Knight's Blood (39 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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Alex said, also in Gaelic so he wouldn’t have to repeat himself to Donnchadh, “And I can’t do that if I’m tied up subduing an island full of clansmen incited by the MacConnells and backed up by the MacDonald laird. It’s not going to kill anyone to not fish for a week.”
 
Now Donnchadh spoke, seeing an opening. “Oh, but it might, my lord. There could be such a lack as might mean starvation sufficient to kill the very young and the very old. The island is expecting three children to be born before Martinmas, and the widow of old man Fhearghas MacNeil grows feeble. Without sufficient food, this winter might be her last.”
 
Alex’s voice went hard, angry he had to argue this all over again. It meant he was going to leave his valued community leader with not only the question of the fishing unsettled in his mind, but also a question of his authority. He shut the discussion down. “Donnchadh, I’ve said all I’m going to. I’ll take your words under advisement. That is all. You are dismissed.”
 
Knots stood out on Donnchadh’s jaw, and his face flushed. Damn Trefor for his butting in. Donnchadh bowed again, then turned and left.
 
Alex turned to Trefor and said through his teeth in modern English, “Try that again and I’ll have you drug out into the bailey and hung from the arm over the stables’ hayloft. And guess what, I can do that and nobody will say ‘boo.’ Your men can’t defend you, ’cause they’re outnumbered and outclassed. My guys would stomp yours just for the exercise. Do you get me? Open your mouth again, and I’ll forget we’re related.”
 
“Like you give a damn on that account anyway.”
 
Alex was angry enough to refuse to be guilted. “Well, you see my point, then. Falling back on the fact that you’re my genetic heir would be an incredibly bad idea. So shut the hell up and act like you’re not an idiot. Keep out of my business.”
 
“That guy was right. You’re starving the village.”
 
Through clenched teeth, Alex replied, “Winter is months away. There are other resources. I’m not convinced the loss will be great enough to make so much difference as to outweigh the advantage to be obtained by the element of surprise in approaching Cruachan. Furthermore, though I shouldn’t have to be explaining this to you, you little shit, as a MacConnell himself, Donnchadh’s credibility here is somewhat strained. He makes a fairly good case for not starving the village, but as I said I’m not convinced. His loyalty has never been tested, and I don’t want to be caught flat-footed if he decides a MacDonald regime would be to his advantage. Do you get it now? Do you fucking understand?”
 
Trefor took a long time to answer, glaring at Alex with anger that flamed in his eyes and flushed his cheeks. Finally he said, “Aye, my lord.”
 
“Good.” Alex turned forward again to address a bit of fat left on the plate before him, and sat back with it to chew as if nothing else were going on and his stomach weren’t knotted up like a Celtic brooch swarming with distorted horses, dogs, and bears. He gave Lindsay a sideways look, where she sat with a large
cuach
of ale in her hands, sipping at it. “No comment from you?”
 
She reached over to place a hand on his arm. “Not in front of the boy, dear.”
 
An amused smile tugged at his face, though he knew he was going to get an earful from her later.
 
And he was right. Though that evening he tried to avoid hearing it by keeping clear of the laird’s chambers until she might be asleep, she sought him out and eventually found him on the quay outside the lower bailey, staring out over the heaving seas as the sun set over the western hills of his island. To the southwest, just over the horizon, lay Cruachan, whose name he now carried as earl.
 
He wondered what the place might be like. Donnchadh and Alasdair Ruadh had called it a “wilderness,” and there were plenty of those around in these times when the English, Irish, and Scottish populations were still very small. And they would be even sparser once the coming plagues of this century were done with them. On the mainland of Scotland were still wolves and bears, and hunting was a good livelihood. He wondered how the people on Cruachan lived, or if they might be like the strange folks one often found in pockets in mountainous regions. Like American hillbillies who had lived secluded from cultural, and often technological, influence. It was an idle musing, for he would find out in a few days whether the MacDonalds of Cruachan were wild men or civilized.
 
A voice came from behind. Lindsay’s, and it startled him. “I must admit there’s a raw sort of beauty about this place one doesn’t find in England.”
 
He turned to find her bundled in a traveling cloak, hugging herself against the late evening chill, bits of hair loosed from her headdress drifting about her face in a blustering wind off the water. Her beauty made him smile, and he considered that any place might be specially graced if she were in it. “Out in California I’ve seen two-thousand-year-old trees as big around as a house and so tall I couldn’t see the tops. I’ve seen mountainscapes and deserts that would take your breath away. Certain American scenery can make Scotland look positively ordinary.” He turned to nod toward the purple sky where the sun had just disappeared beyond cliffs and rocky surf. “I’ve been pretty much everywhere, but this place is me. It’s where my soul belongs. It’s who I am and what I’m made of.”
 
“Race memory?”
 
He shrugged. “Could be. Or destiny. You believe in a higher power; right now I think I could, too, if I tried.”
 
“A higher power that took my baby away from me? He did that so you could return to your castle?”
 
Alex sighed, and went to put an arm around her shoulders and kiss her cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. Those blasted faeries . . .” He let that hang, and there was silence.
 
Then Lindsay spoke. “I came to talk about the fishermen.”
 
“It’s settled, hon. Don’t give me grief about this. It has to be this way. I’ve got to weigh a week’s fishing against the certainty of losing men if there’s an uprising like we had before.”
 
