Journey of the Wind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  well, not even speaking when they sat at the same table together. Even the captain and

  first mate avoided him as much as they could. When he could no longer stand the strain

  of being ignored—for Kyle was a naturally outgoing man—he went in search of

  Alsandair, wishing to get things out in the open between them.

  Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the Alsandair’s door and when the younger

  man answered, Kyle held up a hand.

  “Hear me out, and if you then wish to slam your fist into my face, I’ll not stop you,”

  he said.

  Alsandair did not invite Kyle in but just stood there with his arms folded without

  speaking.

  Encouraged that Farrell had not slammed the door in his face, Kyle took a deep

  breath. “I’m a bastard,” he stated then grinned wryly.

  Alsandair made no comment to Kyle’s confession. Not once did he take his eyes

  from the other man’s, making Striker squirm beneath the silent scrutiny.

  “It was wrong to go after another man’s woman,” Kyle said. “I knew it then and I

  feel the guilt of it even more now that I’ve met you.” He shrugged. “I don’t have any

  defense of what I did, but I humbly ask your forgiveness for leading your lady astray.

  I—”

  “I have always been of the opinion if a woman stays in her place, the man will be

  forced to too,” Alsandair interrupted him. “She did what she wanted to do. You didn’t

  force her.”

  “No,” Kyle said, shifting from foot to foot like a small child caught in the act of

  misbehaving, “but had I left her alone and not encouraged her by reminding her you

  were taking her for granted and putting her last after your own pursuits—”

  “Was that what you did?” Alsandair said, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “Told her

  I was taking her for granted?”

  “It seemed like an end to justify the means at the time,” Kyle admitted. He winced.

  “And to me—an outsider—it really did seem that was the case. Had she been my

  woman, I never would have left her to her own devices and at the mercy of an

  unscrupulous man who could lure her away from me.”

  61

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “She had to have been willing to go before she would have taken the bait, Striker,”

  Alsandair said. “I don’t blame you nearly as much as I do her for the situation.”

  Kyle looked down at the floor. “I like you, Farrell,” he said. “I really do. Had I met

  you before all that happened, I would never have flirted with Rylee in the first place.”

  He looked up. “But you were a faceless, nameless specter to whom I owed not one

  shred of allegiance. All’s fair in love and war as I see it.”

  “There’s not one shred of allegiance or decency in you as I see it,” Alsandair

  commented. “Stealing another man’s woman is worse than stealing his horse and they

  hang those kinds of thieves.” He tilted his head to one side. “What should be done with

  a man who takes another’s most prized possession and runs off with her?”

  Sighing loudly, Kyle removed his hands from his pockets and let them hang at his

  sides. “Some would say a sound thrashing is in order.” He stood up straighter. “If it

  will make you feel any better then—”

  The warrior moved so fast Kyle didn’t even see the punch coming until it crashed

  into his jaw and he pitched backward, hitting the wall and sliding down it, his legs

  splayed in front of him as he landed on the floor.

  “Consider it done,” Alsandair said, and slammed the door shut as hard as he could.

  Putting up a hand to his throbbing chin, Kyle slowly—and painfully—wobbled his

  jaw back and forth, surprised the brutal blow hadn’t dislocated it. He tasted blood in his

  mouth where his bottom lip had been smashed against his teeth. He groaned—feeling

  lightheaded from the punch—as he pushed himself up the wall, turning his head to spit

  out the blood.

  “God, the man has the kick of a mule in his fist,” he muttered to himself. Bending

  over, he put his hands on his knees and crouched there until the dizziness passed.

  * * * * *

  The next morning found the ship anchoring in the busy harbor at Sulan. Ships from

  every nation in the world were docked along the massive quay with the flags and

  standards of many a royal family fluttering in the stiff breeze. It was summer in

  Midworld and the heat was oppressive, the humidity high as the crew went about

  furling the sails and securing the ship. Raucous sounds reverberated over the water as

  vendors hawking their wares moved about the docks and undulated up the stone steps

  into the market square. The squeals and squawks of animals, the laughter of children,

  the trill of a snake charmer’s flute and the bark of pitchmen directing people to their

  stalls all warred with one another to draw Rylee’s attention. Bright splashes of color

  were everywhere and there were so many languages being spoken, Rylee couldn’t

  name them all.

  “This is unbelievable,” she said as she stood at the rail and viewed the crush of

  humanity who moved about the docks.

  62

  Journey of the Wind

  “Stay close to me when we disembark,” Kyle cautioned. “There’s too many people

  milling about and we could easily get separated.” He put a hand to the small of her

  back.

  Rylee jerked away from his touch and nodded but her mind was on the gay

  clothing some of the vendors wore and the mysterious black robes that covered the

  women from head to toe so that only their eyes could be seen behind a thick mesh

  covering. She marveled at the jugglers and magicians, acrobats and dancers performing

  right out in the open. The din was earsplitting but it excited her and she couldn’t wait to

  be out amongst these exotic peoples.

