WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  * * * *

  Watching Jenny and her two new friends cavorting in the corral, Maire reclined on the quilt she'd spread on the ground and took a sip of the sweetened tea Caro had brewed. Around her, Jules, Guy, Andy, Rupert, Strom, Hank, and a laughing Daragh sat beneath the spreading chestnut tree's shade as they played some kind of card game. Caro was mending one of Hank's shirts, humming quietly as she worked. All that was missing was Dek.

  Maire drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. As happy as she was with the day's work, the chickens pecking at the grass, the fruit trees that had been planted and the ducks waddling down to the stream for a drink of water, she would have given all of it up to have him laying beside her, his head in her lap, her fingers in his thick dark hair.

  "A copper for your thoughts, milady,” Caro said, looking up from her stitching.

  "I miss him,” Maire said then bit her tongue at allowing such a revealing statement past her lips.

  Caro grinned. “Men have a way of growing on you like kudzu,” she said. “Some men are just like that kudzu, too. They sap the very life out of you. But some.... “She glanced over at Hank. “Some of them wrap their vines around your heart and burrow in there never to leave.” She brought the thread up to her teeth to break it. “I'm thinking His Grace is growing like that around your heart."

  "I think he is, too,” Maire admitted.

  A loud whoop from the men made both women turn their attention to them. They were getting to their feet—Andy with a handful of matchsticks clutched in his palm.

  "Did you beat them all, Andrew?” Maire asked.

  "Aye, milady, indeed I did!” Andy replied.

  "And now the five us are off to be doing what we should have been doing all day,” Jules grumbled. “Training our men.” He stomped past them, heading for the wagon he'd driven to the cottage.

  "He won't admit it but he had a gods-be-damned fine time,” Guy said of his brother. “Thank you for the gentile company, lass. Caro. If you need anything, just send Hank to the military compound. That's where he'll find us."

  "Thank you for all you've done, Guy,” Maire said. “And thank Jules for me.” She turned her attention to Andy, Rupert and Strom and thanked them as well.

  "He should be out to see you tomorrow,” Daragh said as he strolled up. “If not, I'll send word to you how he's doing."

  "I would appreciate that,” Maire replied. “Please take care of him for me."

  Daragh put a hand to his heart. “With my last breath, dearling."

  As the sun set on Maire's second day at Sheidaghan, she was not as depressed as she had been the day before. Her thoughts strayed often to the imposing keep she had only spied on the high bluff above Drogh-gheay Harbor and to the man who she prayed was safe from any potential evils directed at him by his wife.

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  Chapter Ten

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  The first thing Deklyn did when he came into his own as the Baron of Drogh-gheay was to have a huge tiled shower installed in the bathing chamber of his quarters. It was an innovative piece of engineering he had discovered in AnGhréig during his first tour of duty there as a young man. He had spent hours talking to the man who had designed and built the device and had—himself—improved on the design when he'd commissioned his workman to run the pipe from the enormous copper boiler beneath the keep and into his bathing chamber. Hiding the unsightly pipe behind specially built columns so no one who looked at them could tell they concealed the workings of his shower, Dek loved the addition. On a morning when his world was still fuzzy around the edges and his tongue felt the size of his horse, standing beneath the streaming water was as blissful as life ever came for him at the keep. He had pushed aside all thought of Ynez waiting for him or the duties of the barony that the Tribunal, no doubt, had in mind for him to handle while he was home. Standing with his palms flat against the tile, head bent to allow the steamy water to beat down on his neck, he watched the water swirling down the drain—lost in thoughts of Maire and the waterfall dream they had shared.

  "She's got the garden in,” Guy had informed him when Dek had awakened around nine of the clock the evening before. He was groggy but any news of Maire pleased him and he was anxious to know what all she had accomplished since moving into the cottage.

  "Both gardens,” Jules corrected. “One for her precious little herbs and spices and the other for the vegetables."

  "Aye, and we planted several fruit trees as you suggested,” Guy added. “She's got things under control except for the draperies and coverlets and the like."

