Knight's Lady, page 22
part #1 of Tenebrae Series
“But if she felt the same way about you, you wouldn’t respect her wish?”
“No. She’s the one who has to live. End of story.” He really didn’t want to talk about this anymore.
“You’re the one who needs to survive now, sir. You’re the thing that is keeping her from giving herself up to The Robber. If you give up, so will she.”
The image of An Reubair that swarmed into Alex’s mind also brought a pain to his gut. Hatred. Anger. They ate at him with fiery agony. He tensed to get up but hadn’t the strength for it. He wanted to kill Reubair, and said so as he rolled onto his back on the cold floor. “I’m going to make certain he dies for this.”
“Then live so you can.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Patrick sighed. “Good.”
* * *
Lindsay sat at table in the Great Hall, wishing the Danann king would be on his way so she and Reubair could go back to taking their meals in private. She hated being on display before Reubair’s nobles, pretending all was well and letting everyone who saw her think she was there willingly. She drank her mead to quell the headache that clenched her brain every day now, it seemed. The drink always seemed to soothe the tension, and like the old joke about singles bars, it seemed to make Reubair easier on the eyes.
Sometimes it was a relief to be able to think of him as attractive, for she knew his aim was eventually to take her to bed one way or another. Day after day of that prospect wore on her, and she never knew when he would lose his patience. The drink seemed to make it all better. There were even days when she lounged before a fire, bored and staring into it, and indulged in long, colorful fantasies about him. Ones that left her with damp linens, wanting release and wishing Alex were there and healthy. On the day she’d discovered she wasn’t pregnant, there had been a tinge of disappointment she wouldn’t need to sleep with Reubair so he would think he was a father, and it made her flush with shame. That day she’d spent hiding in her closet bed, reluctant to even look at him. There was something wrong with her. There had to be, for her to think that way about him.
Today she drank deeply of the mead and felt sunnier for it. When she looked at Reubair, his laughter lifted her heart and his smile warmed it. When he looked at her, there seemed an instant when she thought she might like to be pregnant by him in truth. It went away, but there was no shame. No deep flush of regret for the feeling. She was tired of resisting. It might be nice to surrender to him and have it over with. She ate her meal and glanced over at Reubair frequently. If only this were settled.
Settled... if only she could get Alex out of the dungeon and away from this castle.
After supper she went for a walk in the garden, a walled area tucked between the keep and the stables. It wasn’t large, but big enough for a bit of exercise that didn’t involve being stared at by faerie townsfolk. The spring flora had ventured out, and though there were no hothouses in this castle and therefore no cultured and delicate flowers from the Continent, she strolled down random trails under gnarled pines and oaks covered in moss and dotted with small white and yellow flowers. Less a garden, really, than an enclosed bit of forest. Trees and undergrowth grew thick enough here that one couldn’t see the walls of the garden until one came right up on them.
Neither did she see Trefor until she was right up on him.
“Lindsay.” He slipped down from his hiding place in the crotch of a huge oak and confronted her.
It startled her, and her heart leapt for fear. She was unarmed, and never felt good about that, so lately she’d been reacting badly to pretty much everything. Reubair let her have a knife only while eating. She’d long given up the idea of fighting him, but wished she had protection from others here. “Trefor. What do you want?”
“To talk.”
She looked around but saw nobody. Surely that was why Trefor had chosen this place, for the garden was usually deserted. It was, in fact, the reason she liked walking here. She stood up to him, stiff and as sure of herself as she could manage just then. But it felt false, for the truth of it was she feared him. Unlike nearly everyone else in this century, he was taller than she. As tall as Alex, for he was built like his father. She knew he didn’t like her. He was angry with both of them for abandoning him, though it was far from the truth. He just couldn’t understand that she had been as helpless as he in the kidnapping. Her heart constricted to a knot, and her hands clenched to fists in anticipation of talking to him. But she bluffed. “Be my guest. Talk.”
“Why haven’t you tried to get Alex out of here?”
