Journey of the Wind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  men descended upon the man at the wadi with a piercing cry meant to frighten and

  throw the enemy into chaos. It worked, for as their attackers came rushing over the

  dune, the men with the slavers party scattered like ants while al-Shishakli’s men simply

  crouched over with their weapons drawn, searching back and forth for the threat.

  His hand gripping his sword, Alsandair skidded down the dune and made straight

  for the man who had taken Rylee captive. He had made it clear the bastard was his and

  no one else was to lay hands to him.

  One of Bourguiba’s men made the mistake of stepping in Alsandair’s way in an

  attempt to prevent him from reaching the slave trader. The man died quietly, his belly

  opened up with a single flick of Alsandair’s blade.

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  For just a moment he saw the panic in the Bourguiba’s eyes as Alsandair came at

  him, past the man who had tried to protect him. The Anlusian warrior engaged the

  slaver in hand-to-hand combat.

  Terrified for her lover, Rylee saw fear flit through Bourguiba’s gaze before the

  slaver made the decision to give the fight all he had. He lunged at Alsandair but it was

  obvious he did not have the skill to defend himself against a man such as his opponent.

  Soon hopeless resignation replaced the determined look on the slaver’s sweating face.

  The child beside her sat up to watch the melee taking place in front of them. Rylee

  managed to loop her arms around the little boy’s head and scoot them away from the

  fire and out of harm’s way. It was a hard thing to do for her ankles were lashed securely

  together—as were the boy’s—but she managed to get them both back as far as possible

  and out of the way of the fighters. Not once did her eyes leave Alsandair as he slashed

  at the man who had abducted her.

  “He is a brave warrior,” she said to the child, but she knew the little one did not

  understand her language. She had been talking to him in a soft, encouraging voice,

  trying to console him as best she could by tightening her arms around his quaking

  body.

  With his face a horrible mask of cold fury and ruthless resolve, Alsandair drove his

  enemy back, his sword lightning quick and brutal as he hacked at the other man’s

  clumsily held scimitar. He was unaware the rest of the fighting had stopped around

  him and that victor and loser alike were watching his merciless attack on his opponent.

  He continued to chop at his enemy.

  “Shekast!” the man stumbling back from Alsandair shouted. “Shekast!”

  Neither Khalid nor Kyle spoke as they watched Alsandair. They could have told

  him the man was telling his attacker that he was defeated, giving up, but they chose not

  to. Like the rest of the watchers, they simply stood there and waited, knowing what the

  eventual end would be.

  Though he had taken her against her will, Bourguiba had not hurt Rylee. He had

  been as courteous to her as any Midworlder man could be to a mere woman, a

  commodity he had every intention of selling. He had not hit her nor unduly caused her

  hurt. She felt nothing but contempt for him but the wild fear on his face as he struggled

  with Alsandair’s flashing blade put a touch of guilt in Rylee’s soft heart. She called out

  to him but Kyle was immediately at her side, his dagger in hand, hunkering down to

  slice the ropes at her ankles and wrists.

  “Be quiet, sweeting,” Kyle said. “He does what he needs to do.”

  “But—” she protested, only to have Kyle give her a stern look.

  “He does what he needs to do,” he repeated, holding her gaze for a moment before

  reaching out to free the little boy who shrank back from him with a whimper.

  “It’s all right,” Rylee said, trying to soothe the child’s fear. “He’s a friend.”

  Kyle spoke quietly to the child in a language the little boy would understand then

  got to his feet to watch the action that was rapidly coming to a close.

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  No doubt having realized the man attacking him would not stop, Bourguiba roused

  himself just enough to meet the last few parries with feeble attempts to protect himself.

  It was doubtful he even felt the expert slice that separated his head from his torso.

  Shielding the little boy from the gruesome sight, Rylee felt her gorge rise and bent

  her head over the child’s as she pressed his face to her bosom, squeezing her eyes shut

  to the nightmare she knew she would relive in her mind’s eye for the rest of her life.

  Breathing heavily as he stood there with his sword lowered, his legs spread wide as

  he surveyed his bloody handiwork, Alsandair turned his head toward Rylee, wanting

  to be assured she was safe. His head was filled with a savage throbbing and felt as

  though a white-hot band of molten iron was wrapped around it. He wobbled for a

  moment then dropped to his knees, the sword falling from his hand and then he

  pitched forward as his eyes rolled up in his head.

  When he came to, he was lying on the cold desert sands with Rylee sitting down

  beside him, his head in her lap, her fingers smoothing the hair back from his forehead.

  Around him, men were moving quietly, performing some task he could not see in the

  dim light of the dying campfire.

  “Kyle,” he heard Rylee say softly. “He’s awake.”

  The pain was a bit less than it had been while he was fighting but it still plagued

  him and the nausea seemed ready to erupt at any moment.

  “Are you hurting?” Rylee asked.

  “Aye,” he was able to say.

  His head was lifted and something cool was pressed to his lips.