  "Those she plans on sewing herself,” Jules said without realizing there was pride of her in his gruff voice.

  "I can't wait to see what she's done with it,” Dek said, yawning. He was hungry and said as much. Guy eased off the side of the bed where he'd been sitting and strode to the door.

  "I'll bring you back something light,” he told Dek.

  With his brother out of the room, Jules took Guy's place on the mattress, narrowed his eyes and gave Dek what the younger man had always called his serious face.

  "You need to make sure that house is hers, Deklyn,” Jules said. “Completely hers. You get my drift?"

  "Aye,” Dek replied. “I intend to."

  "As quickly as possible,” Jules continued. “You never know what that witchlet you married might take it into her head to do when she finds out how much money has been spent on Sheidaghan. So far there's only a few of us who know but it's bound to get leaked and when it does, Ynez is going to bust a gut."

  Dek nodded. “Have Delaney come see me first thing in the morning,” he ordered Jules. “Tell him to bring a scribe with him."

  "You're gonna have a deed drawn up, then?"

  "Did you think I wouldn't?” Dek countered. “By the goddess, Jules. I have no intention of leaving anything to chance where Maire is concerned. Aye, there will be four deeds drawn up. One will stay with Delaney, one with you, one will go to Maire, and the fourth will go to the Tribunal after I've had each of them sign all four deeds."

  Jules slowly smiled. “No, you aren't leaving anything to chance. I take it you will ask the Tribunal to register the deeds."

  "I want to make sure the cottage and land will stay with Maire and her line in perpetuity. It has to be written in such a way that no matter what might happen to me, that property will remain hers. No one—and I mean no one—will ever be able to evict her."

  "Unless Tarryn is overrun by Geddynians or some other marauding bastards,” Jules snarled. “You can't protect her if something like that were to happen."

  "The chances of that occurring are slim and you know it, but you've given me an idea. I will make arrangements that she is to be spirited out of the country if we are ever attacked or—the gods forbid—conquered. I'll have money set aside to keep her comfortable for as long as she lives."

  "Perhaps you should purchase a place for her in An Éilvéis. They're neutral in this and she'll be safe there,” Jules suggested.

  "See to it for me,” Dek commanded. “I'll trust you to get our lady a suitable place."

  "Consider it done."

  Guy came back with a ham sandwich and a bowl of chicken broth, crackers and a small wedge of cheese. The pitcher of milk was the first thing Dek wanted.

  "We'll leave you to your dinner, then,” Jules said. “I'll go to see Delaney now. Will seven of the clock be too soon?"

  "No, I'll be up long before then,” Dek replied.

  Lifting his head, Dek shook the wet hair from his eyes and reached for the shower controls. He sluiced the water from his chest, arms, and legs then opened the solid glass door that had been one of his innovations. Taking a towel from the shelf by the door, he was drying off as the knock came at his bedchamber door. Knowing the only one the guards would allow to knock would be either one of his cousins or his lawyer, he called out for his visitor to enter.

  It took over an hour for the wording of the deed to satisfy Dek and when the lawyer
and his scribe left, he changed out of the robe he'd thrown on to receive them and dressed in black pants and a white shirt. His wound ached miserably but the stitches didn't look fiery nor were they oozing—which was a good sign. He decided to keep well away from Ynez's claws when he met with her later that morning.

  "Her Grace requests an audience with you at ten of the clock, Your Grace,” Dek's personal assistant had informed him when he had brought Dek's morning repast to him at a little past six of the clock.

  "Tell her I will see her in the library,” Dek said, “and be sure to tell her I do not want the Mantis with her. Lawyer Delaney will be joining us but there is no need for the Baroness to be given that information."

  "As you wish, Your Grace,” Felix Borderman, Dek's assistant, acknowledged.

  Dressed, knowing the deeds the scribe was copying would take another hour or so before they were ready to be taken to the Tribunal, Dek wished he had time to ride out to Sheidaghan. He was aching to see Maire. He needed her sweet face and sunny disposition like an addict needed his drugs. He longed to touch her face, to hear her voice.

