Knight's Blood (26 page)

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Authors: Julianne Lee

Tags: #Kidnapping, #Science Fiction, #Fantasy fiction, #Married people, #Scotland, #General, #Fantasy, #Children - Crimes against, #Fighter pilots, #Fiction, #Time travel

BOOK: Knight's Blood
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Once she calculated the time passed since she’d last slept with her husband, and wished she hadn’t, for the months after Alex’s departure for his ship and the time she’d spent here totaled to nearly a year. No wonder she was beginning to yearn for the touch of a man’s hand. A year was an awfully long time to go without.
 
Jenkins didn’t count. What Jenkins had done wasn’t sex; it had been violence, the same as if she had violated him with a stick. Which, now that she thought of it, might have been an idea. But she set the thought aside and put Jenkins from her mind. Jenkins didn’t count, he was dead, had died in an appropriate manner, and that was the end of that.
 
Jenkins didn’t count. Really.
 
Before, there had been Alex when the need became too much, and she’d resisted even him as long as she could. When they’d first been thrown together as knight and squire, strangers pretending to be cousins, she’d balked at feeling anything for him. Clearly he’d been in love with her, nearly since the day they’d met, it seemed. It had taken her much longer to return that love. Many nights of sleeping in the same tent, sometimes under the same blanket. During that time he was the only human being who knew who she really was, and over those months she became at first attracted, then attached. Love quickly followed lust once she’d allowed it, and her feelings for Alex never waned even after they’d returned home and she was no longer so dependent on him. Those feelings had never dimmed, and she often daydreamed of him: his scent, the sound of his voice low and soft in her ear, the feel of his lean body against hers. His breathing at night when it was the only sound to be heard, and the way the sound changed when he was aroused. Or thinking about her at all. In bed he’d been intense. Focused on her, as if the feel of her were all that would ever matter to him. He’d made her feel important.
 
The very fact that he loved her so well made her wish he were there instead of the motley Reubair crew, for his heart was more open than any man’s she’d ever known. She had always been able to see into it as if it were a precious bit of glass made with swirls and whorls of color, endlessly fascinating. And as fragile. Oh, so fragile. Though he would deny it as hotly as he declared his love, it was plain she had a power to hurt him others did not, and where she was concerned he was to be handled gently. To the rest of the world he was invincible. As a knight he fought like a terrier and commanded his men fully and with firm hand. His strength had kept her sane when they’d found themselves in this place. Now, on her own, she longed horribly for that strength, in ways she hadn’t even when he’d returned to his ship. Now she needed him as she’d never imagined she could need anyone, and the terror of never seeing him again grew on her and ate at her like a fungus.
 
One day in the countryside east of Carlisle, An Reubair fell back from his position at the front of his column and sidled up to her as they rode. He said, “Come with me,” then reined off to the side.
 
Lindsay obeyed, though her heart surged with alarm. He guided her to a spot out of earshot of the other men, then turned to parallel the column’s course at a walk. He said, “I have been watching you of late.”
 
Her nose wrinkled. “Everyone has. Don’t annoy me with your criticism. I’ve carried my weight.”
 
“Aye, and then some. I admire it. Contrary to being critical, I value your strength.”
 
Lindsay was silent. He should value it, and she wondered why he was telling her so. This pat-on-the-back conversation wasn’t something he would do for his other knights, and she didn’t like to be treated differently.
 
Especially when he added, “I would have such strength in my sons.”
 
Oh. Now she knew his game. She nearly groaned, and stifled it. When she could trust her voice to not betray her disgust she said, “I wish you luck in finding a strong wife.”
 
An Reubair seemed to take the hint and thought long on his next words as they rode on slowly after the column. Then he said, “I want you to know I am far more wealthy than I appear at the moment, for there are lands in Ireland unknown to human kings.” She glanced over at him with eyebrows raised, and he replied to her unasked question. “The place is larger than any map will ever show. You humans have not conquered the so-called wee folk entirely, and more than likely never will.” He straightened in his saddle, took a breath, and continued his pitch. “When I take a wife, she would want for naught. She would be a fortunate woman, well cared for. Well fed and clothed, and surrounded by servants. She would be required only to bear my sons.”
 
A snort escaped Lindsay against her better judgment.
Only
to bear them. That was a scream. She said, dodging his point and the question he was about to ask, “And if they were daughters?”
 
Her commander shrugged. “Every man runs a risk of daughters. Even our Scottish king has had no luck in that. But I think you will have sons, and I would make you a happy wife and mother.”
 
Now she wished to know how much An Reubair knew about Alex. How much had Nemed told him? Was he testing her? Did he know she was married already? For God’s sake, did he know about the baby? Her mind flew to decide, for hesitation in her reply might tell him things she didn’t want him to know, and she wasn’t sure what she could afford to give away. “I daresay I’m already a wife.” A moment’s pause, then she admitted, “And a mother. I don’t need your help in that.”
 
He gave her a sharp glance, his surprise unmistakable. For a moment he even stuttered a bit of laughter in his shock. “You have children?”
 
“Child.”
 
When he was able to continue, there was an offended edge to his voice. “And where is this child’s father? What man allows his wife to traipse around the countryside in the company of other men, fighting like one? He should be flayed.”
 
She looked over at him with a stare she hoped was filled with disdain, then informed him, “That would be Sir Alasdair an Dubhar of Eilean Aonarach. I’m his wife, and he’s the father of my son. And as far as him
letting
me—”
 
“You’re Marilyn MacNeil?” Now An Reubair peered at her hard.
 
