WindBorn

by Windborn (lit)

"How soon before Rolanda arrives?" Glade asked, ignoring the question.

  "She should be here before nightfall. It is a large troop that is accompanying her," Slade replied.

  "The Marquise may have something to say about what you are proposing, Mother," Glade told her. "She may take exception to her daughter being, in essence, set aside for another woman. She may arrive wanting my head on the block."

  "My cousin is not an ogress, Glade," his mother reminded him. "Augustina knows the girl is in the wrong here. I suspect she knows Rolanda took a lover. She wouldn't be escorting the chit here otherwise and unless I miss the mark completely, I imagine the man involved has since gone into the arms of the Gatherer."

  "If he hasn't, there is no law that says we can't hire an assassin to take that bastard out after what he helped do to Gladeson," Prince Glenn, the youngest son declared with heat.

  "Augustine will have seen to it, son," his mother said. "My cousin is a romantic who thinks every couple should be as happy as she and her husband were but she is not a fool. She knows the Joining between Glade and Rolanda can never be set aside and she will try to work out a compromise whereby they can live in peace. We all know that will never happen. Once she sees Glade and Lauryl together, she will see what the women of the clan did was right."

  "All she can do is protest," the King said.

  "Even if she issues a formal protest, it will not matter. The decision to allow Glade and Lauryl to remain together was made by our clanswomen, our kinswomen, and we rule this land, not the Marquise," Slade added.

  "So as long as you keep your aggravating little ass in Faolchúnna, Gladeson, you'll be safe," Ridge stated. "Outside Faolchúnna, the gods help you."

  "She could attempt to take him again," Lauryl warned. "Take him back to Blaithmoor."

  "Would you allow that to happen?" Princess Moor asked.

  "Hell…" Lauryl blushed. "No. I most certainly would not."

  Glade smiled to himself, his eyes still shut, his fingers continuing to massage his nose.

  "If I could but issue a challenge to her and ...." Lauryl began but the King cut her off.

  "You can't and none of us can hire it done. All we can do is send her back with the Marquise and make sure she never sets foot in our kingdom again."

  "None of this matters if Lauryl declines to accept the power from Glade," Prince Heath spoke up.

  All eyes save Glade's shifted to the Daughter of the Night and silence settled over the Halla Na Maribh.

  Lauryl swallowed hard. Her hands were clenched in her lap for she had some notion what that meant. She also knew it was a great honor but carried with it a very steep price.

  "I would be one of you?" she asked in a strained voice.

  "You would be like us, aye," Slade answered.

  "With the same powers of shifting," Moor put in.

  "Subject to the call of the Moon as are we," Princess Dell added.

  Glade opened his eyes and turned to look at his lady. Their eyes met and he could see deep uncertainty in her gaze.

  "You don't have to agree," Glade told her.

  She unclenched her hand to put her palm on his arm. "I love you," she said. "Before your family, god and any man, woman or child on this world, I declare my love for you."

  "But you don't have to agree to this," he repeated.

  "I want to be with you in any way I can," she said, searching his eyes. "Is that not what you want, as well?"

  "With all my heart," he said. "But this isn't a decision you should make lightly, Lauryl. There is more to the power than just shape shifting. There is the requirement for Sustenance…"

  "Which is a part of my own heritage should I ascend the throne in my mother's stead and become One with the Blood," she said. "That isn't a consideration."

  "Then what is, child?" the Queen asked.

  Lauryl looked away from Glade. "If he doesn't want to give me his power…"

  "I do," Glade said softly.

  Her hands tightened on his arm. "Truly?"

  He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He had never expected to hand over his power into the keep of a female. It was a commanding moment in a Faolchúnna warrior's life, this sharing of the control of nature. There would be much to teach her and he looked forward to it.

  "Here among our respected dead would be a good place for that sharing to begin," the King said.

  "What needs to be done?" Lauryl asked, her chin lifted.

  "Gladeson?" his mother questioned.

  His heart hammering in his chest, Glade lifted his arm and began unbuttoning the long sleeve of his shirt, rolling it back to reveal his upturned wrist. With his gaze locked on Lauryl, he smiled, showing the fangs that had suddenly elongated behind his lips. He brought his wrist to his mouth and sank those fangs into the flesh, drawing blood.

