WINDHEALER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "We'll just have to find you one, I suppose."

  "What?"

  "A lover," Conar mumbled, feeling more drowsy as Pearl's fingers worked their magic.

  "I know!" Pearl teased, gently tugging on Conar's hair. "Why don't you volunteer until someone suitable comes along?" He giggled as Conar glowered up at him. Pearl had learned over the years that to lapse into what he often termed his "character assassinations" put straight men in a better frame of mind, less threatened by his bent, when they were talking with him. Conar usually ignored the way Pearl minced about the, instinctively recognizing it for it was—a silly act meant to hide Pearl's fear of being ridiculed.

  "I thought you said I was a bore?" Conar reminded him.

  "But a cute bore!" Pearl teased, making his fish mouth kisses at Conar.

  Conar grunted. Pearl was an ultra-sensitive man with a keen intellect bordering on genius. He had a marvelous sense of humor and a mouth that could spout some of the dirtiest jokes Conar had ever heard.

  By deliberately swishing and swaying like a brazen bar maid, by batting his long eyelashes in exaggerated fashion and making his little fishy mouth kisses, flirting outrageously, Pearl had brought down all the stumbling blocks. All the pent up emotions, fears, phobias, and prejudices Conar had had concerning homosexual men had dissolved with Pearl's blatant over-exaggeration of the habits most straight people associated with homosexuals. He made such habits seem comical. Besides, Conar thought with a grin, Pearl knew he truly enjoyed the put-on act. He knew Pearl could tell by the way he tried to cast a jaundiced eye on the mimicry, while striving to keep his lips straight, that he was intrigued by Pearl's act of self-preservation.

  "Why do you degrade yourself like that?" he'd once asked.

  Pearl had looked at him with huge cow eyes. "To get your attention!"

  He had.

  He had also garnered Conar's friendship.

  "Why don't you be my lover until someone better comes along?" Pearl sighed. "Although I doubt anyone better than you ever will!"

  When there was no answer to his outrageous proposition, he realized Conar was sound asleep. A tender smile touched Pearl's lips. He took his hands away from the shining gold hair. Just sitting here looking at the innocent beauty of Conar's face made Pearl want to cry.

  He erased the terrible twin scars that ravaged the tanned left cheek, wondered what the other scars had looked like that Occultus had vanquished only a week before he'd met Conar. He would have liked nothing better than to kiss this precious man on the forehead, to show him just how much he respected him.

  Conar's sleep didn't last long. Ten, maybe twenty minutes at most. He woke, crying out with terror, finding himself in Pearl's arms, being cradled to the man with fierce protectiveness.

  "You were dreaming, Conar. Just dreaming."

  With the security of friendship, Conar pressed his cheek against Pearl's chest. "Oh, god! I can't take much more!" He clung to Pearl, striving hard not to cry with hopelessness and frustration.

  * * *

  Wyn followed his father and uncles to the practice range and sat on a large boulder, patiently waiting. His father strung one of the long bows, nocked an arrow, sighted a target far down the field, and aimed. Wyn put up his hand to shield his eyes and watched with awe as the arrow flew unerringly to the center of the target.

  "Not bad," Chase Montyne remarked, slipping Wyn a sly wink behind Conar's back. "You could have hit a little more to dead center, but I can live with that."

  Conar let loose another arrow, which split the previous arrow in twain. Without a word, he withdrew another arrow, sighted it and hit the target dead center. "Good enough?"

  "Fair," Chase answered. "You should have hit it in the center the first time."

  Wyn whistled. Coron and Dyllon stared at Conar with open-mouthed wonder. Feeling someone watching him, Wyn turned and looked into the Necroman's unsmiling face.

  "What time did you come in last night, young Wynland?" Shalu asked, one brow slashed upward in challenge.

  Wyn swallowed, looked at the others, then slowly returned his attention to the black man. "It wasn't late, sir." He cringed, hearing his childish, immature voice cracking.

  "That's not what he asked, Wyn," came Conar's soft voice.

