WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  His body was warm over hers as they floated deeper and deeper into the black velvet of space where diamonds sparkled upon the fabric of the heavens. Silent, peaceful, serene—this place where they dwelt, this dreamland—welcomed them with protective arms.

  Here there were no combatants, no battles, no dying. Here there was no censure, no scorn, and no contempt. Here there were no enemies. Here there was only love and passion and two very satiated people who fell asleep in one another's arms.

  * * * *

  Maire woke and for a moment was disoriented. She had no idea why she was laying on the floor looking at the back of her rocking chair. With a start, she sat up, the unfamiliar blanket falling away. There were two men staring at her and her eyes widened for a moment before memory returned.

  "Good morn, lass,” Guy said quietly then put a finger to his lips before pointing to her bed.

  She relaxed though her heart was still slamming against her breastbone. She raked a hand through her blond hair, wincing as she realized her hair was still in the tight bun in which she normally wore it—though now it was loose at the nape of her neck. Getting stiffly to her feet, she realized one of the men had made coffee, and she drew in a long inhalation of the delicious smelling brew. It had been months since she had been able to barter for even a cup of the precious commodity.

  "Would you like coffee?” Jules asked and for once his voice did not sound bitter or angry.

  "How do I know you didn't put poison in the cup?” she teased, paraphrasing his words from the evening before.

  Jules’ lips twitched. “You don't.” He glanced at Guy then turned to pour her a cup.

  "Where is the horrible warrior from yesterday?” she asked Guy when she came over to retrieve the cup, drawing in another long whiff of the steam coming from the coffee.

  "Jules and I had a long talk around five of the clock,” Guy told her. “He promised he would hold off on the insults and gnashing of teeth."

  "I said I would try to hold off on the insults and gnashing of teeth,” Jules mumbled. He shrugged. “I truly don't know if it is possible. Especially, when she looks at me as though I am an ogre intent on ravaging her."

  Maire blinked. “I have not looked at you in that manner!” she protested.

  "You looked at all of us in that manner,” Guy disagreed. “At least at first you did, and it was there again when you woke until you recognized us.” His brows drew together. “Did some man abuse you, wench?"

  "Mind your own business, Guyland."

  They turned to see Deklyn watching them. His face was flushed with fever but his voice was stronger.

  "How are you this morn?” Guy inquired.

  "Exactly how many baggage trains ran over me before you split me open with that ax?” Deklyn countered.

  "Only four,” Jules replied with a chuckle. “You must be feeling better if you're up to joking."

  "I feel like shite warmed over,” Deklyn told him.

  "What comes of offering your chest as a bull's-eye for a Vardarian warrior's crossbow,” Jules drawled as he walked past his brother and Maire.

  The Baron's gaze had not left Maire since he'd opened his eyes and now those eyes were smiling. “Did you sleep well, tarrishagh?” he asked. “Did your dreams give you pleasure?"

  Maire's eyes widened. He knew! She thought. He knew of what she'd dreamt. Her face burned brightly as she turned away, unaware that both Guy and Jules had seen the blush staining her cheeks.

  "Using your dreamwalker abilities again, Dek?” Jules inquired. “Shame on you."

  A small squeak of embarrassment came from Maire before she snatched up Phillip's old pair of boots and sat down on the hearth to draw them on.

  "Where do you think you're going?” Jules asked her. “It's freezing out there, woman."

  "I have to ... I need to ... I must.... “She couldn't look at any of them as she sprang up and dragged her coat from the hook where someone had hung it.

  "You'll pee icicles if you go outside,” Jules informed her. “And where will you go that the men won't see you? Besides, there must be two feet of snow on the ground. You'll freeze your rumpy, wench."

  "You two leave,” Deklyn said.

  "I was afraid he was going to say that,” Guy said with a sigh. He sat his coffee cup on the hearth. “Come on, Jules."

  "You'll still be here,” Jules argued.

  "I'll close my eyes and bury my face in the pillow,” Deklyn said.

