WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Into having your men cart you about now like a pasha, are you, Your Grace?"

  The booming voice startled Maire, and she jumped, turning her head quickly to see a big, brawny male in the uniform of a ship's captain bearing down on them from the companionway. His shoulders were so wide they nearly spanned the width of the corridor.

  "I was a bit tired, Larson,” Dek said. “Didn't want to wear myself out."

  "Um, that's not the way I heard it,” the captain said. He walked to the litter and looked down at his overlaird, shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Stopping arrows with your body is not the way it's done, you know.” He glanced at Strom. “Shoving this oversized ox in the way of it is what you should have done."

  "I'll try to remember that next time,” Dek said. “Maire?"

  She moved toward them, drawing the captain's notice for the first time. A hesitant smile tugged at her lips as she clutched her nervous fingers before her.

  "Larson, this is Lady Maire,” Dek introduced her. “The lady for whom I've been searching all these many years."

  The captain's face lit up. “Well, glory be to the gods and goddess! At last!” He reached out a beefy hand to take Maire's, bringing it to his mouth where a large walrus moustache twitched above equally large lips. “It is a pleasure, milady!” His kiss was firm against the back of her hand and his warm blue-green eyes shone with pleasure as he looked up at her through the wild bushes of his eyebrows. He made her laugh when he winked at her.

  "You, sir, are a flirt,” she accused as he released her hand.

  "I, madam, surely am,” he agreed with another wink. “If you tire of this one, I am at your service.” He clicked his heels with military precision.

  "Don't let him fool you, tarrishagh,” Dek said. “Larson has been happily married to his lady-wife Inga for twenty-three years, and they have seven beautiful daughters and four handsome sons to their credit with the twelfth on the way any day now."

  "Oh, my!” Maire said. “You have my deepest respect, Captain. Twenty-three years of marriage in this day and time is, indeed, an accomplishment of note."

  Larson shrugged. “What can I say? No other woman would have me but my Inga, and I do my best to make sure she never strays."

  "Keeping the poor woman pregnant will certainly do the trick,” Jules mumbled as he and Guy joined them.

  "Inga is our sister,” Guy informed Maire.

  "Our oldest sister,” Jules amended.

  "Get the door, willya, brat?” Larson snapped at Jules. “These men are getting tired of holding up our errant leader."

  Jules muttered under his breath then moved to open a door a few feet away. He stepped back to allow Strom and Rupert to maneuver the litter into the cabin.

  "Our cabin is just next door,” Guy said, taking Maire's arm to lead her that way. “While they are getting him settled in, tucked into bed, you can refresh yourself."

  "Seannie is heating water for a bath for her,” Jules said. “Take your time, wench, and rest. We'll come to get you when ‘tis time for supper."

  Maire would have preferred to stay with Dek, to see he was made comfortable, but she allowed Guy to escort her to the cabin he shared with his brother onboard the Céirseach. When he opened the door, she was amazed at how neat and clean was the quarters.

  "I can't abide clutter,” Guy told her as he helped her off with the greatcoat. “Jules, on the other hand, would drop his clothes where he stood and kick them aside as they piled up. When we share a bunk, he has to adhere to my rules."

  The cabin was toasty warm with a big copper tub wedged in one corner. Already the tub had a couple of buckets of steaming water in the bottom.

  "That,” Guy said, pointing to the tub, “belongs to Dek. He's the only one on board who uses the gods-be-damned thing. The rest of us make do with a bucket and a sponge bath if we need it. He would, too, except the tub is good for his back."

  Maire looked around, her brows drawn together. “His back?"

  Guy nodded. He hung the great coat on a hook beside the door. “It troubles him something fierce at times. We take turns rubbing it for him then he soaks in the tub to help ease the pain."

  "I didn't know he had such an ailment."

  "That fight I mentioned he had with his boyhood friend, Lord Reese Fontyne? It was during the fight that Reese picked up a length of wood and hit Dek square in the back with it, done some damage I guess. Deklyn has had problems with his lower back ever since."

