WINDKEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Warm water flowed over his side and hip and under him. It was not a particularly pleasant feeling and it made his bladder lurch. He kept his attention focused on Meggie’s intense face as she put her hands on his shirt.

  "It may hurt you some, Your Grace," she told him.

  Conar shrugged. "What doesn’t, Meggie?"

  Legion glanced up at Thom. "Take that water from the girl, Thommy."

  Thom grabbed the basin of water from a diminutive tavern wench whose bold scrutiny ran down him from bald pate to muddy boots with unconcealed interest. He grinned at her and turned away, his brow crinkling with delight as Legion winked at him.

  As Meggie gently pulled on the shirt, Conar sucked in his breath. The fabric was stuck fast to the tender, hot flesh and he ground his teeth to keep from crying out. He pursed his lips tightly shut as sweat popped out on his forehead and upper lip. Meggie was gently working the material loose as Legion poured the too warm water over him and it was an intense agony that nearly made him faint.

  "I want you to go riding again tomorrow, you stupid little shit!" Legion snapped as he caught sight of Conar’s pain-dampened face and trembling lips.

  "Don’t you be calling my bonny boy no names!" Meggie snarled as she eased the material away from the gaping part of the wound.

  Conar’s brows shot upward and he grinned mischievously at Legion as if to say: She put you in your place!

  "He’s incorrigible, Meggie," Legion fumed. "Look at the little bastard smirking at me!"

  "He has every right to smirk at a fool baiting him when he can’t do nothing else but smirk!" Meggie defended her Prince. She grasped the shirt and jerked it away from the half-inch spot left attached to Conar’s skin.

  "Damn!" Conar gasped, digging his hands into the mattress to keep from passing out.

  "Like I said—go riding again real soon!" Legion grunted.

  Meggie sighed as she looked at the puckered, gaping hole that had formed along the old stitches. The flesh around the wound looked red and puffy and an ooze of watery blood dripped down the young Prince’s side.

  "You there, big fellow!" Meggie called to Thom who had turned green in the last minute of her work. "Hand me the little bowl of brandy with the needle and thread in it."

  Thom handed her the bowl with shaking hands. He met the fat woman’s raised eyebrow with a sheepish grin. "I…I’m…"

  "An overgrown child," Meggie sniffed and dipped her hand into the brandy to pull out the needle and thread. "Some Elite you are. Hold the flesh tightly together, Lord Legion."

  The needle stuck into his flesh. Conar gasped with agony. The pain was even more intense than he could have imagined. Thankful he had been partially unconscious for the first two sewings, he was intensely sorry he wasn’t for this one. The sutures on his ribs didn’t hurt nearly as much as the ones Meggie was putting in his thigh. With every poke he cringed and had to bite his lip to keep from moaning aloud. At one point, the needle drove home and he felt a slight stream of urine dribble from his manhood. He couldn’t stand any more without comment.

  "Damn it, Meggie! Are you trying to sew me to my breeches?"

  Meggie didn’t bat an eye, didn’t even glance up at him. Her full attention was on the last three stitches she had to make. Her voice was as dry as aged parchment as she spoke. "I thought I would. I’ve heard tell you have a hard time keeping them on, Milord."

  Conar blinked and his face turned red. He heard Legion sputter, heard Thom answer, and blushed harder. "Meggie, I…" he began, but felt the needle drag as the thread caught on a knot. He gasped and shuddered, then sank into merciful oblivion.

  "Pull them britches of his off while he’s out, Lord Legion," Meggie ordered. She turned her face to the wall. "And then cover him." Her lips twitched. "This is one woman who don’t need to be seeing him in all his glory, for I’m sure the sight would stay with me a goodly time."

  Legion hastened to do as he was told.

  * * *

  Several hours later Conar opened his eyes to bright candlelight and Meggie Ruck’s nodding head as she sat slumped in the chair beside him. Her mop-cap was slightly askew on her graying head and her snores would have roused even the dead. He saw her shift her enormous bulk and then jerk up her head, sputtering and licking her lips. When she came fully awake and focused on him, he smiled at her.

