by Julianne Lee
Abandoning her original opponent she came after him, and he wheeled to find her at him, harrying and crowding. She didn’t seem to recognize him. She was looking straight at him and didn’t know who he was. Her face was twisted in an ugly snarl, her eyes filled with a rage he recognized in men he’d faced in battle. She swung on him, and he went to parry but then merely dodged. She overbalanced, and as she began to lose her seat, he came down hard on the hilt of her sword to help her along to the ground.
The tactic worked, and she fell. “Lindsay!” he shouted, but she either didn’t hear or didn’t recognize his voice. Or else she knew who he was and wished him dead, for when her horse moved away she gained her feet and attempted to hamstring his mount. But the animal reared and twisted, and she was forced to back away. When his mount came again to all fours, Alex dismounted and slapped it out of his way as he turned to confront his opponent. Lindsay hauled back for attack, and he fended. “Lindsay! It’s me!”
But she saw only an enemy she needed to kill before he would kill her. He’d taught her that. Could she see who he was? Did she attack him, or only a faceless enemy? She swung on him and he was forced to shove her back as he parried. If she kept this up, one of them was going to do damage, and it would likely be her, for he would never swing on her to hurt her. Not his own wife. Not even if he were certain she knew it was him she was trying to kill.
So he took a chance though he might die for it. He dropped his shield and yanked his helmet off to throw it on the ground. “Lindsay!”
Lindsay hauled back to come at him again, but then the light of recognition finally came. She froze. Amid the fighting, surrounded by cries of rage and pain and the clank of sword against armor, she stood with her sword raised but still. Her jaw dropped, and Alex waited to see whether she would greet him or kill him.
“Oh... my God!” Her sword lowered and she dropped her own shield to the ground. “Alex! Oh!” In an instant she flew to embrace him with her free arm, and he held her to him with his. Then she burst into tears and said his name into his ear over and over. It was the most delightful sound he’d ever heard. Relief flooded him, rushing into all the corners of him so that he had to swallow hard not to be choked himself.
“Lindsay, I — “
“Sir Lindsay!” The voice was a man Alex didn’t recognize, and he looked up to find a blond knight riding at them with sword raised. Alex swung his sword around to stave off the oncoming assailant, and Lindsay did likewise. The attacker reined in hard and his mount skidded to a stop before two raised blades. He looked from one to the other, and roared with anger, “What is the meaning of this?”
“He’s my husband, Reubair. I’m through here.” She reached behind to take Alex’s free hand in hers.
Alex glanced at her, and a smile tugged at his face. Then he returned his attention to An Reubair and frowned to let the guy know they were both serious.
The faerie knight gaped at Lindsay, then at Alex, and his eyes narrowed. Then he glared at Lindsay again, his cheeks flushed with rage. And perhaps something else. Alex had a sense he’d come in on the middle of something, and puzzled over what it could be. Reubair’s mount danced with the excitement of the battle around them, and he reined in tight to control the horse. “You. The negligent husband.”
“An Dubhar to you, and I’ll show you what that means if you give me any guff. Get the hell away. Take your men and leave this village.”
Reubair shook his head and seethed with the anger of one scorned. Again Alex wondered what was going on here.
Reubair said to Lindsay, “You would abandon your quest? Renege on your pledge to me?”
What pledge?
“He is my husband. Before God and the world.”
The anger on Reubair’s face told Alex the pledge had been a personal one, and very important to the faerie knight. Whatever had gone on between these two was a puzzle, and even more puzzling that Lindsay was blowing the guy off so easily.
“Get away from here, Reubair, or I’ll kill you.” Not “Alex will kill you.” She was ready to do it herself. Alex chanced a glance over at her. She meant business. Her mouth was set, and her eyes dull. Serious. Alex knew if this guy offered any more argument she would attack him.
Apparently Reubair knew it, too. He gathered his wits and seemed to come to a decision, then turned from Lindsay and addressed Alex.
