Knight's Blood (30 page)
Authors: Julianne Lee
Tags: #Kidnapping, #Science Fiction, #Fantasy fiction, #Married people, #Scotland, #General, #Fantasy, #Children - Crimes against, #Fighter pilots, #Fiction, #Time travel
“At Trefor’s bidding.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Regardless, a wary eye should be kept on both.”
Alex considered that, then slowly nodded. It was true; to ignore the possibility Trefor was capable of assassination would be stupidity. Blindness, and the worse for being willful. “Aye. They both must be watched.” He bent back over for the woman to finish her work on his head.
Mike wasn’t seen in camp that night until supper was over. Alex looked across at Trefor’s fire when Mike strolled in as if he’d been out for exercise, and with his dagger hacked a chunk of cold meat from the bone that lay on a wooden platter near the flickering flame that had cooked it. Then he searched out a spot and flopped down to eat his food. Alex rose from his own fire with a stoneware jug hooked on one finger and went over on the pretext of socializing. Casually he handed off the jug of sweet English wine to Trefor as he sat.
“How’s your head?” Trefor asked, then took a draught directly from the jug. He handed it to Mike, who sucked on it enough to appear very thirsty. The way he went at his meat suggested he was overly hungry as well.
Alex touched the back of his head and shrugged. “I’ve had worse. Good thing the bowman was a lousy shot. At that range he should have been able to kill me. The idiot probably couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” He shrugged again. “I’ve been shot at before, by guys with better aim and way bigger guns. No big deal.” He watched out of the corner of his eye for Mike’s reaction, but there wasn’t so much as a flicker on the guy’s face. Nothing. Not even a laugh at the poor, sorry assassin who couldn’t shoot worth a damn. Mike wasn’t showing guilt, but he wasn’t showing anything else either. Could be he was hiding something, or could be he really didn’t care about the incident. With that guy it was hard to tell if he was being discreet or just dense.
He turned to Mike and said, “So, Beavis, you missed all the excitement today.”
That brought a slantways glance, but nothing more. Mike’s attention was on his supper.
“What were you up to today? I bet nothing that interesting. I’ll tell ya, getting shot at really keeps you on your toes and gets the blood moving.”
“I was hanging out. You guys take a break, I take a break. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”
Alex nodded. “Most of us use downtime for sparring. You get any practice in?”
“Yeah. Sparred with Henry Ellot. You can ask him.”
Now Alex was getting an alibi. It firmed up his conviction that Mike had been the shooter. And Henry Ellot wore a green plaid. For that, Alex’s own plaid was green shot with brown, but now he wondered whether Henry would have been able to put his hand on his today.
Trefor wasn’t giving much away either. “You’re lucky you’re not dead.”
Alex narrowed his eyes at Trefor and remembered the fortunate weather just before they’d left the island. “You say you have been taught to be lucky. All those Irish faeries you hang out with, I suppose.”
“Luck is costly even when it just happens. Nothing in life is free, and there’s always a price when you ask for something.”
Alex knew that well, as sick as he’d been on returning to this century. “So you’re saying you had nothing to do with the bolt missing me?”
“I did not. Had I known it was coming, I might not have anyway.” Trefor’s tone was flat. Matter-of-fact. Alex had the impression his son didn’t care one way or the other what happened to him. He wasn’t sure whether the sock in the gut the thought brought him was shock or disappointment, but he began to wonder why he’d ever felt he would walk through fire for this guy, his son. And the fully puzzling thing about it was that he knew he still would, the same way he would eat if hungry or make love to his wife if she were there. It would happen without question. This realization curled the edges of his soul, and he looked away from Trefor to the fire. The jug was handed back to him, and he took a long drink.
Then, with a sour glance at Mike he switched to Gaelic, though it wasn’t Alex’s strongest language. He hoped the reply would come also in Gaelic. “What is this luck thing you have? Tell me.”
Moving only his eyes, Trefor looked at him and considered his answer. Then he glanced at Mike and back at Alex. He replied in the same language. “I have a talent for the craft. Not a strong one, but Morag has taught me one or two things. She’s teaching me more.”
“What was that I saw? Back at the castle. The weather thing.”
“I made you lucky. For the day.”
“Yourself. You made us all lucky, including yourself.”
“Oh, but you were the fortunate one that day, and not me. It’s far easier to do it for someone else than for one’s self. And less likely to come back to bite one in the ass.”
Alex frowned. “What does that mean? In what way?”
“Well, you’ll notice it was unlucky to have encountered Sir James in Edinburgh while we were staking out the castle for Nemed.”
Alex grunted in agreement, but said nothing.
Trefor held out his hands as if comparing weights in them like a scale. “See, you must understand that there is no taking in the universe without something to come fill its place. Every action has a reaction, though it isn’t necessarily equal or opposite. You take luck, something else comes to occupy the void. It could be good, it could be bad. You never know. Making myself the lucky one puts me in the position of also taking the recoil. But if I make someone else the recipient, I’m in the clear.”
Alex grunted again. “So someone else gets the bad luck later on.”
“Don’t pass judgment. You got your clear day. What I got was a splitting headache.”
“Did I get my life saved today?”
Trefor’s eyes narrowed at him. “Why do you think I knew that bolt was coming? You think I had something to do with it?”
Alex’s face warmed, and he wanted to say no. But those words wouldn’t come. He glanced at Mike and said, “Someone among my men, your men, or James’ bunch tried to off me today. You’ve been a royal asshole to me since we met, so guess who I’m going to look to for someone who hates me.”
