“St. John’s Wort, red verbena, and four-leafed clovers,” Rod winced. “Not exactly the usual poultice, is it?”

“Nay, nor wast thou ripped by a usual beast.” Gwen wound the improvised bandage around his torso.

Rod tried to ignore the prickling in his scalp. “As I remember, every one of those herbs is supposed to be a sovereign against fairies.”

“Indeed,” Gwen said, carefully neutral. “Well, I have never seen such as these two beasts afore—yet I mind me of certain tales from my childhood. There, now!” She fastened the bandage and handed him his doublet. “Walk carefully a week or so, mine husband, I pray thee.”

A long, piercing shriek echoed over the meadow. Before it died, a rumbling, agonized bellow answered it.

They spun about to face the lake. The maelstrom subsided; the waters grew calm. Finally, they could make out the body of the bull drifting toward shore.

“Children, be ready!” Gwen warned.

“No, I don’t think so.” Rod frowned, and stepped carefully toward the lake. About twenty feet away, he could see a thick stew of blood and chunks of flesh drifting away toward the east. A passing crow noticed, too, circled back, and flew down for a sample. Rod shuddered and turned away. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the horse, either.”

“ ‘Tis courtesy of thy good rescue,” Elidor said solemnly. “An thou hadst not come to our aid, this land had lacked a sovereign. A King’s thanks go with thee!”

Rod looked down, startled. Then he darted a questioning glance at Gwen. She looked as startled as he felt, but she was nodding in confirmation.

Well, maybe she could read the kid’s mind, but he couldn’t. “Are you the King of this land, then?”

“I am.” Elidor was wet to the skin; his fine clothes were torn and bedraggled, and he’d lost his coronet somewhere along the fray—but he straightened his shoulders, and bore himself regally. “By courtesy of my mother the Queen, though I never knew her, and of Eachan, my father the King, dead these three years, I am King of Tir Chlis.”

Rod’s face composed itself, hiding a stewpot of emotions—incredulity, sorrow for the boy, a yearning to take him in his arms… and the realization that this could be a huge stroke of good fortune for a family of wanderers, marooned in a strange world. “It is my honor to greet Your Majesty. Yet I cannot help but notice your age; may I inquire who cares for you now?”

“A thousand thanks for kind rescue, brave knight and fair lady!” gasped an anxious voice.

Rod looked up, startled.

A gross fat man, a little shorter than Rod, with a gleaming bald pate surrounded by a fringe of hair around the back of his head, and a ruddy complexion, waddled toward them, swathed in an acre of white ankle-length robe topped with a brocade surcoat, and belted by a four-inch-wide strap. Behind him trooped thirty courtiers in bell-sleeved skirted coats and hose, and two peasants with a brace of belling hounds.

The courtiers all had swords, and the fat man had a lot of sweat and a look just short of panic. “Gramercy, gramercy! If aught had happened to mine nephew through my lack of vigilance, I had never come out of sackcloth and of ashes! Yet how didst thou know to set a bull of the Crodh Mara ‘gainst the Each Uisge?”

“Ag whisky?” Rod was watching Elidor; the boy had drawn in on himself, staring at the fat man with a look that held wariness, but a certain longing, too… “Uh, well… to tell you the truth…”

“We but knew the old grannies’ tales,” Gwen cut in hurriedly. “The water-bull and the water-horse—all else followed from reason.” Her elbow tapped Rod lightly in the short ribs.

They were the wounded ones; the stab of pain cut through the murk of sentiment. “Uh, yes, of course! Opposite forces cancel out.”

“Indeed, an thou sayst it.” The fat man’s brows were knit. “Though I do not claim to understand. Thou must be a warlock most accomplished.”

Typed again! Rod winced. There must be something about him… “A great part of wizardry is luck. By good fortune, we were here when we were needed.” He took a chance. “Your Lordship.”

Fatso nodded, but his gaze strayed to Elidor, as though to assure himself the boy was all right. “Fortunate indeed, else I had lacked a nephew—and this land, a King.” There was something of longing in his eyes, too.

He tore his gaze away from Elidor and turned back to Rod, forcing a little smile, “Forgive me; I forget the courtesies. I am Duke Foidin, Regent to His Majesty, King Elidor.” He extended a beringed hand, palm down.

Gwen beamed, but there was uncertainty in her eyes. Rod tried to convert his puzzled frown to a polite smile, but he kept his hands on his hips, and inclined his head. “Rodney d’Armand, Lord Gallowglass.” Some prick of caution kept him from using his real title. “And my Lady Gwendylon—and our children.”

“I rejoice at thine acquaintance, Lord and Lady… Gallowglass?” The Duke seemed a little puzzled. “ ‘Tis a title unfamiliar. Thou art, then, travellers from another land, far from thine own estates?”

“Very far,” Rod agreed. “A foul sorcerer’s curse has sped us here, far from our homeland; but we shall return with all due expedition.”

“Nay, not so quickly!” the Duke cried. “Thou must needs let us honor thee—for thou hast saved a King!”

Somehow, Rod didn’t want to spend a night under the man’s roof. “ ‘Tis courteously said—but time does press upon us…”

“Certes, not so much as that!” Wet and bedraggled, Elidor stepped up to his uncle’s side—but still with that look of wariness about him. “Surely thou’lt not deny the hospitality of a King!”

He was trying so very hard to be regal! Rod was about to cave in—but Gwen did, first. “Well, a night’s rest, then—we are sore wearied.”

But Rod was watching the Duke. The man’s face lit up at Elidor’s approach, and his hand hovered over the boy’s shoulder, but didn’t quite touch; Rod saw the longing in his face again, quickly masked, then a hint of a darker emotion that flashed upon his features, and was gone—but left Rod chilled. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d want to be around if the Duke lost his temper.

Then Elidor smiled bravely up at his uncle, and the man’s face softened. Troubled, he nodded reassuringly at the boy, forcing a smile; the hand hovered again, then fell to his side.

He turned the smile up to Rod. “Thou art in accord with thy Lady, then? Thou’It guest within our castle this night, that we may honor thee?”

Gwen’s elbow brushed his side again, and Rod winced again, too. She hadn’t had to do that! The Duke seemed nice enough, or seemed to be honestly trying to be—but somehow, Rod didn’t want to leave Elidor alone with him just yet. “Indeed we shall. We are honored to accept your invitation.”

“Most excellent!” The Duke’s face split into a huge, delighted smile. “Then come, in joy! To Castle Drolm!”

He whirled away, the hovering hand finally descending to clap Elidor’s shoulder, and clasp the boy against his side. Elidor seemed to resist a little, and the Duke’s hand immediately sprang free. Insecure, thought Rod, as he and his family were borne forward by the tide of the entourage that followed the Duke, roaring a victorious war-song.

“Papa,” Cordelia piped up through the din, “I don’t like going to that man’s house.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” Rod reassured her. “We can always get out again—fast.”