“You may take back your wife, but I’ll have my plunder. Fight me for it, or take the woman and run. ‘Tis your choice. But if you choose the livestock and leave her unprotected, I will kill her.” With that he wheeled his horse and charged away, again to the fray.
Easy choice. “Come,” yelled Alex to Lindsay over the noise around them. He sheathed his sword and pulled her with him. She came along without a word as he recaptured his horse by the reins and drew it around to mount. He threw his own leg over and pulled himself up, then reached down for her. She also threw a leg up, pulled herself over, and seated herself behind him. He kicked the mount to a canter, away from the fighting. When they came to where the support wagon had been left, he reined in and reached back to help her down. Once she was dismounted, he wheeled to return to the skirmish.
“Wait! Alex!”
He wheeled again, coming full circle. “What?”
“Where are you going?”
“To finish my job.”
“You’ve no helmet and no shield!”
“I also have no choice!” His horse kept trying to turn toward the battle, and he had to rein it around to face her. It pranced with the excitement of its rider and the commotion in the village.
“You’re just going to leave me here?”
Irritation rose, and he said, “Yes. You’re going to stay put, and listen to me for once, while I go back to my men and order a retreat. The villagers have all run off, their houses are all on fire, and their livestock aren’t worth my men getting killed, thankyouverymuch. I’m going to call them off. So have a seat, shut up, and I’ll be back shortly.” He shook his head. “Jeez, you have not changed!”
She waved him on, and he reined around again, spurring his horse back to the village.
Quickly he called a retreat and made certain all his and Trefor’s men made it away from the village. None had been killed, but there were several wounded. It would be seen later whether any of those wounds were mortal, but for now it appeared there were no real casualties among the MacNeils. Alex watched from a distance as the reivers made off with the livestock from the village. It was a sour feeling, but not much of a defeat. He’d found Lindsay, and that would make up for a lot of sheep lost by a village that was English, after all. When the last of the stragglers had passed him on the trail, he turned to follow them to where Lindsay and their pages waited with the support wagons.
There he dismounted and let Gregor take his horse as he searched the milling men for Lindsay. He found her, also searching the crowd for him, and he hurried toward her. When she saw him her face lit up and she threw off her helmet. They came together in a shuss of chain mail and leather, his mouth on hers in a joyous kiss of reunion. He held her to him, wonderful to feel her breathing in his arms, hers tight around his shoulders, her tongue, her lips on his in a way the two of them hadn’t had in what seemed forever. Perhaps it had been forever, for he knew how malleable time could be, and he’d never before missed her the way he had in this absence. He let go his mouth to breathe and pressed his cheek to hers. He murmured into her ear, “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I was going to go back to you. Apparently I won’t.”
A puzzled frown came over him, and he peered at her. “Huh?”
“Apparently I won’t make it back and greet you when you come to London.”
“Came to London. That was months ago.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have waited.”
He nodded. “Uh, yeah. You should have.” Then he kissed her again and hoped she understood he didn’t care about anything but that she was with him again. She kissed
him in return, and he hoped she felt the same way.
Soon it became apparent the men around them were staring. Alex straightened and addressed the curious. “My wife. You guys remember my wife.”
Recognition lit in the eyes of the men who had known Lindsay as Lady Marilyn MacNeil, and she curtsied to them in her ragged man’s clothing and filthy armor. Others frowned at her in an understandable puzzlement, then they all bowed to her and went about their business relinquishing their weapons and shields to the wagons and remounting to move on to the night’s camp. They dispersed to their column, leaving Trefor standing where he’d been all along, staring at Lindsay and looking like a puppy left out in the cold. Alex nearly groaned, for he’d forgotten he had an important introduction to make.
He kept his arm around Lindsay’s shoulders and murmured into her ear. “There’s someone you need to meet, hon.” She looked at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to go on. “He’s our son.”
