Knight's Lady, page 14
part #1 of Tenebrae Series
“Over the long course, the favor of the king sustains us. Lack of favor would hurt us. One life cannot make up for that. Even my own life would be forfeit in such a predicament as you describe. I certainly would understand. My duty is to the advancement — and therefore the protection — of my clan.”
“That’s why you don’t care whom you marry?”
“Of course it is.” Her tone suggested she thought he might be putting her on that he was ignorant of this. “Why are you asking me these things? Did nobody teach you of family loyalty when you were a boy?”
That struck him as an awfully strange thing to say. Having had no family growing up, he also was stung by it. Nobody had taught him much of anything when he was a boy, particularly not family loyalty. “Loyalty? How is throwing my mother to the wolves family loyalty?”
“Helping her in lieu of obeying the king would be unutterably selfish. You would be ‘throwing to the wolves,’ as you say, the entire clan to save someone for the sake of your own love for her. Terribly selfish.”
Trefor gazed at her as he puzzled over this. Selfish? The look in her eyes was of deep caring that he didn’t already understand this. He might have expected a dull, cynical glaze, but it was plain she was alarmed for him.
She said in a voice soft with concern for him, “What has happened to your mother?”
“I’m speaking only in speculation. Hypothetically.”
Her lips pressed together, and he knew she didn’t believe him. She waited for him to speak again.
“All right,” he said, “I have word she’s been abducted by someone.”
To his chagrin she sighed in relief. “Well, then simply pay the ransom and have her back.”
“He doesn’t want a ransom.”
Now Deirbhile frowned. “What else could her abductor want? That is...” Then something struck her. “Oh, dear. Could they have eloped?”
“No. My father is alive.” Barely, but last time Trefor saw Alex he was still breathing.
“Then he should go after her.”
A lie leapt to Trefor’s lips, a little more easily than it should have, perhaps for wishful thinking. “He’s a very old man.”
“Then, what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Perhaps she wishes only to be a mistress.”
The thought curdled Trefor’s blood. Lindsay willingly with An Reubair. But that didn’t make any sense, either, as quickly as she’d bailed from the faerie’s company of raiders last year. Since then she and Alex had been joined at the hip, rarely out of each other’s sight, twining fingers and whispering into each other’s ears with secret smiles at every turn. It was enough to make Trefor want to barf sometimes. Lindsay wasn’t so fickle as to go running back to Reubair’s raiders; that much, at least, he was sure of about her. “I can’t believe that.”
“I don’t expect you would, if you’re a good son.”
“I know her well enough to know she’s not like that.”
“It’s a puzzle, to be sure.” He thought she would leave it at that, but then she asked. “Would you return to Hungary, then, to attend to the situation’? By the time you get there it may have resolved itself.” Meaning, Deirbhile thought his mother might already be dead.
But Trefor knew Lindsay was neither in Hungary nor was she likely to have been killed by An Reubair. Not yet, anyway. “No. He wouldn’t have murdered her. If that were the plan she would have died in the attack. They nearly killed my father.”
“Does the abductor know they failed to kill him?”
Trefor opened his mouth to answer, then peered at Deirbhile, surprised and impressed by her perceptive question.
He’d not thought to ask it himself, and he should have. “I don’t know.”
“If they intended for your father to die in the attack in which your mother was abducted, then perhaps marriage is the goal after all.”
“But she wouldn’t want—”
“Of course not.” Her tone suggested she was only placating, that she believed his mother may have been complicit, but then she went on. “But there is the possibility of forced marriage.”
Now Trefor was truly confused. “Huh?”
“Perhaps your mother’s abductor has forced her to marry him.”
“He could do that?”
“Of course. ’Tis little better than rape, and when it’s not a sham and the woman is not willing such marriages tend to be very short, but it sometimes happens. And if that is your mother’s fate, then you must seek retribution immediately. And your father. The both of you must retrieve her and make the abductor pay for what he’s done.”
