Knight's Blood

by Julianne Lee

  Lindsay laughed again, a bit louder than necessary as apprehension crept in.

  “No, in earnest. I would prove to you I am the most exciting lover you could have.”

  “Not interested.” Her voice went flat and all the humor left her.

  “Oh, but one kiss should convince you. Just one kiss, and you’ll be begging for more.” There was chuckling among the others, and Simon seemed to take that as encouragement, a wide grin on his face.

  “No.”

  “Just one.” Simon scooted over toward her and leaned in as if to receive an offered kiss. Lindsay leaned away but kept her seat lest she be forced to leave the fire. Retreat was never a good idea among these men.

  Her voice went even more firm. “I said, no.”

  But Simon only laughed and lunged at her, and his sloppy mouth sought her lips. She jerked away and scrambled to her feet.

  “Back off!” Before he could climb to his own feet, she hauled off and tried to kick him in the head. But he grabbed her foot and toppled her, then leapt onto her to deliver a hard, slobbery wet kiss on her closed mouth.

  She yanked her head sideways and gave a cry of disgust, then pushed him off. Laughing, having made his score, he acquiesced and went back to his own seat. Again the others chuckled.

  Now Lindsay was forced to decide how to react. She could kill him, but he’d not harmed her physically and it might be taken badly by the others if she indulged in such an extreme response over one kiss. No, her dagger needed to stay in her belt this time. Instead she stepped over to Simon where he sat on the ground, feinted a kick with her right foot, then gave a hop as he went for it and clobbered his face with her left. Simon fell flat on his back with a bloody nose.

  A murmur of consternation rose from the men, and alarm skittered through Lindsay. They sounded more concerned for Simon’s nose than the assault on her. Simon dabbed at the trickle and looked at her as if she’d sucker punched him.

  One of the men muttered, “Och. There was no need to break his nose.”

  Lindsay turned, appalled. and said, “I told you all that I would not tolerate any man to lay a hand on me.”

  “It was only in fun.” Simon spoke with closed sinuses, as if he had a bad cold, and held one nostril closed with his finger. Had he received the broken nose in battle, he would have ignored it entirely and let the blood pour down his face. But now his voice was petulant and surprised. His whining made her want to kick him again.

  “You fellows can have that sort of fun with each other, but not with me.” A nervous chuckle came from someone near the wall at the thought of any of them kissing each other. Her gaze swept the room. “Anyone who would try that again will find himself kissing my dagger. Am I making myself clear?”

  There was no response but silence. It was a sullen silence of disagreement, and Lindsay looked around at her fellow reivers.

  “I said, am I making myself clear?” Alex’s lieutenant voice echoed in her mind and she shook her head to clear it of him.

  “Aye,” said Simon, still dabbing his nose and looking at her crossly.

  “Good.” She sat back down in her spot and stared at the fire in the silence. Not good. This wasn’t good at all. Her pulse raced. She tried to calm it and appear confident they would obey, but she had no such conviction.

  During the next raid she fought with special intensity. Damned if she was going to let her fellow raiders treat her like a blow-up doll. They’d see how she fought, then give her the respect she deserved. She’d make sure of that.

  But the next night the talk centered around a knight who had found a cache of silver coins buried in an enclosure, and whenever she opened her mouth to speak someone else overrode her. The respect she’d anticipated — that she knew she required to survive in this group — was gone. She ended the evening rolled in her plaid and thinking hard about what to do.

  She also thought hard about Nemed. It was plain now he had nothing to do with the baby’s disappearance, but she still hated the elfin bastard. There was no chance of forgetting what he’d done to her in the past, and she would still kill him if given the chance. Over those weeks she came to realize she was staying with the reivers in hopes of that chance as much as for the hope that Reubair would find a way to retrieve her son from the Bhrochan.

  Assuming the very wee folk were the ones who had taken him. For all she knew at this point, the boy might have been taken by an ordinary human from the twenty-first century. Stolen from the hospital nursery like other missing children.

  But what of the changeling and his talk of the baby’s fate? If there was something Reubair could find out.

  But would it be worth her freedom?

  Lindsay thought hard, under the gaze of Nemed’s vassal. He wanted her; it was plain in his eyes. She believed him when he said he had high regard for her strength. His hope was for strong children. His offer was straightforward and may even have been free of hidden strings. The face of the deal was bad enough without them. Her freedom in exchange for her son. She would become the property of An Reubair, chattel to live in a faerie land among the Danann.

  She wondered what Danu herself would say about this. She still didn’t know the purpose of the gift she’d been given by Danu. Knowing she was descended from the Danann brought new light to it, and Lindsay wished she had the book with her to examine more closely. The psalms had been left at the castle on Eilean Aonarach, and Lindsay wondered whether going there would be the thing to do. Did it carry any power other than inspiration? Could she contact the faerie through it? She had an awful lot of questions, and she could do with a chat.