  Lauryl looked down at the scarlet beading then took his hand in hers and brought his wrist to her lips. With the first drop of his blood upon her tongue, she felt a keen buzzing in her ears, a mystical music wafting through her mind, and when she swallowed, great warmth began to spread throughout her body.

  "May the power of the Faolchúnna be at your beck and call!" the King intoned.

  "May the Moon grant all you desire!" the Queen declared.

  "May the Wind be always at your back," the others responded.

  "May our hearts ever be joined," Glade whispered as he stroked Lauryl's bent head with a shaking hand.

  The music in her mind grew with such volume it almost caused pain. It was a strange melody that seemed to reach out to envelope her. Weaving tendrils of hypnotic rhythm and soul-deep beats, it wound itself around and around her, enclosing her. No other sound reached her consciousness. All else was blocked out by the spellbinding strains save the sound of Glade's heart beating in time to the mysterious music. She could feel the pulse of his racing blood against her tongue.

  As the music began to fade, a sense of immense power began to filter through Lauryl's body and she thought her flesh felt more keenly the cold and damp of the Halla Na Maribh. Her nostrils picked out a scent that had not been there before--the scent of ancient death. Her ears detected sounds in the farthest reaches of the underground corridors--the clicking of a beetle, the scurry of a mouse's feet on stone, the distant plink of water dripping into an underground stream.

  "You are One with Us, now, beloved," she heard Glade say as though he were far away from her then she felt his strong arms sweeping her up against his hard body.

  "Welcome to our clan," another voice said then all sound drifted away until she heard only the steady comforting beat of her lover's heart.

  Chapter Thirteeen

  The Marquise Augustine des Grieves took a sip of the heady wine contained in the crystal goblet and nodded approvingly. "An excellent year for the plums of Faolchúnna," she declared.

  "We think so," the King agreed.

  Seated beside her mother, the Marquise, Princess Rolanda had yet to touch the wine that had been poured for her. There was a mulish cast to her full lips as she sat with her fingers laced together on her lap, her long legs bent in a ladylike manner to one side beneath the sweep of her dark gray wool traveling gown. Her shoulders were squared, her spine ramrod straight and not touching the back of her chair and her eyes were downcast.

  "Will Glade be joining us soon?" the Marquise inquired with an arched brow.

  "He sends his regrets to you, cousin, but there were important matters to which he had to attend," the Queen assured her guest.

  Sighing wearily, the Marquise handed the goblet to an elderly serving woman from Blaithmoor who had accompanied the Marquise and her daughter into the sitting room and picked up her kerchief to blot her rouged lips. "Regrets to me but not his Lady-wife," she said.

  "I don't believe he has anything to say to a woman who tried to murder him," the King said though in a pleasant tone.

  Rolanda's knuckles turned white from the force of the grip she applied to her fingers but she kept her thoughts
and comments to herself--as her mother had instructed.

  "My daughter is atoning for her conduct though to be frank with you, I don't believe it was entirely her fault. She--like many an impressionable lass--was led astray by the silver tongue of a man who took advantage of her gentle heart," the Marquise said. "She most wholeheartedly regrets her conduct."

  "No doubt she does," the King muttered, his stare steady on Rolanda.

  "And I offer my heartfelt apologies that such a despicable thing was done to poor Glade." She sent her daughter a sharp look. "He most certainly did not deserve the treatment."

  "No, he did not," the Queen stated.

  "We humbly ask your forgiveness, dear cousin," the Marquise said.

  "You ask it," the King said. "But does your daughter?"

  Rolanda's lips quirked and her eyes narrowed before she lifted her head. As she had been ordered to do, she forced a brittle smile to her lips. "Please forgive me," she repeated the words her mother had insisted she say. "I was blinded by flattery and the sweet talk of a man whose agenda truly wasn't my own."

  The King's smile was predatory. "And what, pray tell, what was your agenda, girl?"

  "I wanted what was only my due," Rolanda replied. "A share in my husband's power."