“I’m pissed off; it doesn’t mean I want to see you with a crossbow bolt through your skull.”
“I can’t be sure of that, can I?”
“Why would I—?”
“Trefor!” Morag ran into the firelight, her skirts in her fists and bare feet flying. She halted, and fairly jumped up and down in her excitement, still holding her skirts. Like a leprechaun dancing a jig. “Trefor, my love, I’ve something to tell you!” There was a sheen of sweat on her face and a pink glow of exertion; she’d run far, and it occurred to Alex to wonder where she’d been and whether she’d been dancing again.
“What is it?” They were still speaking Gaelic. Trefor reached over to draw Morag to him, and she settled in next to where he sat. He put an arm around her and kissed her.
Morag looked over at Alex as if waiting for him to excuse himself and leave, but Trefor said, “Go ahead, and tell it in Gaelic.”
She heaved a great sigh. “Very well. I have news about that woman knight they speak of.”
Alex’s hearing perked, and he listened carefully.
“Go on,” said Trefor.
“I’ve learned the raiders she accompanies have faeries among them.”
Trefor and Alex both sighed, fairly impatient that Morag thought this was a big deal. But she continued in breathless excitement, insistent that this was important. “Now I know who they are! ’Tis the troupe of the Danann outcast who calls himself ‘The Robber.’ ” She waited for a reaction, but got none. Alex didn’t get the significance she seemed to attach to the information. Excited and impatient, her hands flinging about in her agitation, she said, “Do ye not see? Or know? He is a vassal of King Nemed!”
That name went straight to Alex’s gut like a dagger. His lips pressed together and he had to look away to calm himself.
Nemed.
The truth swam before his eyes, and he hated to see it. He’d not believed the female knight covered in paint and frightening men all across the countryside was his wife, but now he was forced to consider it. This was too close a coincidence to actually be one. Lindsay was with Nemed. Not chasing him, but working for him, and that tore Alex’s heart quite in half. The woman was there willingly. Lindsay had joined the enemy, and he wondered how long it had been that way.
Nemed.
The truth swam before his eyes, and he hated to see it. He’d not believed the female knight covered in paint and frightening men all across the countryside was his wife, but now he was forced to consider it. This was too close a coincidence to actually be one. Lindsay was with Nemed. Not chasing him, but working for him, and that tore Alex’s heart quite in half. The woman was there willingly. Lindsay had joined the enemy, and he wondered how long it had been that way.
Trefor looked over at him. “What’s wrong?” He had no clue.
Alex frowned at Morag. “It can’t be true.”
“’Tis,” she said, and there was a note of triumph in her voice that made Alex grind his teeth. “Face it, MacNeil, your wife is riding with a troupe of renegades led by us wee folk.” Morag knew less than she thought she did, and Alex kept shut about his heartbreak. In fact, he fell silent entirely. He took a long slug of wine to hide that his voice had been choked off. Then he stared down the neck of the jug as if its black interior were the most interesting thing before him just then.
Nobody else seemed to have anything to say, either, until Trefor started the discussion back up. “So, Cruachan old chap, you know where she is now. You know where to find her.” To his mind there was nothing else that needed saying. But Alex’s head swam with many pertinent things he couldn’t utter. Not to Trefor, not to anyone. He swirled the last of the wine in the bottom of the jug and kept silent.
“You know it’s her,” Trefor said to him.
“I do.” He couldn’t deny it any longer. But he didn’t want to discuss it, so he looked around as if suddenly realizing the time. “I guess it’s time to hit the sack. According to the latest from James, we move tomorrow.”
“Which direction?”
Alex ignored the question and rose to return to his tent. He just didn’t want to talk about Morag’s news.
There was murmuring behind him as he went. Inside his tent he began to strip for bed. Gregor had laid out a bowl of water and a cloth, and though Alex wasn’t in a mood for washing he made himself attend to it. He didn’t get far, for Trefor’s voice soon came at the tent flap.
“My lord, Alasdair.”
Alex looked up from untying his trews. Usually Trefor just barged in, and never addressed him with any respect. This was new. He retied the string at the top of his trews. “Come in.”
Trefor entered, restored the flap, and stepped farther in to speak discreetly. “You do intend to go looking for her?” It was a question, and his voice was mild. Also new.
“No.”
“Why?”
“My business, not yours.”
“Then I’ll take my men in the morning.” No anger, just flat fact.
“You won’t like what you find.” Alex felt flattened. As if his world had deflated in the instant he realized Lindsay was with Nemed.
“Then tell me what you think I’ll find. I need to know, because I’m going in any case. I’d appreciate some information.”
“Why do you think she needs rescuing?”
“Obviously she doesn’t. What she needs is to know where we are. In case she’s looking for us.” He took a breath, then added, “For me, I mean. She might be looking for me.”
“She’s not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I just know.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to go into it. She’s just not.”
Trefor chewed on that for a moment, then said, “We need to be sure. And she needs to know we’re here.”
“If she gave a damn about us, she wouldn’t be where she is. She would not have left London to come here.”
She wouldn’t be with that Nemed.
Alex eyed Trefor and wished he would just leave it alone. “There are things you don’t know about, and are none of your business.”
She wouldn’t be with that Nemed.
Alex eyed Trefor and wished he would just leave it alone. “There are things you don’t know about, and are none of your business.”
“They are my business. She’s my mother.”
“She’s my wife. My responsibility. I know her better than you do, and I know why she’s where she is. Let it go. Find her if you must, but don’t be surprised if she tells you to drop dead when you get there.”
“I can’t believe that.”
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