by Julianne Lee
Alex only made a hmm noise, for his mouth was full. Happy for now, he settled into her arms to suck on his very favorite part of her. She fell silent, and pressed her face to his head as she ran her fingers through his hair. So peaceful, and so gentle. His soul quieted, for the time being not shouting anger. For the moment, he wanted nothing more than this.
After a while—he had no idea how long a while, for time had lost meaning—a shudder overcame Lindsay. She shook in his arms and made a small, surprised noise in her throat. He looked up at her and smiled, holding her nipple between his teeth. She sighed. “Well. That was...interesting.”
He made another hmm noise, let go of the breast, and rose up to push between her thighs. More soft than she’d ever been, more pliable, she surrounded him with the warmth and softness that didn’t exist in other parts of his life. This was the only peace there could ever be for him, and he was grateful for it.
In the morning, the sun rose to reveal the heads of dead Bretons and MacLeods stuck on pikes along the top of the outer curtain wall that faced the village. A signal to the MacConnells that Sir Alasdair an Dubhar MacNeil was here to stay.
That evening at sunset, Alex donned his armor, mounted his horse, and led his men into the village with swords and torches. There were no longer any Bretons to be found, for they’d all left in fishing boats. The houses had already been looted of everything left behind, and it was a simple matter to torch the empty houses. Alex, his men, and the remaining villagers watched them burn and throw sparks and smoke to a purpling sky.
Chapter Nineteen
Misgivings arose at having to burn houses in his own village, but Alex refused to think of that and instead concentrated on how this would simplify conflicts. The MacLeods no longer had allies here, and so might think twice about attacking again. Alex would send to Barra and invite some of the poorer MacNeils to come fill his vacant tenancies, and that would make his alliance with Hector even more secure. With MacNeils living on Eilean Aonarach, and with a powerful laird such as Hector backing him up, Alex thought, the MacDonalds also might think twice about attacking. Alex knew this was the first step toward making his island a relatively secure place to live.
Alex dispatched a message to Hector, and in April boatloads of MacNeils landed to occupy the forfeited Breton farms. They brought with them their goods and skills, and also they brought something Alex could only describe to himself as “MacNeilness.” Proud descendants of Niall of the Nine Hostages, they considered themselves his people and their presence was a foundation on which he felt he could build. Once again he was surrounded by people with whom he had a blood kinship, and he liked it.
Over the weeks more soldiers came, from the mainland and Skye as well as from Barra. Landless knights wished to serve under the man who had defeated the MacLeods by his wits. As spring approached, the island came alive with new people and fresh hope for prosperity as the specter of war with England moved away to the south.
Aspects of Patrick’s response during the raid made Alex look to him now with a fresh and questioning eye. The priest was a quiet man, though plain spoken and as straightforward as any of the belligerent knights in Alex’s service. Never having been Catholic, or even particularly religious, Alex wasn’t sure how to act around him. Alex had been part of this century long enough to know priests weren’t much like the ministers he’d met in his other life. Personal safety was such a pipe dream here, he’d never been surprised to see religious leaders go armed.
But if reports were true, Patrick was far more skilled with his sword than even a well-trained knight. Alex couldn’t help wondering who Patrick was, and how the man could straddle such wildly disparate disciplines so neatly. And if he could wrap his mind around those, what of the magical creatures Alex knew to exist who were entirely denied by Christians in his own time? Alex decided to visit the chapel and have a chat.
“Yo! Tuck!” Alex stood in the middle of the reed-strewn sanctuary, where stools and wooden chairs stood in rough approximation of rows, and the carved altar was stacked with candlesticks, censer, and chalice, tools of Patrick’s trade. By all accounts this place was a wreck most of the time, but it always somehow shaped up just before Sunday morning.
Patrick emerged from behind the heavy rectory door and greeted him with a warm smile and a relaxed demeanor. “My liege. What brings you to visit me on this ordinary day?” Alex’s attendance at Sunday service was punctual and unvarying for the sake of appearances, but a slightly pointed note in Patrick’s voice made him wonder if the priest had picked up on his religious ambivalence.
“Tell me, Father, do you believe in magic?” Alex knew it was a dumb question, but there was no other way to approach his concern. “In faeries and elves?”
The priest gestured to Alex he should take a chair. Alex pulled up a stool, and Patrick sat also. His warm smile suggested he had nothing to do with his time other than chat with Alex about the wee folk. Neither did he seem particularly distressed by the question. “Of course, there is magic,” he said with a smile in his voice as well as his face. “God has created the world to be unknowable; there are many great mysteries around us.” The priest gestured to the thin air, and Alex briefly wondered if Nemed could be standing right there at that moment, listening. It would probably suit the creature’s sick outlook.
“Faeries? Wee folk?”
“Aye. Creatures of this world and of netherworlds, worlds we cannot know, and of darkness. Tenebrae, as we call the darkness of death. Many different folk.”
“Are they evil? Can they hurt us?”
Patrick smiled, and peered at Alex as if wondering whether his liege was having him on. Slowly he said, “Aye. There is good and evil in everyone, and each man must purge himself of that which is evil to save the good.” He held up both hands as illustration for each. “God separated the darkness from the light, and it is we who must choose. They must choose also.”
