WINDHEALER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Conar!" Shalu bellowed, draping his arm around the small girl. "Come meet my Kymmi!"

  Conar took the delicate cinnamon-colored hand that was extended shyly toward him and raised it to his lips, then placed a feather-soft kiss on the upturned wrist. "It is my honor, mam'selle."

  Kym turned to her father. "Prince Conar?" she asked in an awed voice. "The Prince Conar?"

  He winked at Conar. "Risen from the dead and ready to roast his enemies!"

  Fifteen-year-old Kym Taborn stared at Conar and lost her heart for the eighth time that week. Her oval face blushed. She lowered thick, sooty lashes over warm coffee-colored eyes. She dropped gracefully into a curtsy that made her father's eyes roll to the heavens.

  "The honor is mine, Highness," she whispered in a throaty voice. She raised her head, close-cropped with thick, glistening curls, and smiled.

  Shalu laughed, swatting the girl's backside. "He's too old for you!" He scrunched his daughter close to his side and placed a loud kiss on her forehead. "What of home? How is your mother? Your brothers and sister?"

  "All well," she answered, her stare still on the gorgeous blond man who stood before her. Her feminine mind was racing. Who said he was too old? She batted her lashes and was a bit put off by the light chuckle and condescending grin the man gave her father.

  "Stop flirting!" Shalu warned in a gruff, teasing voice. "He has a son older than you!"

  An immediate light came into the girl's face. "Here?"

  Conar couldn't help but see the gears turning in her head.

  Neither could Shalu. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "He looks just like his father."

  Kym's inquisitive eyes flicked over Conar, assessing, appraising. She liked what she saw despite the wicked twin gashes on his tanned cheek. Somehow the scars gave him a sexuality that was hard to ignore. His bright blond hair, worn long in a queue, his sensual lips that had a slight trace of a smile, his physique, all combined to make Kym breathless. But it was his eyes that held her attention, gained her immediate notice. They were the most beautiful blue she had ever seen.

  "Just like his father?" she asked in a low whisper.

  "Exactly," Conar told her.

  "Where can this son be found?"

  "I haven't seen you in nearly seven years, girl, and you want to go chasing some boy?" Shalu lowered his brows and stuck out his thick lips. "How am I supposed to take that?"

  Kym stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Like any father would!" She looked at Conar. "Where did you say your son was?"

  "You'll probably find him in the stables. That's where he usually is."

  "He likes horses?" she asked in a breathless gush.

  "Devoted to them."

  Her face turned positively radiant. She smiled, realized she was giving away feminine emotions, and schooled her face into a carefully blank, teenage girl look. "Well, perhaps I might find him there when I see to my pony," she sniffed with all the disdain a teenager can muster.

  "Perhaps," Conar agreed gravely.

  "Does he have that wicked scar, too?"

  "Kym!" Shalu gasped, shocked.

  Despite his smile and light words, Conar's face bore the pain of rejection. "He is all of one piece, mam'selle."

  "You apologize to Conar now!" Shalu thundered.

  "Shalu—"

  "No! She has insulted you!" He gave his daughter a fierce scowl. "By what right do you do such a thing to a friend of mine?"

  Kym stared at her father with hurt. "I meant no disrespect," she said, her gaze lowering. "If I have insulted you, I am most apologetic and I am humbly ashamed."

  There was something strange about the girl's apology. Conar put his finger under her chin and lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. "You meant no insult?" he asked.

  "No, Highness. I find your scars to be—"

  "Be quiet!" Shalu ordered.

  Conar held up his hand. "You found them to be what, mam'selle?"

  Kym's cinnamon-colored flesh darkened. She dropped her voice so low it was almost inaudible. "I find them very sexy."

  Conar's brows drew together. He glanced at Shalu who was gaping, staring hard at his eldest child. Conar had a hard time schooling his face before he could look back at Kym. When he did, his words were as soft as hers had been. "You don't find them horrible to look upon, mam'selle?"

  With the innocence and honesty of youth, Kym spoke her mind. "Of course not!" she sighed with exasperation. "Who would?"

  Conar smiled. "Who, indeed?"

  "Didn't you say you had to see to your pony?" Shalu warned.