Joy washed over her face. “You found the baby! Oh, my God, Alex!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank God, you found our baby!”
“No, I didn’t, I’m afraid.” He pulled her off his neck and held her arms, nearly afraid she might hit him when she learned his news. “He found me. And that’s him over there.”
A deep frown creased her face, and her eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m sorry, what?”
“That’s our son, standing over there.”
She looked over at Trefor, whose expression suddenly turned as bland as Alex had ever seen. He betrayed nothing of what he felt, though Alex knew he must be seething, in agony to know what would happen next. Alex prayed she would take it well.
The reply to that prayer was “no.” In fact, it was “no way.” Lindsay gaped at Trefor, then peered at Alex. “You’re not serious.”
“His name is Trefor. He came to me soon after I arrived here. Says faeries took him to the U.S. until he was twenty-seven, then sent him to Eilean Aonarach. He arrived a few days after I did.”
Trefor said nothing and was as still as the trees around them.
“That man?” Lindsay shook her head. “That man says he’s our son? No.” She looked at Alex. “No, that is not my baby.” Then her face crumpled into tears. “No, it can’t be him. Tell him to go away. He’s not my son; he can’t be.” With that she spun and retreated to the wagon where Gregor and the driver waited for the order to move on. She climbed onto the tarp covering it, and sat, waiting. A dark look at Alex told him she wasn’t going to discuss the matter any further.
Trefor watched her retreat, his face still impassive except for a knot of muscle that stood out on his jaw. Alex couldn’t see the pain he knew must be there.
Lindsay, perched on the wagon, laid her face in her palms. Her shoulders shook with sobs.
Alex watched Trefor return to his men, sauntering with insouciance for all he was worth, and sighed.
Chapter Seventeen
The MacNeils retreated the way they’d come, letting An Reubair go the other direction. Alex glanced back frequently to his support wagons to check on Lindsay perched on the wooden seat next to the driver, but her expression seemed unchanged. He never found her looking at him, nor at Trefor. She wasn’t talking to anyone, not Gregor, not the driver, not anyone, but only stared off to the left at the forest passing slowly by, a blank look on her face. Unreadable except for its very lack of emotion. Just like Trefor. Eerily like Trefor, for it brought home exactly how much he was like them both.
The column proceeded to a spot near the forest edge where the trees thinned some amid the beginnings of the rocky expanse they’d passed. There they stopped for the night. Alex supervised the encampment, and once his men were settled, pickets posted, and the company was on their way to being fed, he went to his tent to discard his armor and clean up for supper.
There he found Lindsay already cleaning up, stripped to the waist and tugging at wet hair with his comb. She wore filthy, worn trews, and a ragged, overstretched elastic bandage around her chest. She’d lost weight and seemed skinny to him. The last time he’d seen her she’d been heavy with the pregnancy, plump and healthy, her cheeks bright with roses and a smile on her face in anticipation of the birth. Life since then had plainly taken far more from her than just the baby. Muscles rippled across her shoulders and arms, and her waist was long and terribly narrow. Her trews hung low by their belt from her hips and appeared nearly ready to fall to the ground. The odd thought crossed his mind he should be glad he’d found her before she lost so much weight she disappeared entirely.
The faded and warped bandage, not as elastic as it had once been, was wrapped around her breasts and the ends tied around her neck to hold up her chest rather than hide it. No longer was she pressing her breasts flat and letting her shoulders slouch forward, and in a way he was glad, for he’d always hated that. He wondered how she’d managed to come out as a woman to the men in her raiding party. It could be she never had disguised herself, but that didn’t make sense. She’d always been too paranoid about having to live like the other women in this time. She’d always preferred to take the abuse doled out to small, effeminate men rather than give up the freedom accorded to males.
For the moment, he put all that from his mind; he could think about it later. Now his wife was back with him, willingly it would seem, and he was glad. Ecstatic.