  Maire was mortified that the men were privy to what she needed to do, but she suddenly had to go so badly that her teeth ached. She put the coffee down without having tasted the pungent brew. She couldn't look at the Baron as she ducked down beside the bed to pull out the chamber pot.

  "I won't look,” he told her.

  Biting her lip to keep from moaning, she took the pot across the room and put it on the floor behind the tub then squatted over it. As soon as she started to go, the sound seemed so unnaturally loud in the room she cringed.

  "I have some land situated on a bluff on the southern coast of Tarryn,” she heard him say and peeked over the tub to see he had his left arm flung over his eyes. “There are a lot of fruit trees, and it has an astounding view of the ocean. It stays cool year ‘round instead of muggy and humid like it is at the capitol. There is even a little stream that runs through the property."

  Her brows knitted together as she wondered why he was telling her this.

  "The sailor who sold me the land built a fieldstone cottage there for his retirement years then decided he didn't like the solitude. Actually, I think he simply missed the sea and being landlocked made him uneasy. What if I was to deed the land to you?"

  Maire was so surprised by his question that she stopped peeing. “Why would you do that?” she asked.

  "Well, you need a place to live, and it is small enough for you to take care of on your own yet large enough that it would be comfortable for when I can come to visit.” He paused. “That is unless you would prefer to have servants. If you do then...."

  "No,” she was quick to say. “I've no need of servants. I will do my own work."

  "I thought as much. You're rather the independent sort,” he said, a touch of humor in his tone.

  "By necessity I have been forced to be independent, milord,” she snapped, annoyed that she had forgotten to pick up something with which to wipe herself. She looked about and wanted to groan when she found nothing she could use.

  "Dek,” he said.

  "I couldn't possibly call you...."

  "You called me that in our dream,” he reminded her.

  Once more, she peeked over the tub, this time with her eyes narrowed. “Did you plant that dream in my mind? If you did, if you orchestrated what I ... What we.... “She hissed. “You know what I mean!"

  He laughed and that set her teeth on edge. “Aye, tarrishagh. I know exactly what you mean but no, I did not orchestrate our mutual dream. The gods, Themselves, did that. It is the way of Cochianglts to merge into one another's dreams. It is your soul calling to mine and mine to yours.” His voice went deep and husky. “Your body needing mine and mine needing yours."

  Once more, her face burned bright red as she got to her feet and smoothed her gown. She needed—no, she desperately wanted—a bath but that would be impossible with him lying only a few feet away. At the very least, she needed to change her gown and underwear and comb her hair out. The bun had slipped further down her neck with loose strands of hair tickling the side of her face.

  "I have no choice but to go with you,” she began. “And I'll have to live somewhere."

  "That goes without saying,” he stated.

  "But that does not mean I will become your.... “She winced as the word was said. “Your mistress."

  "You are my Cochianglt, Maire, not my mistress. There is a deep bond between us that nothing can break. That is something a man doesn't share with his mistress or even a wife if she is not his true bond-mate.” He must have heard her moving about for he let his arm f
all to the pillow then wedged it beneath his head to prop it up, so he could see her better. He saw her washing her hands.

  She ignored him as she went to the hearth. “You need to eat some broth from the stew,” she said. “I fear the vegetables have turned to mush, but at least you will get nourishment from them."

  "I'm not hungry."

  "Nevertheless, you need to eat else you'll take the longer to get your strength back,” she insisted, business-like and efficient as she set about ladling a bowl of the stew for him. “You need the food to help you mend."

  He pressed his lips together with amusement. “Aye, milady. I am yours to command."

  Maire shot him a look that told him she doubted it.

  He tried pushing up in the bed but pain creased his face, and he desisted, giving her an apologetic look. “Can't do it,” he said.

  "Here,” she told him. “I'll help you."

  Setting the bowl aside, she leaned over and allowed him to lace his arms around her neck, so she could heft him higher in the bed. The heat from his body was still high as she put her hands on his waist and helped to scoot him up to a sitting position. She heard him sigh deeply.