  “I love acrobats,” she told Kyle. “They are so graceful.”

  From his place farther down the rail, Alsandair was observing the boisterous throng

  on the docks. His soldier’s eye picked out those he knew were operating outside the

  boundaries of the law. It was with a sixth sense he’d been granted at birth that he could

  tell the good guys from the bad and he followed several he knew were dangerous until

  they disappeared amid the crowd.

  “Be careful, my young friend,” the captain warned him as Andelton came to stand

  beside Alsandair. “There are many bandits about today since we’ve landed on market

  day. There will be pickpockets galore and pimps trying to get you inside one of their

  houses of ill repute.” He shook his head. “Don’t go unless you want to wake up on a

  Diabolusian galleon.”

  Alsandair shifted his shoulders as though something had touched his back. “I’ve

  had my experience with Diabolusian press-gangs, Drake. I’ll make gods-be-damned

  sure I know what I’m drinking and who poured it.”

  Having seen the vicious scars on the young man’s back, Drake nodded. “Disease is

  rampant among the whores so if you’re of a mind to dally your wick, make sure it is at

  a government-sanctioned brothel. You’ll recognize one by the gold star in the window.”

  Alsandair’s eyes shifted to Rylee. The only dallying he wanted to do was with her

  but he doubted he’d ever be given the chance again. Since their night together i
n his

  bunk, she had not spoken to him—would not even look his way.

  Feeling Alsandair’s gaze, Kyle turned and looked at the man he was sorry he had

  lost as a potential friend. He nodded but Alsandair did not return the greeting, only

  seemed to look right through Kyle. Releasing a long sigh, Kyle turned away. Rylee

  wasn’t the only one who treated him as though he were a fly speck on the wall.

  “He feels bad,” Andelton said.

  “He should,” Alsandair said, knowing perfectly well whom the captain meant. He

  pushed away from the rail and put out his hand. “It has been a pleasure meeting you,

  Drake.”

  Andelton blinked. “You will be returning with me to Anlusia, won’t you?”

  “I was planning on it.”

  63

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  The captain took his hand. “You threw me there for a moment,” he admitted. “I was

  afraid you’d decided to stay here.”

  Alsandair shook his head. “No, I still hold a commission and unless I want a

  military squad coming after my ass to drag me back in chains, I’ll serve the remainder

  of my time. Hell, I might as well make it to the full twenty since I no longer have a

  reason to stop at ten.”

  Rylee heard Alsandair’s words and a part of her withered. She loved him as much

  as she ever had, worried about him getting killed every waking minute of her day and

  dreamt of him being brought home to her on his shield every night they were apart.

  Being apart from him was breaking her heart but she didn’t know how to breach the

  widening gulf that Kyle had dug between them. She glanced over at the gambler and

  had to be honest with herself. It wasn’t Kyle who had opened that trench, it had been

  her.

  “If you love him that much, why don’t you go to him?” Kyle asked softly.

  She felt the sting of tears prickling at her eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

  “That you love him?” At her nod, he reached out to smooth a wayward strand of

  hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “Aye, dearling. It is.”

  She looked away from him. “It’s too late. He hates me now.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Kyle said. “No man looks at a woman the way he looks at

  you with hate in his heart.” He reached up to stroke his chin. “He belted me a good one

  when he could have very easily turned me into mincemeat. Why do you suppose he

  didn’t?”

  “He nearly broke your jaw, Kyle,” she reminded him.

  “He could have done that too, but I don’t think it even occurred to him to try. He

  wanted to hurt me and he did, but he didn’t do any real damage except to my male

  pride and I didn’t have much of that left in the first place.” He nudged her with his hip.

  “I think he didn’t want to savage me because he thought you preferred to be with me

  and he wanted you in as good a brace of hands as could be found if they weren’t his.”

  Rylee drew in a long breath, let her head fall back to stare up at the white heat of

  the bright day. “I hurt him, Kyle. I hurt him so badly and there is no way to make

  amends for that.”

  Kyle swung his head around to watch Alsandair taking the gangplank down to the

  quay. The young warrior never looked back as he melded into the crowd, standing a

  full head above most of the people he passed. He saw several women follow his

  progress then giggle amongst themselves. He also saw Alsandair shrug off the hands of

  several men who pointed at scantily clad women undulating their bellies in dance.

  “That wench in silver looks like she could gobble Sandair up,” he said absently.

  “He has that effect on all women,” Rylee said, spying her ex-lover strolling among

  the stalls. “I’ve seen whores practically shove their tits in his face to get him to notice

  them.”

  64

  Journey of the Wind

  “But do you see how he walks right past those who look as though they are offering

  him their company?” Kyle asked.

  “Aye, well, he knows enough to keep away from dockside dollies,” Rylee said

  dryly.