  "Are you awake, then?" she asked and stood, wincing as she unfolded her stiff body from the uncomfortable chair. She reached out a hand to put it on his forehead. Pleased with his cool flesh, she stroked a stray lock of blond hair from his eyes. "Do you need anything, Your Grace?"

  With an effort, he reached up his own hand to take hers. He brought the chapped, rough flesh to his dry lips and planted a soft kiss in her callused palm. "Only your love, Sweet Meggie," he whispered, for his throat was as dry as his lips.

  "She’s a married woman, little brother," Legion called from the deeper shadows of the room where he had sat for most of the night, unable to sleep for Meggie Ruck’s snoring and unable to dethrone the staunch woman from her bedside vigil.

  Conar grinned wanly at the woman’s blushing face. "Alas, I am all too aware of that fact." He kissed her palm again and then nuzzled it close to his cheek, flinching as a shooting pain coursed through his side.

  "I will get you something for the pain, Highness," she said, unable to bear his hurt.

  Conar shook his head. "No need, Meggie," he answered, willing the pain to go away. "Just sit here beside me, sweet lady."

  Legion stood and stretched, coming to stand over Conar. "Let her get you something. It’s snowed a good six inches since we’ve been here and it doesn’t look like we’ll be traveling any time soon. I’ve sent word to Papa. You need to rest and let those stitches mend."

  Conar kept Meggie’s hand in his, holding the rough fingers to his cheek. "I don’t take drugs for pain, Legion. You know that."

  "You won’t leave this bed until I am sure those stitches are healed this time," Legion snapped. "You’d better make use of the time to rest. It’s only a sleeping potion she’s offering."

  Conar turned his head so the light was out of his eyes, dragging Meggie’s hand with him as she chose to sit on the bed near him. "I can sleep well enough without help, thank you."

  Legion met Meggie’s worried frown with one of his own and something silent passed between them. The lady nodded and eased her hand from Conar’s.

  "I need to have more wood sent up, Milord," she told her Prince.

  "Legion can see to it," Conar said petulantly. "Don’t leave."

  "I’ll be back before you know it." She astonished herself as she planted a light kiss on his brow. She placed her fingertips over his lids. "You close those pretty blue eyes and rest until I get myself back." She nodded at Legion and left.

  "Don’t you have a bed to go to, Legion?" Conar asked without looking at his brother’s smiling face.

  "Aye." Legion was amused by Meggie Ruck’s ability to make his brother mind her. Idly he wondered if he could hire Meggie as a nanny for the ill-tempered little brat.

  Conar glared at him. "Then make use of it. Quit hovering over me." He nuzzled down into the comfort of his plump pillow, dismissing his brother.

  Legion stood there for a moment, then shrugged. He knew a dismissal when he had been given one. "Sleep well, then," he advised, and shut the door behind him with more force than was necessary.

  Conar took as deep a breath as his stitches would allow. He knew where he was. He had known from the moment he had awakened. His heart had told him what his foggy mind had forgotten.

  It was this very room, this very bed, where he had made Liza his woman. He could almost smell the scent of lavender still permeating the room and it hurt him more than he cared to admit.

  His hand strayed to the pillow beside his own and a muscle worked in his jaw. He could see her lying beside him, could feel the warmth of her body close to his own and wanted to scream with the injustice of it. That was why he hadn’t wanted Meggie to leave
. He had needed a feminine presence to help banish the pain that was invading his heart.

  He jerked his head to the door as it opened, ready to do fierce battle with whomever had dared to intrude on his misery, but Meggie Ruck’s cheerful face peered at him from a tilted mop-cap and he couldn’t help but smile.

  "I’ve brought you some broth and you will drink it down," she said without preamble. She came to sit beside him.

  "Promise me something, Meggie."

  "I make no promises until you have had this broth. You need to build up your strength." Her tone told him she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  He eyed the cup and let out a helpless sigh. He was putty in the woman’s hands. "I’ll drink the gods-be-damned broth if you make me a promise." He tried to sit up, but his breath caught on a ragged gasp and he stilled.