Her face bled to her belly, and she felt nauseated and light-headed. Trefor knew. She opened her mouth for a panicky reply.
Before she could speak, he said. “Don’t bother denying it. I saw him in the dungeon. And Patrick. And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know; Patrick said you’ve been visiting.”
“I told you, I’m being held by a warding spell on the portcullis. I can’t get myself out, let alone him.”
“And even you know that’s not enough to keep you here, because I told you as much. I think I know why you’re still here.”
She pulled herself up even more erect and looked down her nose at him. “What is it you think?”
“I’ve been watching you. At dinner. I think it’s another type of spell you’re under. Reubair has been feeding you something that has you under a love spell.”
Lindsay snorted and tilted her head. “Nonsense. I despise Reubair.”
“I know. That’s what makes your behavior so strange. One moment you’re gaping at him like a love-struck teenager, and the next you’re looking around for a way out of the room. It took me a while to figure out what was going on, but then I realized it was always at meals. The extreme goo-goo eyes thing always happens at meals, and you level out in the afternoons and evenings. It’s something he’s done to the food or drink. What does he give you? Do you always eat out of the same dishes? Does his drink come from the same source as yours?”
Lindsay thought back over the past weeks and realized Reubair never drank what she did. His was always wine, and hers the spiced mead. She said, “No.”
“And you’ve been having thoughts you’re ashamed of. I can see them on your face when you look at him.”
Lindsay nodded. She couldn’t deny it.
He sighed. “You know, in a way it’s a relief. At first I thought you’d thrown over Alex for that creep.”
“I could never. Not even under the strongest spell.” Not technically, anyway. Her cheeks heated at the thought she might have surrendered in a weak moment, and she thanked God to have had the strength to resist.
“Which is why Alex is still alive, I expect.”
“I risked a lot to save his life.”
Trefor shifted his weight in irritation and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not so much. Reubair wouldn’t have killed you; he would have killed Alex first. Near as I can tell, you have nothing but him left for Reubair to threaten.”
“But at the end of the day, my husband is still alive because I’ve been hiding him.”
“And the question is, now that you know what Reubair is up to concerning yourself, what are you going to do about it?”
Lindsay blinked. What could she do about it? “Stop drinking the mead.”
Trefor nodded. “Good start. But you also need to get out of here.”
For a moment, Lindsay had a desperate longing to stay. Leaving Reubair seemed impossible, and her heart clenched at the thought of never seeing him again.
“Stop that,” said Trefor, peering into her eyes. “He’s been using magic on you. He’s cast a spell and made you something you’re not.”
Anger flashed. “You have no idea what I am.”
“You’re a fighter, Lindsay. I don’t know you well, but I know enough to be certain you’d never take this sort of treatment if you hadn’t been compromised somehow. I also know you are enough in love with Alex that only a very powerful spell could make you even look at someone else.”
For the first time since meeting Trefor, Lindsay looked him in the eye. How did he know these things about her? How was he so sure and how had he put his finger on her so exactly? What had he thought of her this past year of being the son she could never know? Apparently he knew more about her than she’d even wanted him to learn, and it made her feel flattered and vulnerable at the same time. She didn’t trust him. He was an adult, raised by someone else, and she didn’t understand who he really was. She knew far less about him than he did about her, and she had no reason to believe he gave a damn about her or Alex. Nevertheless, he’d just put his finger on her core.
Trefor pulled in his chin and leaned down to look her in the eye, and she realized she’d been so deep in thought her gaze had wandered to the ground. She raised her head again, and he said, “You need to break the spell.”
“How?”
He knew how, but wasn’t sure how to tell her succinctly what to do. The training had taken months, and he was still mastering the craft. She had no clue. He said, “Meditate on it. Focus on what it is in you that you want gone, then make an image of it being destroyed.”
“Right.”
“Seriously. If I were more powerful, and if I thought we could get him to sit still for it, I might try breaking it for you myself. But I’m not, and he wouldn’t, so I needn’t bother even trying. It would only alert him to our intention, and that would be a bad thing.”
