by Julianne Lee
Alex’s chest tightened as he struggled to assimilate all he was hearing. The idea of forcing Lindsay to marry him was appalling, but at the same time strangely attractive. And the fact that he found it attractive was in itself appalling. As he realized that within this society he had such power, his mind cast about for the pitfall. There had to be a catch, and he figured he knew what it was.
She’d hate him forever. No matter how she felt about him now, if he forced her to marry him she would then hate him with all the intensity of the love he now enjoyed. And she would never forgive him.
He shook his head. “I won’t do it. I think it’s dishonorable to force any woman into such a contract. Just as it would be dishonorable to force a man into a business agreement. Where I come from, we don’t do such things.”
Hector shrugged. “‘Tis certainly not the best thing to have to do, but when it’s the only choice—”
“I said, I won’t do it. I don’t believe in it.”
“Och, the courtly love.” Hector nearly spat the words. “Folly from the Continent, and an invitation to cuckoldry, in the eyes of all who would see. Surely you’re not trying to tell me you’re in love with the wench.”
Alex gaped a moment, for he’d thought that was the subject of this conversation. “Of course, I am.”
Now it was Hector’s turn to gape. Finally he found words to express the shock in his eyes. “That, my brother, is foolishness even our father never committed. Sex and love can never mix. It can only end badly. Not to mention she’s hardly unattainable, and not nearly so comely a lass as to inspire devotion in a strong heart.”
That made Alex bristle, and he shifted his seat in the saddle. “I don’t know. I think she cleans up rather nice.”
“The woman is no lady, let alone a great lady worthy of the love of a knight. As a mistress she is pretty enough, and as a wife she might serve well enough, but to devote yourself to her the way ye have...’tis unseemly in the extreme.”
Alex peered at him, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s unworthy of ye, lad.”
“But I should marry her?”
“As easily as she’s let ye between her legs, I’d say marriage is better than she should expect from you. And I dinnae ken how you could say you love her so deeply when you’ve indulged yourselves so freely. She cannae possibly love you, and I doubt your sincerity as well.”
Now Alex had a dim idea of what Hector was trying to say. That this “courtly love” thing only worked if a knight admired from afar. Anything else was disrespectful to the lady and qualified as neither “courtly” nor “love.” He boggled at how screwed up that was. He could hardly find breath to say, “I love her more than if she were a queen, and will stand my devotion against any knight declaring himself for any lady.”
Hector gazed at him as if sizing him up. “Perhaps, Mac Diolain. It could be you’re a better man than any knight in Christendom and have devoted yourself so fully to a woman so unworthy. But I’m telling ye, lad, she’ll be your downfall. You need to face up to the real considerations of your situation. Reveal her, then marry her if you wish to continue bedding her and protecting her.”
“I won’t. I can’t. Not against her will.”
Hector made an impatient sound in the back of his throat. His face began to redden, and irritation showed in his wild, gesturing hands. “Your life is at stake, lad. One way or another, she’s got to he shown for a woman. I don’t wish for the king to lose such a strong knight as you, or the clan either, and I don’t think you’ll go so far as to let that happen.”
Alex blinked as he realized that was the third time Hector had referred to him dying. “Lose?”
Hector’s voice took on an of course tone that rose with the frustration of having to explain the obvious. “I wouldn’t want to see you burned, lad. Nor your lover, for that, but especially yourself.”
Cold sweat covered Alex. “Burned? You mean, at the stake?”
“Aye.” Hector was silent for a moment as the information seeped into Alex’s shocked brain, then he said, “Am I to believe where you come from you never burn sodomite heretics?”
Alex shook his head and said, “Never.”
Hector made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Are you even Christians in the eastern mountains, or have ye all gone heathen?”
There was no response to that but a look of impatience. The implications raced through Alex’s mind, and something occurred to him. He peered at Hector and asked, “That first night we were here. If you’d not learned Lindsay was a woman—if you’d found me in bed with a boy—would you have had me burned?”