No, he was relieved. Only then did he realize how convinced he’d been she’d gone away with Nemed. That, also, he put from his mind, sorry he’d even thought it. He came up behind her and gently took the comb from her hand.
“Let me,” he said softly. She relinquished the comb, and he began picking tangles from the long hair she’d just washed in his leathern bowl. The water was so filthy gray he couldn’t see the bottom.
She said, “I kept dirty because I didn’t want anyone to think I was fussy and effeminate.”
“You don’t need to explain. That’s probably why they keep dirty, too.”
She chuckled and nodded, and held still for him while he smoothed her tangles.
Once he was done combing out her hair, he picked up the linen cloth from the camp table, wet it, and began washing her. She shivered under the cold water, but otherwise held still as he ran the cloth over her smooth shoulders. He untied the knot at the back of her neck, and she removed the bandage so he would clean further. Then she dropped her trews and stepped out of them, leaving herself entirely naked. He kissed her wet neck, and she leaned into him as his cloth moved down her belly to her thighs. Her skin was as filthy as her clothes, and the water in the bowl grew darker as he went. He kissed each place on her as it became clean, soon kneeling behind her, then before her, and he ended by kissing her feet with heart-lifting reverence.
Then he stood to draw her toward his pallet, and she helped him off with his mail, tunic, boots, trews, and drawers. She kissed him as they lay atop his blankets, and he lost himself in the softness of her lips and tongue as she went to straddle him, then envelop him.
A long sigh escaped him and his sense of time and place disappeared. His world existed entirely within Lindsay. It had been so long, and he’d not realized it until now. The need to finish quickly was nearly unbearable; his mind crumbled, and he tried to roll her beneath him. But she resisted and pressed her palms to his arms to make him stay put. He groaned, then gasped as she moved hard against him. Then again. She began to slam against him, insistent, hard, thrusting with her hips the way he might have done her. Her belly flat against his, her muscles rippling against him, her breaths came in short puffs against his chest. She voiced them. Panting. Feral. Insistent. Faster now, and his head swam as she slammed against him and she tightened over him. His hips wanted to move, and they twitched against her, but she held him and made him keep still until a terrible shudder came over her and she uttered a cry, long and desperate. Sounding like pain.
Then she let go of his arms, he held her about the waist, and he finished in a few quick, satisfying movements. His body felt as if it were melte
d with hers, and he thought how impoverished were men like James and Hector, who did not love their wives. For the first time since returning to his ship, he felt whole.
She lay atop him, gasping for breath, and he held her there to feel her body still surrounding his, warm and damp and still a part of him he’d missed so terribly. He hugged her to him and murmured, “That was... interesting.”
There was no reply. Then he realized she was holding her breath, and a moment later she let go an enormous sob. His heart fell, and he stroked her hair away from her face.
“What’s the matter? It couldn’t have been that bad.”
She shook her head. He rolled her from him to lie beside him on the pallet, and gathered her into the hollow of his body. There she curled against his belly, her face pressed to his chest and her knees to his hip.
“Then what’s wrong? What did I miss?”
It was a long wait for an answer, but he let her think for as long as she needed. He wasn’t going to press her for her feelings about Trefor; he wasn’t even sure how he felt about the guy, and he’d had months to figure it out. He couldn’t expect her to have a handle on the whole mess so soon.
But when her reply came, it took him flat-footed. Her voice was low and flat, stripped of the feeling it should have had, and so quiet he could hear her tongue on her teeth. “You need to know I was raped.”
It was like being knocked sideways with a mace. Half a dozen thoughts and emotions swarmed over him. Rage. Grief. Curiosity. Who had done it? Why? When? Could she be pregnant? It took him several moments to sort through his reaction and cobble together a coherent reply. Finally he was able to say, “I expect he’s dead.”
She nodded, and that calmed him somewhat. Then came disappointment he wasn’t going to be able to kill the guy himself.
