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 (5 page)
Brochan erupted with uproarious laughter, and Alex wondered what was so funny about that, but continued. “Eventually I was forced to tell Hector the truth. That I’m from the future.”
“Or the past.”
Alex frowned, but went on. “He found out Lindsay was a woman—”
“He learnt you were banging your squire, and ye did not want him thinking she was a man.”
Alex shrugged. “In short. So I ended up telling him the whole truth. He came to know that I’m descended from his own people and has kept my secret. He’s my friend and still thinks of me as his brother. He’ll back me up if anyone tries to give me guff.”
Brochan adjusted his seat and leaned forward again with great interest. “So tell me, Sir Alasdair an Dubhar MacNeil of Eilean Aonarach, if ’twas yourself who ruined Nemed’s spell, why is it you’re the one wanting to kill him and not the other way around?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t told that part yet. “How did you know I ruined the spell?”
“By flying through it, ye sumph. It couldn’t have been good, and such a spell must have taken a great deal of power to knock out your engines.”
This faerie was finally making sense, but he did seem to be entirely too cognizant of specifics Alex hadn’t mentioned. “Yeah. The engines.” He fell silent and let a long pause string out. Glancing around, he noticed the crowd in the room had dwindled. Many who remained were fast asleep, snoring little faerie snores in the dimness of fires reduced to coals. How long had he been there? It seemed only moments, but at the same time it felt like forever. Days, maybe. How many times had he eaten since sitting down? Had he needed to pee? He couldn’t remember. Surely he must have.
An overwhelming sleepiness descended on him as quickly as had the urge to vomit. Alex leaned back against the cushions behind him, just to rest for a moment.
But when he opened his eyes again the room was lively with people. Instead of feeling refreshed by his sleep, he was groggy as hell. He blinked through a haze thick enough to have been smoke from the fires, but it was only in his head. A
cuach
was thrust into his hands, and he drank deeply, thirsty and hungry. He ate from a plate of food someone gave him, and looked around for Brochan. The faerie with the gold belt appeared immediately, in a hurry from another part of the complex of burrows.
cuach
was thrust into his hands, and he drank deeply, thirsty and hungry. He ate from a plate of food someone gave him, and looked around for Brochan. The faerie with the gold belt appeared immediately, in a hurry from another part of the complex of burrows.
“So! Continue!”
Alex plundered his brain to remember where he’d left off in his story, but everything in his head was as fuzzy as the air seemed to be. He’d slept, he was certain, but had no idea for how long, and he didn’t feel rested at all. He felt as if he could go unconscious again at any moment. He leaned heavily on the polished tree root beside him and struggled to stay upright.
Finally Brochan seemed to notice there was something wrong with him. He lowered his chin and peered into Alex’s face. “Are ye not feeling well, Sir Alasdair?”
Alex opened his mouth to speak, but no comment would come.
Brochan shrugged as if this were of no consequence, and waved a hand. “Och, I ken what ye’re needing! I see how tense ye’ve become, and that must be remedied!” Brochan called out, “Come! Fiona! We’ve a man here who needs to be put at his ease!”
A faerie woman rose from a cluster of folk near the large fire and made her way toward him. Weaving between the lounging people, she gazed at Alex with deep, intense blue eyes and a big smile on her face that told him she was thrilled to have been called on. She fairly danced as she came, and the swell and bounce of her very healthy breasts was barely disguised by the thin drape of ragged tunic. Clarity descended on Alex, and at that moment he thought she was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever glimpsed. He feasted his eyes, and all that mead he’d just sucked down went straight to his groin while his neck went boneless. His head wanted to fall back with the pleasure of this vision, and he barely managed to hold it up at a tilt to follow her progress toward him.
The tiny woman slipped behind him and knelt to take his shoulders in her hands. They were hands far stronger than he might have thought, and the fey creature kneaded the tight shoulder muscles expertly so that Alex’s eyes drooped nearly shut.