  Guilt spread through Maire and she had to turn away. It had been over her the two men had fought and Dek had not come away unscathed. It made her heart ache to think of him suffering on her account.

  "Do you use liniment when you rub?” she asked, taking a seat on one of the bunks. “There is a brew I was taught to make at the field hospital that gave relief to injuries of the spine."

  "Horse liniment,” Guy said. “That's all we knew to use and it stinks to high heaven and back again. He hates it something fierce. If you've got something that smells better, I'm all for it, lass."

  "I do and rosemary tea is good for the pain,” she said. “Hot towels laid across his back while he's lying on his stomach would be better than the tub since his muscles are cramped while sitting. I'll give you a list of what I need for the liniment. When will we be leaving port?"

  "Within the hour,” he answered. “There's time for me to send someone to the apothecary."

  "All right,” she said. “I'll need sonth, sweet soda, black salt, and the rosemary to make two different teas for him. For the liniment, I'll need...."

  Guy grabbed a sheet of paper from a desk built into the cabin wall and hastily jotted down the different herbs, spices, and essential oils she wanted along with strips of unbleached muslin and rubbing alcohol for the liniment.

  "I'll also need a couple of glass jars in which to store the liniment. It takes a little over a week for the brew to cure so let's hope he won't need it before then,” she concluded.

  "I'll get right on it,” Guy said, turning to the door.

  "And Guy?"

  Hand on the door, he swung his head around. “Aye?"

  "Does he favor any special kind of candy?” she asked. “Something that would be a treat?"

  "Lemon drops,” Guy said. “He's been known to eat a pound of ‘em at a sitting."

  "Then by all means get a pound for him. I imagine he will start to chaff at the bit with having to stay abed so we will need something to distract him."

  Guy grinned. “Do you by any chance play chess, lass?"

  * * * *

  Once underway, the Céirseach churned its way through the ice floating on the surface of Norvus Bay. The waters were rough with the wind howling and snapping the sheets. Maire had been warned it was most likely going to be a hard sail to Tarryn when she took her seat at the captain's table with Larson, Guy and Jules. Pleased to know a tray had been sent to their patient, she settled in her chair with a contented sigh.

  Bathed, her hair freshly washed though not entirely dry, she was wearing her best gown—at least one that had seen the less wear and tear among her sparse wardrobe—she stared at the array of mouthwatering, aromatic dishes on a nearby rolling cart.

  "I've not seen so much food in many a year,” she said in awe, her mouth flooding with anticipatory juices. “Truth to tell, I don't think I've ever seen so much food at one sitting!"

  "Aye, well, before you ask,” Jules said in a sour tone, “the prisoners are being fed with beans, biscuits, and a good-size slice of fatback, so they're not starving down in the hole.” He sniffed. “And an apple for munching on later."

  Maire gave him a considering look. “Thank you for telling me, milord. I, indeed, would have asked."

  "It never crossed my mind that you wouldn't,” Jules muttered, flinging her a sidelong glance.

  The captain cleared his throat then rose to his feet, wineglass in hand. “To Lady Maire,” he said, holding the glass aloft. “We are pleased to have you with us at long last."


  "Here, here!” Guy said, lifting his own glass.

  "Aye,” Jules agreed in a gruff tone.

  "Thank you, gentlemen,” she said, toasting them in return. Taking a small sip of a beverage that had only rarely touched her lips she was surprised at the sweet taste and smiled appreciatively.

  "Chrystallusian plum wine,” Guy told her. “Dek's favorite."

  "It could well become mine if I was a drinking woman,” she said.

  "We don't stand on formalities here, milady,” Larson said. He glanced over at Seannie who stood off to one side. “Dish it up."

  Jules’ son hastened to the task, serving Maire first as he'd been instructed to by the ship's cook. He smiled shyly at her and beamed when she thanked him sweetly. “My pleasure, milady,” he declared.

  Throughout the meal, the conversation was lively with everyone joining in though Jules was his normal acerbic self, making sour comments now and again. He wouldn't have been Jules, otherwise. He kept reaching up to rub his throat and when asked what ailed him, begrudgingly replied his throat was beginning to bother him.