“Och, nae.” Relief loosened Alex’s chest, but Hector continued. “I would have killed ye both myself on the spot. More merciful, and far less public.”
Alex remembered him backing toward the door that night. “You had your sword behind your back.”
“Nae. ‘Twas a mace hung on my belt. Tell me, lad, what were the chances of me finding you in bed with a boy?”
Alex gazed at him as anger rose, struggling to think of what to say that wouldn’t involve drawing his sword. Finally he said, “I’m my father’s son.” That seemed to satisfy Hector, and Alex added, “I’ll find another way to keep the men from talking.”
“‘Twill mean a fight.”
“Then I’ll fight.” Killing that Nemed would be ideal, but he knew the elf would not be around for a challenge. “Who repeated your mother’s words to the men?”
“Sir Cullan has taken up the banner for her. He means to curry favor by purging the clan of your presence. He does not ken the truth as I do.”
Alex blinked, and his stomach dropped. Cullan. His jaw clenched until the muscles stood out. “Very well, then, I’ll fight him.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“I’ll teach him a lesson.”
That brought a snort of laughter. “Teaching Cullan. Och, Mac Diolain, ye make me laugh. Mark me, young Ailig, it will all end badly if you don’t make it right with the Lord and return Lindsay to her womanhood. Do what you will, but do it quickly.” With that, Hector wheeled his horse and returned the way he’d come. Alex watched him go, thinking hard about the thing laid before him. Cullan. His gut churned.
The next morning he wasted no time challenging the blond knight. During breakfast, with the entire castle complement at board, he walked into the Great Hall, straight up to Cullan where he sat, and whacked him across the hack of the head with the palm side of his gauntlet. “Get up, Cullan!” He tossed the spiked glove onto the stone floor.
The knight was already on his feet, and reaching for his dagger. “What do you mean by this?” As if he didn’t know. Everyone in the room moved back, scooting their benches and stools out of the way, making a circle around the two. The breakfast meat was forgotten.
Alex drew his own dagger. “You’ll stop spreading lies, or I’ll kill you.”
“Try me. I’ll kill you, then say what I like.”
No point in wasting words. “All right, that’s it.” Alex attacked with his dagger. Cullan parried, and the two circled, each sizing the other and looking for an opening.
Cullan took the opportunity to make certain everyone in the room knew what rumor was being contested. “The entire castle knows you’re more than just friendly with your senior squire.”
“It’s a lie, you sonofabitch. Take it back.”
“There is a witness.”
“Witness of nothing. And I mean to prove you a liar.” He intentionally let down his guard, and Cullan took the bait. A lunge, and Alex sidestepped and tugged on his opponent’s sleeve to help him along. As Cullan passed, Alex stabbed his side. He didn’t want to kill, and so let the quilted tunic foil the weight of his thrust, but there was a surge of satisfaction as the knife went deep enough to make Cullan cry out.
Wild-eyed and growling in his rage, Cullan rounded on him and swept the air with his dagger. Alex wasn’t anywhere near, but stepped in after the knife passed, a
nd punched Cullan in the mouth.
The blond Scot staggered hack, then with a roar attacked. Alex backpedaled to throw off his aim, but his heel caught a bump in the stone floor and he toppled backward. With a shout of victory, Cullan knee-dropped him in the gut and stars burst in Alex’s vision as he tried to roll away and draw in his knees. But Cullan held him there. For a long moment he couldn’t breathe, and Cullan had his dagger arm, kneeling over him. A punch to his side, and there was an odd, metallic pain. Cullan had to twist his dagger to get it out, then was ready to stab again. Afraid for his life now, Alex yanked hard, rolled, and brought his opponent with him to the floor, but Cullan held him from behind, still holding the dagger arm. Alex was pinned face down, and pain radiated from his side as he struggled to free himself.