  "You young men are all alike," she hissed and put one huge arm under his shoulders to lift his head with as little effort as if he were a babe. "You all think you are made of steel instead of flesh and blood." She brought the cup to his lips. "And it takes a woman to let you know otherwise!" She frowned down at him as he looked up at her. "Drink the broth, lad!" she commanded and emphatically nodded, her mop-cap coming perilously close to tumbling off her head.

  He was given no choice whether to drink the brew. She was holding it to his lips and the liquid was running into his mouth. It had a wonderful, beef-flavored taste that seemed to make his dry and scratchy throat feel better. He drained the cup and only winced a little as Meggie laid his head back down on the cool pillow.

  "Now. What’s this you want me to promise?" Meggie asked, tugging his covers over his naked chest and tucking them under his arms.

  "I want you to…" He stopped, frowning. His tongue had suddenly gone numb and he knew instantly what the lady had done. Slowly he raised his gaze to her triumphant face and was angry with her. Once more he had been betrayed by a woman. Once more he had no say in his own life because of a woman. "Who’s bright idea was this?"

  "Now, don’t you be getting your feathers all ruffled! It was mine and your brother’s. Nobody is doing you a hurt, especially not your Meggie. You need your rest and I aim to see you get it!" She took his hand and brought it to her lips. "I’d never do naught to bring you hurt, sweet Prince."

  "I told you I didn’t want any drugs!"

  "And I told you to get some rest! Now. Yourself to sleep!"

  His head was beginning to get fuzzy and heavy. It was all he could do to focus on her face. "The promise?" he managed to get out.

  Meggie sighed. "All right. What promise is that?"

  "Go to bed, lady."

  Meggie drew herself up. "I will not!"

  He wedged open his eyelids and tried to glare at her. "I have asked you to go to bed, Madame Ruck." His words were beginning to slur, his tongue expand in his mouth. "I now command you to do so." His glare attempted to change into a regal scowl. "Else I’ll have you fined for not obeying a royal order."

  Her spine stiffened and she meant to do battle, then and there, but his sweet face seemed to fill her very soul and she knew he meant what he said. She ducked her head and the mop-cap slid down over her quivering nose. Angrily she pushed it to the back of her head. "The hell you will!" she ground out and stomped furiously to the door, her heavy footsteps rattling the panes in the window. His slurred words brought her head around.

  "Thank you, Dearling," he whispered and then burrowed into the pillow.

  "You’re welcome, my bonny boy," she whispered as she heard his almost immediate light snore.

  * * *

  Sitting in front of the crackling fireplace in the common room, Teal and Thom drank hot mugs of steaming ale Harry Ruck had supplied. The wind howled around the eaves and sent blasts of snow crashing against the windows. Legion came down and joined them.

  "You look like I feel," Teal mumbled as he sipped his ale.

  "That bad, eh?" He laughed. "I just can’t seem to sleep," Legion said as he sat at their table and plowed his thick fingers through his graying hair. He glanced up as Dorrie placed a mug of ale before him. He watched her swaying hips as she walked away and winked as she turned at the kitchen door to send him an inviting look from beneath her long lashes.

  "Yours for the taking," Thom joked.

  "Anyone’s for the taking," Storm quipped from his place near the front door where he and Marsh and three other Elite sat playing cards.

  Legion sat back in his chair and sipped the ale. "Maybe I can sleep, after all."

  Chapter 25

  * * *

  "This is Maud, Your Grace." Meggie introduced the middle-aged lady to her Prince. "She’ll be sitting with you while I’m about my chores."

  Conar glanced up in puzzlement at the red-haired matron. The lady smiled warmly at him, dipping her knees in a quick curtsy before coming to sit beside him in the chair. She opened the sewing pouch she carried and pulled out knitting needles and yarn. He looked back at Meggie who stood in the doorway, her massive arms folded over her equally massive bosom.

  "Maud is my best friend. She offered to take my place. Get her to tell you about her grandmother’s invention." Meggie turned to go, but Conar’s confused voice stopped her.

  "Meggie?…"

  "And get her to tell you about the time her piglet got stuck in the privy and nearly scared her old man to death. That’s a riot, it is!"

  Before Conar could ask just why Meggie thought he needed a baby-sitter, the red-haired lady had begun her tale. He turned his startled gaze to her.