  Once again in the keep near Lochmaben, the men led by An Reubair rested from their forays. Lindsay found herself restless. The others lounged around fires and gossiped, but she had no use for the bragging these days. During the long summer light they sparred with each other, but it was worthless play. Lindsay wanted to return south and continue the resistance against the English. It was like wearing a hair shirt, an irritation embedded in her days. She itched to leave. Her body vibrated with the need. At every opportunity she joined sparring groups and fought seriously, not just to keep her skills sharp but to work off the need to swing her sword. It calmed her. She exhausted herself so she could sleep. So the dreams might stop. The nightmares she feared might not be just a product of her own mind.

  Since Reubair’s offer, at night she dreamed of her son, and of Nemed. Once again she held her newborn baby, tiny and sweet, eyes squinting and blinking in the bright hospital light, perfect mouth puckering, his head covered with a little blue knitted cap and a wisp of dark, downy baby hair peeking from under it at his forehead. In the dream she knew she would lose him. Even as she held him, she knew he would be gone the next day and there would be nothing left of him but a photograph. The ache was monstrous. That she’d let him out of her sight so he could be taken was guilt beyond comprehension. It paralyzed her. And there was Nemed, accusing. His hair lifted in the hot draft of the fire in his enormous hearth, and his cruel mouth curled as he spoke. He spoke to her of what would become of the child she hadn’t even named. He told her the baby would be starved and beaten and drugged. He would be ridiculed. The only care he would receive in his life would be from people who did not love him, and it would be her fault. Most mornings she awoke with a face slick with tears, dripping into one ear. The grief brought an ache to her bones and blackness to her heart. It ate at her until the only sanctuary was to not feel at all.

  The men who slept near her began to give her long, dark stares of doubt. Nobody asked, but she knew they were thinking she was weakening. She had to make the dreams stop. So she kept herself busy during the day, exhausting herself, and some nights she slept soundly enough to at least not remember the visitations of things she wanted to forget.

  Sometimes she did forget in the intense struggle to maintain her place among the men. Finding men to spar with required little effort. The fights became harder and more aggressive as each of them ratcheted up the competitio
n. Testing her. Soon Lindsay felt as if she were fighting for her life, and began to take injuries for it, giving them as well. To be sure, she began to intimidate some of the men, and comments arose that she’d lost her mind. A secret smile touched her lips whenever she heard that. Better to be thought crazy than weak, for all men feared a madwoman, but no man feared a normal one. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to consider Reubair’s offer after all. With luck, she could hold her own here and think of a way to approach the Bhrochan on her own.

  But the faerie wouldn’t let it go. One day while sparring, she looked up to find him there, his sword in one hand and the tip of it resting on the ground beside him. He said to her opponent, “Leave us.” The man obeyed and took his sword to another challenge. An Reubair faced Lindsay with a grin on his face and a friendly stance. “Care to take me to task today?”

  “You want to practice?”

  He twirled his weapon in a lazy mulinette and hefted his shield in his other hand. “I want a good fight and will get the best one from you, I think. I see by the scars and fresh cuts on your hands you do not hold back anymore.”

  Her chin raised. “I never used to.”

  “You did. Now you don’t. I want to see what you’ve taught yourself.”

  “Why should you care what I may know or not know? You say all you want is to know what sort of babies I make.”

  “And I would have a look at the one you’ve already made, to know better what to expect from you. Meanwhile, I like a challenge and will test your heart as well as your body.” He took a stance with his sword held high, and she countered with a forward one, her shield and sword both held to the front.

  “I’m likely to hurt you.”

  “That we shall see.” With a flourish he attacked, and she fended easily with her shield. He was slow and sloppy, and she knew he was playing with her. Nobody in this company was that bad a swordsman. So she held up her guard and knew his real attack would come soon. When he came at her again, he was as thoughtless as before. Again she fended, and held her ground. Shields clashed with a wooden thud, and Reubair relented.

  Her impatience rose, and she taunted, “Is that all you have to offer?” If he believed she thought he was really fighting, he might underestimate her as much as he wished to be underestimated himself.

  Reubair attacked again, this time with all his skill and force. Fending wasn’t so easy this time, and he backed her away. But she took the stroke with her shield and returned with her sword for a long exchange. Their swords clanged in the afternoon air, and Lindsay was glad to have the preliminaries done with. Then they separated and circled to eye each other for more openings. Lindsay feinted, but Reubair didn’t go for it and she held back the real attack. Some more eyeing of each other, and she feinted again. Again he didn’t go for it, but guarded the other side instead. A third time she feinted, and this time he went for it, but she still held back her real attack. He stumbled, but recovered quickly. Immediately she feinted to the other side, he went for it, and she made her real attack where she’d feinted before. Her sword slashed his surcoat and he staggered back in surprise.

  “Oh ho! If your reach were any longer!” He appeared genuinely amused, and he came back on her with a series of attacks she fended until she was able to scurry to the side and begin circling, sword held to the rear, ready to swing at the next opportunity.

  “I pulled that one.”

  “A lie, and an unworthy idea in any case. You spared me nothing, and you shouldn’t. I don’t need it.”