“Donnchadh was telling the truth about that old woman. She’s likely to die if there is a hard winter. I talk to the villagers sometimes when they come to do odd jobs or sell things in the castle. They don’t like to open up, particularly to the upper classes, and so it’s often a bit dodgy to get any real information. One must be gentle and persistent, and it helps not to be the one threatening folks with hanging.” Alex grunted at that, and she continued. “What Donnchadh neglected to tell you, probably because he didn’t think you would be moved by it, is that the woman is highly thought of within the village and her loss would be considered an enormous tragedy. Furthermore, I would tend to agree with that. She’s very old and at best has a very few years left to her, but her knowledge of the natural world is quite extensive and she teaches it. Medicine, home craft, animal husbandry, things like that. She bore twelve children, seven of whom grew to adulthood, and currently living and still residing in the village are two sons, nine grandsons, three granddaughters, and forty-seven great-grandchildren. With one on the way.”
 
“I didn’t make this decision because I thought the woman was worthless. I don’t. I believe she’ll live, and nobody will suffer for the lack of a few fish.”
 
“I know you do. But the villagers do not. They’re afraid. And there is something else you may or may not realize. Her descendants are also well thought of. Everybody hopes the new child will be a boy, because the sons stay within the clan and the daughters tend to marry away. The men are very brave and eager to fight well when they believe in the cause.” She leaned toward him. “I don’t need to point out to you the importance of their faith in their laird.”
 
Alex considered that information. Keeping the vassals happy was a more important task than the history books would one day have it. To ignore the condition of so important a villager might come back to him in ways he couldn’t foresee. And one he could foresee involved the loyalty of this woman’s grandsons when they would be asked to defend his claim on Cruachan. “I see.”
 
“Were you to remove your guards from the fishing boats and allow them to sail, nobody would think you weak or unwise. They would all recognize your compassion in this situation, and your trust in the fishermen who are loyal to you.”
 
Alex snorted. “A fantasy in practice, even if more or less true. It would only take one guy to mess me up.” Lindsay opened her mouth to protest, but he put a finger on her lips and said, “
But
I think there may be something I can do. We’ll step up the loading of the boats tomorrow and leave as quickly as possible. I’ll tell the villagers to get their fifty guys together, and we’ll leave tomorrow night instead of next week. No dilly-dallying.”
 
Lindsay nodded. “That should do the trick, if you can make the preparations quickly.”
 
“If we get the stuff on the boats as is, then we can take over that tower Donnchadh mentioned and make our preparations there. The men are in good shape and ready to fight; we might be able to drill on Cruachan before anything happens. Many of the horses aren’t in such great fitness, but we can limit ourselves to only the better ones for this trip.”
 
Lindsay smiled. “See, it’ll work out—”
 
“Oh, look, it’s the parental units.”
 
Alex and Lindsay turned to find Trefor standing on the quay behind them. Alex glanced back out over the surf breaking against the stone below and decided he should rethink letting himself be found alone in a place where he couldn’t hear approaching footsteps. Lindsay huddled tighter into her cloak and stared at her feet. Alex said to Trefor, “Need something?”
 
“I came to tell you you’re going to kill that old lady.”
 
“No, I’m not. I’ve figured out a way to let the boats go out tomorrow night. Anything else you want to gripe about?”
 
Trefor was nonplussed, but then said, “I’d like to talk to my mother, then, if I may.”
 
“No.”
 
Trefor addressed Lindsay. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
 
She said nothing, and Alex wished she would. It would be so much simpler if she’d just face Trefor and have done with it. But he couldn’t force her. Forcing her would do about as much good as trying to get toothpaste back into a tube. It would make a mess and accomplish nothing.
 
But Trefor either wasn’t aware of that or didn’t care. “Mom—”
 
“Don’t call me that.”
 
“You are my mother.” Not pleading, but angry. The rage was gathering, and it was aimed at her.
 
“Stop it.” Her body was tense, leaning into Alex. She was afraid of Trefor. Afraid of what he would say to her. Alex wished he would leave her alone. Her voice shook. “Please leave, Trefor.”
 
“There, you’ve finally said my name.” A sharp note of bitter victory sharpened his voice.
 
Alex said, “You heard her, then. She asked you to leave.”
 
“Why? I don’t get it.”
 
Alex didn’t get it either, but it was his place to defend Lindsay and if she wanted to approach this in her own time he would make sure she would be allowed.
 
“Mom—”
 
“
Trefor!
” Alex let go of Lindsay and took some steps toward his son. “Let it go. Just . . . leave her alone for now.”
 
“But why—”
 
“Just go.”
 
Trefor glared at him with a hatred so palpable Alex could almost smell it. And he was sorry for it. He didn’t know what he felt for the guy, but it was painful and confusing. It made him want to smack him. To just haul off and knock him sideways for making him feel so awful. He gazed back with as stern a look as he had, and he hoped Trefor would listen this time and let them alone until Lindsay could straighten out her own feelings and face him. If ever that would happen.
 
Trefor glanced over at Lindsay, who still gazed down at her feet, then back at Alex. For a moment it looked as if he would try to get past Alex to speak to her, but finally he turned without a word and made his way from the quay and back up the long steps to the castle.
 
Alex let some moments pass before taking Lindsay’s hand and guiding her from the quay, darkened now that the sun was quite down. They went straight to the apartments, for it was late and the sun would be back up in only a few hours. Tomorrow was going to be a hard, busy day.
 
CHAPTER 20
 
Lindsay felt strangely comfortable in her chain mail. Two days ago she’d gone to the servant who did all the sewing for the castle and commissioned a bra to replace the ratty elastic bandage she’d been using. The garment was not entirely like the ones to be found in the twenty-first century, but was more like armor padding in the form of a tank top. Thick and quilted, it fit snugly around her rib cage and pressed her breasts rather than thrust them high to be seen. It neither hid them nor put them on display, but held them still and protected them from harm. It took some explaining to make the sewer understand what she wanted, but he was an industrious fellow and accomplished the task in good time.

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