  Mentally shaking himself, he knew he had to put thoughts of Maire aside. Things needed to be said to Ynez, plans made, decisions imparted. He had no illusions that his lady-wife would prove difficult in regard to Maire. Keeping a mistress, thrusting into the occasional easy cunt was one thing. Such things he knew she would overlook, couldn't care less about. Claiming a woman as his Cochianglt was an entirely different matter. There was going to be hell to pay and he wasn't looking forward to it.

  Not for the first time did he wish his mother and father were alive to see what mischief that had been wrought. It was the two of them who had put him in this untenable situation, who were responsible for the years of unhappiness he had suffered, the misery and disillusion. His father had once told him that it had been his mother's decision—not his—that had set the gears into motion.

  "She wanted you to marry Ynez for reasons she did not discuss with me. I told her it was not a good idea, but she could see nothing past the vast estates and revenues the lands would bring in. I went along with her against my better judgment."

  Not that his father ever apologized to Dek for being the instrument behind the horrendous marriage. Asking forgiveness, seeking pardon for any ills he'd done in his lifetime had never crossed the old Baron's mind. He had been as hard nosed and arrogant on the day he left this life as he'd been when he'd taken control of Tarryn from Dek's grandfather.

  "A man must be strong enough to ruthlessly rule every living thing he surveys,” was the only advice his father had ever given Dek. “And that goes for any woman who shares his bed!"

  Leaving his chambers, he stopped to talk to his guards, dismissing them over their protests. He patted each on the back, thanked them for both their diligence and concern then sent them on their way. With his hands in his pockets, he sauntered down the stairs, heard Ynez and Miriam's voice and did an about face, heading for the kitchen where neither woman ever deigned to make an appearance. Greeting the cooks, he asked for a cup of coffee then sat at the table talking to the women who were in the process of making the noon meal, asking what had transpired in the two years, since he'd last been home. As he listened to the litany of who married whom, who birthed babies, who had died, he noticed one young woman in the corner who seemed to be moving slowly and painfully about her tasks.

  "Shanna, isn't it?” he asked her, gaining her attention.

  The young woman curtsied. “Aye, Your Grace,” she said, flicking a furtive glance to the cook.

  "Don't you normally work above stairs?” he asked. It wasn't an ideal question for many a servant at Drogh-gheay who aspired to be on the next rung of the ladder in his or her employment. Working in the kitchens was considered below rank to those who worked upstairs.

  "She's a bit under the weather, Your Grace,” Maeve, the head cook, quickly explained. “Thought it best she take it easy down here for awhile."

  Genuinely concerned, Dek inquired what ailed her, asked if perhaps she should not take a day or two off.

  "Just a wee injury, Your Grace,” the young servant told him. “Ain't nothing to keep me down."

  From the worried looks the other women in the kitchen were giving her, Dek knew it was more than that. He put down his cup, got to his feet and walked over to the girl whom he realized was trembling.

  "What kind of injury, Shanna?” he asked softly.

  Backing away from her overlaird, the servant shook her head. “Ain't nothing, Your Grace. Truly. Ain't nothing."

  Realizing the girl was terrified, he turned to Maeve, fearful one of the male servants or soldiers had harmed her in some way, he put hardness in his look. “What happened to her, Maeve?"

  "Your Grace, just let it go,” Maeve pleaded. “It's over and done and...."

  "What happened?” he questioned.

  "Show him, Shanna,” one of the other girls spoke up even though those around her tried to shush her. She angrily shook her head. “Nay, let him see what goes on when he's not here to stop it!"

  "Shut up, Danelle! You're gonna get us all in trouble,” Dek heard another girl hiss.

  Dek held up a hand to silence the women. He took a step closer to Shanna. “If someone hurt you, lass, I need to know about it.” Noise at the door drew his attention, and he looked around to see Jules and Guy. He waved them away.

  "What's going on?” Jules asked.

