WINDKEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Her mouth turned stubborn. "I’d like to know why you don’t find me to your liking."

  "I didn’t say I didn’t find you to my liking, Mam’selle."

  "Then you do find me to your liking?"

  "I didn’t say that either."

  Her exasperated gush of air made him laugh. "I don’t think you know what you feel, Conar McGregor!"

  He shook his head. "Let it rest, little one." He winked. "You’re very attractive, but I’m just not inclined to take you up on your offer."

  "I didn’t make you any gods-be-damned offer, McGregor!" she shouted.

  He cocked his head to one side and reevaluated her. This one was different, there was no mistaking that. He would have given anything to be able to show her just what he was made of.

  "I am betrothed." He thought that would end the conversation and the temptation.

  "Oh, pooh! Is that all? What does it matter? You aren’t chained to the woman, are you?"

  Conar felt a shiver go down his spine. "I might as well be," he said beneath his breath.

  It was a moment before she spoke to him. "You don’t seem particularly happy about the situation. Don’t you like the idea of marriage?"

  "Not really, but it is my destiny to produce an heir to take my place."

  "Then is this particular woman not to your satisfaction?" She watched his facial expression. "What’s wrong with her?"

  Conar looked away. "I didn’t say there was anything wrong with her."

  "You didn’t have to. If you didn’t want to marry her, why did you ask her?"

  His self-contemptuous laugh was strident and harsh in the fading sunlight. "I didn’t ask the bitch to marry me. I wasn’t consulted. I was betrothed to her on the day of her birth. The promise was made between her parents and mine. It is an obligation I can’t reverse."

  "I see. And would you have agreed to the marriage if you had been consulted?"

  Conar chuckled, an ugly sound full of self-pity. "It is what is required of me as first-born legal son. I wouldn’t have been consulted and I have no say in the matter."

  "And is she as unwilling to wed you as you are to wed her?"

  "How should I know?"

  "Well, if anyone should, it should be you! What is she like?"

  "Like any other woman, I suppose."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means what I said. The bitch is like every other female. She was bred to burden some poor man. Unfortunately, that man was me!"

  "Don’t you like women, Milord?"

  His lips twitched. "They’re the only game in town for me, Mam’selle."

  "But you don’t think much of us as a species, do you?"

  "You have your purposes."

  She quickly glanced up, not sure she liked the way he had said that. "Such as?"

  Conar raised his hand and ticked off his answers. "They are good for riding; good for breeding; good for caring for a man’s offspring; and good for serving his needs." He lowered his hand. "Other than that, women are of little use."

  "What of love and companionship? Or sharing? Do you not want that in your wife?"

  He out stretched his leg and flipped over to lay on his stomach, his head cradled on his right forearm. "I love my horse, Mam’selle and he is my greatest companion. I share my thoughts and my food with him. And he never talks back to me."

  "But he can’t give you the…" Her face burned scarlet as she swallowed hard, striving to say the word she could not.

  "Pleasure?" he concluded for her. "I can ride him, too. On occasion I derive a surprise from the motion of his gait. It ain’t exactly like bedding a wench, but you get the same pleasure."

  "What of babes?" she stammered, shocked by his bluntness.

  "Oh! Is that what this is all about?" He sat up. "You want me to get you pregnant?" He wagged his brows.

  "I want no such thing!"

  "I don’t think you know what you want."

  "I want to be taken seriously!" she shouted.

  "There’s no such thing as a serious woman." He tweaked her nose. "You’ve been proving that all afternoon!"

  Liza swatted away his hand. "And you have proven that being a crown Prince doesn’t necessarily make you intelligent, either!"

  He laughed and lay down again. "I have more sense than to continue with this line of conversation."

  Liza ignored him for a moment, her attention on a group of waterfowl thrashing in the shallows near the far bank. She picked up a pine needle and chewed on it. "Doesn’t it bother you that you’re being forced to wed someone you obviously don’t love?"