  “Very well. You’ll bleed, then.”

  “Try to kill me.”

  “Then who would pay me?”

  “Indeed, and who would find your baby?”

  That was like a sock in the gut, and An Reubair took advantage of the moment. He attacked and backed her up in a hurry. Before she knew it, he thrust his sword through an opening to the side of her shield and stopped just short of stabbing her. She jumped back, but they both knew he’d scored a body hit. Had he been a real opponent, she might have been dead.

  Reubair mulinetted his sword in a gesture of victory and stepped toward her. “See what I told you about holding your own? You have weaknesses the other men don’t.”

  Other men? A smile touched Lindsay’s mouth. Her commander’s eyes flickered as he realized his error, and he continued. “In any case, you understand me, I’m certain. You are not a man and cannot stand up to the rigors of being one.”

  “I daresay I can. And have.”

  A shadow of anger crossed his face as she made herself clear she was not inclined to give up and marry him. “Your effort is pointless.”

  “My freedom is the most precious thing I have left to me and worth whatever effort might be required to maintain.”

  “Worth more than your child?”

  A twinge of guilt knotted her gut, and anger rose at the low blow. “You’ve not shown me anything to prove you even hold sway with the Bhrochan, let alone that they have him to begin with. I would be a fool to marry you on such a flimsy promise.”

  His cheeks flushed briefly with frustration and his lips pressed together as he glanced off to the side as if in search of a reply, but he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stepped closer and said in a voice gone quiet, soft, “‘Tis an oath. I swear I will find your son if you would marry me.”

  Lindsay wasn’t stupid, and knew his game, but this new tack was an assault from a direction she’d thought well protected and now she found it wide open. An oath, to Christian men of this time, was a cost to one’s soul and answerable to God. An Reubair was laying himself open to a vulnerability he took seriously, and effectively offering himself to her. This was on the level of a twenty-first- century man uttering the words “I love you.”

  She ventured a look into his eyes and found him staring straight into hers. She had to look away, and mentally cursed herself for the weakness. Even worse, she realized that during the moment she’d locked eyes with him she’d nearly wanted him. Not quite, but nearly, and there was a dim stirring in her belly. She’d saved herself in time, before her betraying hormones could do their work on her resolve. Now she gazed at the trampled grass beneath her feet and reminded herself who this was. Nemed’s vassal. The faerie commander of a troupe of reivers. A creature committed to taking what he could get and never mind who got in the way. A man who wanted her body but not her heart, and didn’t feel the least compunction about using her vulnerability against her as blackmail. As much as he now sounded as if he felt something for her, she knew he could not and would never. She let out a cough, shook her head to clear it, and then looked back at him again. “Again, you ask me to take your word.”

  “On my soul.”

  She looked up. “Do you even have one?”

  He feigned offense. At least, she assumed it was a feint. He laid a hand over his heart and tilted his head toward hers. “I must, for it cries out to you.”

  Lindsay had to laugh at that, and uttered a chuckle, but made the mistake of looking into his eyes again. The spark of humor in them caught her off guard once more, and for the briefest moment she considered his offer.

  No. That was too much. It was time to make this stop. She scabbarded her sword, hefted her shield onto her shoulder, and without a word headed in the direction of the ruined keep.

  Reubair hurried behind her and took her arm. She wrenched herself free and continued walking. He grabbed her again and she stopped to listen.

  “Tell me what you would have me do to win you.”

  No. She wouldn’t listen. She had to keep strong. But when the image of Alex came she thrust it aside. Alex wasn’t here, and he was unlikely to ever be here. He was seven centuries in the future, and if she ever saw him again it wouldn’t be in this lifetime. Only her will to be independent would keep her from caving and accepting this offer. No matter how much she wanted to find her baby, this was not the way to do it. She needed to find the Bhrochan herself and make them tell her what they’d done with him.

  W
hich had been exactly what she’d thought about Nemed when the baby had turned up missing. How wrong had she been about that? There was no telling where she should look, and it was only Reubair’s conviction the Bhrochan were no good that made him point to them as culprits.

  It was time to get out of there. To stay with this company any longer would be to invite temptation. She turned to her commander and said, “I’m going. I can’t stay here. I don’t believe you really mean to find my son, and so I have to decline your offer. Since you seem to be right about the men not accepting me, then my only choice is to move on. I must restore my disguise and return to my search for my baby.’

  “No, stay.”

  “For what? As you’ve so thoroughly explained to me, there’s nothing to keep me here. I’ve no hope of success among these men, so I can only go elsewhere.”

  “I can make you stay.”

  “You can kill me or restrain me. Hardly the same thing.”

  His lips pressed together, his fair cheeks flushed, and his eyes darkened with his customary anger. For a moment he looked as if he might hit her, but instead he glanced to the side as his jaw muscles worked. He was thinking, deciding. Finally he said, “I will find your son.”

  “I think not. You’ll look for him, but only until I either leave or marry you.”