  "It's this blasted weather,” Larson said, leaning back after polishing off a large slice of sweet potato pie. “The wind is enough to drive you to your knees and the cold drives straight through you. I'm all for the balmy climes of Tarryn."

  "Me, too,” Jules stated. He wiped his mouth on his napkin then turned to Maire. “By your leave, wench, I'll be turning in.” His voice was becoming gruff, and he winced as he swallowed.

  "I am sorry you are feeling ill, Jules,” she said. “Sleep well."

  He nodded, got to his feet and left without another word.

  "When he's sick he's like a mean old bear awakened too early from hibernation,” Guy complained with a grimace. “He'll be a real joy for a few days."

  Maire reached out to touch Seannie's arm as he was clearing away the dishes. “Sean, would you ask the cook if he would heat me a pot of water, please?"

  "Aye, milady” Seannie replied. “Want me to bring it to your cabin?"

  "If you would and two tin cups as well."

  "Straightaway, milady!"

  "And extend to the cook my compliments. Tell him the food was delicious."

  "Aye, milady. That will surely please him!"

  She turned to Larson. “It was a delightful meal, Captain. I thoroughly enjoyed it and the excellent company but if you gentlemen will excuse me, I will leave you to your cigars and brandy."

  The two men shot to their feet and Larson stepped behind her chair to pull it out for her. She bid them good evening, declining Guy's offer to escort her to her cabin. Walking along the ship's hallway, she kept a hand to the wall for she'd yet to get her sea legs. Though she wasn't nauseated by the pitch and roll of the ship, she doubted she would ever be comfortable traveling upon the seas. As she arrived at the door to Dek's cabin, she knocked softly.

  "Enter."

  She opened the door and peeked around it. “How are you feeling, milord?” she inquired.

  "Petulant,” the Baron grumbled. “I hate laying here with nothing to do."

  She smiled. “I hear you play a mean game of chess. Would that help you pass the time?"

  Dek's answering grin made her laugh. “It surely would, tarrishagh,” he agreed.

  "I've a chore I need to see to before I can join you,” she told him. “Would you like a cup of tea?"

  He shook his head. “Just your company,” he answered.

  "Then I'll be back as soon as I've finished what I need to do,” she said then gently closed the door behind her.

  * * * *

  In the cramped cabin of the bosons’ mate where he and Guy would be sleeping, Jules was not at all happy when the knock came at his door. “What?” he shouted, wincing at the pain clawing hot agony down his throat.

  Seannie came in with a tin cup filled with steaming liquid. He brought it to his father. “Milady says you're to drink this down as quick like as you can.” He extended the cup.

  "What the devil is it?” Jules barked as he sat up, eying the cup as though it might contain a poison.

  "She says it's sonth, and that it will help to ease your throat."

  Jules took the cup, sniffed it. One bushy brow arched but he tipped the cup to his lips then downed the contents in two long gulps. Scowling, he shoved the cup at his son. “Tell her thank you,” he snapped before flopping back and presenting his back to Seannie.

  "Feel better, Da,” Seannie said, grinning at Jules’ growl. He closed the door carefully behind his exit.

  Jules sneezed, sneezed again then looked to the ceiling. “By the gods I hope she hasn't gone and poisoned me,” he said with a sigh.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  Maire woke early the next morning, making quick work of her ablutions even as the sun was spreading its fiery rays along the horizon. Once dressed, she left her cabin, paused at the door to Dek's but when she heard no sound within, thought he might still be asleep then went back to fetch her great coat. Shrugging into the heavy garment, she returned to the hallway and then climbed the companionway stairs, pushing open the hatch to a brisk wind that pressed against her face. The deckhands who noticed her bowed as she passed, strolling over to the rail with the coat wrapped securely around her. She loved the early morning, and though it was cold with the wind whipping around her, she deeply inhaled the saltwater smell of the ocean as she leaned against the rail.

