Authors: Julianne Lee
Tags: #Kidnapping, #Science Fiction, #Fantasy fiction, #Married people, #Scotland, #General, #Fantasy, #Children - Crimes against, #Fighter pilots, #Fiction, #Time travel
Knight's Blood (4 page)
“I’m Alex . . .” Alex hesitated, then decided if he was going to search down one of the fey he would need all the influence over this guy he could get. He reached back to the far distant past for his best bet. “I’m Sir Alasdair an Dubhar MacNeil, Laird of Eilean Aonarach and Knight of the Realm of King Robert.”
“Which Robert?”
“Robert I. Robert the Bruce, leader of the Wars of Independence.”
“A mite out of your time, don’t ye think?”
Alex ignored the obvious and unproductive comment, and continued. “I’m looking for an elf.”
A voice from the rear said, “I’m looking for one meself; let me know if ye find a source.”
A round of twittering took the gathering, and a light of excitement brightened every eye. The faerie with the golden belt said, “An elf, ye say. Might we know him?”
“You should. I’m looking for King Nemed.”
The faerie leader laughed loud and long at that, accompanied by the voices of his kindred. When he recovered himself, he said, “Indeed. Nemed. I’m Brochan of the Clann Bhrochan, and I will have naught to do with the Elfin Lord, nor anyone who would have aught to do with him, neither. Just what is it you wish of him?”
“I want to kill him.”
That brought forth a huge grin so infectious, Alex had to stifle one of his own. “Och! Then, by all means, welcome to our home!” Brochan threw up his hands and waved Alex in toward the fire. “Come! Sit with us, Sir Alasdair of Eilean Aonarach! And just where is this island of which you speak?”
Alex followed the faerie as the others gathered around him and came as well. “Up th . . .” He looked up and gestured toward the hole from which he’d come, but found no opening. Dim as it might be here, there should have been sunlight shining down from above, but the ceiling was quite solid with earth and tree roots. Alex stared, and disquiet stole over him. He said as he proceeded toward the fire, “Eilean Aonarach. Not far from Barra. It was part of my award from Robert after Bannockburn.”
“Robert who?” Brochan gestured to a cluster of his people, who leapt to comply and scurried away. Then the leader of the faeries gestured to Alex for him to sit. “Rest yourself a spell. Robert who, then?”
“Robert the Bruce, as I said.”
“I’ve heard of no Robert the Bruce.”
“But you said—”
Another faerie spoke up. This one was older, with a grizzled beard and unkempt, long hair. But his voice was one of reason. “He means the Robert that will be, Brochan.”
The light of understanding came to the leader’s eyes. “Oh, aye. That Robert. King of Scotland.”
“The first Robert.”
“Aye.” Brochan nodded.
Alex looked from one to the other, then around at the folks who had gone back to their lounging and eating, carrying on with what they’d been doing before his arrival. He seemed less of a curiosity now, and irrationally he felt ignored in a way that made him uncomfortable. His stomach growled. To Brochan he said, “A minute ago you knew who he was.”
“But that was no minute, and it wasnae ‘ago.’ ”
That made so little sense, Alex couldn’t even formulate a query that would help it make any. Hairs all over his body stood up in alarm. He had a very bad feeling about these creatures, and the fact that the hole he’d come down was no longer there gave him a claustrophobic feeling he didn’t care for. His route of retreat, if there ever had been one, was gone, and the only course for him now was forward. He said, “I want to return to my island and the time in which I was laird there.” Danu would be there. She would make more sense than these nitwits.
“You were laird more than once?”
“No. I mean, the time period. The year.”
Understanding lit Brochan’s eyes. “Ah, that. And you think we can help you?”
“I think either you can, or you know someone who can.” He hated being forced to even speak of this to these nutcase types. Danu was a queen. God knew what this guy’s function was in the world. But he pressed on. “I know there is a spell that can return me to the past.”
“Because you’ve done it before.”
“Right.”
