Knight's Blood

by Julianne Lee

  Not good.

  “All right,” said Alex. “Let’s get down there and introduce ourselves. Henry, gather the men, get them mounted, and we’ll take them all out to the shore.” He looked around for Gregor, but the boy was already off to ready the earl’s horse.

  Henry hurried back down the stairs while Alex looked out across to the island again. The cluster of men had not moved.

  “Do you see anyone else?”

  Lindsay scanned the horizon but found nothing. Down by the shore... nothing. But then she spotted a cleft in the rocks to the west along the shore, where there was movement. A line of well-armed men were creeping to flank the MacNeil pickets. She patted Alex’s arm to get his attention, then pointed. Alex grimaced.

  “Crap.” He removed his right gauntlet to blow a loud whistle to the men below. When the pickets looked up he waved them in the direction of the flanking movement, and they then saw the line of islanders in the distance. The knights adjusted their deployment accordingly, and the approaching line stopped. At that moment a file of Alex’s cavalry came riding from the tower and plunged into the water along the isthmus. Behind them walked the Eilean Aonarach villagers with their bows, scythes, axes, and pitchforks. When the islanders saw the numbers at hand, they backed off in a hurry, melting away and into the rocky hills like water soaking into the earth.

  “You can’t attack them, Alex. They don’t know who we are yet.”

  “Thank you, Jiminy Cricket. Whose side are you on?”

  “I offer it only as a data point. They don’t know who we are and don’t know you have a charter from the king. They probably think we’re random invaders testing their defenses.”

  Alex sighed. “Yeah. And it doesn’t look like they’re eager to find out otherwise, either. We’ve got to follow them. Get to the village before they have a chance to gather themselves.”

  “The men haven’t eaten.”

  “Not a problem. Not with these guys. And with any luck we’ll catch the village flat-footed so they’ll listen, and they’ll be sensible about this whole change of guard thing.”

  “Not if they’re MacDonalds.”

  Alex bit his lip and shrugged, forced to agree. “So we’d better get going. Come on.”

  They went back downstairs, mounted, and rode out across the isthmus to lead the knights across the island and to the village. The fifty infantry followed.

  According to Donnchadh MacConnell, only about half the island was what anyone would have called populated. There was some farmland, little pockets of tilled land tucked between forest and rock. But the folks who lived here existed more by fishing and hunting than through the bits of land they put to plow. The hills the knights and foot soldiers moved through were granite with a veneer of soil like webbing, stretches of green punctuated by gray rock, sometimes rolling, but in the distance the riders saw sharp peaks rise from the grass. They jutted to the sky like thick fingers. Or like walls surrounding a dark realm. These pastures were interspersed with low, forested places dark with growth and deep soil. The track they followed wended narrowly, the knights moving single file between the thickets of trees and underbrush. From where she rode with the squires, Lindsay watched Alex, looking around at his new domain, and she could almost see him thinking. This place was rich with game, and there was arable land going unused.

  If the MacDonalds thought they had a claim to it, they would surely fight for it.

  Alex would fight for it as well, and for more reason. Besides the farming and game, there was space here for the MacNeils of Eilean Aonarach to spread out. As clansmen, all MacNeils would prosper by resources and influence. Besides, the MacNeils’ historical claim to the cairn meant the return of control of this island to the clan would bring prestige to himself as well as his people over whom he was laird and earl. And finally, as land attached to the earldom, it was essential to his status with the king. His title wasn’t worth much without military control of the land and the people living on it. In personal terms, this place was worth far more to Alex than it would ever be to the MacDonald laird.

  The company came onto an open area, tilled fields surrounding the village, and halted just outside the tree line. The crop of oats was high and green, shimmering as the breeze blew across it. In the distance could be seen villagers gathering, their weapons waving this way and that as they milled about, waiting for the order from their leader. Lindsay wondered exactly who that leader was. Not that it mattered anymore. The group didn’t appear in a mood to talk things out.