“How can you believe in wee folk and in God?”
The answer seemed patently obvious to the priest, and he shrugged like a teenager. “God made us all. The faeries, elves, demons, everything. That much is no mystery. I believe in faeries for the same reason I believe in the king.”
“Have you ever seen a faerie?”
“No. Neither have I seen the king. Have you?” The question was quite serious, as straightforward as anything Patrick ever said.
For a moment Alex considered lying, but then he nodded. “I’ve seen a faerie and an elf.” A pause. “And the king.”
Patrick’s eyebrows went up. “Indeed? And you’re afraid of the wee folk?”
“Well...not afraid.” Afraid enough. Of one of them, in any case. “They don’t seem all alike.” Nor all that wee, some of them.
“No. And I pray none of the creatures you saw might be demons. Never let a demon talk to you, for they lie and cannot be trusted.”
“How do I tell which are demons?” Alex had never before believed in such things, but any more he wished the pointy eared folk would wear badges, or something. Faerie? Elf? Demon? Gremlin? He was sure Nemed never used any of those terms to describe himself, and like anyone else would only be described as evil by those he’d harmed.
“You’ll know in your heart what is evil and what is not. Look into your heart.” Patrick caught himself short a moment, then looked around at the empty chapel and leaned close to say, “That is, when the pope isn’t around to tell you what should be in your heart.” A glint in his eye and a slight curling of his lips made Alex grin. He felt he could trust this man to tell the truth.
Alex asked, “How do you make certain a creature of darkness will do no harm? How do you protect yourself?”
Patrick peered at him. “You are afraid.”
“Not afraid.” Alex sat up and shook his head. “Cautious. If there are magical beings who would do harm, I want to know how to fight them.”
Patrick laid a palm against his wool-robed chest. “Hold Christ in your heart.”
Alex knew that wouldn
’t be enough. “Is there a prayer?”
“Any prayer will do. Simply ask.”
For a moment Alex thought to reword his question to receive a more definitive answer, but changed his mind and rose from his stool. “Thank you, Father.”
The priest rose also, and bowed. “I hope my answers will help you find the peace you seek.”
Alex bade the priest good day, and knew peace would always be a dim, misty dream.
* * *
Red eyes. All was darkness except for red eyes and a smile that was human but not. Nemed ran his tongue over his teeth, all normal, except for unnatural whiteness. So white, they shone with a light of their own. “What does she do all day?”
Alex tried not to look at him, but the darkness all around was too deep. Too complete. There wasn’t any telling where he was. He closed his eyes, and there the face still glowed with unearthly light. Panic rose as he opened them again and was unable to see anything but that blasted face. The only light he could see emanated from the elfin face. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. You have nothing I want. And don’t you wish you did?”
Cold sweat broke out. Alex did wish it, mightily. Whatever it took to get this guy out of his life, he would do it or give it. Anything but Lindsay. “You don’t talk about her, and what she does all day is none of your business.”
“I’ll talk about what and whom I like. And it’s plain your most interesting conversation will be about her. So, answer my question. What does she do all day? Surely it’s your business, at least.”
“Don’t know, don’t care. She runs the household. Tells the staff what to do.”
“I’m sure she’s very hands-on with the staff.”
Alex’s jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He knew he was taking bait, but couldn’t help himself.
“And your knights. Why do you suppose she insisted on sleeping in the barracks before you were married?”
“You know why. You were on Barra and saw the whole thing.” More than likely caused the whole thing. “Stop this.”
“I’m only asking questions. What do you think is the truth?”
“I have faith in her.”
“Do you? Really?”
“Get away from me.” Alex tried to turn away, but couldn’t face the darkness. It was too deep. Too complete. He turned back.
“You can’t get away, Alexander. You can’t flee yourself. No man can run away from that which he owns.”
“No more lies. Keep your lies.” Alex tried to make a fist and fight, but found there was no hand to clench. No body with which to fight. “She’s my wife. I have faith in her.” He needed faith in her, for where would he be without that?
“You need it, but do you have it?”
Alex looked around, stunned and frightened. The elf had read his mind. His pulse thudded in his ears.
“Where do you think I am, Alexander? Where do you think we both are? Your soul. I have found your soul. Now we can have some real fun.” The light blinked out.
In the darkness, Alex screamed.
Then he awoke, trembling and sweating. The fire in the hearth of his bedchamber was falling to embers, and he sat up to gain his bearings in the dimness. Lindsay put out a hand to stroke his clammy back.
“What’s the matter?” Her voice was calm and sleepy; he must not have screamed aloud.
“Nothing.” He ran his fingers through his hair and struggled to calm his breathing. “Just an ugly nightmare.”
She made a hum of sympathy, and sat up to press her face against his back. “You’re shaking. It must have been a terrible dream. What was it?”
“I don’t remember.” That was a lie. He remembered every minute detail. Every line of that face and every inflection of his voice. Every blackened word.
“Come. It’s cold out there. Come under the covers.” Lindsay drew him back to lie on the bed, pulled the silk and fur up over them, and snuggled in beside him.