  "Something he told you he would never grant you," the Queen reminded.

  "It was my right to have it," Rolanda said as she dug her fingernails into the fabric of her gown.

  "And Glade's right to deny it as he saw fit," the warrior's mother declared.

  "My daughter realizes that, now," the Marquise said. "The matter is settled and we can move on."

  "Aye, it is settled," the King said. "His power has gone to his life-mate so it is no longer an issue."

  Rolanda's face turned white as parchment. "What?" she hissed, coming to her feet, shaking off the restraining hand her mother put out to stop her. "What do you mean?"

  "The woman who rescued our son from your dungeon, who saves his life twice over, now shares the power of the Faolchúnna that was Gladeson's," the Queen informed her daughter-in-law. "It was rightfully due and rightfully given according to the laws of our clan."

  "But it belongs to me!" Rolanda shouted. "I am his legal wife and what is his, is mine!"

  "Only that which is deserved," the King responded, "and you did not deserve Glade's power."

  "Mother!" Rolanda gasped, looking to the Marquise. "Make them give it back!"

  "Can't be done," the King said and from the look on his face, he was enjoying the spectacle of his son's wife outraged and quivering with anger.

  The Marquise glanced up at the ancient woman who had become her personal maid. "Leave us."

  Curtseying clumsily, the old woman backed away, exiting quietly.

  "Is that one not a bit long in the tooth to be your maid, cousin?" Glade's mother asked. "Should she not be retired?"

  Lifting a shoulder, the Marquise gave a short laugh. "It is strange but I saw her at the communal well one afternoon and we struck up a conversation--something I would not ordinarily have done with a peasant wench. She had me in stitches with her reminiscences of life when she was a young Hell Hag and…"

  "Mother!" Rolanda complained, stomping her foot. "We were talking of me!"

  "Not everything is about you, girl," the King snapped. "And you will show respect for your elders, especially so your own mother, when you are under my roof or by the gods I'll take a strap to your ass!"

  Rolanda opened her mouth to berate the King but her mother snaked out a hand and grabbed the young woman's arm and yanked, showing more strength that it seemed the older woman possessed.

  "Sit down and shut your mouth before I let him do it!" the Marquise spat. "Your conceit is why we are in this mess now!"

  "But I…"

  "Shut the hell up!" her mother roared.

  Rolanda slumped into her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, her bottom lip thrust out like a petulant child's. One foot tapped a hard rhythm on the carpet.

  "Again, I offer my apologies," the Marquise said. "I can see now why you would just as soon she not returned to Faolchúnna." She took a steadying breath. "Who is this woman to whom Glade has declared?"

  "She is the Princess Lauryl Codecil of Bandar," the Queen answered.

  "Bandar?" came the gasp. "A Hell Hag?"

  "Serves him right," Rolanda mumbled beneath her breath.

  "They are deeply in love," the Marquise's cousin told her. "As was mentioned, she saved his life twice over."

  "Actually, it was three times, Mother."

  Glade stood in the doorway of the sitting room, his lady at his side, her hand in his. He led her into the room and came to stand before the Marquise, bowing to the older woman.

  "Welcome to Cumhacht Keep, Your Grace," he said.

  The Marquise extended her hand for her son-in-law to kiss. "I wish it were under better circumstances, Gladeson," she said, her eyes raking over the woman beside the warrior. "And who is this vision you have brought us?"

  Rolanda snorted, her own eyes hot with rage as she glared at Lauryl.

  "Princess Lauryl, daughter to Queen Torreya," he introduced. "Lauryl, may I present Her Grace, the Marquise Augustine des Grieves of Blaithmoor."

  As was befitting her station in life, Lauryl did not curtsey to the woman who should have gotten to her own feet to greet a daughter of the House of Bandar. She merely inclined her head at the introduction, keeping her grip on Glade's hand.

  "A woman warrior," the Marquise said and her gaze was appraising. "I hope you do not intend to wage war on my household, my dear."

  Lauryl's attention shifted to Rolanda and held. "Not unless I am forced to."

  "He isn't worth fighting over," Rolanda snapped.

  "Well, there you are very wrong," Lauryl said. "But you never knew his worth, did you?"