“And you want us to do the same? Or do you want us to tender your request to Nemed that he oblige you once again? Before you kill him, that is.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know it was Nemed who brought me here? Sent me there, I mean.”
“I did not, until you just told me.” Twittering laughter riffled about the room. Alex realized the entire clan was listening in. His ears warmed.
Again, he pressed the faerie. “Can you send me back? Do you have that ability? Or should I look elsewhere?”
As if Brochan hadn’t heard the question, he rose up from his pillows and shouted out across the room, “Some wine for my friend! In haste, if you please!”
Friend?
Then the faerie lay back once again and addressed Alex. “You’ll pardon my rudeness, Sir Alasdair. We’ll have your wine to you in but a moment.”
Alex didn’t want any wine but was loath to alienate this guy by refusing his hospitality. So he nodded, and leaned an elbow back against a knotted rise in a tree root beside him. The curve of the thing was smooth with the polish of many elbows before his, the top of it a glossy, jet black.
A drinking bowl was brought, what Alex knew to be a
cuach
, flat and with knobby handles on either side. He’d seen them often while on Barra, back in the far distant past, last year. This one was of gold, the handles wrought with knotted bears and the lip etched in a delicate design. Alex lifted it to his mouth to taste the drink. It turned out to be honey wine. Mead. This stuff was spiced, and quite tasty. Alex remembered he was hungry, and took an injudicious draught. It hit his empty stomach like a small nuke, spreading and roiling heat throughout his body, all the way out to his fingers. The effect was far out of proportion to how smoothly the mead had gone down. He instantly felt better and took another drink before passing the cup to his host. The stuff was good; he had to hand it to these guys for their mead at least.
cuach
, flat and with knobby handles on either side. He’d seen them often while on Barra, back in the far distant past, last year. This one was of gold, the handles wrought with knotted bears and the lip etched in a delicate design. Alex lifted it to his mouth to taste the drink. It turned out to be honey wine. Mead. This stuff was spiced, and quite tasty. Alex remembered he was hungry, and took an injudicious draught. It hit his empty stomach like a small nuke, spreading and roiling heat throughout his body, all the way out to his fingers. The effect was far out of proportion to how smoothly the mead had gone down. He instantly felt better and took another drink before passing the cup to his host. The stuff was good; he had to hand it to these guys for their mead at least.
Brochan took the cup and drank. “So, tell us all the story of how Nemed has crossed you.” He gestured to his kinsmen. “We all love a good story, aye?”
The faeries listening nearby all nodded and murmured their agreement.
Alex shrugged. He didn’t want to blurt all that had gone on between himself and Nemed. But Brochan waved him onward, insisting. Then he thrust the
cuach
back at him for another drink. Alex took it and emptied the bowl, then cleared his throat. He was stuck. He took a pause while the mead warmed him, and his mood improved. Then he spoke. Carefully, for the drink had also seeped into his head and was making his thoughts dance. “Well, it was a couple of years ago.”
cuach
back at him for another drink. Alex took it and emptied the bowl, then cleared his throat. He was stuck. He took a pause while the mead warmed him, and his mood improved. Then he spoke. Carefully, for the drink had also seeped into his head and was making his thoughts dance. “Well, it was a couple of years ago.”
“You said it was centuries past.”
Smartass little prick.
“Okay, a couple of years have passed for me since this story began.”
“Okay, a couple of years have passed for me since this story began.”
Brochan’s face brightened. “Oh, aye! I’m beginning to see! When ye use terms I can understand, you make it so very plain!”
There was no telling what the guy meant by that. Alex gazed at him for a moment, once more at a loss, but then he went on. “Well. All right then. So, there was myself and Lindsay—”
“And who would this Lindsay be?”
“My wife.” A sudden urge to weep rose in him, and took him by surprise. Never before had he lost control like this in public. Panic he would embarrass himself in front of this guy quarreled with his grief over losing Lindsay. He fought back both emotions, and wondered why he was losing it now. For a moment his throat closed and it was impossible to speak, but Brochan only gazed at him with expectation that he should continue his story. Alex swallowed hard, then choked out more words. “But not at the time. She was a reporter for the
London Times
and I was flying her from my ship to Scotland.” God, he missed Lindsay! Just then he wanted nothing more than to have her back. Nothing mattered but that she would be safe again, and his again.