  "It was when me granny saw a need for a new type of churn. She…"

  * * *

  Conar woke the next morning and looked at a white-haired old lady with only one tooth in her head. Her lips grinned, and she sat in the chair beside him and reached for his hand.

  "I’m Sybie, Your Grace," she slushed through her almost toothless mouth. "Meggie says to tell you about my grandsons and the bear."

  He gawked at the old woman, then turned confused eyes about the room as the lady began to speak, spitting flecks of spittle as she did, her cackling laugh filling the room. Where the hell was Meggie and what the hell was going on?

  Despite his calling and protestations, no one came to see him until later that afternoon. The old woman lay snoozing in the chair, her white hair falling over her wrinkled forehead, her rubbery lips looking much like a snorting horse. When he looked up to see yet another strange woman peeking around the door to his room, he exploded. "Where is Meggie Ruck?"

  The new lady, younger by far than the other two, shyly walked into the room. Once her body had cleared the doorway, it would have been obvious to the most near-sighted that the lady was far gone with child. She waddled close to the bed and shook Sybie, who came awake with a splutter of half-phrases.

  "Time to go home, Granny," the young woman said. "The carriage is here."

  Sybie let the woman help her to her feet. She turned a bright smile to Conar, winked at him. "You’re a bonny boy, you are," she told him then trundled out of the room on sliding feet.

  "My name is Suzie, Your Grace," the younger woman said as she settled in the vacated chair. "Perhaps you know my cousin, Roy Matheny? He’s one of your Elite. He…"

  * * *

  For nine days Conar did not see Meggie Ruck, nor Legion, nor Thom, nor Teal, nor Storm, nor Marsh, nor any of his Elite. Despite his angry retorts, especially about urinating in front of these strange women, he was reminded sternly that they each had a husband, father, son, grandson, brother, or nephew who had managed well enough with their care. What they might see, they told him, had been seen before.

  What he encountered was a succession of strange women, each different from the next in appearance and temperament and age, but alike in the same perfect way. They were each kind, considerate and loving, apparently without a duplicative bone in their bodies. It became obvious to him after the third day what Meggie and Legion, no doubt, were doing.

  "Good morn, Milord," still another woman spoke as she dip
ped him a clumsy curtsy. "I’m Greta." Her merry blue eyes twinkled and she switched her long, thick blond braid from one shoulder to the next. "I’m Sybie’s great-granddaughter. She says you wanted to hear about the windmill falling down last year?"

  Throwing his hands into the air, Conar scrunched down in the bed and smiled evilly at the girl as she began her tale. By far, she was the prettiest of the lot, her voice sweet and melodic, but he really didn’t care. Enough was enough.

  "Mam’selle," he interrupted her humorous tale of a wildly careening windmill, "just where is Meggie?"

  "Why, in the kitchen, Milord." She smiled. "Do you need her?"

  His grin grew even more evil. "Aye, sweet girl. Would you get the lady for me?"

  Greta stood and dipped him another clumsy curtsy. "Right away, Milord!" She beamed, eager to do his command.

  Conar locked his fingers together in his lap and began to twiddle his thumbs. He couldn’t wait to get Meggie in the room.

  He waited for what seemed like an hour before he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. His grin went hard, his eyes hot with combat. As the door opened, he was about to singe Meggie Ruck with a tongue on fire with fury, but he blinked.

  Standing in the doorway was a woman twice—if that was possible—as big as Sadie, the cook at Boreas. Her huge, round face was red with the exertion from her climb up the stairs and her quadruple chins wagged as she chortled, her gargantuan bosom heaving up and down as she laughed. "Meg says to tell you she’s busy just now, Your Grace. My name is Tandie. I’ll sit with you since Greta had to leave."

  She wobbled her massive bulk to the chair, frowned down at it, no doubt realizing she couldn’t squeeze her huge frame into the thing, shrugged and then sat on the bed beside him, dipping the mattress nearly to the floor.

  Conar was so astounded, he couldn’t make but a squeak of protest as he rolled toward her, bumping his hip into her big thigh. He could only gawk as she brought up one giant, swollen paw to push hair off his forehead.