WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  His people were nodding for many had heard what had transpired with the Baroness, even though they were not privy to what had been said or done. They made no sound at all as the doors to the keep opened and Guy and Jules escorted the Baroness onto the portico.

  "Under Tarryn law, the wife of the Baron cannot be publicly punished for her crimes against the people who serve her. In the past, such infractions were dealt with by her husband, in private, as it should be. Husbands have the right to chastise their wives and believe me when I tell you I will see to the punishment of mine."

  Ynez snorted, jerking against the holds Guy and Jules had on her arms. She cursed them beneath her breath but neither man so much as gave her a sidelong glance. Their eyes were on the people of Drogh-gheay.

  "I cannot offer those of you who were harmed by my wife's malice and spite any excuse for her behavior for there is no excuse for such contemptible actions. Neither can I offer you the retribution that would truly be fitting for those actions. What I can—and do—offer you is justice. Those who were targeted for her viciousness and brutality will be compensated although no amount of coin can undo the damage she wrought. I ask your forgiveness and I offer you a small token of the rightful vengeance due to you."

  Dek looked across the courtyard and nodded. Two guards opened a door at the far end of the inner bailey and two other guards dragged a struggling Miriam Brazwellington through the crowd. The people parted—none wanting to touch even the hem of the hissing woman's gown as she was manhandled toward the whipping post.

  "No!” Ynez shouted upon seeing what was about to be set into motion. “Damn you, no, Deklyn!"

  Standing above her, unable to see her, Deklyn had no doubt in his mind that she was struggling as violently with his cousins as the Mantis was with the guards. Only Ynez and her lover could be heard in the courtyard. The shouting, screaming, shrieking and cursing came from them, but it was enough noise to wake the dead. As Miriam was lashed to the whipping post—her arms shackled above her head—she tried to crane her neck around so she could look up at the Baron.

  "You will regret this, Yn Baase!” she spat, her eyes wild and teeth flashing. “I promise you will! You will rue the day you did this blasphemous thing!"

  "Miriam!” Ynez called out, her voice breaking. She struggled violently with Guy and Jules, tried kicking them until Jules ordered her legs lashed together and a servant hurried forward to do just that.

  People stepped back as the ta'zeer strode forward. The master whipsman was dressed all in black, the upper portion of his face—eyes and nose—hidden behind a black silk mask but everyone there knew who he was. In his hand was the sennett whip that had been fetched from the Baroness’ bedchamber. The ta'zeer looked up at his overlaird.

  "Ten lashes,” Deklyn ordered. “Do not spare the weight of them."

  The ta'zeer nodded, stepped forward to grasp the back of Miriam's gown, rending it open before snagging his rough fingers in her chemise and tearing it as well to bare her back. With her cursing him—spitting and hissing like a cornered wildcat—he stepped back and let loose the first heavy lash.

  A horrible shriek was torn from Miriam's throat, and she twisted against her bonds. The second lash followed quickly by a third and fourth brought even louder wails. The people gathered around her stood in silence as the lashes fell.

  Five.

  Six.

  Seven.

  The Baroness was wailing along with her friend, but she had sagged to her knees, her arms held above her by her captors as she made loud keening sounds that would have done a wounded hyena proud.

  Eight.

  Nine.

  Deklyn forced himself to watch the punishment though it made him physically sick. He had no doubt Miriam had put the idea of doing what she pleased into Ynez's head. Instead of being a restraining influence, the Mantis had encouraged Ynez to act as she had. The castellan had said as much.

  "She goaded the Baroness into it, Your Grace. I've heard her time and again."

  Though he was against corporeal punishment—and especially that of a woman—he had no qualms about seeing Miriam Brazwellington pay for her own crimes against the people of Drogh-gheay. When the bitch was healed, he meant to see her sent from his beloved keep—never to be allowed to return.

  Furthermore, he knew just the place to send her.

  Ten.

  A collective breath flowed from the people as the ta'zeer ceased his lashing. They moved aside for the two servants who walked to the whipping post and unchained the Mantis’ hands, dragging her now unconscious body from the courtyard. When they looked up to the balcony, they were not surprised to find it empty.

