Knight's Lady, page 25
part #1 of Tenebrae Series
Reubair parried and backed. Trefor followed, slashing over and over, backing him toward the wall that had cornered Dagda until moments before. The king was nursing his wounds, holding closed with one hand one of the deep slashes. The others bled freely. He continued to shout for help.
There was hollering from the bailey, beyond the entrance to the garden. People came running, and among them were knights, some belonging to Reubair and some to Dagda.
“Take him!” cried the king, but the men hesitated, not knowing who to take and only seeing a fair fight in progress. Dagda’s men raised their weapons to Reubair’s, and Reubair’s to Dagda’s, in a standoff.
Reubair lunged at Trefor, who leapt back and parried. Trefor wished mightily for a sword. His dagger wasn’t nearly long enough to suit him. But he came back with several quick slashes and sliced through Reubair’s shirt sleeve. The silk sagged and ran red. The light of fear came into Reubair’s eyes, and it disgusted Trefor. Coward. He thought of what the faerie lord had done to his mother, and what he’d tried to do, and wanted to kill him on the spot. He attacked again and caught a forearm. More blood. Trefor felt a surge of satisfaction.
Reubair fell back and cried out, “Yield! I yield!” Fear of Trefor had lost him the fight. He surrendered, his hands up and his head down. Suddenly Reubair looked confused, as if he didn’t understand why he was being arrested. He said nothing but went pale and his mouth dropped open. Trefor guessed he’d shaken the push.
“Drop the dagger.”
Reubair obeyed and kept his head down. At order from Dagda, the gathered knights took the disarmed Reubair by the arms. Reubair’s men stood down, confused. Two of them grabbed Trefor, but Dagda said, “An Reubair has betrayed me. Leave Sir Trefor be.”
Reubair hurried to order his men to stand down. Trefor noted the faerie still held command of his troops. Not good. Confused now, and outnumbered at the moment by the king’s knights, Reubair’s men let Trefor go.
Then Reubair looked over at Trefor with a terrible knowledge in his eyes. Trefor shuddered. Reubair understood what had happened in the stairwell. He was now a steadfast enemy, and the only good thing was that Reubair probably wouldn’t live long enough to exact revenge. Trefor watched the king’s guard half carry Reubair away from the garden and to his fate of a traitor’s death.
Others of the king’s men gathered around Dagda to escort him to safety, leaving Trefor in the garden with a scattering of onlookers, wondering what was going to happen next. Trefor wondered whether his mother and father had made it from the castle.
***
Lindsay, leading the way now, pulled up the charger and slowed to a walk. Riding double, it hadn’t taken long for the horse to tire, and they had to slow before it would be completely blown. It was time to get off the beaten track and make their way through the forest. Dodgy, to be sure, because they couldn’t go far from it lest they become lost and not find the wall of mist that would take them back to human-occupied Ireland.
The forest darkened, though the sun was still high. She looked behind for something that might look familiar from that angle and was pretty sure they’d come this way en route to the castle. She turned back, took her bearings by the hills around them, and guided her mount into the forest. Ideally, they would find a rocky spot or a shallow burn to hide their tracks and shake their pursuers. Their head start was all too short, and Lindsay hoped against hope Reubair’s men would miss the spot where they’d left the forest track.
The blood on her hands was drying now and had passed from sticky to crusty. She tried to wipe the worst of it onto her dress, but it clung to her skin and wouldn’t flake off. As she rode, she picked .bits from her fingers. She knew from experience it would take a thorough scrubbing to get it from under and around her fingernails.
It was slower going now, moving through underbrush that couldn’t help but leave plenty of sign they’d passed. Finally they found a small stream with a rocky bed and followed it down, though they needed to go the other direction. The longer they kept to an unlikely heading, the less likely they would be followed. When the forest finally darkened for lack of day, Lindsay called a stop to rest for the night.