  She looked over at Donnchadh, who was staring at the ground. As a MacConnell, normally allied with these Dhomhnallach, his loyalties were being tested today. By his subdued stance she gathered he was perhaps not as enthusiastic about this confrontation as the MacNeils around him. The next few hours were sure to reveal much about Donnchadh MacConnell.

  Lindsay spurred her mount, trotted up to the front, and said to Alex, “If you send an emissary, don’t send that Donnchadh MacConnell fellow. Send a MacNeil.”

  Alex stared out across the field, thinking hard. He said, “I’m going to go myself.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  He looked over at her and said flatly, “No.”

  “But — “

  “No. And don’t argue. Your presence would not be helpful at this time.”

  Lindsay understood him to mean she would be a distraction to the MacDonalds. “Take me with you, Alex.” Her voice carried a sharp note of warning. She wasn’t going to just let this go. “It’s now or never. Let me be who I am.”

  His jaw clenched, he thought for a long moment, then said, “Fine. Come. But remember what I said the other day.”

  He gestured to Henry that he should stay with the men, then pointed to two other men to accompany himself and Lindsay to the village. The four took off at a canter down the track between the oat fields, Alex’s banner flapping red and black and gold.

  Many of the villagers scattered at their approach, but the core and the majority of the armed men stood fast to face the earl and his escort. Three of them walked out to meet the horsemen on the track. Alex and his knights slowed to a walk and the parties came together at a distance from the village. The one in the middle seemed to be in charge, a crusty old guy with a thick head of white hair and a bright light of challenge in his eye. He seemed to wish Alex would give him an excuse to attack. Rusty pike clenched in one hand, he planted it at his feet like a staff of office.

  Lindsay watched the parlay as a member of Alex’s bodyguard, alert for assault. She would kill anyone who might harm her husband, and kept a sharp eye to see what would happen.

  Alex said to the old guy, “I am Sir Alasdair an Duhhar MacNeil, Earl of Cruachan, newly made by Robert Bruce, King of Scots.”

  That brought a chuckle from one of the lesser villagers, and the leader turned to deliver a stern look. Then he addressed Alex. “I am William MacDonald of the Dhomhnallach. I cannot recognize your fancied claim, for my allegiance is to my laird, The MacDonald.” The man appeared a heathen, and was at best only a tacksman, but spoke with the intelligence and authority of a laird. Alex had his charter in his saddlebags but didn’t bother to show it. Most people in these parts couldn’t read, and William MacDonald had made it plain he didn’t care who had made Alex earl of this island. Instead Alex said, “I have the right to take the land by force of arms.”

  MacDonald raised his chin in challenge. They both knew this only meant Alex would have no interference from those allied with Bruce. The king’s forces would not be brought to bear on this issue regardless of how it was thrashed out today, for not only was this squabble beneath the king’s notice, but Robert and his army were busy in Ireland. But then Alex reminded MacDonald, “There are MacNeils living here.”

  “They have pledged to The MacDonald.”

  “They are lawfully bound to me, by order of the king. Your village will be divided if you resist.”

  “The MacNeils are of no account. Not for a number of centuries. We MacDonald
s have held this place for a long time. We’ll keep it longer, I think.”

  “Your MacDonalds will die.”

  “Of course we will. If sooner than later, then we will have won our homes at least. In any case, we cannot fail our laird and we will not succumb to your claim. You have no authority here. Leave us, or receive a fight.”

  “Then fight. I would have liked to keep loyal vassals but am happy to destroy rebellious ones.”

  A quick shadow of doubt passed over William MacDonald’s eyes, but he then turned to his escort and gestured them to follow him back to the line of men waiting for them. The talk was ended.

  Alex wheeled his mount and spurred back at a gallop to his men, his escort following. Thundering up to where the company waited, he reined in to a halt and said to Henry, “That’s it. They’re Dhomhnallach and they want to stay that way. They’ll need more persuasion than just talk. They want us to just go away and let The MacDonald have their tribute. Unlikely, since we’re going to kick their butts right now.” He shouted to his men, “Line up! It’s going to be a fight! We’re going to knock their asses from here to Edinburgh!”

