Knight's Blood by Julianne Lee

And you were never important enough for anyone to write about. It’s not like you were a king or anything.”
     
    Alex knew that. But he would have liked to know about Lindsay. Or maybe even if he would ever be an earl. Trefor thought he would be, and had said as much. “How do you know, then?”
     
    “They told me. The faeries.”
     
    Alex snorted. “Right. Like they’re the epitome of honesty.”
     
    “They told me where to find you.”
     
    “Because they wanted you to find me. Like you said, it’s all one big joke to them. Stirring the pot to see what happens.”
     
    Trefor just grunted and fell silent. It was plain he had no answers. Alex said, “I’ll find your mother, and you can tag along or not, as you please.”
     
    Trefor’s eyes flashed again with a glance toward Alex, but then focused on his plate.
     
    Hector’s loud voice cut through the ambient noise of breakfasting knights. “Introduce me to your guest, brother! And curse me for a blind man if he isn’t a relation from your Hungary!” The Barra laird, wearing little more than tunic, trews, and a long, ugly brown plaid draped over his shoulder, strode up the room, snagged a chair from one of the lower tables, and set it behind Alex and Trefor. Then he leaned between them, took a slab of meat from Trefor’s plate, and sat back on the chair to eat. Trefor stared at him with an evil look in his eye that Alex wanted to slap from his face. Hector was a good friend, and if not an actual brother, nevertheless behaved as much of one as Pete or Carl.
     
    “Hector MacNeil of Barra, this is my cousin from Hungary, Trefor Pawlowski.”
     
    Hector laughed out loud, then lowered his voice and said, “Why the story? Who is he in actuality?”
     
    Alex also lowered his voice. “He’s my son.”
     
    Now Hector’s face fell. “Truth to tell? Ye wouldnae lie to me, brother?”
     
    “Never. He’s my stolen son, all grown up. Faeries did it.”
     
    Alarm crossed Hector’s face at the mention of faeries, and he eyed Trefor. “And why is he here?”
     
    Trefor said, a testy edge to his voice, “You don’t have to talk like I’m not here.” He spoke Middle English. A bit stiffly, but it was understandable.
     
    Alex gazed at him. Huh . What else about Trefor did he still need to know? “Where’d you learn to speak the language?” Alex continued in the archaic tongue, for the benefit of Hector, who had English, Gaelic, and a little Latin.
     
    “I have a gift for languages. I know all the major modern European ones, some minor ones, a little Chinese and Japanese. I’m a wiz with Farsi, and I speak fluent Klingon. Picking up Middle English in preparation for this trip was like falling off a log.”
     
    “Gaelic?”
     
    “Modern Scottish Gaelic and medieval Gaelic. I was lucky enough to find an instructor who knew both.”
     
    Alex grunted once and considered that, then turned to Hector. “He came to claim his birthright. I’ve explained to him there is none, but he wants to stay anyway and help me look for my wife.”
     
    “My mother. And you’re not going to find her.”
     
    “But we’re going to go looking anyway.”
     
    “Pissing up a rope.”
     
    “It’s my rope. My piss.”
     
    Hector butted in loudly. “Very well, then! It’s a search we’ll have. A hunt for the fair Lady Marilyn Pawlowski MacNeil.”
     
    Trefor peered at Alex and frowned. “You let them think you married your cousin?”
     
    “Distant cousin. It’s really the foster sister thing that is stickier here. No actual law, but it’s frowned upon.”
     
    “Ick.”
     
    “It’s not like—”
     
    “The two of you put your heads together, you’ll find the woman.” Hector leaned forward to grab another piece of meat from Trefor’s plate, then sat back to eat it. His cheeks stuffed with food, he said, “I see he’s a MacNeil to the core, Ailig.”
     
    Alex gave Hector only a bland stare, then said to Trefor, “Show him your