  Tossing her head at the insult, Rolanda looked pointedly away.

  "Please stay as long as you like, Your Grace," Glade said. "You are always welcome at Cumhacht."

  "And what of your Lady-wife?" the Marquise asked.

  "She is not welcome here nor can her safety be assured. My life-mate and I would take it as a blessing if you would keep her in your neck of the woods from now on," Lauryl answered for him.

  Glade's Lady-wife cursed, her head snapping around. "Are you threatening me?" Rolanda challenged.

  "I am warning you," Lauryl said. "Cause this man another moment of unhappiness or pain and you will have me to answer to." She lowered her voice but everyone in the room heard her. "And believe me you do not want to tangle with me, little girl. My claws were sharp before I was graced with Glade's power. Now they are sharp enough to cut through iron! You wouldn't like me to drag them down that butt-ugly face of yours or pull out that frizzy hair."

  "Lauryl," the Queen admonished though her tone was one of amusement rather than censure.

  "Do you hear the way this bitch speaks to me?" Rolanda demanded, leaping to her feet. She drew back her hand to slap Lauryl but her mother grabbed that hand and twisted brutally.

  "That is enough!" the Marquise said. "You have shamed me enough for one day!" She reached out to pinch her daughter's ear, ignoring the yelp as she started forward with Rolanda in tow, shrieking at the pain crimping her flesh. "You will excuse us, cousin?"

  "Of course," the Queen said, laughing as the Marquise marched her disrespectful child from the room.

  "For shame, girl," the King said to Lauryl but his eyes were dancing merrily.

  "Your pardon, Majesty," Lauryl muttered.

  "You'd best take this recalcitrant chit to her room and speak to her on the proper way to behave amongst the court," the King advised his son.

  "I will see to it, Father," Glade agreed.

  "Then be off with you," his father said, waving them away.

  Glade tugged on Lauryl's arm and they went running from the sitting room, howling with laughter as the made for the stairs. But an old woman stepped out of the shadows and Lauryl came up short, causin
g Glade to stumble.

  "Greetings, daughter of Torreya," the Ancient One said softly.

  Lauryl "Greetings to you, teagascóir Sagira." She put a hand to her throat. "What are you doing here?"

  "I see you have your wolf to life-mate," Sagira Kaikias commented. "Did I not tell you that would be the way of it?"

  "Who is this lady, wench?" Glade asked.

  "Lady?" Sagira repeated. Her snaggle-toothed smile was radiant. "He is a worthy one, indeed, daughter of Torreya."

  "Teagascóir Sagira is a wise woman, a fortune teller," Lauryl answered. "It was to her hut I went when we were in Nonica."

  "You are of Bandar, as well, then," Glade said.

  "Aye, handsome one," Sagira said.

  "Teagascóir Sagira, why are here?" Lauryl repeated.

  "Remember the Hierophant card, child of my Queen?" Sagira inquired. "I am here to fulfill the destiny written upon that card."

  "I don't understand."

  "You will," Sagira said with a smile. "And all will be well with you and the wolf." She bowed her head slightly then ambled away as though she had just granted the young people an audience and was finished with them.

  "Keyrragh," Lauryl said, a bemused look on her face.

  "What?" he asked.

  "The wooly," she said. "I suddenly thought of the wooly. I need to check on her."

  "The wooly?" Glade hadn't given the sheep a single thought since they'd been at Cumhacht Keep. The beast had been installed with the rest of the fortress' herd and had promptly found a mate of her own. Strict instructions had been given that no harm befall the little animal or her ram.

  "I'll meet you in my room," she said and when he started to protest, she laid a silencing finger to his lip. "Trust me, beloved. I know what I'm about." She stood on her tiptoes and replaced her finger with her lips then turned to hurry away.

  Glade shook his head. If he lived to be a thousand, he would never understand the woman who had claimed his heart.

  From the window of the room she'd been given, Rolanda des Grieves-Aeolian watched the hated Hell Hag making her way to the stables. The bitch was alone and seemed in a hurry. That she kept glancing back to see if she was being followed drew Rolanda's keen interest.