  “Itching, scaling rashes and flesh-eating infections aside, a man will be a man,

  Rylee, unless he is an honorable man with a willing woman awaiting him at home,”

  Kyle said. He looked down at her. “Are you to be that willing woman?”

  She reached up to swipe at the lone tear that eased down her cheek. “I would if he

  would have me and forgive the godawful thing I did to him,” she answered.

  “We did to him,” Kyle corrected. He took her hand. “Let’s go after him and we’ll all

  three sit down and hash this out.”

  Rylee stiffened, pulling back a bit, clearly hesitant to do as he suggested. “I’m not

  sure, Kyle. He is so angry with me.”

  “We’ll make it right, dearling,” he said. “I promise.” He tugged at her hand again.

  “Why are you still willing to help me?” she asked. “I thought you—”

  “I know true love when I’m slapped in the face with it, milady, and that love tap

  Sandair Farrell gave me had the force of undying, eternal love in it. A man can’t fight

  true love and come out the winner—no matter how good a lover he is.” He cocked one

  shoulder. “Besides, I like the little bastard.”

  Throwing caution to the winds, Rylee allowed him to lead her away from the

  railing and to the gangplank. She had to stand on tiptoe, craning her head left to right,

  to keep Alsandair in sight as he moved farther into the mass of teeming strangers.

  “That man moves like a viper,” Kyle complained. He soon lost sight of Alsandair

  and pulled Rylee to a stop in the center of the bustling market. “Did you see which way

  he went?”

  “No,” she said, wiping a hand across her sweaty face. It was stifling hot and the

  press of bodies—and often times the stench—was making her nauseous.

  Kyle looked around them and spied what looked to be an inn. “Let’s try over

  there,” he said and tugged her behind him, her hand clenched tightly in his.

  The building to which they went turned out to be a souvenir shop for lack of a

  better word. It was filled to overflowing with mostly junk and the man who ran it

  looked like a refuge from a trash dump. He did, however, point them to a building

  across the way that was indeed an inn.

  Crossing the dusty courtyard, sidestepping animal droppings and skidding to a

  stop to keep from being ran over by out-of-control children, Kyle noticed a swarthy-

  looking man staring at them from an open doorway. He frowned and hurried Rylee on

  with him to the inn.

  “Do you speak Jentu?” Kyle asked the innkeeper, referring to the international

  language spoken by most of the world’s population.

  65

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “I am pleased to say I do. How may I serve you, milord?” the young man behind

  the counter inquired.

  “Has there been a tall Anlusian gentleman through here in the last few minutes?”

  Kyle asked. “He would be seeking a room.”

  The man smiled. “I might possibly have seen such a man.” His hand was palm

  down on the counter but when he finished speaking, he turned his palm up. “Who can

  say?”

  Kyle fished in his pocket for a golden óir and laid it in the man’s hand.


  “About your height, dark hair, dark blue shirt and black leather pants?” the

  innkeeper asked.

  “That would be him.”

  “He inquired of a room,” the man behind the counter stated, and plucked the óir

  from his hand, which was once again empty.

  Frowning, Kyle put another coin in the man’s palm. “Which room?”

  “First door on your left up the stairs,” the man said, pocketing both coins, “but he is

  not there at this time.” His palm was once more empty.

  Kyle dropped a third gold piece in the man’s hand and arched a brow in question.

  “He went to the tavern across the way.”

  “I thank you,” Kyle said. “Have you more rooms to let?”

  “Indeed I do, milord,” the young man said eagerly. He looked from Kyle to Rylee.

  “Will one or two rooms will be required?”

  “Two,” both Kyle and Rylee said at the same time.

  After Kyle paid for the rental of the rooms, he escorted Rylee to the door and back

  out into the courtyard.

  The same man who had been watching them so closely from the doorway of a

  nearby building was once again staring openly at them. Rylee saw him and smiled.

  Kyle had seen that smile out of the corner of his eye and he stopped right there in

  the middle of the courtyard and leaned down to put his lips to Rylee’s ear. “Do not look

  directly into the eyes of the men here, dearling, and never, ever smile at them. They will

  take that as an indication that you are interested in being with them.”

  “Being with them?” she echoed.

  “Being with them,” he stressed.

  “Oh!” she said, putting a hand to her mouth, her cheeks burning. “I understand.”

  “You are far too beautiful for your own good, milady, and there are men here who

  would pay a rather hefty price to have you as an addition to their seraglio, their

  harem.”

  Rylee’s face drained of color. Such a fate would be worse than death, she thought,

  and moved closer to Kyle, tightening her grip on his hand.

  66

  Journey of the Wind

  When they arrived at the tavern where the innkeeper said Alsandair had gone, they

  found their quarry had left with a bottle of beer, a link of sausage and a loaf of bread—

  no doubt to make up his noontime meal.

  “Did he say where he might be going?” Kyle asked the tavern keeper, who also

  spoke Jentu.