Lindsay figured it wasn’t good he had heard of her, but was pleased to note the genuine ring of surprise in his voice. Nemed hadn’t told him anything; this was all news. “Aye.”
 
He thought about that for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “Pawlowski. I should have known it; you became your own sister so MacNeil could marry his squire.” The peals of his laughter rang long and hard, and Lindsay looked off toward the column of men. Some glanced back at them in curiosity.
 
She turned back toward Reubair in irritation. “
Knight
. I was knighted by Robert at Bannockburn.” Lindsay didn’t know why the distinction was so important to her, but it was. She’d earned the title, after all.
 
Reubair shrugged as if it were no matter to him and shouldn’t be to her. “And why has Sir Alasdair turned you loose on the world? Or did you run away? No matter; divorce him, and I’ll make you a far better husband. Even happier, let me kill him and do away with such a cowardly fool. The world would be the better for it.” Typical faerie. Life was so much simpler for them in their selfishness.
 
“I need no other husband. We’ve been separated by circumstance; he is . . . elsewhere, and I search for my child who was stolen.”
 
That subdued Reubair’s anger at Alex. In a surprise turn, he took a more reasonable tone, almost as if he had a heart. It was an aspect of him Lindsay had never imagined could exist. “Stolen? By whom?”
 
Lindsay hesitated on the very brink of telling him she knew Nemed had the baby, but swallowed the words before she could make that mistake. “I don’t know.”
 
“Was there a changeling?”
 
She blinked that he would know that, and said, “Yes. An old faerie man. He told me my son had returned to the place of his conception.”
 
“Och,” he said. “Stolen. Recovering such a child is a difficult goal. Most who receive changelings never find their true children. They are taken away and sent to places where nobody would know them.” Reubair was fey and selfish, but he also knew what she was up against.
 
“My son had dark hair like mine, but with the ears of the Danann.”
 
An Reubair pulled up his horse and stared hard at her. She reined in and regarded him as blandly as she could. He nearly gaped at her. “Danann? And from where did he receive this blood? From his father?” His voice carried the conviction her reply would be negative.
 
“No. From me.”
 
“Aye. Of course from you. I should have seen it. And I should have known when you killed Jenkins you were no ordinary woman.”
 
Lindsay gave a snort of disgust and reined back around to kick her horse to a trot and rejoin the men. An Reubair spurred to head her off, and made her stop. She regarded him with the anger and frustration of having been slighted yet again. “Hear me: I’m far more human than fey, and I don’t know magic. I killed Jenkins by my skill at fighting and my strength, not by trickery. Understand that, lest I find myself needing to prove it. On you, perhaps, this time. Are you sure you would want to risk it?”
 
A welter of things flickered in his eyes, and Lindsay thought for a moment he might like to take on the challenge. Why, she couldn’t have said, and it was disconcerting. But finally he said, “Very well. Nevertheless, you understand that if your son has the mark, he could be anywhere. And not by the will of Danu, but by the wiles of the Bhrochan. Children stolen by the very wee are never returned. Not ever in the millennia they’ve existed. It is their sport, and they’re very good at it. Know that your son is lost to you. Your husband is, as you say . . . elsewhere.” Lindsay noted that he’d noticed she wasn’t telling him where Alex was. “You are alone, and as strong as you are you have no future as Sir Lindsay. You must attach—” At a cross look from Lindsay he corrected himself in a more soothing voice. “You must
ally
yourself with another husband.”
 
He looked off toward the horizon, thinking, and his expression was one of frustration. Lindsay could sense real emotion in him, as if it mattered to him that she make the correct decision because it was correct, not just because he wanted to own her. It further surprised her. His voice lowered and took on a reasonableness that was seductive for its suggestion of respect. For the first time since he’d learned her true gender he spoke to her as if she were a thinking person. The way a man of his time would address another man. Astonishment upon surprise gave her pause. It appeared so genuine she wondered if she’d been wrong about him.
 
Then she shook the thought away. There was an agenda here, and he was pulling out stops, that was all. But she continued to listen without interrupting. “As a woman alone you cannot survive long, even among men who once thought you were one of them. You will never be one of them, and soon they will understand that, like dogs who come to know their master is not one of the pack. And they will turn on you. They will resent that you keep your female delights to yourself at the same time you flaunt yourself among them. They will either fight over you or abandon you, and if you have not secured protection from one of them against the others you will most likely die. Or be reduced to whoredom. Only I can keep you from that fate, for I am the only one who can protect you from all of them.”
 
“I’ve succeeded so far in my independence.”
 
“It will last only as long as you remain strong and young. How old are you, Lindsay Pawlowski? What will you do when your bones begin to ache and your teeth begin to loosen in your head? What will happen the first time you falter with a sword in your hand? It must already be a great effort to appear as strong as a man. As aggressive. Even if you come by it naturally, it must still take all your power to keep up with the others. How long can you continue that way?”
 
“I intend to find my son and return home with him. It won’t take long enough for that to matter.”
 
Reubair snorted in exasperation. “You will
never
find your son!”
 
“Nemed will give him up. I’m sure of it.”
 
He blinked. “Nemed? How do you know King Nemed?”
 
Lindsay bit her tongue. Now she’d made a hash of it. She said only, “I know of him. I’ve seen you talking to him, and I know you work for him. I expect he bankrolled this expedition.”
 
“Bankroll?”
 
“He set you up with money, horses, wagons, such as that.” A hunch came, and she added, “It’s his land in Ireland you hold. You’re his vassal.”
 
A blink from him told her she’d guessed right. He said, “And you believe he has your son?”
 
“I do.”

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