  Conar sighed. "What the hell does love have to do with anything? The marriage was contracted to ally our two families. It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. To do anything less than what is expected of me would be dishonorable."

  "And you are an honorable man?"

  "I like to think so," he said as he stared at the ground beneath his cheek. "I have tried to do my duty to my father, my King, and my country."

  "Despite the fact that it is not something you truly wish to do?"

  "Aye."

  "Perhaps you will learn to love your wife."

  "The bitch is deformed! She wears a heavy veil to obscure her face. She goes nowhere without it. She has a horrible limp and hops about like a…like a…like a gods-be-damned toad frog! Love such an ogress?" He impaled her with his hard gaze. "I think not!"

  "She is that ugly, Milord?"

  "She could be uglier than that, for all I know."

  "You haven’t seen her?" she pressed, studying his face.

  Conar shook his head. "I sent Rayle Loure and he saw her. He came back and told me all I wanted to hear about the Princess Anya of Oceania."

  "And this man told you she was deformed? Did he see her without her veil?"

  "He told me he saw her at a public festival with her parents, the King and Queen, and heard her father telling her not to take off the veil for fear the crowd would stampede in horror!" He glared at Liza. "Does that sound like the bitch is normal when even her own father can’t abide looking at her ugly face?"

  Liza covered her mouth with her hand. "This Captain of your Elite called the lady ugly?" She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "How would he know what ugly was?"

  "That’s not the point!" Conar screeched. He saw her struggling to keep from laughing and it infuriated him. "Laugh, if you like, Mam’selle! It isn’t you who’ll be tied to that cursed amphibian!"

  "How old is this woman?" Liza asked as she stretched out beside him, her thigh nearly touching his.

  He might have been bored with the conversation, but at least one part of him was paying close attention to the shapely leg beside his own.

  "I think she’s sixteen, maybe a year older. I was about two when she was born and I’m eighteen."

  "You look so much older," she said, watching him smile with the compliment. "If your bride is that young, perhaps she wears a veil to hide pimples."

  "Her face more than likely resembles the pimples on a pig’s arse," he said viciously.

  "And the limp," she said, cutting him off, "could have been a bad sprain."

  "That’s speculation and you know it. Even if she were a veritable goddess stepped down from the vault of heaven, it wouldn’t matter how I felt about being forced to marry her, although bedding and humping her wouldn’t be such a chore, I suppose." He felt her flinch and grinned, knowing she was furiously blushing.

  "Is that all you think about? Sex?" Her leg touched the full length of his as she spoke.

  He shifted slightly away so their bodies no longer touched. That part of him paying such close attention to her was starting to raise its head to get a better look.

  "Sex is rather like pissing. It’s necessary for a man."

  "When is the wedding?"

  "It is to be this fall after the harvest."

  "That’s a full six months away. Are you planning on remaining celibate that long?"

  Conar ground his teeth. "The
marriage contract expressly forbids any intimacy for the span of six months before the wedding. I suppose that is to safeguard the simple-minded twit from any illness I might give her that would offend her delicate sensibilities! Too bad the contract doesn’t mention anything about her giving me warts, the slimy froglet!"

  "Now I understand!" She laughed.

  "You understand what?" he asked, frowning.

  "Why you’re so churlish!"

  Conar’s eyes were glued to the movement of her breasts beneath the fabric. His alter ego leapt in pleading and he ground his hips into the earth to keep the enemy down. "I’m so glad you find my pain amusing."

  "I find it unnecessary."

  "Oh, you do, do you?" He itched to fling himself on top of her and show her a different kind of churlishness.

  "You haven’t been celibate." She regarded him with humor. "But you’ve just recently decided to try it."

  His sudden grin told her he had not been long in the ranks of the celibate. "I piss; I hump," he said in way of explanation.