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  Chapter Eleven

  Sobbing, no longer fighting the tight grips on her arms, Ynez was escorted up the stairs and to her chambers. Her head was down, her spirit bent if not broken, as Guy opened the door and shoved her inside. So distracted by her own misery she barely heard the key turn in the lock, imprisoning her. She stood with her shoulders slumped, hands covering her face for a long moment then slowly straightened, lowering her hands, lifting her eyes. When she saw her husband sitting across the room in her favorite overstuffed chair, she snarled, her fingers curled into claws, and she took two enraged steps toward him before realizing the ta'zeer was standing beside him—brawny arms folded and hooded eyes boring into her. She came short with her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.

  "Be very careful what you do, Ynez. Be very careful what you say,” she heard Deklyn advise. “Say what I don't want to hear, and I'll have Randall take another ten strips of flesh off Miriam's bloody back."

  "Get him out of my room,” she said, fingers balling into fists and jaw clenching.

  "When I'm ready for him to leave, he will,” was the reply.

  "This is my room!” she hissed.

  "This is my keep,” he reminded her. “Thus it is my room."

  He was sitting barefoot with one leg crossed over the other—ankle to knee—and elbows on the chair arms. His fingers were laced together with the two index fingers extended and braced over his upper lip, as though he was studiously observing her. To her way of thinking, he'd never looked more menacing.

  Or mean.

  "What is it you want, Deklyn?” she demanded, head back.

  "It's not what I am demanding, Ynez, but rather what you demanded,” he drawled. “You wanted me to make up the Seeding sessions I missed these two years, and I am—albeit reluctantly—going to accommodate you, here and now."

  Ynez's eyes widened. “You can't be serious!"

  His own eyes turned flint hard and as cold as the snows on Mount Kaule.

  "I assure you, madam, I am deadly serious,” he declared. “Now strip and get into the bed."

  "I most certainly will not!” she raged, lifting a hand to point at the ta'zeer. “And most certainly not with him here to see me."

  "He couldn't care less about seeing you naked, Ynez, but if you won't take your clothes off of your own accord, I will ask him to take them off for you.” He smiled—so brutally, so hatefully it chilled her soul. “It won't be any fun for you, but I'm sure I'd find it highly amusing."

  Tears filled her eyes and her bottom lip trembled. “Don't do this, Dek,” she pleaded, hand out to him. “Please?"

  He tilted his head to one side, studying her for a moment then his smile disappeared. “It's a little late for polite requests, Baroness. You wanted the Seeding? You'll get the Seeding. Now strip!"

  Every instinct screamed at Ynez to launch herself at him and claw out his eyes but one look at the sinister man in black standing beside Deklyn's chair was a strong deterrent from such actions. Instead, she straightened her spine and began unbuttoning her bodice.

  "This is nothing but rape,” she snarled, kicking off her slippers.

  "It's not rape when I am your husband, and you demanded I meet my obligations,” Deklyn told her. “You reminded me I had twenty-four months of Seeding to catch up on
, and I am merely obliging you."

  "I said twenty!” she hissed as she pushed the sleeves of her gown from her arms then slid the dress down her hips.

  "Well, I'll be a gentleman and make up those sweet, missing ten for you."

  "Bastard."

  "Bitch."

  Ynez stepped out of her gown and ripped the chemise from her body, tearing at her stockings with fierce tugs. She shot her husband a loathing glance then went to the bed and crawled atop, flinging to her back with arms and legs spread wide.

  "You want it? Well, here it is!” She refused to look at him.

  "Baby, you've got nothing whatsoever I want, but unfortunately I've got to make use of it,” Dek answered with a snort. He unlaced his hands and unfolded his tall body from the chair, getting to his feet. He glanced at the ta'zeer. “Wait in the hall."

  "Aye, Your Grace,” the man in black agreed. He walked to the door and tapped. The portal opened and closed again behind him with a snick of the lock.