  "Leave and close the door behind you,” Dek said. “Make sure no one comes in."

  The two men exchanged inquisitive looks but did as they were told. When the door closed behind them, Dek turned to Shanna.

  "Shanna?” he questioned.

  The young woman's eyes snapped to Maeve and Dek was peripherally aware of the older woman nodding her head.

  "Go on, Shanna. You know you can trust His Grace,” Maeve said.

  Hands trembling, Shanna slowly unbuttoned the front of her gown then eased the bodice apart to reveal a livid red slash above the frayed neckline of her chemise, disappearing beneath the course cotton fabric.

  Brows drawn together, Dek came closer, reached out to tug the neckline down just enough to ascertain the slash extended across the young woman's breasts. A muscle jumped in his lean jaw as he stepped back—hands clenching into fists at his side. “Who did that to you?” he demanded, eyes blazing with anger. When she didn't answer, his gaze flicked up to hers. “Shanna, who did it?"

  "She's afraid to say, Your Grace,” Maeve told him.

  "Afraid it'll happen again,” the girl called Danelle spoke up. “'Twas your lady-wife what done it, and it ain't the first time she's lashed one of us."

  "Or had it done,” another girl bravely added, the dam of confessional having broken.

  "My John was laid to bed for nigh on a week after she ordered him whipped,” still another informed him. “And all he did was not have her horse ready when she told him to."

  "One servant was lashed so badly he took to his bed and died a month on,” Danelle volunteered. “Wounds got infected, they said."

  Dek looked around at Maeve. “Why haven't I been told about this before now?” he asked, voice as hard as stone.

  "She said if'n we told you, it would be the harder on us when you left again,” Maeve answered, lowering her head.

  Fury struck Dek like a heavy chainmail fist to the chest. Blood pounded in his ears and a red haze tinted his vision. Clenching his teeth, he spun around and strode heavily to the door, jerking it open only to have both Jules and Guy stumble into the room—their ears obviously having been pressed to the door's panel.

  "Did you know about this?” he bellowed at them.

  "Nay!” the men replied in unison.

  "We've been with you,” Jules protested, “and ain't a soul said nothing to us of this kind of shite happening whilst we was away."

  Muscles flaring in both cheeks as he ground his teeth, Dek's face took on the look of a rampaging demon. His voice was steely and cold when he spoke.<
br />
  "At eleven of the clock I want every man, woman and child of Drogh-gheay assembled in the inner bailey,” he ordered. “I may be a bit late in getting there but no one is to leave until I have spoken to them. Is that clear?"

  "Aye!” the brothers agreed.

  Dek looked around at the women—his gaze softening as it went to Shanna. “I want you ladies to know that this will never happen again. I extend my sincerest apology that it ever did, and I ask your forgiveness for my lack of properly seeing to your welfare but you can be assured from hence forth this sort of thing will not be done. Shanna, you will be compensated for your pain and suffering, believe me."

  "Dek, if we had known.... “Jules began but stopped as his overlaird turned back around to shove the brothers aside as he left the room, bellowing his wife's name.

  Both Ynez and Miriam jumped when the thunderous voice disrupted their conversation. They looked at one another for never had either of them heard Ynez's husband shout her name with such rage. They could hear him slamming open doors and the heavy tattoo of his boots ringing against the marble as he walked.

  "Something has set him off,” Miriam said.

  "What should I...?” Ynez began to ask when the door to her sitting room crashed open with enough force to break off the door handle as it struck the stone wall. Her eyes widened with terror as her husband stalked into the room, snaked out a hand to grasp her arm and yank her to her feet.

  "I should beat you within an inch of your miserable, useless life, you mean, hateful bitch!” he shouted, shaking her like a terrier with a rat. He ignored Ynez's yelp and shook her again.

  "Your Grace, you are hurting her!” Miriam said, coming to her feet with a hand out to protect the Baroness.

  Without a second thought Dek splayed his free hand against Miriam's bosom and shoved her back into her chair, pointing a rigid finger at her with the crisp order to stay where she was.