  "Don’t you think her parents would have taken that into consideration? After all, Milord, you do have quite a reputation throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Would they not make doubly sure you were healthy before they allowed you to wed their daughter? I would imagine they would postpone the wedding if you proved to be otherwise. You’ve thought of that, haven’t you?"

  "Not until this moment, I must admit, but it isn’t a bad idea. Even so, catching a dose of the clap wouldn’t stop my father from fettering me to the Toad."

  "And I would imagine a dose of said disease would be rather unpleasant." She regarded him intently. "So, find yourself a virgin!"

  "Not so easy to come by, Mam’selle."

  "I know one."

  His look fused with hers until she turned away from his regard. "Do you now?"

  Liza clamped her lips together.

  "Are you such a one, Mam’selle?" he asked softly. Conar touched the soft coral of her lips with one strong fingertip and watched as her eyelids fluttered. "Are you?"

  She nodded, unable to speak as she gazed up at him. Her soul was staring at him from beneath dark, sooty lashes. Unconsciously, she flicked out her tongue and touched the spot where his fingertip had been.

  Something moved inside him. He caught his breath as he watched her tongue lick the smoothness of her bottom lip.

  "Even if you are," he told her, "I can offer you nothing."

  "Are you sure?"

  He felt a weight settle over his heart as her eyes locked with his. "Don’t get me wrong, Mam’selle. A year ago, I would gladly have rushed to accept what you are so sweetly offering."

  "And now?"

  "Now, I can’t." He wanted to pull her into his arms; to feel her body against his own; to taste the sweetness of her lips. He felt his body’s need rising and his eyes went dark with passion, but he shook his head, denying them both. "Don’t tempt me, Sweeting. It would be wrong."

  She turned away, tears of shame entering her eyes. She had played the whore to him and had been rejected for her effort. "I understand."

  "No, little one, I don’t think you do." He hesitantly touched her chin and drew her face toward him. He groaned at the sight of a single tear easing down her ivory cheek. When she tried to pull away, to hide her shame, he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he kept her face toward him.

  "Please, Milord," she whispered.

  "I will have you know why I can not accept you, Mam’selle." He gently caressed her chin between his fingers. "A year ago, I would have taken you with no thought. I have broken many a maid to saddle and you would have been just one more to me. Now, for a reason I can’t explain, I couldn’t do that."

  Liza smiled ruefully at him. "Perhaps you’ve grown a conscience, Milord."

  He shook his head. "I don’t think that’s possible." He let go of her chin.

  "Or perhaps you view your obligation to your future wife as being sacred."

  His smile turned hard. "I view my obligation as a burden."

  "But you will fulfill it nevertheless."

  "Aye. Almost all of it, anyway."

  Liza looked at him. "There is something to which you will not adhere?"

  "There is."

  "Is that honorable?" she inquired, wondering what portion of his marriage contract would cause such a militant gleam in his eyes.

  "Honorable or not, I shall not heed that portion of it regarding my children, Mam’selle!" His voice fairly quivered with outrage.

  Her head came up. "You have children?"

  "At last count there were ten or so," he answered with that air of detached male pride that said he had accomplished a great feat completely on his own.

  "Ten?" She gasped.

  "Or so. I’m not sure how many are actually mine and how many their mothers are trying to pawn off as mine."

  Liza closed her mouth with a snap. Had the man never heard of restraint? She managed to ask him as much.

  "Why should I?" he asked in an offended voice. "Their mothers don’t."

  "But do you not care how the world views these innocent children? Bastard offspring of the royalty are especially disliked, Milord."

  "I care not a whit what other people think, Mam’selle. No one would dare belittle one of my children; not to the child nor to the mother. I love my children and everyone knows I do. I take care of them. They are housed and fed and clothed, as are their mothers. I share their birthdays with them and they never lack for my attention." A crooked grin stretched his full lips. "That may be why I have more children accredited to me than I could possibly have sired!" He puffed out his chest. "I take care of my own. Because of that, the court in Oceania wishes to punish me!"