  Kym glanced at him and her face brightened. "I do!" She curtsied once more.

  Shalu watched her run lightly away from them, and opened his mouth to apologize to Conar.

  "She really didn't find them all that bad," Conar remarked, smiling.

  Shalu didn't know what to say. He just nodded. Conar didn't appear to be upset; didn't appear to be even hurt by the thoughtless remark. If the gentle smile on his face was any indication, he was rather pleased.

  "I believe I have a lesson in a few moments," Conar said. "For once, I don't think I'll mind."

  Watching his friend stride off, Shalu sighed. Conar was an enigma he wasn't sure anyone could ever solve!

  * * *

  "Who're you?" a strong masculine voice asked.

  Kym Taborn found herself staring into eyes so like the Prince's, into a carbon copy of Conar McGregor's face, that she knew this boy had to be his son. "I am Kyminda Taborn. Who are you?" she asked, arching a thin black brow.

  "I am Wynland."

  "Wynland what?"

  "Just Wynland," he told her with just a hint of pique.

  "You're not legal, are you?" she asked, studying him for the trace of male arrogance that usually came when you call them illegitimate.

  Wyn lifted his chin. "No, but I am the firstborn son of—"

  "Wyn!" Sentian Heil warned. When Wyn looked his way, his face a bright crimson, Sentian shook his head.

  "I know who his father is," Kym informed the older man standing at the corral's gate.

  "You do?" Sentian asked, wondering who this brash young woman belonged to.

  "Naturally. My father told me." Kym turned her attention back to Wyn, liking what she saw.

  "And just who is your father?" Sentian inquired.

  "King Shalu," she said with an air of importance. Her stare fused with Wyn's. "I am legal firstborn daughter."

  "Who'd have thunk it?" Wyn sneered. He looked at Sentian, hoping Heil would smile at the point he'd scored, but Sentian looked rather green around the gills.

  "Does Shalu know where you are?" Sentian asked.

  "He sent me," Kym said. She looked at Wyn again. "Your father said I'd find you here."

  Wyn arched a blond brow. "Why?"

  Kym shrugged. "I suppose because he thinks he's too old for me."

  Sentian coughed, choked, and found himself staring at the young couple. They were gazing at one another as though sizing each other up. Blue eyes swept down a tiny wisp of a girl; brown eyes roamed over wide shoulders and thin hips, long legs. Heil was vividly reminded of two cats circling one another, looking for a flaw in the other's armor.

  Wyn frowned. He didn't like bold females. He pretended to scowl, but her lovely face only looked smug, content, like a cat's lapping up cream. He wasn't sure he wanted to be this girl's cream.

  "Well, now. A bit on the shy side, aren't you?" he sneered with all the nastiness a sixteen-year-old boy could dredge up.

  Kym smiled, her little teeth white in the dark of her face. "Not when I see something I want."

  "Well, you'd best not want me."

  "Don't you like girls?"

  "They're the only game in town for me!"

  "I was beginning to wonder. Do you ride?" she asked, eyeing him up and down as though she had her doubts.

  "Better than you, I bet!"

  "We'll see," she said, enigmatically. Her saucy gaze ranged over him. "We will see."
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  She walked past Sentian and entered the corral, looked for her mount, and ordered one of the stableboys to saddle it. She glanced back only once to see if Wyn would follow her.

  "Be careful," Sentian warned his young charge as Wyn stomped past him into the corral.

  "I'll make her eat dirt!"

  Chapter 9

  * * *

  Despite Se Huan's promise to do otherwise, she was unable to entice Conar to make love to her. No amount of urging, pleading, or pouting would sway him. He would simply smile that sad smile of his and gently remove her arms from around his neck, her hands from his body. He would thank her for her generosity, then depart, leaving her frustrated, but proud of the man. And of late, even her tender mercies which eased the sexual ache in his body had been refused. It had been more than a month since she had last been allowed to use her talents upon him and she had returned to Occultus in shame.