  Wyn saw his father studying him as he leaned on his bow. Why he felt like a ten-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar Wynland didn't know, but he knew he was blushing. He was being taken to task for something. What, however, he didn't know. "I was in by twelve, Papa."

  "Isn't that a coincidence?" Shalu rumbled. "That's about the same time Kyminda arrived at our apartments." The hawk-like gaze pierced Wyn. "Might she have been with you until then?"

  If there was one thing Wyn had learned over the years from his father's many mistresses—who had been more than willing to teach Wyn a thing or two—was that you didn't compromise a lady's reputation. If punishment was needed, you took it on yourself. Despite the fact that he was afraid of Shalu with his gruff, rough voice, and that he didn't like the blank look on his father's face, Wyn took a deep breath and spoke as succinctly as his trembling knees would allow. "No, Highness. She wasn't with me, but I heard her say she was planning on walking down by the ponds. Perhaps she might have done so and fallen asleep there?"

  "Fallen asleep, you say?" Shalu commented. "Alone?"

  "Aye! Most assuredly alone!"

  "You left a lady sleeping alone by the pond?" Dyllon asked, his face expressionless. "That was most ungentlemanly. Anything could have happened to her."

  "I didn't leave her…" Wyn stopped, looking at his father. No help there. He looked at his Uncle Coron and saw only polite attention on his face. Wyn didn't want to look at Shalu, but when he did, he saw storm clouds gathering on the face. He wanted to groan.

  "I thought you said she was alone," Shalu said.

  "Well, what I meant to say was…well, she was alone… I sort of watched over her."

  "You spied on the lady?" Dyllon asked with indignation.

  "No! I sort of… I kind of… I…" He looked at the ground. "I kind of followed her to make sure she'd be all right and I, well, I guess I fell asleep, too."

  "While you were watching out for the lady?" Coron inquired.

  "Aye."

  "The two of you slept together?" Shalu thundered.

  "No!" Wyn nearly yelped. "We…were…"

  "The two of you were sleeping," Dyllon said.

  "But not together!"

  "She was sleeping; you were sleeping." Shalu's face turned as hard as rock. "Even if you were miles apart, you two were sleeping together, weren't you?"

  Wyn's face paled. He found his father watching him intently. "Papa?" he pleaded.

  "Kym was asleep and you stayed nearby to protect her. Is that it?" his father asked.

  Wyn nodded fiercely. "That's exactly what I did. I protected her!"

  "How considerate," came Shalu's rumble. "I take it you are fond of Kyminda."

  Wyn raised his eyes. "She's… Kym's…well, she's sort of…"

  "Nice to be with?" his father supplied.

  "Aye!" Wyn heaved a sigh of relief that his father, at least, understood. He didn't like the secret smile on his Papa's face, but at least he wasn't looking at him like the Necromanian King was.

  "When you watch over her again, young Wynland," Shalu said, "make sure you have her home before your father and I have to come looking for you."

  Wyn's attention jerked to his father. "You…you came looking for us?"

  Conar nodded.

  "A most reassuring sight it was to see the two of you sleeping like babes by the pond," Shalu said, smirking. He wanted to add "fully clothed" but he'd had enough sport with the boy for one day. In truth, he trusted Kym, and knew Conar trusted Wyn.

  "We didn't…what I mean to say is, we wouldn't have…" Wyn looked to the heavens. "I would never do anything to compromise your daughter, Highness."

  "He knows, Wyn," Conar answered.

  Wyn turned beet red
as the others laughed.

  "Leave the boy alone," Chase admonished. "You've got him pissing his pants." He walked to the boy and ruffled his hair. "Don't let them get to you. They've all been where you were a moment or two ago!"

  "Many times!" Dyllon admitted.

  "Wyn?" Conar called. "Come walk with me."

  He hastened to his father's side and smiled, liking the way the blue of Conar's eyes was mellowing. He liked the way the strong bow arm draped across his shoulder as they left the others.

  "I am proud of you," his father said as they walked.

  "Why? What did I do?"

  "For wanting to protect your lady. That shows courage and respect, not only for her, but for her father, as well. We weren't spying on you last eve. We were out strolling and came across the two of you."

