WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Famous last words, Deklyn!” Jules shouted after him then snorted with disgust when Dek raised a single finger in acknowledgement of his cousin's warning.

  * * * *

  Furtively making her way up the stairs—not trusting that one of her husband's guards would not try to stop her—Ynez reached Miriam's door without incidence. Taking a deep breath before putting her palm to the handle—praying the door was not locked—she gently pushed down on the handle and eased the door open.

  "Miri?” she whispered. “Are you here?"

  Miriam always kept the room as dark as the thick velveteen drapes would allow. She hated sunlight in the mornings and always woke to a pitch-dark room, dressing and performing her daily ablutions by candlelight. Only when the sun was well down would she pull the drapes back, throw open the window to allow the night breeze to flow through the room.

  "Miri?"

  "I am here,” came a listless voice. “Where else would I be?"

  Tiptoeing into the room, Ynez closed the door behind her and—from long association with the room's inhabitant and knowing the exact placement of the furniture—hurried to the bed.

  "Are you badly hurt, my precious?” Ynez asked, reaching out in the darkness.

  "I am healing,” Miriam said. There was a shifting of the covers and a cool hand touched Ynez's. “How did you fare? Did the beast beat you?"

  "Nay,” Ynez replied as she laced fingers with her lover and climbed onto the bed. “He would dare not. The Patriarch has come.” Ynez heard Miriam draw in a breath as she nestled beside her. “Did I hurt you?"

  "You did not,” Miriam said. “So the fat pig is here, eh? No doubt he heard of the Cochianglt and came to question the whore."

  "He has reminded Deklyn what will happen if I conceive,” Ynez said, turning so she was pressed full-length against Miriam's side.

  "Have you been adhering to the witch's instructions?” Miriam demanded as Ynez stroked Miriam's breast with her free hand.

  "Aye, but I need more elixir only you know how to make.” She made a vulgar sound then began to roll Miriam's nipple between her thumb and middle finger. “He will be coming to my bed again next week."

  "And the extra Seedings? Did you demand those?"

  "Those are done,” Ynez said in a disgusted voice. “For all I know I may be carriying his vile seed even as we speak."

  "We cannot leave it to chance,” Miriam said. “Help me up. I will see to the making of the elixir and the internal bathing liquid."

  "You mean the douche?” Ynez asked and felt Miriam wince as she helped her to a sitting position.

  "That is such a cheap, vulgar, and whorish word,” Miriam snapped. “Internal bathing liquid sounds more genteel."

  Though Miriam sucked in a quick breath now and again as she put on her wrapper and lit a candle, Ynez did not think her back was bothering her too greatly. She wanted to see what damage had been done but that would have to wait. There were more pressing things on the agenda.

  "When will he come to your bed again?” Miriam asked as she began putting the various spices and oils together.

  "On Wednesday."

  "There is time, then, for the tea to steep and settle. That is the most important part of the regimen.” She glanced around at her lover and Ynez realized Miriam had lost weight for her eyes were sunken in her head and her cheeks were hollow. She appeared weak and frail though her gaze was bright and filled with anger.

  "Oh, my love!” Ynez said, putting a hand to Miriam's cheek.

  "I will mend,” Miriam said, shrugging off the touch. “Destroying Deklyn Yn Baase is more important than a few ripples of pain."

  "He will pay for hurting you,” Ynez swore.

  "Aye,” Miriam agreed. “That he will!"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * * *

  Maire was delighted to see the man she loved riding toward her. She bolted off the porch where she and Caro were hanging pots of flowering plants to run to meet him. He had barely reined in his mount before he was off the steed and grabbing her in a bear hug to swing her around, his green eyes filled with happiness.

  "I thought you would be a week or two more,” she said and would have continued had not he slanted his mouth firmly over hers to take away her breath.

  His arms were so strong, so solid around her as he plundered her mouth. She was being held against his muscular body with her feet off the ground, her arms circling his neck. Their tongues were dancing. Their passions rising rapidly—too rapidly for he suddenly set her down, breathing heavily, the evidence of his arousal there for her to see.

  "Not good,” he said, his voice shaky.

  "No,” she agreed. She was trembling and her breath was as labored as his.

  "Sit. Down,” he managed to say although sitting was the last thing he really wanted to do.

  Maire nodded. Careful not to touch him, they walked up the serpentine pathway she had finished and edged with lavender plants.

  "Good job,” he mumbled, and she thanked him.

  Guy had brought a score of rocking chairs his last trip out and their pristine white stood out on the porch as Maire led the man she loved to a pair of them. They sat—he, very gingerly—and laced hands on the rocker arms. Caro had vanished into the house, so they were alone on the porch.

  "Guy said you wouldn't be here for awhile,” she said.

  "The Patriarch all but gave his blessing for me to see you,” he replied as he struggled to get his breath and body under control. He didn't dare look at her for he was afraid he'd sweep her up and carry her upstairs to her bed.

  Maire was looking at his profile. “Why would he do that?” From what Guy had told her the Patriarch was adhering to the very letter of the law regarding the marriage contract between Dek and Ynez.

  Dek shrugged, using his free hand to dust away a speck of lint from his pants. “I've no idea,” he told her. “Last eve he had guards posted at my bedchamber door to make sure I didn't leave the keep.” He grinned, risked shooting her a playful look. “Not that their presence outside the door would have stopped me if I'd been brave enough to leave."