  "Gods, but that took every ounce of energy.” He tried to lift an arm, but it fell limply back to the mattress. “I'm sorry, tarrishagh. I just don't have it in me. I feel weak as a kitten."

  "You need the food to help you mend,” she said again. Trying not to think about what she was doing, she sat on the edge of the bed and dredged the spoon into the bowl. She spoon-fed him a small helping of the stew, catching a wayward drop as it dribbled down his bewhiskered chin.

  "That's good,” he said, licking his lips.

  "I am a good cook,” she said with pride.

  "That you are,” he agreed and opened his mouth for another taste.

  The bowl was nearly empty when Guy opened the door and stuck his head in. “Can we come in now?” he inquired.

  "Aye,” Maire answered. She got up from the bed to carry the bowl into the kitchen area to be washed.

  Jules followed closely on his brother's heels, going over to the hearth. “It is colder than a witch's...."

  "It's cold,” Guy interrupted. He raked a hand through his hair. “The roads are becoming impassable and looks like more snow will be coming. I sent a couple of men into Norvus. We've complete control of the town but Captain Indys is worried the ships are going to get ice-locked in the harbor if we don't leave soon."

  "So we've been thinking,” Jules said.

  "The gods help me,” Dek stated, winking at Maire, who looked around at that moment.

  "If we put together a travois, pile as many blankets around you as possible, do you think you could make the journey without too much pain?” Jules continued. He was briskly rubbing his hands together at the fireplace.

  "I've no desire to get stranded here,” Dek replied. “Make your travois. Maire, do you ride?"

  Maire shook her head. “Not well,” she replied.

  "Then make two travois,” Dek ordered. “Tarrishagh, put together what you want to take with you."

  "Only the absolute necessities,” Jules amended.

  "Whatever you want to take with you,” Dek countered. “Leave nothing behind that is dear to you."

  "Jenny,” Maire said. “I'll not leave my goat."

  "Goat?” Dek questioned with a blink.

  "The gods help us!” Jules complained then looked pained as he turned a pleading face to his overlaird. “Must we be saddled with a goat? Isn't the female enough of a hindrance?"

  "I'll not leave my Jenny!” Maire stated with a childish stomp of her foot.

  "Aye, we must take the goat,” Dek told him. “What else, Maire?"

  "I don't have that many possessions I care about,” Maire answered. “I've a few things in the cave where I hid Jenny and.... “She pointed at the rocking chair. “That was my grandmother's. It means a lot to me and my sewing supplies."

  "Then we'll throw the rocker on the back of a packhorse,” Dek said. “Jules, see to it."

  "'Jules, see to it',” Jules complained with a lift of his lip.

  "Tell me where the cave is and I'll fetch the goat,” Guy said.

  "I'll need to go along so I can pick a few of the items,” she said.

  "Bring it all,” Dek said. When both she and Jules would have protested, he told them if what had been hidden had warranted hiding, it was important enough to Maire for it to be brought along.

  "Thank you, milord,” she said, tears in her eyes.

  "Be about gathering your things, lass,” Guy said. “Now where is that cave?"

  * * * *

  In a little less than an hour three travois had been constructed from beech saplings slung together with rope. It had been Andy's idea to make the third to hold Maire's belongings—including the rocking chair—and now the travois were strapped to the horses, ready for use. One of the two-pole travois was a simple wedge-shape while the other two had a third pole at the blunt end to stabilize the conveyance. Maire's old cornhusk mattress would be laid atop one of the three-pole travois, strapped down then cushioned with blankets for Dek. The one upon which Maire would ride would be less comfortable but it was believed warm enough to make the forty-mile trip to the harbor town.

  "We'll have to leave the wagons behind,” Guy told Dek as he and Jules helped him dress. “Getting to the coast is more important than the rations."

  "Leave the rations to the villagers,” Dek said. He was sweating profusely as he sat on the edge of the bed. Just having Jules tugging on his boots sent waves of pain rippling through his body.