  Deklyn stood by the chair—staring across the room at the wife he hated, the woman he wished he could strangle and be done with it. His shirt was opened halfway down his broad chest and hanging free of his pants. When Ynez turned her head to glare at him, she saw he was finishing unbuttoning the shirt. She watched him peel it from his body and toss it aside. His hands went to the zipper of his pants, and she looked away as he started toward the bed, cringing as she heard the tick of the zipper teeth parting.

  "Here's how it's gonna be, Ynez,” she heard him say. “If you scratch me, bite me, kick me, hurt me, or in any way struggle, I'll have the ta'zeer go after your muffdiver and get some more exercise with his whip arm."

  He had reached the bed and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pushing his pants down his long legs.

  "I want you to lay there staring up at the ceiling like you usually do, as unresponsive and uncooperative as an overcooked noodle, and I'll get this done as quickly as I humanly can. Believe me, I'm not going to enjoy it anymore than you are."

  Peripherally she saw him massaging his cock, tugging upon it. The mattress dipped with his weight, and then he was sliding over her, wedging himself between her thighs, pushing her knees further apart with his. She felt the graze of his knuckles against her core and clenched her jaw and fists.

  It took only a few minutes, and he climbed off her, bent down to retrieve his pants and stepped into them.

  "I'll be back when I can get it up again,” he tossed over his shoulder as he walked over to retrieve his shirt.

  "What?” she cried out, sitting up—breasts bouncing as she stared at him. “What do you mean?"

  "I've got twenty-three Seedings to complete within the next day or so then only nineteen after that,” he said savagely. “Then I'll be through with your perverted ass.” He went to the door and rapped his knuckles against the panel.

  "You can't do this!” she snarled, coming to her knees on the bed.

  "I can and I will,” he said as the door opened, and he strolled out with the shirt slung over one shoulder, hooked on his index finger.

  "Fuck you, Deklyn Yn Baase!” she screeched, coming off the bed. She ran to the door, but it closed in her face and the lock clicked into place. She jerked on the handle. She beat her fists against the panel. “Fuck you, you bastard! I hate you!"

  "I hate you, too, dear,” he replied, voice muffled by the door.

  As he and Guy walked down the corridor—the ta'zeer following—Deklyn felt sick to his stomach. It was barely noon but he needed a drink so badly his hands shook.

  "I'll be in the library,” he told his cousin and for once Guy made no comment nor did he attempt to stop him, even though he was sure Guy knew what he would do.

  * * * *

  "Are you going out to see Maire today or do you want me to?"

  Dek didn't look up at Guy. “I'll ride out later this afternoon."

  The Baron of the WindWarrior Clan was sitting slumped in his chair with his right hand shielding his closed eyes. His legs were thrust out in front of him, bare feet crossed at the ankles. In his left hand, resting on his thigh, he clutched a nearly empty snifter of potent Chrystallusian brandy, the fumes pungent in the room.

  "You got another headache?"

  Deklyn sighed. “Unfortunately so.” He didn't complain when Guy came over and eased the snifter from his hand and set it on the table beside the chair.

  "I'm sorry, Dek."

  A slow, tired smile pulled at Dek's lips. “Aye, well, me, too, Guy.” He lowered his hand and opened his eyes, laying his head on the back of the chair. “You know what?"

  "What?” Guy asked softly as he hunkered down by Dek's chair and put a comforting hand on his cousin's thigh.

  "When I've wanted a woman, there was always one willing to oblige me.” He shrugged. “What I did up there was masturbation, and it will be masturbation when I trudge up there again just as will be the next time and the time after that."

  "What if you get her pregnant?"

  Dek snorted, closing his eyes again to the building agony between his temples. “She hasn't gotten pregnant in eight years, Guy. She's not likely to now."

  "But what if she does?"

  "I'll drink a shot of arsenic, slit my wrists then hang myself from the nearest rafter."

  Guy grinned. “A very efficient way to handle it and so mature, Yn Baase.” He squeezed Dek's thigh. “Messy but efficient."

  He opened one eye. “And final,” he said, closing his eye again. “Don't forget final."