Then, instead of ending the fight, Cullan began moving his hips against Alex from behind. “You like that, eh, Mac Diolain? Do you submit to your squire? I think you like it that way, taking it like a woman.”
Flaming rage filled Alex’s head. He roared as he wrested his arm from Cullan’s grasp, then twisted beneath him and knocked his face with the knife hilt. Cullan grabbed for the dagger, but Alex was already stabbing. He caught Cullan in the neck, and blood burst everywhere. Cullan stood, grasping at his neck with bloodied hands, and Alex rose to follow, stabbing again. The dagger cut Cullan’s tunic, and this time went in to the hilt. Alex hauled hack and deliberately stabbed again, then followed his opponent to the floor.
No longer thinking in terms of teaching a lesson and letting the man live, he was no longer thinking at all beyond making certain the entire MacNeil clan knew the consequences of messing with Alasdair Mac Diolain MacNeil. He raised his dagger and stabbed yet again, and this time it was an unconscious, helpless man he violated.
Another stab was halted by Hector, and Alex struggled against him before relinquishing his blade. Hector said calmly, “Aye, Ailig, you’ve shown us the truth. Now let the man rest in peace.”
Alex stared at Cullan as he climbed to his feet, then faced Hector. “Return my dagger via my squire. And announce to the castle that I’ll do the same as this to anyone else who wishes to besmirch my name.” Alex could see in Hector’s eyes he was sorry to lose his cousin, but just then Alex couldn’t give a damn. Though a wide puddle of blood was creeping across the stone floor, at that moment Alex wished Sir Cullan would not bleed out but rather die a lingering, agonizing death from peritonitis.
He glanced over the stunned crowd, and his gaze rested on the impassive face of the dowager. Her posture was stiff, her body perfectly still. Just then he wished the bitch was a man, so he could fight her as well. With a glare he hoped expressed his rage, he picked his gauntlet from the floor, then headed for the nearest archway that would take him back to his chamber.
By the time he got there he was limping and the pain in his side was so excruciating he thought his guts might fall out. He fell to his knees before the fire, where the light was strongest, and gingerly removed his tunic and shirt. A great, purple mound covered his right side, and the wound was leaking a fair amount of blood that seeped into his trews in a large, dark patch of purple. He poked at the wound, and could see how the blade had not gone straight in, but rather had penetrated the muscles from his side to his belly, then the tip had poked out near his navel. Another small cut added a smear to the ugliness. He lay back on the rug and stared at the dark, wooden ceiling, holding his shirt against the entry wound to stem the bleeding. Nothing to do but bear the pain and wait for the swelling to go down and the wounds to heal.
Lindsay came in. She’d seen the whole thing. “He’s dead.” She threw down Alex’s dagger so its bloodied point stuck in the chair arm.
“Damn. I wanted him to last a while and then die.”
“He wasn’t your enemy.”
Alex’s voice went low with his rage. “He was, by God, my enemy. He was telling anyone who would listen that I was banging a boy. A lie that would have gotten me killed—us killed—if I hadn’t made him stop.”
“But he believed it to be true.”
Alex looked over at her. “Your point?”
She came to kneel beside him and drew away the wadded shirt to poke at his wound. Bolts of pain shot all the way to his chest and he made a face. Her voice was very tight as she said. “I should think you’d he a little more regretful than this.”
“He could have killed me just as easily, and damn near did.”
“You’re the one who challenged him. He was defending himself.”
“He didn’t have to do what he did. He didn’t have to fight: he could have retracted the lie.”
“He didn’t know it was a lie.”
Alex sighed. “Lindsay, do you even get that they would have executed both of us if I’d let him keep shooting off his mouth? Not just executed, but burned at the fucking stake. Burned alive, Lindsay. Never mind that this could have been entirely avoided if you weren’t so afraid of being a woman.”
