said in a constricted voice, “She’s my mother, and the only one I’ll ever have. I’m pretty much stuck with her.”

  “She’s no more than a couple of years older than you, and unlike myself she was there when you were born. She saw you as a baby. She held you. You were a couple of days old when you were taken, so she undoubtedly nursed you. I don’t think she’s going to let go of that as easily as I did.” Or as easily as he pretended to.

  “She’s got to.”

  “She might, but I’m not going to make her. She’s my wife, and under my protection. I won’t let you make her miserable.”

  “So I get to be miserable instead.”

  “Okay, who’s the one wrapped up in his own needs? Now hear this, little man, you say anything to upset her, and I’ll come after you. You say ‘boo’ to her, or approach her when she’s not ready to see you, you’ll answer to me. Got it?”

  Trefor was silent for a long moment, fuming, his breathing hard and shallow. Then he said through his teeth, “Kiss my ass.”

  Alex said blandly, “Unlikely.” With that, he spurred his horse to return to his own men and Lindsay.

  All the way back to Eilean Aonarach, Lindsay avoided Trefor. If he hung to the front of the column, she reined in and fell back. If he came around the cook fire in front of the tent she shared with Alex at night, she withdrew and tied the flap closed tight enough so that Alex had a bitch of a time untying it later.

  Over the course of the trip Alex talked to her about Trefor’s life in foster care and how the future Morag had sent him to the past. She listened, but though she eventually accepted on principle Trefor was who he said he was, she nevertheless refused to treat him as her son. If Alex tried to get her to talk to him, she shut down and withdrew from him as well. Suddenly and thoroughly, as if he’d pushed a button. An “off” switch. He’d never encountered such a thing and had no clue how to deal with it. So he let her alone about Trefor and encouraged her to talk about her time with the raiders.

  At night, with the camp quiet and the cook fires banked, they lay together on the pallet in their tent and whispered to each other. Under a full moon the fabric of the tent overhead glowed a dull gray and items inside were black silhouettes. Lindsay’s head on his shoulder was dark on dark, but he could see her expression well enough for a serious talk.

  “Lindsay, can I ask you some stuff?”

  She nodded. She probably knew what was on his mind. Part of it, anyway.

  “That blond guy who came up to us during the fight.”

  “Reubair? He’s a faerie, you know. You couldn’t see it for his helmet, but he’s one. There were several. All Danann.”

  “Yeah, I know. But...” Another question occurred, and he asked, “Hey, was the guy you killed one of the Danann?”

  “No. He was human. Sort of. Mortal, at least.”

  “Why did he do it?”

  Alex could feel her tense under his arm, and he knew he’d made a misstep. “You think I gave him a reason?”

  “All right, let me rephrase. What, exactly, precipitated this particular exchange of rape and death?”

  “He found out I wasn’t a man, and took exception to it.”

  “Ah. You’ve said that’s what would happen if you were discovered.”

  “And it did. I made him regret it with all his heart and soul, and the others were given to understand his behavior was unacceptable. End of story.”

  “All right.”

  “Anything else you need to know?”

  A great many things. Alex returned to his original query. “What did that Reubair guy mean when he said ‘negligent husband’? What had you told him about me?”

  “I told him your name.”

  Just his name. “I have a reputation for negligence?”

  “Reubair thinks you are. Not that I give a damn what he thinks.”

  “He said your leaving was your choice. And he sounded like he thought you were wrong in making it. Actually, he sounded like a jilted lover.” The offended tone in the faerie’s voice haunted him, and his imagination took flight with thoughts he struggled to rein in. Reubair had spoken of a “pledge,” and that niggled at Alex. His fingers fiddled with a lock of hair
against her forehead and he hoped for a denial.

  She leaned back to regard his face in the darkness, then sighed, frustrated. “Is that what you think? That I was banging him?”

  “Were you?”

  “No! And I’m appalled you could think I ever would! I’m married to you, and I don’t fool around with other men! I mean... do you sleep with other women? ‘Cause if you have that little faith in the vows we took — twice — then perhaps there’s been a terrible misunderstanding and — “

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t be certain.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just...” There was no reply to make that didn’t betray his insecurity. Then he realized he’d already blown any pretense of confidence. Screw it. He said, “I couldn’t figure out why you left London.”

  “To find the baby.” It was her “of course” voice.

  “I couldn’t be certain of that.”

  “Again, why not?”

  “The photo. I saw the photograph of Trefor. With the ears.”

  “But you said our neighbor told you where I was.”

  “He told me the baby had been abducted and you left. I didn’t know what to believe. I saw the ears, and that was even more confusing. I knew he didn’t get those ears from anyone human.”

  “And where did you think he got them?” Her voice went dark. Ominous. “Just exactly where did you think they came from, Alex?”

  Alex hesitated long before answering, knowing how she was sure to react to this, then said, “Who do we know — did we know at the time — who has ears like that?”

  “Nemed?” She sat up. “You thought Nemed was his father?”

  “What was I supposed to believe?”

  A snort of exasperation erupted from her. “Well, that’s just it.” She threw off the blankets. “That’s just the very end of it.”

  Alex grabbed her arm before she could rise from the pallet. “Stop that. There’s no other bed for you to go to, and it’s too bloody cold out there for you to be huddling by a dead fire. Stay here.”

  She stayed, but continued. “Shame on you, Alex MacNeil, for thinking that!”

  “All right. Shame on me. I’m sorry. I knew I was wrong when Trefor came to Eilean Aonarach and I saw his face. He’s the image of my brother, Carl.”