  "But not the weapons,” Guy said. “The weapons and ammo go with us."

  "What about the prisoners?” Maire asked. She had gone out earlier to add her favorite cooking pot to the pile of belongings on the third travois and counted forty men in all—including the Baron, the officers, soldiers and prisoners. Upon seeing the five shackled prisoners huddled miserably together beside one of the wagons, her heart had gone out to her countrymen. Guy had kept her from going over to the men who were glaring at her.

  "They'd just as soon cut your throat as not, wench,” Guy warned. “Best you leave them be."

  "What will become of them?” she asked.

  "They will be coming with us,” Jules said. “To stand trial."

  Knowing the men would be forced to march through the nearly waist-high snow did not set well with Maire but she knew nothing she said would free them. All she could hope for was that they be treated humanely.

  "They will be,” Dek said, turning his head to give her a steady look.

  She nodded, just as unnerved in the light of day by his reading her thoughts as she'd been in the darkness of night. She thrust her arms into the old coat Andy held for her, feeling absurd in Phillip's old boots and oversized coat.

  "Have you no gloves, lass?” Guy asked and when she replied she didn't, he pulled his own from the pocket of his coat and held them out to her. “I've another pair in my saddlebags."

  "All right, now that we're fashionably dressed,” Jules said as he got to his feet after seeing to Dek's boots. “If you're ready, we are."

  "He will never be able to walk,” Maire said, her cheeks flaming when the four men looked at her.

  "He won't have to,” Guy said. He walked to the bed and slid his arms under Dek's legs and behind his back. “Easy does it now."

  Maire saw the effort it took for Dek not to cry out as he was lifted from the bed. His face blanched as white as the snow outside, his jaws clenched tightly together. Sweat popped out on his face and she saw his eyes roll back in his head.

  "He's out,” Guy said, feeling his cousin go limp in his arms. “Get that mattress off, Jules, and let's get him to the ship before he starts bleeding again."

  Carrying the unconscious man into the bitter cold, Guy held him while the cornhusk mattress was brought out and secured upside down to the travois. Very gently he lowered Dek to the travois, piling as many blankets as they could around an
d over him then strapping him down with rope.

  "His fever seems to have lessened, lass,” Guy told Maire as she crawled onto the second travois.

  "That's good to hear,” she replied. Though there was no mattress to protect her from the vertical passes of rope strung between the two poles, there was adequate give beneath the piled blankets and Maire was comfortable enough as she dragged more blankets atop her. “Did you take every blanket available from your soldiers?” she asked.

  Guy nodded. “They'll not need them while we're traveling."

  "Let's hope it doesn't get so nasty that they will,” Jules mumbled. He turned his face up to the dark gray sky. “I don't like the looks of those clouds."

  "Doesn't bode well for safe travel, that's for sure,” Guy agreed. He motioned for his horse, grabbing the pommel and swinging into the saddle with ease. “I suggest we make haste.” He drummed his heels into his mount's flanks then rode forward.

  The pull of the horse jerked Maire's head but the glide over the snow did not prove to be as bumpy as she thought it would be. There was a loud din in the still morning air as the cavalry units mounted and the infantry adjusted their packs and weapons as they fell into a marching line behind the three travois. Glancing around, she saw the wagons of provisions sitting to one side of her barn and knew the villagers would be glad of whatever rations had been left behind.

  "Ever been on a ship, lass?” Guy asked as he dropped back so he could ride beside her.

  "Once,” she answered. Her nose was so cold it stung so she burrowed the lower half of her face into the thick wool scarf she had wound around her neck. “A short trip from Norvus to Bohstedt and back."

  "And how did you fare?” he inquired.

  Maire shrugged. “I did well enough. I didn't get sick although my father did."

  "Then you shouldn't get sick this time out unless the sea begins to churn,” Guy told her. “Let's hope it remains calm."

  "How long will it take to get to Tarryn?” she asked.

  "In good weather?” he queried, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “About three days. In bad weather, another day, perhaps."