  “Drink and don’t even think about giving us any more of your shit, Farrell,” Kyle

  grumbled as he hunkered there beside Alsandair.

  Unable to do anything save swallow the bitter cherry-flavored liquid that flowed

  into his mouth, he winced brutally and nearly gagged at the taste of the tenerse. He

  shuddered as the medicine moved down his throat and into his bloodstream like

  lightning. Almost immediately all resistance left his tense body and he relaxed.

  “That was quick,” Khalid said. He was standing over Alsandair with his arms

  crossed over his chest, his lips twitching with amusement.

  “Hello,” Alsandair said, smiling up at him.

  “Greetings, warrior,” Khalid replied with a chuckle.

  “Are you the bastard who stole my woman?” Alsandair asked in a pleasant voice.

  “He’s the one who helped get your woman back,” Kyle grumbled, and when

  Alsandair’s glazed eyes met his, he arched a brow for the prone man’s face had taken

  on a comical scowl.

  “You are the one who tried to take my woman,” he accused. “Didn’t work, did it?”

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  Khalid snorted with laughter and turned away to see about the progress of his men

  as they fashioned a travois to transport Alsandair.

  “Go to sleep, Sandy,” Rylee said as she caressed his cheek.

  “I gotta sleep now, Ry,” Alsandair said, nodding.

  “That’s fine. Just close your eyes and—”

  He reached for her hand and tucked it against his chest, holding it over his heart.

  “Going to sleep now, Ry,” he said.

  “You do that,” Rylee said, and watched
his eyes slide shut.

  The little boy who sat so close to Rylee their shoulders were touching had his little

  hands wrapped around her left arm and was staring wide-eyed at the sleeping man.

  Kyle had told him the man was the betrothed of the woman the child had latched onto

  with a vengeance and that he was a good man, a brave warrior. When the child asked

  Kyle a question, Rylee looked up at Kyle.

  Kyle crooked his index finger and scratched it up and down his nose, a slight

  grimace on his face. “He wants to know if the warrior will accept him as your son,”

  Kyle said.

  Rylee blinked. “What?”

  Kyle spoke quietly to the little boy for a few moments then gave a long sigh.

  “Bourguiba bought him from his father after his mother died. Apparently the father

  already had enough mouths to feed and was happy to have one less belly to fill. There

  are no other relatives for the child to go to.”

  Rylee glanced at the child. “What will happen to him then?” she asked.

  “A state-run orphanage,” Khalid said as he came back over to them. “Where

  anyone can purchase him for whatever purpose they desire.”

  “The hell with that,” Rylee said through clenched teeth. “Tell…” She looked at

  Kyle. “What is his name?”

  Once more Kyle spoke with the child then smiled. “He doesn’t know the name of

  his father so I can not give you a surname but he is called Ataa.”

  “Which means gift in our Midworld language,” Khalid said.

  Rylee nodded as though the name was apt. “Tell him that he is now my son and

  that the warrior will accept him as such.”

  “You sure about that?” Kyle pressed. “Shouldn’t you wait for Sandair to say either

  yay or nay?”

  “I know Sandair and I know he would not allow this child to be thrown away,” she

  said. “We’ll just be starting a family a little earlier than planned.”

  * * * * *

  Arriving back at the inn in the wee hours of the morning, Kyle and Safiy carried

  Alsandair up to his room on a makeshift stretcher. The young man was snoring lightly

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  with one arm hanging off the stretcher while the other was bent over his belly, his head

  tilted to one side as he slept. Rylee had told them he would be unconscious for several

  hours and hopefully when he awoke, the headache would have fled.

  Climbing the stairs behind Kyle and his limp burden, Rylee had hold of Ataa’s

  small hand. The boy was swinging his head from side to side as he moved up the stairs

  and was humming to himself. His bare little feet were stomping on the wooden treads

  like it was a game.

  Moving ahead of the men as they made the landing, Rylee went to Alsandair’s

  room and opened the door, half expecting his belongings to be missing for the door had

  not been locked. But nothing seemed to have been taken and she let go of Ataa’s hand

  so she could smooth the rumpled surface of Alsandair’s bed and pulled the covers back.

  Ataa was inspecting the room and touching things he no doubt had never seen in

  his young life. The six-year-old paid little attention to the men as they transferred the

  unconscious warrior from the stretcher to the bed. He had discovered the close stool

  behind a fancily carved screen and was staring down into the chamber pot when Rylee

  came over to him.

  “Do you have to go?” she asked, at a loss as how to mimic such a thing with a little

  boy.

  The child looked up at her and cocked his head of black curls to one side.

  “Dastshooyi,” Kyle said from the bed.

  Ataa’s little face broke into a wide grin and he bobbed his head up and down.

  Whether or not he had to relieve himself was a moot point for he seemed eager to try

  out the throne-like chair and was already pushing his tattered cotton pants down to his

  knobby knees.

  Rylee’s face flamed and she spun around, leaving the child to his own devices. She

  met Kyle’s amused look and gave him a reprimanding glare.