Referring to it as camp would have been overstating by far. They had no food and no way to make a fire even if they’d dared. She’d only found a spot among the trees grassy enough for the horses to graze. Patrick was silent and moved slowly, with very little energy. Alex knelt on the ground, then sat on his heels with his chin nearly to his chest. The paleness of his skin alarmed Lindsay. Dark circles under his eyes made him appear half-dead, and he pressed one arm to his belly, across his wound. It seemed at any second he might collapse entirely to the ground.
She went to Alex and made him pull up his shirt. The wound was an angry red, surrounded by inflamed tissue. But it wasn’t as ugly as it had been before. A pocket of pus had collected at one end of the slit, and she made him lie down so she could lance it. He groaned, but obeyed, and she was able to poke a tiny hole to evacuate the pocket. Too bad there wasn’t any alcohol. Neither did she know anything about the poultices the women at the castle liked to use. Alex was going to have to heal on his own.
The three of them lay together on the grass to keep as warm as possible while they slept. For Lindsay it was more of a light doze, for she kept one ear out for their pursuers, alert to any fidgeting from the horses. Cold crept in and took hold. As the night wore on, the three shivered and huddled into each other. Lindsay wouldn’t have believed it possible to be so cold in Alex’s arms, and every so often she felt for the rise and fall of his chest against her back, to know whether he was still breathing. When she slept, she had fitful nightmares of awakening to find herself in his dead embrace.
When the dew fell, Lindsay knew further sleep was hopeless. But Alex was sound asleep, his light snore loud and comforting in the silence of predawn. “Patrick?”
From the other side of Alex the priest replied in a voice that betrayed he was wide-awake and had been for a while. “Yes.”
“We need to move along.”
“We should let him sleep. He needs the rest.”
Lindsay sighed and sat up. Her hair was in strings dangling from her head, and her clothes were soaked through. Every joint in her body was stiff with cold. Though it was still dark, she gestured to the damp air and said, “We may be nearer the mists than we think.”
“It would be better were we nearer habitation than we think. I believe it’s been more than two days since the earl and I have eaten.”
Lindsay was hungry, too, and had eaten far more recently. They needed to find food. Anything. Now she wished for dawn, so there would be light for foraging. But just then there wasn’t even a glow on the horizon. To do anything or go anywhere would get them lost. She ran her fingers through her hair in a hopeless attempt to organize it but gave up when it resisted even that gross combing.
She looked down at the shadow on the ground next to her that was Alex and listened to him breathe. “Such a wonderful sound,” she said.
“What is?”
“Alex breathing.”
Patrick’s smile was audible. “He lives for you.”
“Sometimes I believe that; sometimes I can’t.”
“I confess, my lady, I’ve never seen a couple such as yourselves. Even King Robert, who is a hero to us, never went after his captured queen the way your husband pursued you when you were taken.”
“One wonders if Robert is less loving, or just smarter than Alex.”
That brought a chuckle. “There is that.”
A giggle came from a patch of bracken nearby. Lindsay shivered and peered in that direction but saw only varying shadows and droplets of dew in the moonlight clinging to drooping ferns. No movement. No more sound. Huh.
Patrick was staring into the woods, as well. He’d heard it. She shivered again and whispered as softly as she could, “What is it?”
The shadow where he was shrugged, and they continued to peer into the darkness. Then there was a rustling. Soft, slight, a lazy movement of bracken leaves that might have been a small animal or a puff of breeze. But there was no breeze and no further rustling. Though they sat and listened until the sun was nearly up and there was plenty of light for travel, the sound never repeated. Nevertheless, it left Lindsay deeply unsettled.
They proceeded more slowly that day, unwilling to rejoin the track and unable to make their way quickly amid the trees. Navigation was a chore, for it meant finding clear spots to take bearings every so often. Guiding by the sun was difficult among the trees, but leaving the forest would have been too risky. At midmorning they rested beside a small runnel of water, then moved on.