  Liza’s brow wrinkled. "How so?"

  "They wish to deny me the right to see my children. They don’t want me to go near the ill-begotten seed of my misspent youth!" His voice turned cold. "But I will do as I please where my children are concerned. I will give up my mistresses, they are of no importance and never have been, but I will not give up my sons and daughters!"

  "And you should not! Ignore that portion of the contract, Milord. If the King and Queen of your bride’s homeland wish to take exception and press the point, I would imagine you have legal recourse to nullify the contract!" She nodded her head in conspiracy. "Let them see you are a man with honor!"

  "Nothing can nullify that gods-be-damned contract!"

  "Not true," she mused. Her gaze went to the far bank of the stream. "If they do press the issue, your own Tribunal can add an appendant to the contract on your behalf stating you have adhered to the other contractual clauses, but on this particular matter, must decline on moral grounds. Life for a bastard child is hard enough without having the additional stigma of being an outcast from his own sire. Let your future in-laws know you will not desert your children. They will think you more the man for it."

  Conar stared at the girl with awe. Where had she come by such understanding? How could she possibly know what could and could not be done by his Tribunal lawyers? And could such an appendant be added to the contract?

  "Aye, an appendant is always negotiable in marriage contracts between royal families," she said as though she had successfully read his mind once more. "It’s done all the time with land and dowry and personal property items. How more personal can a property be if it’s your own child?" She looked back at him. "I see no way your in-laws could object, providing you have not already signed the marriage contract."

  "In three weeks, as soon as I get back to Boreas, I’ll have to sign the final papers that state I will be a good little boy," he mimicked the words through clenched teeth. "It states I will adhere henceforward to the moral stipulations of the contract. I’ve put off doing so for as long as I dared, now my time is running out. I’ll have to sign it this month."

  "Then it’s good you’ve waited. This way, you can have the appendant added."

  "Do you really think I can?" There was hope in his voice.

  Liza put her
hand on his arm. "Aye, I know you can, Milord!"

  He didn’t hesitate. His hand came up to cover hers. "Who are you, Mistress Liza?" His voice was soft, confused.

  "Someone obviously sent to help you, Milord," she whispered back.

  Conar smiled at her. "You are an unusual woman, Milady."

  "And distracting."

  He surprised himself by answering. "But a distraction I am beginning to enjoy."

  "Truly?"

  "Much to my annoyance." He cocked his head to one side. "I wish I had met you long ago."

  "Would it have changed anything?"

  "Perhaps." He caressed her fingers as they held his arm. "I believe I might well have pledged the moon to have had you at my side."

  "What of now, Milord? Now before you sign the contract. Before any wedding vows are spoken?"

  Their gazes locked on one another, both taking the measure of the other. When he finally spoke, his voice was a soft as a caress. "If I offer myself to you, just for this journey, for the span of three days time, Mam’selle, would it be enough for you?"

  "It will be all I will ever ask of you, Milord Conar, but will it be all you will ask of me?"

  Conar knew he was making a mistake, but as he looked into the exquisite beauty of her face, he let go of the restraint he had always had on his wayward heart. The future and everyone along with it be damned, as he was.

  "It will have to be all," he answered.

  "I will not ask anything of you once your marriage vows are spoken. I will leave you before your wedding day and never return."

  His heart thudded painfully in his chest and he wanted desperately to shout that he would never allow her to leave him, but he knew better. He could only have her for a short time—and despite however much pain it might cause the both of them—during the journey to Boreas Keep, she would be his. Lowering his face to hers, he sealed their devil’s bargain with a whisper-soft touch of his full lips to hers.

  "The gods help me," he whispered, "but I will make you mine. I have to make you mine!"

  Thunder rumbled overhead and they both turned their attention to the sky. The fleecy white cloud that had been drifting their way was now an angry gray color and appeared to be full of moisture.

  "There’s rain coming," she whispered.