  “I’ll teach you a few helpful phrases, Ry,” he said, “but it would be best for Ataa to

  learn Jentu.”

  She nodded, still feeling the burn in her cheeks. Walking over to the bed as the

  sounds of urine hitting porcelain echoed from behind the screen, she was grateful Kyle

  and Safiy had undressed Alsandair and tucked him under the covers.

  Ataa came hurrying out from behind the screen and spoke excitedly to Kyle,

  tugging at Kyle’s trousers.

  “What is he saying?” Rylee asked. She was running a cool rag over Alsandair’s face

  as he slept.

  “He wants to know if he will be allowed to sleep in the same room as you and his

  father. Maadar is mother,” Kyle said, “and pedar is father.” He laughed. “He likes what

  he calls the piss-pot on legs.” He bent over and said something in a soft voice to the boy.

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  Rylee bit her lower lip. She had every intention of sleeping in the bed beside

  Alsandair, but having the child there would be awkward. When the boy started

  jumping up and down and clapping, she looked at Kyle.

  “I told him he would sleep with me until we leave Sulan and then he will get an

  entire room to himself on the ship,” Kyle explained. “Such a thing to him is like offering

  heaven.”

  Sighing with relief, Rylee smiled at Ataa who came hurrying over to wrap his little

  arms around her waist and press his cheek to her tummy. He said something then ran

  over to Kyle who was getting ready to leave the room.

  “Ataa said for you to lock the door behind us and not venture forth anymore this

  night,” Kyle translated. “He bids me tell you he is the man of the house until his pedar is

  up and about so you are to do as he says.”

  Rylee looked up from Alsandair’s still face and tried not to smile. “Were you born

  here in Midworld, Kyle?” she asked, curious about the mysterious man’s past and how

  it was he spoke the language.

  Kyle opened the door and ushered Ataa through. “I was Vind Gynr born, dearling,”

  he replied, giving nothing away. “Lock the door behind us.”

  Long after Kyle and his pint-sized ward had left her, Rylee took her time

  undressing and climbing into bed beside her lover. The sun was only a few hours away

  and she had not slept since her ordeal began, but oddly enough she didn’t feel tired. All

  she wanted to do was lie close to Alsandair, put her arm around him and lie there

  watching him sleep so peacefully.

  The covers were soft and inviting as she snuggled down into them and laid her

  head against Alsandair’s shoulder. She slipped her arm over him and beneath her palm

  she could feel the steady beat of his heart. His face was turned away from her with his

  lips slightly parted and the light snore that came from his mouth was endearing. Not

  once in all the years she’d known and loved him had she spent an entire night at his

  side and it was a heady experience that made her throat close with unshed tears.

  Before too many minutes passed, she closed her eyes and sleep claimed her despite

  her vow to stay awake and watch her lover sleep.

  * * * * *

  She came awake to a soft touch upon her breast. Opening her eyes, she looked up

>   into Alsandair’s dear face. He put his hand to her breast and smiled as he ran his thumb

  over her nipple.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  A faint light shined through the window to announce the beginning of the new day.

  “Feeling better?” she asked, searching his gaze for the telltale signs of pain.

  Lying on his left side next to her, he lightly squeezed her breast. “It feels

  wonderful,” he replied with an upward crook of his left brow.

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  “You are incorrigible,” she told him.

  He leaned over until his lips were at her ear. “I am in desperate need of my

  woman’s silken body beneath mine,” he whispered, his warm breath sending chills

  down her side.

  “Are you up to it?” she countered.

  Releasing his tender grip on her breast, he took her hand and brought it to the hard

  bulge between his legs. “What do you think, wench?” He rubbed her palm over his

  erection.

  “I’d say you were very up to it,” she said, and wrapped her fingers around him. He

  was completely nude and she knew Kyle and Safiy had not put him to bed that way. At

  some point while she slept, he had divested himself of his pants.

  Alsandair drew in a long breath as his lady’s hand massaged him. He was hard and

  throbbing and ached to slide inside her honeyed warmth. His balls felt as though they

  were on fire and the need was building in leaps and bounds.

  “Easy, milady,” he said, stilling her hand on him. “Don’t spill the beans just yet.”

  Rylee giggled. Her man had such wicked little sayings that never failed to amuse

  her. She took her hand from his steely erection. When he groaned, she sat up in the bed,

  tossing the covers aside.

  “Wench!” he complained, for the room was a bit too cool for comfort.

  “You are such a baby,” she said. She looked down at his manhood and smiled when

  it leapt in anticipation.

  “I beg to differ,” he said in a husky voice. “What you see is all man.”

  “Lie down,” she ordered, putting out a hand to push at his shoulder. “We’ll see

  how much of a man you are, Farrell.” She gave him an evil smile. “And just how much

  you can take before crying quarter.”

  “Aye?” he asked, scooting over in the bed so he could lie flat. “Are you intending to

  have your wicked way with me, wench?”