  "There wasn't anything to see, Papa."

  "I know." Conar motioned for Wyn to sit beside him on the ground. He crossed his legs and pulled the quiver of arrows from his back, laid them on the grass and looked across the field. "You are growing fond of her, aren't you?"

  "Kym?" Wyn asked, playing for time since the question had taken him aback.

  "Have you another lady?"

  Wyn shook his head. He screwed up his courage. "I want no other lady, Papa."

  He didn't quite understand the look on his father's face. He thought it might well have been disappointment, sadness, denial; he wasn't sure.

  There was a long pause. Conar took a deep breath and faced his son. "Do you love her?"

  Wyn nodded.

  "Are you sure it is love?"

  "As sure as I am that tomorrow will come."

  "How can you tell that it's love and not infatuation? Lust, or a similar feeling?"

  Wyn blushed. Only in his fevered dreams did he think of Kym with anything close to lust. Not once had he tried to touch her or undress her with his eyes as he had a score of other girls. Not a novice to the art of making love, he was sure Kym was. Her virginity was something he prized.

  "How can any man tell if he's in love, Papa? You can't eat; you can't sleep; you find yourself thinking of her day and night. You write silly poems to her; you carve her name on everything you see. You find yourself making excuses to go by her apartment. You leave the building when she does so you can bump into her. I just know I love her, Papa."

  "You're too young to really know, don't you think?"

  "Both Uncle Coron and Uncle Dyllon married before their sixteenth birthdays," Wyn protested. "Their brides were younger still."

  "That was a mistake my papa made in allowing them to marry so young, but the Tribunal put pressure on him to give his blessing."

  "But they've been happy."

  "They have."

  "How old were you when you fell in love with Liza?"

  A shadow crossed Conar's face. "Older than you are now."

  "And yet you knew you loved her, didn't you, Papa? If your father had said you were too young to love her, would you have listened?"

  "I have no way of knowing, but to answer you as truthfully as I can… I probably wouldn't have." He took his son's hand. "I want you to be happy, Wyn. I want you to find a love that will last. One that will be everything to you. One that won't hurt you as my love for Liza has hurt me."

  It wasn't disappointment he was seeing on his father's face. It was sadness, a terrible, lonely sadness that he understood. He covered his father's hand with his own.

  "I do love her, Papa, and she loves me. Is it wrong? Are we wrong to love one another?"

  "Why would you think it wrong?"

  "Because we are of two different countries. Two different religions. Two different—"

  "Races?"

  "Does that make a difference?"

  "To some men it would."

  "Does it make a difference to you, Papa?"

  Conar took another deep breath. "Not if the love you have for her is genuine. Not if her love for you is just as genuine. It will be difficult for you both. There are those who will shun you. There will be those who will curse and malign you. Your children will suffer for the prejudices of others. But if the love you have for one another is strong, you can overcome the greatest difficulties." He slipped his hand out from under Wyn's and cupped his son's cheek. "Marriage is always an iffy proposition. You never really know someone until you've lived with them. Money matters and child rearing are the two most deadly destroyers of marriages. But if you learn to compromise, learn to adjust, there is nothing you cannot overcome, and adversity often makes a marriage stronger."

  "Would you give us your blessing when the time comes?"

  Conar smiled. "I would. You're young, she's even younger. Don't rush. These years of your life are the best of all the years you will have. Never again will you be as free or unencumbered. Enjoy each day. Make the most of it."

  Wyn nodded. "Do you think her father will be a problem?"

  Conar looked past Wyn's shoulder. "Why don't you ask him yourself."

  Wyn slowly turned to see Shalu leaning against a tree not five feet away.

  "Listen to the things your father says and add this one piece of advice," Shalu told him. "Never raise your hand in anger to your lady. It is also best to remember the old adage about not going to bed angry. You don't sleep well if you do and you may find your breakfast on your head instead of in your belly come morning!"

  "You have no objection to Kym and me…ah, well…you know…courting?" Wyn stammered.

  "I have no objection to you spending time with my daughter." The hawk-like gaze sharpened. "I think the word 'courting' is not quite appropriate as yet."