By noon Alex was beginning to sway in his seat. Patrick looked over, a dark, lost look of concern on his face. “He needs something other than water in his belly, or he’ll die.” Lindsay knew Patrick wasn’t far behind. Her own stomach complained, growling an outrage the starving men had bypassed long ago. She kept an eye out for signs of people but found nothing.
Then a shadow flitted past in the underbrush. She saw it only from the corner of her eye and wasn’t certain she’d seen it at all. She pulled up her horse and stared at the spot and waited. Nothing moved.
Then all the hair on her arms stood on end as she realized what she was looking at. Though nothing moved, and nothing in her vision changed, she made sense out of the lines and shadows amid the bracken. A small face stared out at her, and it had been there the whole while.
Had anyone asked, she would have been tempted to say the face was brown, but really it was only a dark tan. The eyes were also brownish, a light amber color very close to the color of the creature’s skin, and the shaggy mop of hair was a tawny color slightly lighter than both. The face was androgynous, and unlike any of the faeries she knew of. The Danann and Bhrochan, even the elfin Nemed, were all the palest of pale, with blossoms of pink in their cheeks. Lindsay had never seen anyone in this century so dark as this. And still. The creature had a stillness that didn’t seem natural, particularly for the truly wee folk, who were usually animated in a manic sort of way.
“Hello?”
The face never moved. The eyes blinked; otherwise the face did not move a hair. Patrick stared, also unmoving.
“Who are you?” Lindsay was deeply curious, but what came first to mind was whether or not these folks had food.
Still the face said nothing.
“Can you help us?”
“Who pursues you?” The voice was high and squirrelly, clipped, and with a peculiar rhythm. Like that old television cartoon about singing chipmunks, the vowels were slightly drawn out and each word was separated by a distinct silence. As if Middle English were his or her second language and care was being taken in pronunciation.
Lindsay debated answering the question, wondering where the loyalties of this creature might lie. But then she decided they needed help and would either get it or not, according to the creature’s whim. She replied, “An Reubair, lord of Castle Finias. We were his prisoners, and now we seek a way back to the world of humans.”
“Humans.” The tone expressed a depth of disgust Lindsay had seen often in the wee folk. “I cannae comprehend why anyone would seek them. Filthy folk. Devious folk. Dangerous folk.”
“I’m...” Lindsay thought better of what she might say, and said instead, “My husband is human.” She inclined her head to the rear, where Alex leaned his head against her shoulder in a stupor.
The creature examined him with sharp eyes and said, “So he is. But you’re not. You’re—”
“Danann. Yes.”
“And you flee Himself?”
“Reubair is not a good man.”
Harsh, derisive laughter rasped the back of the nymph’s throat. Of course.
“My husband, however, is a good man. I wish him to live, and I assure you if he does he would take kindly to it and reward you handsomely.”
“Easy enough to say.”
“Some good people would help him to live only because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Are ye disparaging the goodness of my heart?”
“I only remind you of your manners. We are in desperate need of your hospitality, and he will die without it. Minding tradition would save his life. As I said, he’s a good man and his life could be of value to you and your people.”
“’Tis certainly of value to you.”
“I’m nothing without him.”
That brought a grin filled with tiny, sharp, white teeth. “Then, by all means, we must save him to save you, Danann that ye are.” The nymph nodded to the left. “Go in that direction, no more than a few paces. Ye’ll find what you need there.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll be well advised to hurry onward once your hunger is satisfied.”
“Don’t worry, we have no desire to linger in your territory.”
Again the creature made a throaty, disparaging noise. “I dinnae care where ye linger, and ye’re welcome to dally as long as you like, but for your sake you should move along, for your pursuers are hot on your trail and will find ye here if ye dinnae move along in a hurry.”
Lindsay blinked, and a charge of alarm surged through her. “Thank you again. We’ll certainly heed the warning.”
With that, the face ducked and disappeared. There was a slight rustle of underbrush, then silence.