“I don’t think I can do this.” Just then she didn’t want to. Like a dieter who knows she shouldn’t eat the chocolate, but eats it anyway, she knew she couldn’t bring herself to leave Reubair. The knowledge was like a transparency laid over her conviction she also would not abandon Alex. Both were true, and in her heavily influenced mind they were perfectly compatible things.
“You have to. You’ve got to dig down into yourself and find the strength to break away from him. You’ve got to do what you know is right.”
“I need help.”
A shadow crossed Trefor’s face, and suddenly she didn’t trust him again. There was something going on with him that wasn’t quite kosher. No telling what it could be, but right then he’d shifted somehow. “Just do it. Get Alex out of the dungeon and on a horse. Ride with him to the gate. Follow him; don’t let him follow you, or the warding spell will reroute you and separate you from him. But if you let him take you to the gate, you’ll make it out, and away.”
“I can’t.”
“You must. I can’t do it for you. I can’t go with you.”
“Won’t, you mean.”
Impatience rose to his eyes. “All right, I won’t. Whatever you want to believe. The bottom line on this is that you have to do it yourself. It’s up to you. How much does he mean to you?”
For one dizzy second she thought he meant Reubair, but then she realized he was talking about Alex. Suddenly Lindsay was tired. So tired she wanted to lie down on the grass and sleep right there. Maybe never to wake up. It was all too much for her. Too much trouble. Too much effort. She didn’t believe she could succeed at any of this. She rubbed an eyebrow hard with her finger. There was no way she was going to be able to do this thing Trefor wanted. She wasn’t strong enough. Tears rose and stung her eyes. Ask her to clobber someone and beat him bloody, and she could manage it. But tell her to control her heart, and she was hopeless.
Trefor crossed his arms again. “Stop that. Stop crying. It’s not you. That’s not what you ever do when you’ve got a problem. You’re not a crier, Lindsay. I know you’re not.”
She wasn’t. She’d never been one to break down and weep. But now all she could think of to do was bawl her misfortune. Her head lowered, and she pressed a palm to her eyes.
He took her shoulder, and his fingers dug into it. “I said quit it. Shake that bloody spell. Don’t let Reubair get away with this. Take Alex and run. Free your husband and yourself. I know you can do it. You’re my mom, and ever since I was a kid I knew you could do anything.”
That shocked her into looking at him again. What had he thought when he was a boy?
As if reading the question in her mind, he said, “I used to think about you all the time. I pictured a sweet, pretty lady who smiled all the time, but who could make anything happen. I knew you could save me from the people who hurt me. And now that I’ve met you I see I was wrong. You don’t smile much at all, and you wouldn’t want to save me from anyone.” She blinked hard at his bluntness, and he hurried to continue. “But I still think you can do anything. And you can rescue your husband, because I know you love him more than the world.”
Trefor was right. And how he knew that was a mystery to her. But at least he was right. She nodded.
“And you must do it immediately.”
She shook her head. “Alex is too ill to travel.”
“You can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
Alex’s “Don’t argue with me” look crossed Trefor’s MacNeil eyes, and a shiver ran up her spine. “Just take my word for it. You don’t want to be here after tomorrow.”
“And where will you be?”
“Never mind me.”
“Trefor—”
“Do it. Take him from the dungeon tonight. Be gone by morning. Take my horses.”
“And you’ll be along... when?”
“When I am able.”
“What’s going on, Trefor?”
His eyelids lowered with distrust, and so did hers. Suddenly she wasn’t sure if anything he’d just told her was true. He said, “Trust me.”
“But you won’t trust me in return. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“If you weren’t under Reubair’s spell, I might. But you’ve been compromised. I can’t trust you so well right now.”
“A likely story.”
“And I’m sticking to it.” He waited for her to acquiesce, and when she didn’t, he took a deep breath. “Okay, believe me, or don’t. Trust me or not. It’s up to you what you would do tonight. Take him out of here, or risk having him murdered before your eyes as soon as Reubair learns he’s here.”