  Master Occultus was not alone. Seated on a low divan was an extraordinarily lovely white woman. Shimmering lights sparkled in the autumn-kissed skein of her honey-blond hair. Blue eyes the color of a warm summer's day peered from behind a heavy sweep of long, thick tawny lashes. Her skin was as flawless and rosy as a ripe nectarine, and her figure was one that could stop any man in his tracks. Her lips were a dark pink and there was a faint blush of lavender color on her lids. Her cleavage, rounding softly from the gown of deep purple silk that molded her body like a second skin, was high and full. Her feet were bare, small and delicate looking, as were her hands. She wore no jewels and there was no adornment on her gown. She seemed to view Se Huan with a touch of amusement.

  "How have you fared?" Occultus asked, bringing the girl's gaze to him.

  "I have failed, Master."

  Occultus nodded, a thin smile on his lips. "I thought perhaps you would, girl."

  "I am unworthy of him. He no longer wants any form of affection from me." She glanced at the woman and wondered why such a confession before her would cause her immediate alarm. There was no expression on the exquisite face, but Se Huan could see great interest.

  "It is not you who he finds lacking," the blond woman said, her musical voice low, sensual. "Your hair, your complexion…you remind him too much of Liza and he cannot bring himself to mate with you." She smiled, yet the smile did not reach her eyes. "It is Conar's failure, not yours."

  "We are grateful for your efforts, Se Huan," Occultus said. "This lady will try her luck."

  Se Huan turned to the stunning beauty who watched her with merry contempt. The woman was laughing at her behind the correct facade of her gentle smile.

  "But he does not know this one! She might alienate him even more, Master. Why do you feel she will succeed where I have failed?" Her face pinched with distaste.

  The blond woman laughed. "I fear she is jealous of me, Occultus!"

  Occultus frowned. He detested female jealousies. "Do not let your vapors hold rein, Se Huan. Do you not want what is best for him?"

  "How will she be better for him? He knows me!"

  "My dear child," the woman stressed in a bored voice, "Conar and I are well acquainted. I have known him, far better, and far more intimately, than you ever will. I have known him longer than you have been alive!"

  "Do you not want what is best for Conar?" Occultus repeated.

  Se Huan lowered her eyes. "You know I do, Master."

  "Then what does it matter who relieves him of the burden of his dreams? This lady has no designs on him. If she did, I would not allow her access to him." He sat in his chair, dismissing the whole sordid conversation. He knew the blond woman would fail, as well. "You may go, Se Huan."

  Se Huan stood uncertainly. She returned the woman's icy blue stare with leaping brown fire. When the woman turned her face, dismissing Se Huan, the Chrystallusian girl's face glowed with fury. Bowing slightly, she left the room, her heart thudding fast.

  Occultus sighed with distaste as the door closed. "You will sleep in his bed tonight."

  "Have no fear, Occultus," the woman assured him. "I will succeed. I have before." She smiled, hoping her feigned respect for him covered her true loathing.

  Nothing could prevent her from accomplishing her goal. She had come thousands of miles because she had sensed a rift in the veil over Chrystallus. When she had arrived, she had been stunned to learn Conar was alive. Immediately, a plan had formulated in her mind.

  "I'll make him mine," she whispered as she walked to the room allotted her. "I will!"

  * * *

  He was flat on his back again, his lips clamped shut with frustration. He could feel Pearl bending over him, could even see that taunting smile through his closed eyelids. His head ached miserably, pounding so furiously he thought he'd pass out.

  Pearl was on his knees, sitting on his heels. He gazed at his pupil. "You do realize you have a problem, don't you?"

  "You're my biggest problem, Allegria."

  "Do you know what it is?"

  "No, but you're going to tell me, aren't you?" Conar snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "God, my head hurts!"

  "Well, of course, I'm going to tell you!" One slim hand fluttered in the air. Pearl made a face at Conar's groan of annoyance. "You're just such a meany, aren't you?"

  Conar snarled at Pearl's deliberate attempt at sounding "faggoty," as Conar had termed it. His aching head was making his teeth hurt. He massaged his right temple. The nausea was starting in his throat and his right eye felt like someone was poking a red hot stick into it.

  Pearl continued to kneel beside him, waiting.

  "What, dammit?" Conar shouted and wished he hadn't ,for his brain slammed into his skull with enough force to bring a sour belch to his lips.

