Knight's Blood by Julianne Lee Page A

ears.”
     
    “No.”
     
    “I said, show him.” The threat in his voice was to let Trefor know he would draw blood if Trefor didn’t comply.
     
    Slowly the younger man raised a hand to draw aside the hair covering one ear.
     
    “Och,” said Hector.
     
    “If he’s a MacNeil—if he didn’t get those from me—where did they come from?”
     
    “Faeries. ’Tis a mark of faeries. Had he been left instead of stolen, I’d be calling him changeling.”
     
    “What’s a changeling?”
     
    “When a child is stolen, the faeries leave behind one of their own. Sometimes identical to the child but weak and failing, sometimes a creature plainly not human at all.”
     
    Alex remembered the crib splattered with dust. Slowly he said, “And . . . if one were to kill such a creature, would it turn to dust then and there?”
     
    Hector nodded. “I’ve heard of it.” He leaned toward Trefor, his eyes wide, gawking at the faerie man before him. He leaned to see, but Trefor brushed his hair over his ears and made sure they were covered.
     
    Alex said, “Faerie blood you say? You mean those goofy little folks who are all mad as hatters?” He’d almost rather it had been that elf, Nemed.
     
    Hector shook his head. “I cannae say. But if he’s your son and your wife’s, one of you has given him the blood. And I can see he’s your son. There cannae be any doubt about that.”
     
    Alex made a disparaging noise in the back of his throat. “My kingdom for a DNA test kit.”
     
    Only Trefor snorted at that, for half the sentence was necessarily in modern English and the reference was to a play that wouldn’t be written for another two and a half centuries.
     
    Trefor asked, “What does An Dubhar mean? Your nickname?”
     
    Now Alex’s bland gaze fell on his son. “I thought you knew Gaelic.”
     
    “I’m fluent, not a scholar. This particular word has escaped me until now.”
     
    “It means The Darkness. Shadow of Death.”
     
    Trefor grunted. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.” He grinned, then continued. “For I am the meanest sonofabitch in the valley.”
     
    Alex stifled a groan.
     

CHAPTER 7
     
    A small town not far from Carlisle lay unsuspecting in the path of the company led by An Reubair. Lindsay looked down the slope at the cluster of wooden buildings set around what passed for a town square, thin trails of smoke from cook fires drifting skyward through holes in dusty gray thatching. Her gut tightened to a knot. No fear of dying; she knew how to deal with that particular terror. It was the knowledge she would have to kill someone today in order not to die herself that made her jaw grind shut and her hands grip the reins too tightly. As refuge from the guilt, she told herself she was on the right side, that Scottish freedom from Edward was a worthy fight. If she could convince herself this was no different from the battle she’d fought at Bannockburn, perhaps her heart would carry her through this raid. She’d fought willingly under Robert, and not just because she’d known the Scots would win. She truly believed the attempt of Edward I to usurp the Scottish crown was not in the best interest of the Scots. It was a valid fight. She had to believe that.
     
    But this raid was different. These were not combatant knights they would attack; they were farmers and townsfolk. Never mind that they paid tribute to the English crown; they didn’t deserve what was about to happen to them. Gazing down at the small buildings clustered around a proud stone church, she drew deep, steady breaths and prepared herself for what she must do, though she hated it.
     
    Horses approached from the flank. Two of them, and Lindsay looked over to see An Reubair and someone else. The other figure rode a fine steed with a glossy coat and a rich, flowing bard. The stranger wore no armor and didn’t appear equipped to ride along on the raid. Something about him