Knight's Blood (24 page)
Authors: Julianne Lee
Tags: #Kidnapping, #Science Fiction, #Fantasy fiction, #Married people, #Scotland, #General, #Fantasy, #Children - Crimes against, #Fighter pilots, #Fiction, #Time travel
A woman’s voice came from outside. “Sir Alasdair?”
Morag
. Alex looked over at the tent flap and debated the pros and cons of not answering.
Morag
. Alex looked over at the tent flap and debated the pros and cons of not answering.
But he decided he had to eat sometime. He couldn’t avoid her for more than a couple of hours, and that wouldn’t be enough. So he said, “Enter.”
She ducked through the flap and stood just inside with her hands folded before her. “My lord—”
Alex laughed and continued running his whetstone over his sword. “Nice try. Flattery will get you nowhere. ‘Sir’ will do, thank you all the same.”
“Will it indeed?” She seemed unfazed.
Now he looked up at her. A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth and her eyes sparkled as brightly as her hair. Whatever was on her mind intrigued him, but he didn’t care to pursue her down whatever weird conversational path she might have on her agenda. So he said, “What can I do for you?”
“I wish to speak to you of Trefor.”
Alex returned his attention to his sword cleaning. “What of him?”
“You don’t like him well.”
He shrugged. “He’s my son. Whether I like him or not is irrelevant. In the end, he’s not all that likable. You have to admit that.”
“He has had a hard life.”
Alex looked up again. “I can’t help that.” He wanted to ask how hard Trefor’s life had been, but didn’t dare.
“He has, nevertheless, had a hard life.”
“He was in foster care. I see kids here every day who would climb over each other for the chance to live the way he did. He didn’t starve.”
“You think he did not?”
“You think he did?”
Morag stepped closer, farther into the tent, and put a hand on the center pole. “Trefor has told me some things of the many homes they sent him to in your future time. Of one home where food was rationed to an extreme that some might call starvation and where he slept on the floor with a number of other children. Where babies were rarely cleaned of their own dirt until they had open sores and cried for the pain. Where the older children did injuries to the younger and were not disciplined. Where the foster parents’ own children were given preference in all things and he was given nothing. He tells me of the medicines given to him and other children so they would sleep and not be a bother to their caretakers.” Her voice took on a pointed note, and her eyes narrowed. “You must acknowledge that even in these times you consider ‘backward’ only the poorest and most wretched people do such things to their own family members, and particularly not to foster children who are often honored more than one’s own. Fostering is a privilege here, but apparently not so where you come from, and I would wonder who are in fact the backward ones. Even when Trefor was quite young, he knew it was not the usual for children to be so treated. He tells me he knew from drama stories told to him by . . . what did he call it?” A hand waved and she glanced around the tent as if looking for the item she was trying to name. “A box with pictures?”
Alex looked around as if he might see the thing, too, then realized what she meant. “Television.”
“’Tis true, then? A box with pictures on the front? That move all by themselves?”
“Yeah.” Alex didn’t know how to explain a cathode-ray tube to someone who didn’t even have the concept of an electric lamp, so he left it at that. “We have TV like you guys have bards. It tells us stories.”
Morag nodded and continued. “The television stories showed him how life was for children who had parents. He spent his life knowing he’d been abandoned by his kin, another thing we primitive folk of this time and place are not prone to.”
“I didn’t abandon him. And I really wish you would stop telling him I did. I haven’t even had a chance to abandon him.”
“Yet.”
“He was stolen. You bloody know it. Your people did it.”
For a moment she bristled, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Regardless of how you were separated, there were other things to cause him pain. His physical appearance brought much grief. The other children teased him mercilessly. Called him names.”
“I bet they did. Let me guess: Mister Spock, Legolas, Bugs Bunny, Roger Rabbit. . . I expect the list was long.” As a boy Alex had been the new kid in enough school yards to know how that went. Being a military brat who moved frequently with his father’s transfers, he’d learned early on how to fit in quickly. Trefor would have had no hope of ever fitting in. Not with those ears.
“All that and more. He tells me that when he was finally told by the Bhrochan why he looked that way, he nearly wept for joy at finally knowing it wasn’t a malformation. A defect.”
Alex’s heart clenched. “I can’t help what happened to him.”
“You were . . .
are
is father. You gave him his life and were responsible for his safety.”
are
is father. You gave him his life and were responsible for his safety.”
“I kept him as safe as I could. And his mother. I took them to the twenty-first century where he would have a better chance to survive. Faeries snatched him. Look to them for blame.”
“You are nevertheless his father. In the end you are responsible for who he is.”
“I’m not.”
“Would you not be proud if he were more, as you say, ‘likable’?”
Alex had to admit he would be, and nodded. He knew what she would say next, and sure enough she did.
“Then you should take the blame for what you do not like in him as well.”
“Did you just come here to give me guff, or is there a point to this?”
“I came in hopes you will begin to consider him your son, and—”
“I do. I just wish he wasn’t such a brat. Sometimes he acts like he’s twelve.”
“And you act as if you were just another foster parent.”
“To a twenty-seven-year-old.”
“’Tis what he is.”
“And I am what I am.” Irritation rose, and he looked down at his sword blade, thinking. Then he addressed her again. “Tell you what. How about you let Trefor know that if he wants to talk to me he can come talk, but that he shouldn’t send his girlfriend with messages.”