That was a quick turnaround from the idea that saving his mother would be selfishness. “I thought you said I shouldn’t rescue her.”
“Och, but this is an offense you cannot simply let go. ’Tis a slight to not just yourself and your father, but to your entire family and clan. It would be most shameful to endure such a thing and not have vengeance. You could not hold up your head among other men if you let live the man who forced himself on your mother.”
Something deep in Trefor’s gut not only agreed with her, but urged him to find a way to Ireland immediately — that very day — even without his men and boats if necessary. Again the image of Lindsay with a stranger rose before him, and the rage it brought colored his vision. “I think you’re right,” he said. “I’ve got to leave.”
“For Hungary?”
“No. She’s here, in the north. She was taken from Eilean Aonarach and is probably in Ireland.”
“And your father is here, as well?”
“He’s searching for her on the mainland, if he hasn’t died from his wound. There’s something I’ve recently learned, which he doesn’t know.”
Deirbhile uttered a soft, “Och.”
“I’ll have to find her myself.”
“Then go quickly. The longer you dally, the more likely it will be you’ll not like what you find when you reach Ireland.”
Trefor sighed and sat on the windowsill to cool his heated face on the winter wind. Like Morag, Deirbhile also was right.
Ten
Alex swam up from the depths of darkness once more. How long he’d been gone from the world was hard to tell. Darkness and cold had become only cold, and he could sense the torch from where he lay, its heat a beacon of life. He wanted to embrace it, to let the fire consume him. Burning sounded lovely to him just then, far better than this incessant cold.
Lindsay was there. Her scent filled his head and his heart. An earthy smell he’d loved from the first moment he’d ever been close enough to her to detect it. She knelt next to him, and he struggled to raise his head. She gathered him into her arms, hugged him close, and he continued to shiver there. Her gentle hands touched his face and smoothed the cold sweat from it. Everywhere she touched, the pain eased. A wave of comfort washed through him. Heaven. He was in heaven now, and Lindsay was there with him. It didn’t even bother him that she must have died to be there. The only important thing was that they were together.
Something touched his lips. Wet. It ran to the corners of his mouth, and he opened up to lick it. Broth. Food. He sucked it eagerly. Yes, he was in heaven. Somehow, against all logic, he’d made it. There was a spoon, and it dribbled soup into his mouth. Heavenly spoon. Wonderful broth. Lindsay’s voice came to him in a whisper.
“Alex, hang on.”
Hang on to what? All was well. What could he possibly need anymore? She was there, and that was all that mattered. He swallowed, and could feel the lovely warmth make its way to his belly. All the way down. There it spread to his nooks and crannies, and his shivering calmed. There was some talk in the room, but it was too much effort to follow the words. They didn’t matter, anyway. Lindsay was there with him, and that was all that mattered. His hot body shivered and he swallowed.
***
"He asks after you when you’re not here,” said Patrick. Lindsay fought back tears and reached to the small copper pot for another spoonful of lukewarm broth. The torch burned merrily on the stone floor, as near Alex as she dared put it, so it would warm him. She cradled his head in her lap and took care that all the food went into his mouth.
“He knows you’re here.” The priest spoke around a mouthful of the bread she’d brought for him. His eagerness bespoke his hunger, and she wished she could come every day. But smuggling in the pot and loaf had been a nightmare of subterfuge with the potato-nosed guard. Were Reubair to hear of this, he might look into the identities of his prisoners. She might not be killed for it, but Alex and Patrick certainly would. There was no telling when she could safely return with more food.
“He’s got to live,” she told him. “Don’t let him die. Don’t let God take him. If he doesn’t live, I can’t either.”
Patrick sat up straight, alarmed. “You wouldn’t do away with yourself.”
A sigh took her, and the tears tried to come again. “There’s suicide, Patrick, and there’s failure to live. Without Alex, I would no longer care whether Reubair became angry enough with me to kill me.” Suicide by cop. Common enough in her time, and picking a fight with a superior opponent was appallingly easy in these times. “If he dies, and Reubair takes me to a priest, there will he a fight and one of us will end up dead. Perhaps both.”