Lindsay listened for a moment, to hear whether there were others of that kind, but the warning made her want to move on. She urged her horse onward in the direction indicated. Patrick followed.
A few paces, the nymph had said. But a few paces took them to a spot that didn’t seem any different from where they’d just been. Thick brush. Prickly gorse, feathery bracken, tiny flowers of yellow and white and a few of purple. Lindsay felt like a fool for believing the creature had meant to help them. “I’m an idiot.”
“Are you sure of that?”
She peered at Patrick. “Indeed. I am. Let’s move on, before they catch up with us.”
But he shook his head and declined to follow. “No. Wait. Think a moment. Do you really believe that creature was lying?”
“I see no food.”
“Are you certain?”
“Do you see any?”
He looked around, and his eyes narrowed. Thinking hard. “Nothing I know of. But assume for the moment you weren’t lied to. Assume our visitor meant to help. Think the best, then what do you think?”
Lindsay sighed. The best. Assume the nymph was telling the truth. That would mean there was something edible right here before her. She looked around and saw trees, grass, and flowers. Lots and lots of tiny white flowers in bunches on stalks. They covered the area, it seemed. “What are those?”
Patrick said, “I don’t know. I’ve seen them before, but woodland flora aren’t my area of expertise. I was spawned in a town and educated on the Continent.”
Lindsay was a modern Londoner and was certain she knew even less than Patrick. She disengaged herself from Alex, who then lay along the back of the charger, and slid down to kneel on the ground next to a spray of the flowers. She picked a stalk and smelled of it. Nothing discernible, so she pinched one of the flowers off and laid it on her tongue. It was bitter, and she spat it out. “It doesn’t seem edible at all. Not even to someone as hungry as I am.” But then she looked at the ground and wondered. She took her dagger from her belt and plunged it into the ground next to the stalk. The root came up and broke, but she persisted and dug farther down until she found a round, white knob.
Patrick said, a note of amazement in his voice, “Pignut.”
“Pig what?”
“Pignut.” He slid from his mount to the ground and took the root from her. After wiping the dirt from it, he popped it into his mouth for a taste. Then he nodded and grinned. “Aye. Pignut. I’ve eaten these, brought to me by parishioners. Come, taste.” He gestured that Lindsay should eat the one in her hand. It tasted like the earth it had come from, for there was a bit of it still on the root, but she was hungry enough not to care. It was food. Patrick took her dagger and dug some more while she roused Alex enough to ease him from the horse. The area was thick with the clusters of tiny white flowers. If they hurried, they would be able to gather enough food to get them back to Ireland.
* * *
Alex wandered. So good to be able to walk without pain. To breathe clean air. To be warm again. It was nice here, wherever “here” was. A huge field, high with grass and dotted with oak trees. The scent of growing things under the sun was thick in his nose and filled his head. He seemed alone, but somehow he knew there were people nearby. Lots of people, and he wanted to see them. He looked around, but all he saw was green grass to the horizon. And trees. Not many, but a few.
Then he saw one of those trees move, and realized it wasn’t that at all, but a rider on a large horse. As it approached, he saw it was a white horse and the rider a woman. He stood and watched, for he had all day. More than that, he sensed he had all of time at his disposal. While he waited, he enjoyed the feel of sunshine on his skin. He wore nothing but didn’t even wonder where his clothes had gone. They were unimportant, and he was enjoying the fresh air and warmth of the sun.
The rider kicked to a gallop at the last hundred yards or so and thundered to a stop before him. Joy filled him that it was Danu. Beautiful Danu, she of the golden hair and shining eyes. But her eyes were lit with anger just then. He’d never seen her angry before and reflected blandly he’d never known she could be that way. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
An easy smile grew on his face. He liked Danu. Usually. He replied, “Hell if I know. I just got here. Last thing I remember, I was running away from Reubair.” There was a dim thought he should not be pleased to have run away, but somehow it didn’t matter any more than being naked did.
“Go back.”