  "You're an early riser, milady."

  She turned as Larson came toward her. “I love the quietness of this time of day nearly as much as I love twilight."

  "Aye,” he agreed. “It is a peaceful time of the day.” He extended his arm. “Would you join me for breakfast, then?"

  She hooked her arm through his. “I would love a hot cup of coffee,” she said.

  "That we have plenty of,” the captain assured her. “Do you like omelets?"

  "I love eggs but never mastered the art of making omelets,” she replied as she ventured down the companionway.

  "I'm told it takes a special knack,” Larson acknowledged as he led her to the dining cabin and opened the door for her. He helped her off with her coat then slung it over the back of an empty chair at the table that ordinarily seated eight diners. After helping her to her seat, he took his own rightful place at the head of the table.

  Though Maire was unaccustomed to eating breakfast, she gave in to the captain's coaxing and ate a cheese omelet, two strips of crispy bacon and a piece of toast with boysenberry jam. By the time Guy and Jules joined them, they were nearly finished with their meal.

  "Good morn, lass,” Guy said. “Did you sleep well?"

  "Very well, thank you,” she replied then looked at Jules. “Are you feeling better today, Jules?"

  Jules nodded. “My throat hurts but that tea helped."

  "Would you like some more?"

  He nodded again as he took his seat.

  "Don't mind him, Maire,” Guy said. “He's not a morning person."

  "Nor afternoon nor evening nor night,” Larson added with a chuckle.

  "The two of you can kiss my hairy.... “Jules began, turned red then hissed, mumbling an apology to Maire before taking a seat.

  "I could also make you a poultice for your throat,” Maire told him. “It always worked for my husband."

  Jules slowly looked up from the plate Seannie had placed before him. “Why are being nice to me, wench? I've not been all that friendly to you. Why bother with me?"

  "You haven't been friendly to her at all,” Guy corrected as he dove into the food on his plate. “She should just let you suffer but that isn't her way."

  "You can win friends with kindness far better than with abuse,” Maire said softly. She took a sip of coffee, looking at Jules over the rim.

  Jules drew in a long breath then exhaled loudly. “You make it gods-be-damned hard not to like you, wench,” he groused then picked up his knife and fork to begin cutting up his omelet.

  "I sur
ely hope so,” Maire agreed.

  A sound at the door made them all look that way and there was protest from each of them as they saw Dek standing there. He held his hand up to still their complaints.

  "I can't spend every waking hour in that bunk,” he told them, “else I'll just get weaker and become as mad as a March hare. Trust me, I feel well enough to be up and about and besides which I'm starving.” He started around the table to sit beside Maire, holding onto the chairs as he went. When Guy would have gotten up to help him, he waved his cousin aside. “For the love of the goddess I'm not an invalid, Yn Baase. Sit your ass down."

  "Your color is better, milord,” Maire pronounced.

  "Must have been caused by the wicked dream I had last eve,” Dek said as he accepted the cup of coffee Seannie poured for him.

  Maire's cheeks blazed with color, and she found the top of the table to be a very intriguing spot to direct her gaze. She felt the brush of his boot against her foot then the double tap of his knee to hers. Shyly she turned her head to give him an admonishing look for she, too, had had a dream that had left her sighing with contentment.

  "Must have been a helluva dream,” Larson said with a snort.

  "It was,” Dek replied. He was looking directly at Maire. “And how are you this morn, tarrishagh?"

  "Very well, thank you,” she replied, nodding to Seannie when he offered more coffee. “I'll be sloshing when I walk but this is a very fine brew, Sean."

  "Made it myself, I did! The secret is in eggshells. You.... “Sean began bragging then ducked his head when his father shot him a look of reproach. He started toward the captain who waved him away.

  "I've got to see to my ship,” Larson said. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. He gave Maire a gentle smile. “If you get tired of His Grace's company, come up top, and I'll teach you how to steer this beauty."

  "I will take you up on that offer,” she said.

  After the captain's departure, Dek reached over to cover her hand. “You plan on getting tired of me, then?"