“The earl will live. Each time you come, he’s stronger for it. The fever is gone.” Patrick exaggerated. Lindsay could see the only improvement in Alex’s condition was that his temperature was down a little. He was still barely coherent, semiconscious, skin clammy and pale, and his breathing came in shallow, ragged bits. He would probably die without enough food, and she wasn’t certain how many more trips she was going to be able to make to the dungeon without attracting attention to him.
“I can’t come too many times, Possibly not even one more time.”
“He’ll live. He lives for you.”
Lindsay had heard people say that before, but they had no clue what that really meant. Patrick knew, and she knew what he said was true in a literal sense. Her throat closed, and for a moment she couldn’t even breathe for her desperate concern for this man who had made her his life. “Pray for him.” She nodded toward the floor in front of him, in a “start now” gesture.
Patrick nodded, rose to his knees, clasped his hands and bowed his head, and began speaking to God in Latin. In a conversational tone he prayed for Alex’s life to be spared until he could finish his job on earth as Lindsay’s husband, the father of her future children, and the laird of his people. Lindsay found the plea soothing, and continued feeding Alex as tears ran down her cheeks.
Later, leaving the cell with the tiny pot and wooden spoon hidden in her headdress, having left the torch behind again, she had to pause in the dungeon antechamber, in a dark corner, to gather herself before going back upstairs. But instead of calming down, she burst into uncontrollable tears like a hysterical idiot. She hated herself for it. At a loss, she leaned against the wall, each sob a rip in her heart. She was no crybaby. This wasn’t her, and she was appalled that she couldn’t stop bawling. This was not the behavior of a knight, dubbed by the king on the eve of battle. For years she had passed as a hardened male warrior among men who prided themselves on their lack of fear in the face of death. She should he able to brave this through without falling to pieces. But she couldn’t and continued crying.
Then realization struck, like a wave of cold surf that washed over her and left her choking. What if she were pregnant? What if this were hormones run amok? Frantic, she thought back to count days, but realized she couldn’t. She had no clue how long she’d been in the cell, where she’d not seen the sun at all. It could have been days, or weeks. There was no telling. She continued to gasp and glance around the dim chamber, looking for the answer as if it might be found lurking in the shadows like something evil, at once terrified and thrilled. What would Reubair do if she were? Would he kill it? Would he kill her? Should she surrender to him and try to make him believe it’s his?
That last thought appalled her for even thinking it, but somehow the more she turned it over in her mind the less horrible it seemed. Survival. It would mean life. Tears came again, and she sank to her heels against the wall behind her. She couldn’t be pregnant. She couldn’t have Alex’s child here. That would be too much to bear. She hugged herself and continued crying.
It took an awful long time for her to pull together enough to leave the dungeon. Even fear of discovery couldn’t stop the tears, though she didn’t want to be caught weeping too near Alex, lest the connection be made.
Once she was able to stop, she stood and dried her eyes on her sleeves. Then she hurried via back alleys and narrow passages to the kitchen. There she splashed cold water from the cisterns onto her face in hopes of reducing the redness and swelling of her eyes and nose. Cooks and their helpers watched, some staring openly, some glancing from the corners of their eyes. She ignored them. A few were human, and though she didn’t trust them, she did know that humans weren’t taken seriously here and few were ever in communication with Reubair or anyone high enough to have his ear. They would mind their own business, and nobody would speculate within hearing of a faerie as to why the Countess of Cruachan had been crying. She thanked the nearest cook for the water and went for a walk to let her eyes rest.
By the time she returned to the keep and the bedchamber, Reubair was seated at the table for dinner. He’d started without her, had finished in fact, and was lounging against the arm of his chair when she arrived. Though she thought he might be irritated for her lateness, she was relieved to note he was taking it in stride.
“Why don’t we ever eat in the Great Hall with the household?”