A groan of deep satisfaction rose from him. The world spun and colors danced before his eyes. A
cuach
was thrust into his hands again, and he drank deeply. Again the sensation of well-being surged through him. Hands on his shoulders continued, then became breasts against his back and the hands moved to his arms. More hands reached to lift the T-shirt he wore, and he let them pull it over his head. The massage continued, and he was encouraged to lean back against the woman behind him so that he lay in her lap. Looking up, he could see she’d removed her tunic and her chest was directly over his face. He stared. The blood raced in him, but none of it through his brain. The curve of flesh, smooth and swaying with the movement of her hands, invited him to touch. To feel the skin, and the softness beneath. His jeans were tight against his crotch, and he wished for his old tunic to cover what he knew must be an enormous bulge though he wouldn’t look to see.
cuach
was thrust into his hands again, and he drank deeply. Again the sensation of well-being surged through him. Hands on his shoulders continued, then became breasts against his back and the hands moved to his arms. More hands reached to lift the T-shirt he wore, and he let them pull it over his head. The massage continued, and he was encouraged to lean back against the woman behind him so that he lay in her lap. Looking up, he could see she’d removed her tunic and her chest was directly over his face. He stared. The blood raced in him, but none of it through his brain. The curve of flesh, smooth and swaying with the movement of her hands, invited him to touch. To feel the skin, and the softness beneath. His jeans were tight against his crotch, and he wished for his old tunic to cover what he knew must be an enormous bulge though he wouldn’t look to see.
But Brochan’s voice intruded. “And so the spell was ruined and you were knighted by the king . . .”
Alex’s voice was weak and distant, but he resumed his story, picking up the slender thread he was offered. “Yeah. I was a knight, and Lindsay disguised herself as a boy and became my squire.”
“Strong woman.”
“Aye. She was.” Breathing became difficult. Thinking was nearly impossible, but he forged ahead. “She distinguished herself in battle and became a knight herself. When I was awarded Eilean Aonarach, she became my wife.” Wife. Lindsay was his wife. They were married. He shouldn’t be lying in the lap of another woman. But Lindsay had left. She was gone. “I’d thought we were going to settle down, have a family, and run the island.” The room spun out of control, and his story echoed in the far recesses of his mind. He struggled to tell it, as if the telling were the only thing keeping him on the earth. Or in the earth. Where was he, anyway?
When
was he? He had no idea anymore. “And there was a baby.” His own voice faded into the distance, and he had to shout to hear himself, though it only seemed to make his voice harder to hear. “The baby was coming. We had to leave. So he would be safe. To go back to the future. The present . . . We made Nemed . . . We returned . . .”
When
was he? He had no idea anymore. “And there was a baby.” His own voice faded into the distance, and he had to shout to hear himself, though it only seemed to make his voice harder to hear. “The baby was coming. We had to leave. So he would be safe. To go back to the future. The present . . . We made Nemed . . . We returned . . .”
Finally he succumbed to the pleasure of hands on him. With a sigh he stopped talking, relaxed, and the last thing he remembered was some various hands plucking at his belt and fly, and starting to slip his jeans and skivvies from his hips.
CHAPTER 3
Lindsay MacNeil stood before the faerie knoll near Scone Palace, staring up at the pointed top that was just a little too pointed to be entirely natural, then turned her focus to the little, bitty door halfway up. A depression like a navel, nearly grown over with bracken. She and Alex had gone through that door once, and had regretted it mightily. Another such regret would more than likely come her way soon, but there was nothing for it. Nemed had her son she was sure, and by God she was going to get the boy back.
She hitched up the carrying strap of her oblong athletic bag higher on her shoulder, then started up the switchback trace that looked like a cow trail except that it led directly to the entrance. There she regarded the weather-worn little door, framed by rough wood and intricately carved as it seemed everything had been back in the days when she’d seen this last. Carved or painted. The wood now was cracked and gray with age, and it looked as if it might fall to pieces if she touched it. But she knew it wouldn’t, even if it were entirely dust held together with magic. Nemed wouldn’t let it fall apart. He probably wouldn’t even let her through if he didn’t want her to come.
As she watched, the latch snicked and the door eased open a couple of inches on squeaky hinges. There it was. The gesture. Nemed surely had the baby, and now he was inviting her to come on in. A bluff? The thought made her grimace. Right. Like that elfin king could ever be afraid of any human. Last time she’d seen him he was ready to set her on fire and watch her burn. Herself and the child. She knew he would have done it without so much as a blink or a sweat. Even when Alex had a sword to his throat, the pointy-eared devil had shown no fear.
