WINDKEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Lord Legion, please!" the servant shouted. "His Grace is really hurt!"

  Conar turned and saw Legion’s face pucker in sudden concern. "Legion?" he questioned softly, weakly, and then he pitched forward into darkness.

  * * *

  By the time Conar regained consciousness, the King of Oceania had sent word that he and his family were unable to visit after all, and would not be journeying to Boreas as planned.

  Ordered to stay in bed, his ribs tightly bandaged, Conar was overjoyed at hearing the news. He breathed a sigh of relief that he would not have to entertain his future father-in-law or explain the mass of bruises that made eating difficult.

  "Feel like a visitor?" his father called from the open doorway of his room.

  "You gonna beat me, too?" Conar smiled.

  "Do you need it?" Gerren asked as he took a chair by his son’s bed. Craning his neck to get a better look at the cuts and bruises on his son’s face, Gerren whistled. "By the gods, Coni, but you’re a mess, son."

  Conar’s left eye was swollen shut; his right cheekbone cut open; his left cheekbone a deep purple; his lip had been torn and he had a long scratch across his chin where Legion’s signet ring had cut a wavering gash. His nose had been broken and the flesh covering it had turned a most peculiar shade of green.

  "If you see an inch on me that needs beating, let me know," Conar quipped.

  "No," his father said slowly. "I think Legion did quite well on his own."

  "I believe he managed to give me some other man’s share, as well."

  His father smiled. "How many times have you riled your brother over the years, Conar? Fifty? A Hundred? More?" At Conar’s grin, Gerren went on. "And how many times have you come out on the bad end of things?" Arching a brow at his son, he laughed. "Then I think you should leave the man alone. I never bested any of my older brothers and I don’t believe you’ll ever best Legion."

  Conar snorted. "I just might surprise him one day."

  "Famous last words." Gerren sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Your big brother is a natural fighter. I’ve seen men challenge him, men twice his size, and I’ve seen those men carried off the field of honor on stretchers. There’s not too many men who could beat him in a fair fight, I’m thinking." He laid his hand on his son’s leg. "Besides, he’s angry at himself for actually doing you harm. He didn’t intend that, Conar. That rib could have punctured a lung." The King’s face was grave as he looked at his child.

  "He feels bad?" Conar gasped. "How the hell does he think I feel, Papa? I didn’t deserve the beating."

  "It wasn’t a beating."

  Conar cocked a golden brow at his King. "What would you call it?"

  "A discussion. He discussed your recent behavior with you." He folded his hands together under his chin. "There is a certain morbidity to your nature at times that only violence seems to be able to deter, Conar. Merely speaking with you doesn’t seem to have any effect. You need to have your nose rubbed in the dirt to gain your attention, and that was exactly what Legion did."

  "Aye, the bastard got my attention, all right!"

  "He thinks of you as a little boy still," his father reminded him.

  "Well, let him think what he will. I am no child. He may just find that out one day!" He flung the covers from his legs. "As cold as it is, why the hell am I so warm?"

  Gerren frowned. "I need to speak with you about this girl who is causing all these problems for you."

  Conar tensed. "The missing bondservant?"

  King Gerren pierced his son with a stern look. His once-blond hair was now totally white; his blue eyes beginning to fade to a watery shade of azure; his tall frame shrinking somewhat; his once-powerful physique shifting and settling in places; but his face could wither the most fearsome warrior. For all its masculine beauty as a lad, it still bore the unmistakable stamp of authority that now, in age, was a stern reminder of his position in the realm. He put the tip of one long finger into the deep cleft of his chin and fixed his son with an unwavering look of reprimand.

  "This girl is not some bondservant, Conar. You would not have allowed a mere servant to cause all this trouble." He squinted. "Don’t compound your offenses against your family with lies."

  "I don’t know that she isn’t a bondservant, Papa," Conar defended.

  "You don’t know anything about her, do you?" his father shot back. When his son remained silent, Gerren pressed the issue. "Where is her home? Who are her people? Is she married? Engaged? Widowed? What exactly do you know about her?"