London Times
and I was flying her from my ship to Scotland.” God, he missed Lindsay! Just then he wanted nothing more than to have her back. Nothing mattered but that she would be safe again, and his again.
Brochan became quite excited and leapt to his feet, hands fluttering and his entire body aquiver. “Flying? In the air? You have flown?”
His job seemed distant now. An eternity ago. “Aye. I was a pilot by profession.” Was. Would he be again? He’d left London without telling anyone where he was going. Bad lieutenant. But he figured he’d be back from the past as soon as he’d found Lindsay and the baby, and return to the moment he’d left. Nobody would know he’d ever gone, just as before, no matter how long it took.
Brochan did a little dance, like a leprechaun in a cereal commercial, then plunked back down on his cushion to lean toward Alex with wide eyes and an eager look of hope on his face. “Och! Tell me what it is to fly! Please! I so envy those with wings!” He nodded as if to affirm his own words and waved Alex on to hear what his guest would say about being a pilot. More mead came, and Alex found himself expounding at length on the sensation of zooming about the sky and what it was like to be shot from the catapult on an aircraft carrier. The faerie wanted to know what an aircraft carrier was, and Alex was unable to resist talking about them. He let his troubles slip to the back of his mind.
Then there came some food. A roast bird that smelled heavenly and tasted so good he might have died then and been happy. The hospitality here pleased him, and Alex began to relax. After a while he was reminded of the story he’d been asked to tell, and went back to it.
“Oh. Right. The flight. Lindsay and I were going to northern Scotland, and we flew through this space where ol’ Nemed was casting a spell. Only he was doing it from back then.”
“He will. Or is.”
Alex ignored Brochan’s interruption, for it made his head hurt to puzzle out what the faerie had meant. “Whatever.” He waved a hand of dismissal. “In any case, we bailed—”
“You threw water from your ship?”
After a moment of mead-induced mental confusion, Alex worked out that Brochan meant bailing water from the bottom of a sailing ship. “No, we threw ourselves from the plane. It broke when it went through the portal, and we came down in a parachute.”
“Ah.” The faeries seemed to know what a parachute was, and that was odd.
“We ran into Robert right after that. On his way to the coronation, he knighted me—”
“Just like that, you were a knight? I was unaware the humans allowed commoners into the knighthood.”
Alex grunted. “Sure they do. All the time. Not back then, I guess, but eventually all you had to be was rich and famous. And British, I suppose. In any case, Robert was pretty hard up for fighting men, and he’d just seen me fight. I’d killed a guy who was out to kill him. It’s not like he took too close a look at my pedigree.”
“I see. And I suppose if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck—”
“Then I was as good as a noble and might as well be put to use.”
Alex’s stomach heaved of a sudden, and for a scary moment he thought he would lose his lunch. In a hot sweat he leaned over the polished root at his elbow, hauled in deep breaths, then the sensation passed as quickly as it had come. A moment later it was as if he’d never felt sick, and the sense of well-being returned. Increased, perhaps. He smiled at Brochan as the faerie continued the conversation as if he’d not just watched Alex nearly vomit.
“I suppose it’s to your unending credit that nobody has attempted to attack you by searching out a flaw in your claim. Even the most entrenched laird might find himself subject to such trouble, were he a stranger.”
Alex shook his head and grinned. “Nah, you see, I’ve got the laird of the MacNeils backing me up. Good old Hector, of Barra.”
“Do ye indeed? And how did you manage that wondrous coup?”
Alex chuckled, amused by the memory of how that had worked out. “I didn’t even have to make up the story; it just sort of all fell into place because everyone assumed I was his father’s illegitimate son. Apparently the old man was a horndog of some sort and littered the landscape with kids. All Robert needed was to hear my name, and he assumed I was one of those sons.”
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