Neither would she, anymore. Loathing surged in her, and she pushed the door the rest of the way open. She was going to kill the bastard, but first he was going to tell her where her son was.
Inside the knoll was the chamber she remembered from before, but it was empty. Not like before, when there had been a fire and food. Today she wasn’t hungry. She looked around for Nemed. There was nobody there, so she moved onward and into the tunnels.
As before, there was no discernible light source in the tunnels though she could see perfectly well. Odd to be able to see in the dark. The curves and bulges of the burrow walls seemed flattened. Undefined by light, but sensed by Lindsay’s mind. All was shades of dark gray. She peered into spaces, unable to see how deep they went. But she could see no shapes to suggest the presence of anything living. Nor even anything dead. Just earth. And tree roots. Tendrils and taproots growing into and out of the spaces within the knoll. The burrow led her on. Her booted footsteps were dull thuds against the packed earth beneath, and she ducked under and between bulges of root and earth overhead. Lindsay didn’t worry about where she was going. Finding her way back wouldn’t be an issue until she found her child. Once she found her child, then she would worry about returning with him.
The urge to weep came over her again, and she paused in her search to squeeze her eyes shut and hold her breath against the tears. They hadn’t even named him, what with the bad connection from Alex’s ship. He was only Baby Boy MacNeil, and she’d known him for just three days. Held him and nursed him but a few times. In hospital she hadn’t been with him long enough to even notice the ears under his little blue baby cap. Hadn’t seen what everyone else in the delivery room had gone quiet over. In hospital she’d been so joyful to have her son, and to know how pleased Alex would be when he heard, she hadn’t noticed the ears.
Then at home she’d seen them and was horrified. With his cap off, the shape of his ears let her know she was not yet finished with Nemed. He’d done something to the child. She didn’t know what, but those ears were surely a trick of some sort. For hours she’d sat with him, examining him, touching a finger to those tiny points and struggling to know what had happened. Aside from that one feature he seemed perfectly human. A perfectly normal baby, big and healthy and entirely intact. Mum had come to see him, and with the cap on she couldn’t tell anything was amiss. Lindsay’s mother would have known if anything was wrong with the baby, but she’d said nothing and gone home as happy about the birth as when she’d arrived.
But then when the changeling had come . . .
It was a little faerie man. Or an elf. Leprechaun or brownie, perhaps; it was hard to tell sometimes with those folk. Filthy and evil, and lying there in the crib with a terrible grin on his face as if it were a huge joke on her. She’d caught the creature by the throat where he lay and shook him. His eyes bugged out with fear, and that fed her anger. She demanded to know where her son was, and the thing in her hands pointed to his throat. He was choking. She let up just enough for him to gasp for air, and growled at him that he should comply with her request or be strangled.
He said, “Search the past, for he has died there. In the place of his conception. He’s returned home.”
“Why?”
Died? In the past?
“When? Who killed him?” She could go there and stop it.
Died? In the past?
“When? Who killed him?” She could go there and stop it.
“’Twas his fate.” The faerie in her hands grinned. “And yours.” Then he laughed. Shrill and manic, his laughter cut to her core.
Outraged, she strangled the creature, throwing the dust of death every which way and leaving her with nothing but an empty crib and a photograph of the child with deformed ears. Perhaps it had been a bad idea not to take him prisoner and bring him with her, but to see that . . .
thing
where her baby should have been was too horrifying. Too evil. She’d not been able to countenance letting him live in place of her baby for even a moment.
thing
where her baby should have been was too horrifying. Too evil. She’d not been able to countenance letting him live in place of her baby for even a moment.
After that, memory grew a little fuzzy. All she could think of in her rage and grief was that she must find Nemed and make him give back her child, then kill him so the boy would be safe. Now she was close to her goal. Nemed was here somewhere. She would find him, make him give back her son, then kill the elf.
Now she opened her eyes to continue her search and thought of how upset Alex would be when he learned of the ears. Those ears. God knew where they’d come from. A spell? What had Nemed done? Was the child even Alex’s genetically? And if not, then how had she conceived? She was not conversant with the ins and outs of fey magic; she imagined anything was possible. If Nemed did this to her—destroyed her marriage to Alex—for that alone he should die. He certainly would once she caught up with him.
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