  The knights gave a shout of enthusiasm as they arranged themselves for attack, and at the other side of the oat field the villagers also lined up. Their numbers were greater than Alex’s company, and Lindsay hoped his professional cavalry would make up the disadvantage by their skill and experience in battle. But she knew the men on these islands had a tradition of fighting, and if Alex’s men had an edge it would be a slight one. Lance tips wavered before the horses, ready to charge. Lindsay lined up with the squires to the rear, her own sword at the ready. She looked ahead, to where Alex sat his horse, his sword gleaming in the sun, and she said a brief prayer that he should live through the day. She had only a glance for Trefor, then looked away. She was afraid to know what she hoped for him.

  A shout went up from the Cruachan villagers, and those men took off at a run into the oat fields. Alex shouted the order to charge, and his knights bolted in their line. Lindsay spurred her horse with her line of squires. Alex’s MacNeil vassals followed on foot, shouting and holding their weapons aloft.

  From the moment she met the enemy, she was intent only on staying alive and defeating the MacDonalds coming at her. Alex slipped from her mind as she rode into the midst of the teeming mob wielding iron and wood. She slashed at them, and though they were agile and quick, elusive, some were less quick than herself and were cut down by her sword. Men fell into the trampled oats, bloodied and crying out. Soon those left standing were panicked. Fierce at the start, the MacDonalds of Cruachan were outclassed and not as accustomed to battle as they’d thought. The knights overwhelmed them. The MacNeils found themselves chasing MacDonalds back to the village, leaving only a few stragglers to defend themselves. Unsuccessfully, for all who did not make the retreat died on the field.

  In the strange way time had of compressing in battle, the encounter seemed to take only a few seconds, though it must have been nearly an hour. In the end the MacDonalds ran to their houses.

  Lindsay pulled up her horse to let them go, but a cluster of several MacNeils gave a shout and ran after to chase them down and plunder the village.

  “No!” she shouted, and spurred to head them off. Her sword overhead, she rode to block the MacNeil knights.

  They reined in, puzzled. One of them shouted at her, “Plunder is our right!”

  “They’ve surrendered. They’re no longer the enemy; they’re your master’s vassals. You have no right. Stand down.”

  “You’ve no authority.”

  “More than you think. Before you defy me, be certain my husband will disagree with me. I know him well.”

  That gave all of them pause, then one by one they sheathed their swords and reined away from the village.

  Panting with exertion but feeling as if she’d just warmed up, Lindsay looked around for Alex and found him on foot near the middle of the field, bent to examine a man who appeared dead. It was one of his knights. She spurred her mount toward him and leapt from her horse before it was quite stopped. “Alex!” She threw her arms around him.

  He hugged her to him, the two of them clinking with their mail, and he kissed her. Relief he was alive made her go weak, and never mind being glad she’d survived herself. She kissed him back and clung to him lest she collapse to the ground.

  “Get a room.” Trefor was walking past, on his way to retrieve his horse.

  Alex let go of Lindsay, turned, and walloped Trefor backhand with his spiked gauntlet.

  “Ow!” Trefor pressed a hand to the side of his head, over a wound deep and bleeding in spite of the mail coif over it. His eyes went dull with anger and he drew his dagger. Alex also drew his and said, “You’re going to have some respect, or I’m going to kill you. Which will it be?”

  “Come and get me, old man.”

  Lindsay wanted to shout at them to stop, but knew the only one who might even be distracted by her voice would be Alex, and that distraction might prove deadly. So she kept silent by biting her lips together. Then she drew her own dagger just so it would be handy. In case.

  Alex circled, looking for an opening. Trefor appeared ready to kill his father, his eyes smoldering with anger he’d nurtured carefully all his life. He moved like Alex, for they were built the same. He held his knife the same way Alex did, having been taught by him. And Lindsay figured Trefor would not hesitate to kill Alex. She also knew Alex would never bring himself to do the same to Trefor, and it put him at a terrible disadvantage.