  "So this is the way it is," Pearl began, ignoring the look of intense agony on Conar's face. "Wrestling is a state of mind, my young Princey-Poo. Naturally it takes brawn." He puffed out his flat, thin chest, twisting his shoulders back and forth, raising his arms, flexing them, to show non-existent muscles. He looked at his slightly mounded biceps and shrugged.

  "Is there a point to your rambling?" Conar managed to croak.

  "You have to use strategies in wrestling." He thought for a moment. His eyes brightened as an idea struck. "Look at it as a conquest. Like the conquest of a beautiful woman." His lips twitched. "Or in my case, a beautiful man." He frowned when Conar made a rude snort. "Anyway, what's the first thing you do when you're trying to seduce a would-be partner? You compliment him, right?"

  "I compliment her!"

  Pearl clucked his tongue. "You shower her with attention; you look her over; you slide a little closer and maybe finger a curl of hair, smooth a ruby red lip. Then, you let her think she's the one doing the catching. Let her think it's her idea."

  Conar held up his hand. "Stop being Kehoe."

  "Beg pardon?" Pearl asked.

  "Stop stressing the word her!"

  "Right. You let him think it's his idea that the two of you are going to get together and make wild, passionate love somewhere, sometime soon. Then, you move in for the attack! You let him see some of your weaknesses, then you pounce. You pounce, Princey-Poo! Overtake him with your—"

  "Her!" Conar corrected and gagged on bile.

  "Such a meany! You overtake her with your brawny arms, crush her willing body to yours and take her to heavenly bliss!" Pearl sighed dramatically, caught up in his vision of romantic love. "Do you see what you've done?"

  "I came; I saw; I pounced." Conar frowned. "Typical McGregor male reaction."

  "Yes, your body is what you use to conquer her with, but it is another part of your anatomy that does the actual winning far in advance. Brains are far more important that brawn."

  "Is this leading anywhere? If so, get on with it!" Conar snapped, annoyed. In the last five weeks of their acquaintance, he had learned that Pearl had a most convoluted way of speaking. Often he went off on wild tangents of thought that left Conar staring with confusion.

  "You're such a bore!" P
earl pouted. "What is your problem today?"

  "My brain actually hurts."

  "See! That's what I'm talking about!" Pearl said in a jubilant voice. "You have to wrestle here!" He put a cool hand on Conar's brow, "before you can wrestle here!" The hand moved to Conar's hard biceps.

  Conar gazed into Pearl's excited face. He narrowed his eyes. "What you're telling me is that I'm not concentrating."

  "Precisely!" Pearl folded his arms across his chest. "You're not as obtuse as I thought."

  "It's hard to concentrate when your head feels like the insides of a ceremonial drum!"

  "Do you have a headache?" Pearl asked impatiently. "Why didn't you just say so?"

  "I did!" Conar shouted and winced, nausea nearly making him throw up.

  "Oh, for the love of Jon!" Pearl positioned himself at Conar's head, putting his fingers on Conar's temples.

  "What? More torture?" Conar grumbled.

  "Shut your eyes. And your big mouth!" Pearl made tiny, circular motions on Conar's throbbing temples.

  "You know what you need, Pearl?"

  "Shut up."

  "You need a husband."

  "I offered; you refused."

  "Someone you can mother."

  "One child at a time is enough, thank you."

  "Be serious!"

  "I am being serious! You're such a child sometimes, Conar!"

  The headache began lessening in intensity. Pearl's fingers were cool, soothing, lulling Conar into a light doze.

  "Do you have a lover, Pearl?" Conar had come to accept the man's friendship and his companionship and it wasn't unusual to see them deep in conversation during those times Conar was allowed respite from his instructions. The two played chess and a card game of Downs together, almost every Saturday, after Conar's last lesson of the day. They discussed philosophy and books and tried to outdo the other with as dirty a joke as they could remember.

  "Not now." Pearl's hands stilled. "There is a cute Diabolusian who's been hanging about lately, but he doesn't seem particularly interested in me. He likes blondes, I think." He ran his fingers through the yellow glory of Conar's silky hair and reveled at the feel of the thick mane.