“He doesnae know I’m here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I do not do his bidding only for the sake of it.” Now the anger was in her eyes.
“No, you’re right. I think you have an agenda entirely your own.”
“And that means exactly what?”
“If you love him, then why will you one day send him here where he’ll probably get killed? And as unprepared for battle as he was when he got here? What’s the deal?”
For a moment he thought he’d actually touched a nerve and asked a question with a difficult answer. She blinked a little, then said, “I cannot say.” He opened his mouth for a snide reply, but she continued. “That is to say, I do not know. I won’t know until I come to the juncture when I will do it. I only trust that I will have a good reason for it at the time.”
“You mean your woowoo magic can’t tell you what’s going on with your future self?” He gestured to his head with twiddling fingers and rolled his eyes. Forced to admit magic existed, he still didn’t think very much of it.
She smiled, and a sly light came to her eyes. “Magic takes an effort I think not worth what such an effort would tell me. I only am glad he is here and dinnae care why.” There was a hesitation, like a computer processing a request, then she said, “I can, however, tell you to expect a visit from Himself this evening.”
Alex’s heart skipped a beat, but he let nothing show. He grunted, then said, “Sir James? He visits me often. The odds are good.”
But the sly smile remained. She inclined her head toward him and said, “Indeed. Then I will take my leave of you now, and have a good evening, my lord.” With that, she turned and left the tent.
Alex’s pulse began to skip like a mad hatter. Twice she’d called him that, and pointedly enough to catch his attention. Could she know what had been in the message James had received? Alex could no longer concentrate on his sword and put it aside in its scabbard. He went outside to see how supper was coming and how soon they might eat.
James was there, approaching from his own fires with the leather portfolio in his hand and a big grin on his long, ruddy face. He hailed Alex.
“Alasdair! Come! Gather your men. I have great good news for you!”
Alex made like he was surprised though pleased to have James in his camp, neither of which would ordinarily have been true, but tonight he at least was pleased. “What is it?”
James gestured impatiently that Alex should stop asking questions and gather his men as he was told. With a whistle and a wave to Henry Ellot, Trefor, and Hector, Alex obeyed. The men came in a hurry and the ordinary knights and squires followed, most of them having witnessed the arrival of the letters that James now held. Everyone wanted to know what was going on.
Once the MacNeils were in attendance in the clearing, James held the packet over his head and announced, “I have news from the king. Our liege Robert is well pleased with the loyal service and prowess in battle of Sir Alasdair an Dubhar MacNeil. In his wisdom and grace he has determined an appropriate reward. Many times Sir Alasdair has proven himself on the field. He has shown his heart to be true and his loyalty to his liege unflagging. I hold in my hand the charter elevating Sir Alasdair to take his rightful place among his equals in nobility, chivalry, bravery, and the grace of God.” There was a pleased murmur among the knights. James grinned at Alex and added, “Not to mention hatred of the English.” Alex noted Trefor’s face was impassive and he said nothing. The Earl of Douglas continued. “Now all pay obeisance to your lord, the Right Honorable Alasdair Joseph an Dubhar MacNeil, Earl of Cruachan.”
Each in the gathering went to one knee, while James, who was the only one present who still outranked Alex, inclined his head in a bow. Looking out over the genuflecting men, an array of bent heads before him, Alex felt a surge of pleasure so boggling he could hardly keep from laughing out loud.
Earl
. Knowledge of what that meant in terms of both rights and responsibilities nearly knocked him sideways. He barely sensed James hooking an arm around his neck and telling him something about a formal ceremony when Robert returned from Ireland, as the men rose and he was guided off to James’ camp for celebration. Alex was handed the message from Robert, and though he couldn’t read the Latin, his eyes settled on the word “Cruachan.”
Earl
. Knowledge of what that meant in terms of both rights and responsibilities nearly knocked him sideways. He barely sensed James hooking an arm around his neck and telling him something about a formal ceremony when Robert returned from Ireland, as the men rose and he was guided off to James’ camp for celebration. Alex was handed the message from Robert, and though he couldn’t read the Latin, his eyes settled on the word “Cruachan.”
He held out the parchment to Hector, though Hector couldn’t read at all, let alone decipher Latin. “What’s this? Cruachan?”
“’Tis an island not far from your own. Did ye not know it?”
“I’ve heard the word but thought it was just something they called the little, uninhabited islands, like slang. You know, a ‘stack of stones.’ ”
“’Tis named for the cairn that holds one of our ancestors. I expect Robert has given back the land to the MacNeils for that reason. It was held by the MacDonalds for a while.”
“A while?”
“Some centuries. Not long.”
Then Alex blinked. “Wait. Given back? What given back?”
Hector chuckled. “Surely you understand this charter is not just for the title, but for the land itself. Your vassalage to the crown has just increased. Cruachan is a slightly larger island than Eilean Aonarach, and were Barra not such a large and beautiful place, I might be envious.”
Alex was speechless. Another island to manage, and bigger than the one he already held. Coming up in the world this way was a heady thing and his ego swelled in spite of his better judgment. But he went with his friends to James’ camp with as much dignity as he had at his command. He was an earl now. Not just nobility, but ruling class. This meant being summoned to parliament. It meant powers over his vassals alien to his American sensibilities. It was increased responsibility and debt to his king he would have to fulfill if he were to keep this position. It made him one of the more powerful men in Scotland, and therefore even more under the king’s scrutiny.
To celebrate, he was going to get good and drunk.
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