  The men continued to circle, each in search of an avenue of attack. Trefor moved first, and thrust with a speed that made Lindsay gasp. Alex fended and the dagger missed its target, but slashed Alex at the wrist. Alex only grunted, jerked back on reflex, then replied immediately. He forced Trefor back a few steps, but Trefor refused to be panicked. The field was wide and there was nothing to trap him against, and he circled rather than be chased. Then he stopped after a few steps and stood ready.

  Trefor came at Alex again and was deflected with a clink of blades. Alex shoved him off to the side, and he staggered. In an instant Trefor spun and attacked again, catching Alex’s upper arm. He drove his dagger through the hauberk sleeve, and Alex let out a shout that was more surprise than pain. He retaliated in anger, his dagger slashing wildly back and forth, and only succeeded in making Trefor back off a few steps.

  “Come back here.”

  “Come get me.” Trefor smiled, and it made Lindsay want to smack him. God help her, it made her want to stab him. She gripped her knife and knew she’d go after him if he killed Alex.

  Alex feinted, Trefor went for it fully, and Alex clobbered him aside his head with the butt of his dagger hilt. Trefor dropped flat to the ground, dazed. Alex stomped on his wrist, reached down, and grabbed Trefor’s dagger. He tossed it to Lindsay, who quickly wiped Alex’s blood from it onto her trews. Alex shoved Trefor onto his back with one boot and stood over him with his dagger ready to attack if Trefor made the least move against him.

  “All right, Mordred, here’s the deal: you are going to treat your mother with respect or you will answer to me. If she ignores you, you will speak well of her. If she spits on the floor at your approach, you will treat her with kindness, reverence, and gentleness. If she slaps your face, you will thank her for the attention. Am I making myself clear?”

  Trefor said nothing, but only glared at the earl.

  Alex continued. “Understand this: I am not, and will never be, your ‘old man.’ I am never going to grow feeble except that you will be right behind me, also growing old and feeble. There will never come a time when you will be stronger than me; I will never be displaced by you.”

  Trefor started to climb to his feet, but Alex hauled back his dagger for attack and growled at him to stay put. Trefor obeyed and lay back down on the ground.

  Alex sighed, took a deep breath, and looked out across the trampled oats to the surrounding hills as if in search of the words to say wha
t would come next. Then he addressed Trefor again. “I hate that this happened. I’d like to wring the scrawny neck of every Bhrochan in Scotland for what they did to us. You were taken from us; your childhood was taken from all of us. It happened suddenly, and for Lindsay and myself it happened only a few months ago. We haven’t had a chance to begin to deal with any of this. I mean, we never even got to name you. We never got to find out what it’s like to be parents. You missed out on having a family growing up, and we’ve missed out on being that family. And we’ve only just begun to glimpse what that will mean to us over the years.” Alex’s voice grew thick, though he still held his dagger at ready.

  “Hate me if you want, Trefor, but I require you to cut my wife some slack. You will treat her with respect, and you will refrain from the smart remarks in her presence. For as long as the both of you live, you will obey her as a child even if that means leaving her the hell alone. Do that, and there can be a place for you in my domain. If you do not accept it, and if at any time you show the least sign of disloyalty to me, to her, or to anything MacNeil, I will destroy you. No hesitation, mercy, or remorse. Do you read me?”

  Still Trefor only glared.

  Alex brandished his dagger. “Am I making myself clear?”

  Finally Trefor said, “Aye, my lord.”

  Alex stood straight, lowered his weapon, and sighed. “Good. Now get up out of the dirt and pay obeisance to the countess.”

  Trefor looked up at Lindsay, and the pain in his eyes broke her heart. But she said nothing as he rose to his feet then dropped to one knee. His voice quavered a bit. “My lady, I am your loyal servant.”

  He was her son. Tears rose to her eyes, but she swallowed them. “Rise, Trefor.” He obeyed, then lifted his gaze to her eyes. They were the same age. She couldn’t give him anything he needed, and he no longer needed any of the things she wanted to give him. Though she was his mother, to her he could only be one of her husband’s household knights. She would give Alex an heir, other babies, and they would be her children. But not Trefor.