  "But would you be adverse to Kym and me, well, being together when we're older?" Because he was Conar's bastard son, Wyn was fearful the Necromanian King would deny such a marriage.

  "Are you worthy of my daughter's hand, young Wynland?"

  Wyn raised his chin. "I will make myself worthy, Highness! I will make myself worthy of what you expect from a son-in-law."

  The Necroman came to tower over Wyn. He put his huge hands on his hips and stared at Wyn with an expression like the gathering of a storm. The dark face was set and hard. "I will expect a lot from the man who would become my kinsman."

  Wyn glanced at his father, and saw himself being regarded with keen expectation. He stood and held out his hand to the Necroman. "I give you my word as the firstborn son of Prince Conar McGregor that I will be everything you will ever want in a kinsman, King Shalu."

  Shalu thrust out his hand, taking Wyn's wrist in a grasp designed to be painful, but Wyn didn't even blink. "Word given in his name are words I hold sacred. Live up to them and you may one day be as good a man as your father."

  After Wyn left them, the two warriors sat in silence, looking at the lowering sun across the training field. They were comfortable in one another's presence; neither had to say words the other already knew. Both were content with the alliance they felt had already been formed between their two houses.

  "She'll give him a run for his money," Shalu sighed.

  "And he'll give her the time of her life."

  "And they'll give us grandchildren who will be holy terrors."

  Conar let out a long breath. "Does that word make you feel old?"

  Shalu shrugged. "I've always felt old. But grandchildren are supposed to make you young again."

  There was pain in Conar's voice. "I'll never feel young again, my friend."

  The sun sank gracefully below the horizon. They sat in the gathering dusk, side by side, in silent companionship.

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  He felt tingling across his lips and swung a hand to his lips, rubbing the itching surface. Once more the sensation slipped over his lips and he puckered, twitching them from side to side, sniffling. He heard a light, musical giggle and came instantly awake, his eyes wide.

  In the light of the single candle, he saw a nimbus of golden hair shimmering above him, the hair glowing with red and orange tints. Although he couldn't see her face,
he could see the naked expanse of creamy skin and realized with a jolt the woman in bed with him was naked.

  "Are you sure you have the right bed, Milady?" he asked more casually than he felt. He knew Chase had been exceedingly busy of late. In the semi-darkness, it was more than conceivable this strange woman had erred.

  Another light giggle emitted from the woman. She caressed his chest, smoothing the hair between his manly breasts.

  Conar gently removed her questing fingers. He became aware of her warm thigh rubbing along his. He raised an brow in annoyance and withdrew his leg from contact with hers.

  "Montyne's room is down the hall. I'm sure he's waiting for you." He moved as far away from her lilac-scented body as he could get without getting out of the bed.

  A voice, low and throaty, sultry, wafted to him. "I can well remember a time when you liked the way we played together, Conar Aleksandro."

  There was something alarmingly familiar in the voice. A challenge in her smoky words that made him start. "Who are you?" He felt a sensation along his spine that wasn't at all pleasant.

  "Don't you know?"

  He was more annoyed than ever. He didn't like playing games with strange women, although he had a wicked feeling this woman was no stranger. He turned and lit the lamp on his night table. His mouth dropped open so comically, she let out a tinkling burst of delight.

  "Oh, Conar! If you could see your face, dearling!" she cooed. She laughed delicately, setting her high breasts to jiggling. When she saw his immediate attention go to the firm mounds, she arched her back to give him a better look.

  "Raja?" he croaked, staring at her with something akin to horror.

  "None other!" she teased. Snuggling down in the bed beside him, she rested her head on his chest and then wound her right hand around his waist, taking advantage of his confusion and stunned silence to press her naked body close.

  Of all the women he had ever known, Raja DeLyle was the one he most hated and feared. His first woman—he had been but a child when she seduced him at Boreas—she had also initiated several of his brothers as well as Roget and Teal du Mer. She was an insatiable sex addict whose taste for young boys had caused Conar to have an unsavory view of most females. He had a vivid memory of once telling Liza about her. His fear and disgust of the woman had not lessened.