He held her close, but as he lay awake in the darkness he couldn’t help wondering what it was she did do all day.
Spring was well under way. By now the men were keeping up with him in their running, and nobody complained anymore about the mandatory exercise. Several times a week Alex took them through the forest, and now they added armor, bits at a time. Once they became accustomed to chain mail and plate, then he would add weapons.
One chilly morning in early April, as they passed the faerie ring, Alex had a thought and slowed to a stop. His knights ran on, knowing better than to stop for any reason, and he stayed behind to gaze at the ring. A faerie lived here. Someone who might know more than he did about magical beings. He stepped into the ring and looked around. Bright green moss grew everywhere, covering living trees and fallen ones in a thick, soft blanket that took the edges from sight. Grass grew underfoot, brindled with black fungus and dotted with small, white flowers. The toadstools of the ring were enormous, velvety brown shapes that tilted this way and that according to their whim. Surrounding him, they appeared nearly as a line of curious onlookers, staring at him and conferring with each other about who he might be.
“Hello?” He looked around. There had once been a woman here, dressed in blue. He was certain of it. “Miss?” How was one supposed to address a faerie? So far the wee folk he’d been exposed to had been fairly rude, and he wondered whether politeness would be lost on the lady in blue. “Ma’am?”
He turned, and there she was, sitting on a fallen tree gone plush with the moss. Glorious and golden, she appeared to give off a light of her own that radiated from her heart. She wore a long cloak over her shoulders, but didn’t seem to need it, for she was a warmth herself. Her pale, long-sleeved blue dress shimmered as she moved, and when she smiled at Alex, he could feel it deep inside. It fought the cold day.
“Hello, young man.”
Alex blinked. It had been an awfully long time since he’d thought of himself as young. “Hello.” Now his mind blanked, and he couldn’t remember why he’d stopped to look for her. “Are you a faerie?”
Her golden hair curled softly around the tips of delicately curved and pointed ears, and the corners of her eyes turned up ever so slightly. They reminded him of Lindsay’s eyes, but a more pale blue. The woman laughed, the sound like a brook falling over many stones. “That is what you call us now, I think.”
“What did they call you before?”
“Myself? I am called Danu. My people are the Tuatha Dé Danann, which means the People of the Goddess Danu.”
His jaw dropped open as he recognized the name of the faerie Lindsay had said gave her a book of psalms. Quickly he recovered himself, closed his mouth, and said, “Pleased to meet you, Danu.” Then what she’d said registered. “You’re a goddess?”
She laughed again. “Well, you know what they say. Technology sufficiently advanced is indistinguishable from magic. In the sense that I appear to be a goddess, I may as well be one.”
Now Alex knew the meaning of the term cognitive dissonance. He raised his palms and waved away the sensation of disrupted awareness. “Uh...well, they will say that. In about seven centuries.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you hear it?”
Her thin, graceful shoulders shrugged. “Around. I cannae say as I remember when or where. It’s part of being who I am. Even I sometimes don’t understand it.” It seemed to amuse her in a mild, don’t-give-a-damn sort of way.
“How can you not?”
“Do you understand the workings of your own mind? Are you able to say why you remember some things and don’t remember others? Why you sometimes know things without knowing where you learned them? We...faeries, as you say, are different from humans, but not so very different at the end of the day.”
“So, if you’re a goddess, why are you here?”
“Here?”
“On my island.”
Her laughter was light and pleasant to hear. “Oh, well, why not? Why not your island? It’s a beautiful place, aye? Why should
I not want to spend my days in such a place?”
Though he didn’t entirely trust her explanation, particularly in the light of her previous contact with Lindsay, she did have an excellent point. He knew he could be a happy man to never leave.
“So.” Her voice took on a note of getting down to business. “What moves you to call for me?” Her tone suggested she thought it was about time he did.
“Curiosity.”
“But not idle curiosity.”
How much did she really know? “Do you know a guy named Nemed?”
Her face paled to nearly dead white. Apparently she could be surprised. “You’ve crossed Nemed? In what way? How badly?”
Her fear alarmed him and his skin went cold so he shivered in the damp day. This woman was a goddess, and she was afraid of this guy. “Who is he? Is he one of the too-ha whoever?”
“Tuatha Dé Danann. And, no. Not in the least, and he would harm ye for saying such a thing. He and his people are much older. He struggled against the old gods, the Fomors.”
“Older than you guys?”
Impatience tinged her voice. “The world is far older than anyone dreams, Alexander.” It shouldn’t have surprised him for her to know his name, but it did nevertheless. She continued, “The Fomors were terrible creatures, the offspring of Chaos and Night. The most gruesome of them was Balor—”
“Was. This Balor guy isn’t around anymore?”
For a moment she thought that over, then said, “Not in the sense that you can see him and do battle with him, but I think if you ever were caught out at sea, at night, with a storm lashing your boat with wind and rain and sea, you might ken something of him.”
Alex recalled a particularly bad storm his carrier had weathered on his first cruise, and knew she told the truth. He nodded. He knew old Balor after all.