There was a very long silence. Then she said, “I do get that. My point, as I’ve already said, is that you don’t seem to regret any of this. Hector’s cousin has been destroyed, and you don’t seem to think it’s anything more than a problem solved. Hector, who you profess to have accepted as your brother, and that makes Sir Cullan your kinsman as well. But you aren’t the least bit sorry for his death.”
Alex fell silent, fuming, and stared into the fire. She would never fully understand. There was no use talking to her anymore about this. He said nothing as she brought the wash bowl to clean the blood from him, both his own and Cullan’s.
Chapter Twelve
There was no more talk among the MacNeils about Alex’s masculinity. The castle guard seemed to relax, pleased to have been shown the rumor was false. Trial by combat. The clan knew, with the certainty of piety, that if Alex had been guilty God would never have let him win the fight. Alex figured, since he wasn’t guilty, he couldn’t naysay that view, and for all he knew they could be right. He tried not to think too hard about what Hector had said about God not wanting Lindsay to dress like a man. There were many questions he didn’t want to ask himself these days, and whether there was a God was one of them. Hector’s contention that God wanted him to force Lindsay to marry Alex made him more than uncomfortable.
In late March, weather permitted the MacNeils’ return to the mainland and Sir Hector and his men made the journey to Castle Galashiels in the Lowlands. There Alex rejoined Edward Bruce’s army and reclaimed his command.
Alex’s flight suit was history now, having disintegrated nearly to lint during the winter. For months he’d dressed as his kinsmen, in linen and wool in addition to the chain mail and plate, and now wore a “plaid” or blanket slung around him that often provided warmth on long, cold travels. Though it was called a plaid, the many-colored wool bore little resemblance to the intricate and organized tartan patterns of the future. In a given such blanket it was enough for the colors to balance from one end to the other, for often they didn’t. Alex’s was various shades of green—which Lindsay had once said brought out the color of his eyes—splashed with random stripes of dark blue and black. He’d chosen it for camouflage value in a shady forest.
Without pockets now, he carried elsewhere the items that remained of his survival gear. The knife was in a scabbard at his waist next to his dagger, the first aid kit—which had dwindled to a couple of adhesive bandages and a crumpled tube of antibiotic ointment——was in his saddle bag, and the gun he now carried in a leather pouch attached to his sword belt. At first he missed the pockets, but as he grew accustomed to the new arrangement he decided he was just as glad to have the pistol where he could reach it easily.
At Galashiels Alex found many of his former company ready and eager to return to his service. Many had gone home to stay, some had been killed in service to Douglas during the winter, but a number of men joined his company from other units. During his time on Barra, apparently, his reputation had grown and spread. The group Alex now commanded was
slightly larger than the one he’d disbanded in the fall. Sir Orrin De Ros was back, surprising Alex he hadn’t been killed by now. Cullan, of course, was gone, and Alex shoved the memory of his former second in command into a mental compartment where he could do no harm. Another knight rose to fill the vacancy: Sir Henry Ellot, who was young and had done well as a fighter for Alex before. That his clan was known to be steadfast in their loyalty to Robert was also a huge point in his favor.
Lindsay had been quiet since the day Alex killed Cullan. Now when he moved to her pallet in the tent at night he sensed a reluctance in her he wished he could dispel. But no matter how he made her laugh, or how he distracted her in other ways, he could see in her eyes she was drawing away from him. Finally he asked, “What’s wrong?”
He sat naked on a grassy bank after bathing in a sun-warmed eddy about a mile upstream of the castle. The late afternoon was fading to orange in the southwest, and the earth smelled rich with fertility and growth. After the long, cold winter on Barra, there was a joy to seeing the sun and smelling the earth again. Chilly burn water swirled around his ankles. He took her hand and drew her down onto the bank between his knees, where he slipped his arms around her and hugged her from behind. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing is bothering me.” But she looked away and said, “This is dangerous.” Her eyes glanced around to indicate there could be voyeurs nearby.