He smiled and settled further into his rather large chair. “I wouldn’t care to share you with anyone, let alone such an enormous audience.” It was probably meant as a compliment, but for her it only brought a feeling of being trapped. She sat at the place set for her, and he offered her a platter of beef he shoved toward her without speaking. It was still warm, and as tasty as if it had just been delivered, though Reubair’s own plate was empty of all but a bone he’d picked clean. The food had been waiting for some time. The cooks may have been human, but they certainly knew their way around the spells that kept things clean and fresh. She took a large draught from her cup, already poured, and the spiced mead set up a pleasant glow in her belly.
When she looked over at Reubair again, the feeling of claustrophobia had passed. He leaned back in his chair, one elbow on the arm of it, and watched her eat. The gentle smile he wore was pleasant to look at, and suddenly the thought of surrendering to him wasn’t so horrible.
Her heart clutched, and she looked down at her plate. No. Thinking that way was wrong. Not just a bad idea, but simply wrong. Reubair was not her friend, he did not have anyone’s best interests at heart but his own, and she was not attracted to him. She was married to Alex, and would be married to him until one of them died. Further, she hoped she would be the one to die first.
A small voice at the back of her mind told her that wasn’t likely, that Alex would probably be gone within a few days. Or even within hours. With horror, she realized the thought brought no tears.
Now she was afraid to look at Reubair. Something was wrong. There must be something terribly wrong with her to think this way. She picked at her meat, then took another drink. The horror went away. It was a welcome relief, and she drank more deeply of the honey wine. Her tolerance for alcohol was usually much higher than this, but for now she welcomed the dullness it brought. She looked over at Reubair again, and the bright look in his eyes made her smile. Not a fake smile this time, but a genuine feeling of pleasure. Embarrassed, she returned her attention to her dinner and ate more quickly than she might have. There was bread, and she tore a piece to soak up the beef juice on her plate. Then she said the thing she said at every meal.
“I want my wedding ring back.”
He didn’t reply. He never did. But today he reached into his tunic and pulled out a dangling bit of gold. Her ruby necklace. He tossed it onto the table before her. “Here.”
“The ring, please.”
“You know I can’t let you wear it.”
“I must wear it, as the wife of Alasdair an Dubhar MacNeil, Earl of Cruachan.”
“You’re being absurdly stubborn.”
“The ring, please.”
“Take the necklace. I can afford to let that go.” Meaning, he was so rich he didn’t need this heinously expensive piece of jewelry for his own use. Meaning, also, that he understood her emotional attachment to the symbol of her marriage. What he didn’t know was what that necklace meant to her in terms of Alex’s willingness to sacrifice for her. She reached out to touch it. The gold was still warm from having been inside Reubair’s tunic. If she took this back, she would never see the ring again. But then, she was unlikely to ever see the ring again, in any case. She picked up the necklace and clasped it around her neck. The gold band could be replaced. The far more costly necklace would serve as the symbol of her marriage just as well.
She considered the possibility of being pregnant and decided it would be best for her to slip into Reubair’s bed as soon as she was sure of a baby, the better to convince him it was his. Another glance at him, and she noticed how pleasant his smile was. The clean lines of his face and the brightness of his hair were a pleasure to look at. His shoulders were broad and his bones long and straight, his body a study in grace. Before, she’d thought him lanky and lazy, but now he seemed slender and relaxed. Aristocratic, in the modern sense of “Never too thin and never too rich.” Even his ears seemed interesting and provocative, the tips curling forward as if he found her interesting.
For a fleeting instant she hoped it would be necessary to sleep with him.
Then she flushed red. “Excuse me,” she said, then touched the edge of the tablecloth to her greasy lower lip, wiped her fingers, and rose from the table. “I’m quite tired, and believe I’ll retire early tonight.” As she made her way toward her closet bed, she reached behind for the ties of her dress, but her fingers couldn’t find them. Clumsily she grappled, unwilling to ask for help. She wished Reubair weren’t even in the room and would have simply climbed into the bed fully dressed if he hadn’t risen to help her.