  Conar flinched at the steady look his father gave him. "It doesn’t matter now, Papa. It’s been four months. She’s gone; out of my life."

  "But not out of your heart."

  Conar tore his gaze from his father’s stare. "It’s over, Papa. There is nothing standing in the way of me marrying The Toad." He grimaced. Never had he meant to ever use that name for the bitch in his father’s hearing.

  "Both Shaz and his lady-wife are two of my closest friends, Conar. Medea was your mother’s dearest friend. They were closer than sisters, for they were confirmed into the Multitude together. They shared a bond few women will ever know. It was your mother’s fondest wish that Medea’s firstborn daughter be your wife, and nothing, nothing, will stand in the way of that happening. I made a promise to your mother only a few days before that blessed lady died that I would see nothing stand in the way of that union."

  "And nothing will." Conar looked away. "I’ll honor my mother’s wish, Papa."

  "There is no doubt of that," King Gerren said sternly. "It is your lack of respect that needs work. You lack respect for Shaz and his lady-wife, as well as their daughter. If I ever hear that vicious nickname you have for the Princess Anya again, I will make you regret it!"

  Conar turned to his father. "My marriage to her? I already regret it."

  King Gerren stood. "Not nearly as much as I will make you regret ever having met this girl Liza if you continue with this foolishness!"

  "Nothing anyone can do will ever make me regret having met her," he swore.

  "You love this girl, don’t you, Conar?" his father asked with astonishment. When his son did not reply, the King let out a hard breath. "Well, it is a love that will be terminated. Terminated today. This very instant!"

  Conar locked gazes with his father. "And just how do you propose I do that, Papa? I can’t turn my feelings on and off like a tap!"

  His father placed his right hand on the tall headboard of his son’s bed and leaned over him, forcing Conar to bend his neck to look up at his King.

  "You will be King in my stead, one day. That is your birthright, Conar. A King must learn to control his emotions; to rule them lest they rule him. There will be times when showing a man, or a woman, how you truly feel, would be folly. You will have decisions to make that will involve putting yourself above emotion; detaching yourself from what you feel."

  "I’m not sure I can do that."

  "You will have to learn!" Gerren snapped. "You can not appear to be a weak and indecisive man, nor can you be a weak and indecisive King. The people would eat you alive!" King Gerren sat beside his son.

  "I had many mistresses in my day, as you well know. I cared not a whit for any of them except one; one I cherished above all the others. I thought my heart would break when I had to give her hand in marriage to another. It was, by far, the hardest thing I have ever done in my life save burying your blessed mother." The King looked past his son to some inner memory.

  "She had become my heart, this woman, Conar. I would have given her the world if we could have married, but it was not to be. She was in a class beneath me, not of royalty and therefore not material for the Queen who would sit beside me one day. When I married your mother, I gave up that woman. I had to. No man marries a Daughter of the Multitude and dares to sleep with another woman." A rueful smile touched his aged lips. "That would have been folly of the worst kind."

  "But you loved my mother," Conar protested. "Did you love her less tha
n this other woman?"

  Gerren shook his head. "Oh, no. No. Once I had seen your mother, held her, there was no other for me. There was no other woman like your mother, son. She outshone the sun for me."

  "And what became of this woman you discarded?"

  King Gerren flinched. "You make it sound as though I considered her nothing more than a worn-out shoe, Conar! The lady was more than that to me, but I never saw her again after my marriage. She swore she would not bother me after I had spoken my vows to Moira and she did not."

  Conar turned his head away, fearful his father would see the pain of Liza’s similar words to him. "I will do nothing to shame you, Papa. You have my word of honor."

  "I have never doubted that you would go through with the marriage, Conar. I only wish you to think before you say things that might get back to Princess Anya." He stood and gazed down at his son. "It is best you forget this girl, Liza. Nothing can come of it between you. I will not see you hurt with thoughts of what would never have been allowed."

  * * *

  Teal du Mer was cute.

  All the ladies who knew him said he was cute.

  All the men who knew him said he was a bastard, but they said it in a nice, polite way. In truth, Teal was a bastard: the product of a wild affair between his nobleman father, Duke Cul du Mer, and a gypsy girl who had stolen more than the Duke’s heart.