  "You hope,” Guy said. He patted his cousin's leg then got up to seat himself in the chair across from him. “With your luck, you'll survive the poison, you won't hit a vital vein in either wrist, and the hanging will merely snap your neck and paralyze you from head to toe. What will you do then, Your Grace?"

  "Wait for my dear cousin to finish the job for me,” Dek drawled.

  "Not me, cuz, but I will promise to come by every day to wipe the drool from your chin."

  "Fucker,” Dek grumbled.

  "Of course Jules will most likely cart you out to Maire's to let her use you for a doorstop. She can wipe the drool from your chin. Hell, she might even find a medicinal purpose for paraplegic drool for all we know."

  Dek laughed then winced. “Don't,” he pleaded.

  "Well, if you don't have anything you need us to do, he and I have been remiss in playing with the troops.” Guy stood. “Mayhap you should go to lay down until the headache passes."

  "I can't,” Dek said with a sigh. “I've got to go masturbate in Ynez a couple of more times before I head out to see Maire. I figure in less than a week I'll be caught up with the Seeding."

  "Good luck with that, then,” Guy said as he turned to go. “With Ynez, I mean."

  "Fuck you and the jackass you came riding in on a sidesaddle,” Dek replied with a sweet voice.

  * * * *

  Maire was lovingly placing the cobblestones Hank had piled on the grass for her into the curving pathway he'd prepared for her from the oyster shell drive to the front steps. She had been at it for several hours—working the pale pink stones in among darker rose-colored ones—and still had a few more hours to go before the job could be completed. The pathway had been edged with sections of tin Hank had hammered into the ground, so she had to find the appropriately sized stones to maneuver them into position.

  The clip-clop of hooves on the oyster shells made her look up, heart soaring when she recognized the rider trotting toward her. She quickly got to her feet, arming a stray lock of hair from her forehead then removed the heavy gloves she was wearing before shaking out her skirt. Timid smile in place, she waited anxiously for him to reach her then dismount.

  "I missed you,” she said, hands clutching the gloves as he tied his mount to the hitching post.

  He reached her in two strides—arms reaching out to take hold of her and drag her against him, his head coming down so he could slant his hungry mouth across hers. He molded her to him, his lips devouring hers, his bod
y straining to possess her.

  "By the gods, I missed you more,” he swore against her lips before showering her face with more kisses. “I needed to be with you so badly."

  "You're here now,” she said.

  "I'll always be here,” he whispered. “In spirit if not body."

  In the distance thunder rolled ominously. Surprised, they both turned to stare at the dark sky that was looming toward them. A stitch of lightning seamed the clouds.

  "Where did that come from?” she asked.

  "You'll get used to it,” he said. “Along the coast, storms pop up this time of the year in the blink of an eye.” He looked at the work she'd been doing. “I don't think you're going to get the walkway finished today."

  "Doesn't look like it,” she said.

  He eased her out of his arms. “Want some help?"

  She shook her head. “I was thinking about taking a break and going in to get some lemonade. Want some?"

  "I would,” he said. He shooed her aside when she bent down to retrieve the mallet and trowel she'd been using then slung an arm around her shoulders as they started for the cottage. “How've you been?"

  "I've been fine. How've you been?” she countered, looking up at him. “Are you over your headache?” He shrugged noncommittally. “And the wound to your chest?"

  He shrugged again. “It itches like crazy so I guess that's a good sign."

  They climbed the steps to the opened door. Seeing it, he frowned. “Aren't you worried about stray critters slinking or slithering in?"

  "They're welcome if they can escape Caro's broom or Hank's hoe,” she said with a laugh. “A skink got in yesterday and Caro chased the poor thing until I caught it to put it outside."

  Neither Caro nor Hank was in sight as they went through the great room into the kitchen. Smiling—for she knew the couple had vanished to give her time alone with the Baron—she ushered him to the little kitchen table then set about pouring two glasses of lemonade. Bringing them to the table, she saw him staring out the window, rubbing his forehead. She took a seat beside him.