Lindsay’s gut turned sour, for she knew Reubair would do exactly that. He would make her watch. Without waiting for a reply, Trefor turned and retreated in the direction of the keep. Lindsay watched him go, and though she also wanted to return to the keep, she continued her walk so she wouldn’t look like she was following him.
Sixteen
Alex was standing. Barely, but at least he was on his feet instead of his back, and his belly no longer felt as if his guts would slide out onto the floor if he let go of his wound. The stitches Mary had put in were gone, having been bitten off by Patrick once they were no longer needed. Alex figured he may have been better off without them, since they had probably been the source of his fever and had nearly killed him. As hard as he and Lindsay always struggled to get people to boil things, more often than not they didn’t bother, and without Lindsay around to insist, Mary was likely to have spit on the thread to put it through the needle. Basic sanitation was a distant dream, and Alex didn’t figure he’d live long enough to die of the plague when it arrived in a few decades.
But for now he was alive, and determined to stay that way as long as he could. He stood in the darkness, one hand leaned heavily against the wall and his feet spaced widely for balance. Somebody had set a torch in the next room, and a dim spill of light came through the barred window in the door. Except for the torches Lindsay brought, it was the first light they’d had in this cell.
He now saw how tiny the room was, barely large enough for the two of them to lie down in. Patrick sat near a corner, leaning against the wall next to the door, elbows on knees. The cold had relented a bit. Though the room couldn’t be said to be warm, exactly, neither of them was shivering anymore except when night was deepest and the stone leached warmth.
“How many guards are out there?”
Patrick glanced at the door. “‘Tis difficult to know, but I think never more than two. More often, only one.”
“A soldier, or just a warm body?”
Patrick grinned at what folks in this century thought of as Alex’s “way with words.” He replied, “Warm body, as you say. The master of the dungeon is a human and doesn’t take his work overly serious. I’ve never seen him at it, of course, but I believe he sleeps a great deal. Lady Cruachan tells me he’s what she calls a ‘wanker.’ I’m fairly certain I don’t need to ask her what that means.”
Alex grinned, and the unaccustomed expression felt as if it might crack his face. His skin was dry. Itchy. More than a bath, he wanted some water. Food. The tiniest bit of grease to eat would have been heaven just then.
“Where is Lindsay? When was she last here?”
“It’s been some time now. She cannot come every day. When she does, she’ll be glad to learn you’re standing.”
Alex grunted and shifted his weight to take a step. His joints trembled, but he was able to slide one foot forward a few inches. Then he shifted his weight again and moved the other foot. Then he was out of breath and gripped a bulge of stone in the wall. As much as he wanted to run away from this place, he knew he would be hard put to make it to the next room even if the door were wide open. He filled his lungs with the dank air, coughed, and steeled himself for another step. Baby steps. One after another. He had to keep moving so he’d be ready once that door did open. He kept walking, and daydreamed of food.
***
Trefor sat at supper and fingered his knife, his eye on Dagda at the head table. He’d not committed one way or the other to Morag as to his intention regarding her request. The better to not let her give him away if that was her plan. He watched the king, Morag at his side, lounging in his seat and partaking of the meal, laughing in conversation with his mistress. Morag, for her part, seemed to enjoy his company, and hang whatever Trefor might feel about it. Her pleasure so annoyed him he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Anger simmered in his gut. Dagda did need killing, just for having his paws all over her.
Once the faerie king was dead, Trefor would rule this place and Morag would be his. Consort, she’d said. The prospect was heady. More power and far more wealth than even Alex had dreamed of. And he would be doing a service to the Danann as well as to the Bhrochan, for Nemed was neither. The elf had no claim to these lands; he wasn’t even a faerie. He was a king without a people, and therefore no king at all. A nothing. Dog in a manger, and Dagda was a fool for letting him keep this territory. Dagda needed killing.