  Teal bore the dusty complexion and dark, rum-colored eyes of his mother’s people, the thick chestnut hair of his father, and the twin dimples that indented his rosy cheeks from his paternal grandfather. He also inherited the wild, sensual nature of his gypsy ancestor and their ability with vocal and instrumental techniques.

  His one problem—among many, most people said—was his inability to lead an honest life. Everyone knew where that trait had come from. But all Teal had to do was flash his deep, wicked dimples, bat his rum-colored eyes, and grin his white-toothed tease, and no one could hold his lineage against him.

  At the dining table where the noble class took their meals at Boreas Keep, Teal sat staring intently into his cup of hot ale. His thick chestnut brows were drawn together over his finely arched nose and a frown of horrible magnitude made his lips a thin, straight line.

  "What makes you so intense, friend Teal?" Legion asked as he joined du Mer. Sitting on the edge of the long table, Legion took an apple from the centerpiece, tossed it into the air, bounced it off his biceps, caught it, and bit into the tart flesh. He waited patiently for Teal to answer. He took another bite and asked around a juicy gob of red flesh, "What’s your problem, now?"

  Teal continued to stare into his cup. "I wish you wouldn’t automatically assume something is wrong with me every time you see me, A’Lex."

  Legion grinned around another mouthful of apple. "Usually something is!" He chewed noisily.

  Teal glared at him. "I’m a joke around here, aren’t I?" The seventeen-year old frowned mightily. "Du Mer, the court jester, is that it?"

  Legion nodded, grinning viciously. "So what did you do this time? Did the herdsmen catch you worrying the sheep again?"

  Teal looked away, his mouth tight. For a long moment he didn’t speak, but then turned to his friend and blurted, "Do you think I’m an honorable man, A’Lex?"

  Legion held the apple to his lips, but didn’t bite. A fierce look formed on his hard face. "Has someone impugned your honor, Teal?" It was perfectly all right if he or Conar did, but it was not all right for an outsider to do so. "Tell me who the bastard is, and I’ll clip his tongue from the root!"

  Teal shook his head in exasperation. "No, no, no, Legion! It’s nothing like that. You know I make it a habit not to have trouble with anyone." At Legion’s loud snort, Teal shot him a glower. "You know I detest trouble."

  "Only when it suits your purpose and Conar and I aren’t around for you to run to for help." Legion took a large chunk out of the apple. "Who didn’t you insult today?"

  "Are you calling me a coward? I can fight my own fights, A’Lex!"

  Legion grinned around the large gob of apple and he wagged his brows.

  "Well," Teal sniffed, "I think I’m honorable."

  "Just like you thought you could fly when we were boys?" Legion chuckled. "I remember helping Cayn set a broken arm that day."

  "Don’t keep reminding me!" Teal snapped.

  Legion shrugged and tossed the apple core into the fire. "So why are you so concerned about being honorable?"

  "I went to the Tribunal today to make a request and they turned me down. They said it wasn’t an honorable thing for me to have done." He took a long, angry swig of his ale and grimaced.

  "What was it you requested?" Legion asked, swinging his booted leg against Teal’s chair.

  Teal tried to ignore the annoying thump of Legion’s foot. "I wanted their permission to court this girl from the Green Toad Inn and they said I couldn’t. They said I would be dishonoring my father’s good name and memory by asking for the hand of a peasant." He sighed as though his heart was breaking.

  Nearly choking on the last chunk of apple in his mouth, Legion stared wide-eyed at his friend. "You wanted to court a girl?"

  Teal shot him a venomous glare. "Well, I didn’t want to court an armadillo!" He sank gloomily into his chair. In actuality, he was immensely relieved the Tribunal had turned him down, but he didn’t want to admit it to Legion.

  Sensing how things stood with his friend, Legion schooled his face into a stern, fatherly, helpful line. "Shall I speak in your behalf, then?" He laid a commiserating hand on Teal’s sagging shoulder. "I could tell them you are heartsick and want them to find you a bride posthaste." He nearly laughed as Teal’s head snapped up in horror.

  "I’ll speak for you, Teal," Conar spoke from the doorway. He was pulling on his brown leather riding gloves as he spoke, but he didn’t miss the look of annoyance on his older brother’s face. "What ails you, now, Legion?" he snarled.

  "Don’t encourage him, Conar! He doesn’t need you interfering in this. You know du Mer needs a rich wife with a dowry. He needs capitol for taking care of the du Mer lands. With Roget gone, Teal has been having a hard enough time seeing to things at Downsgate. He needs a wife who can give him status in the realm."

  Conar put his hands on his hips and glared at his brother. "No matter that she will chain him hand and foot to her dowry? You would rather throw our friend to the she-wolves who lather outside in the courtyard? Ready to pounce on any young male stupid enough to fall for their coy smiles and phony sentiments? I would see him happy with a peasant girl than enslaved to a woman whose fists control his purse strings!" He slammed into a chair and stared at Legion. "I would see him happy, at least!"

  "Unlike yourself?" Legion shot back.

  "Aye! Unlike myself!" Conar snarled.

  "You want to wish your own mistake on Teal, is that it?"

  Snorting, Conar asked in a hard, clipped voice, "And just what mistake is that, Legion?"

  "You still haven’t given up the notion of finding that girl, have you? After all the talks Papa and I have had with you about this!" When Conar refused to rise to the bait, Legion shrugged. "It doesn’t matter, little brother. No McGregor male has ever been allowed to take a peasant girl to wife. You will not be the first to break that tradition, I can promise you. Just as the Tribunal will see that Teal du Mer weds no girl beneath him!"

  "I said nothing of marriage!" Conar shouted at his brother.

  "Why are you getting so angry?" Legion asked in a calm, soft, reasonable voice that infuriated his younger brother even more. "You’ve thought of it or you wouldn’t be so defensive."

  "Why the hell don’t you mind your own business, A’Lex? You have a hard enough time doing that!" He got up and stalked from the room, slamming the dining chamber door behind him.

  Out in the main hall, Gezelle stepped forward and stopped him. "Milord," she whispered, tugging at his shirtsleeve to gain his attention. She was so excited, she was literally shivering. "A messenger came only a few moments ago." She
grinned. "The lady waits for you by the swimming pond. She said you’d know where."

  Conar grabbed her arm. "When?"

  "Now, Milord." Gezelle squealed as he crushed her in a tight embrace against his hard chest.

  Conar put a wet sloppy kiss on her lips, making the toes curl in her slippers. "Tell Sadie to break open a fresh keg of ale," he said as he put her back on the floor, oblivious to the stunned look of wonder on her red face, or the deep love in her green eyes. "Tell her I want Teal and Legion to get more than their fair share. I need no baby-sitters this eve!"

  Chapter 16

  * * *

  He found her by the pond where he and Legion had fought. She was sitting on the same rock he had sat upon, her hand fanning the water beside her. She smiled when she saw him. Her face lit with tenderness and she slowly stood, not altogether sure of his reaction.

  She was wearing a dove gray gown shot with silver thread and her long black hair was caught up in a glimmering silver snood. Jet earrings nestled in her earlobes and the black amulet rune hung between the soft cleavage at the gown’s low neckline.

  Conar stood for a moment, his hand on the low branch of a live oak, looking at her. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and he found breathing nearly impossible. One moment he was hungrily sweeping his gaze over her, the next he had her fastened tightly to his body, his mouth deftly plying hers with fevered kisses that sucked and drew on her lips with the heat of abstinence. He groaned as she opened her mouth beneath his assault and he plunged his tongue deeply inside. Cupping the back of her head with one hand, he forced her lips hard against his own; bruising; swelling; claiming the tender flesh. His slid his lips down her chin and throat to plant soft nips along the column of her neck and shoulders.

  "I take it you are happy to see me, Milord?" she teased, her hands pushing gently against his chest.

  Taking her left hand from his shirt front, he placed a light kiss in her palm then slowly moved her hand down his chest to the hard, demanding bulge in the front of his breeches; he molded her fingers around him. "What do you think, Mam’selle?"