  "What?” she asked. “By scaling down the wall?"

  He leaned closer to her so only she could hear even though he knew Caro and Hank could be trusted.

  "There is a false back in the armoire,” he said. “It leads to a series of tunnels that wind down to the dungeons and beyond. The main tunnel comes out in a cave near the river."

  Maire's eyebrows shot up. “That's handy."

  "Aye, but I was afraid someone would come check on me during the night, and I was right.” He made a face. “Someone did."

  "Then they know about the secret passage."

  "Or else were afraid I'd shimmy down the trellis outside my bedchamber window."

  "They might have had someone watching there, too,” she reminded him.

  He sighed. “True.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I was so afraid I wouldn't see you for the blasted month the Patriarch is going to be here."

  "A month?” she repeated, wide-eyed.

  "Aye, I'm afraid so. He'll be here until Raahoil."

  "What is that?"

  Having forgotten his lady was a Geddynian, he explained to her about the four Elemental Festivals of Tarryn.

  "Raahoil—the Blessing of the Wind—is my favorite of the Four Major Blessing Masses because I was born within the three month span of its arc and the Wind is a male sign along with fire. The others are Çhenney, the Blessing of Fire, Dowan, the Blessing of the Earth, and Ceau, the Blessing of the Water. Raahoil and Ceau are both celebrated atop the high cliffs of Doolane two miles north of Drogh-gheay while the festivals of Dowan and Çhenney take place an equal distance inland near the extinct volcano at Aavolcaan. Participants are required to walk to the sites behind the clergy. It's sort of a pilgrimage. Raahoil, Ceau, and Dowan are held at the break of dawn but Çhenney is held well past sundown. The way is lit by thousands of t
orches placed in wrought iron stanchions and at the blessing site there is a huge cauldron blazing away. It is from that cauldron that each household must light a lantern they have brought with them. They take the fire from the Sacred Cauldron home to light a special candle that signifies the light of the gods bestowed upon the family. It is considered very bad luck if your lantern goes out before you reach home."

  "It sounds beautiful,” she said.

  "You know the Patriarch wears red ceremonial robes?” he asked. At her nod, he told her on the Festival of Çhenney, each participant wears a bright orange robe meant to represent the fire. “On Ceau, the robes are dark blue. On Dowan, they are green."

  "And on Raaoil?"

  "Yellow,” he said with a frown. “Not my best color."

  She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment and when he became aware of her sudden silence turned to look at her.

  "Is something bothering you, tarrishagh?” he asked.

  "I imagine Caro and Hank will go to the Festival. Do you think I could go, too?” she asked. “I'd stay well back, but I would like to see it."

  "I don't see why not. You have every right to be there if you wish. Want me to ask Guy if he'll pick you up?"

  "Aye,” she said.

  They were silent for a moment as they stared out across the grass to the ocean beyond the cliff. Seagulls were swooping down to the water, sailing the currents of the light breeze that was freshening the land. Their cries echoed like boisterous children.

  "How long can you stay?” she asked. “Will you be here for the noon meal?"

  "I plan on spending the night if it's all right with you,” he said softly. “I want a re-match on that last chess game. I don't care to lose so soundly, tarrishagh."

  Maire's heart swelled at the news, but she gave him a worried look. “What about the Patriarch? Will he not be expecting you back at Drogh-gheay?"

  "He didn't come right out and say it but he hinted that I had his permission if I was away overnight,” he said.

  Maire's worried look deepened. “I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

  "I think he's allowing us time together for two reasons,” he said. He thrust the thumb on his free hand into the air. “He knows I have found my Cochianglt and.... “His index finger shot up. “He can't stand Ynez.” He lowered his hand to his thigh to rub the palm vigorously on his pant leg. “Ah, I should warn you. He'll be making a trip out here to interview you."

  Maire gasped, jerking around in her chair. “He what?"

  "There's nothing to worry about,” he said, soothing her. “He wants to ascertain for himself that you are the Cochianglt. He's not an ogre, tarrishagh. Chances are he'll stay only long enough to meet you, ask a few pointed questions, and then be on his way.” At least he hoped that would be the case.

  "Oh, Deklyn, I don't know.... “she said, looking away from him. She bit her bottom lip, chewing on it.

  "Everything will be all right,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips once more. “Just answer him truthfully. Let him see what's in your heart."

  She looked around at him, fear quivering in her gaze. “What if I mess things up for us, Dek? What if my answers aren't to his liking, and he decides we can't be together?"

  "He won't,” Dek said firmly though those were his fears, as well.

  "But what if he does?” she protested, her hand jerking in his.

  "Then we will go away together and Jules can rule Tarryn,” he said. He stared into her fearful eyes. “I am not going to lose you, Maire. On my very soul, I will not!"

  A powerful gust of wind came across the lawn and washed over them.

  "See? Even the Wind god Paralda approves of our union,” he teased.

  Maire looked out over the water where white caps were beginning to form. To the west, another storm was brewing. The sky was a pale gray. Hank had told her it was the beginning of the rainy season for Tarryn and that the storms would grow increasingly more violent each month until Luanistyn—which was the same as August in Geddyn.

  "You know the old weather saw?” Hank had inquired after breakfast. He pointed at the sky. “Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor's take warning.” The morning sky had been scarlet tinged with gold.

  "You'll get used to the storms,” Dek said, thinking that was what furrowed her brow.

  Maire nodded but it was concern over the Patriarch that had her uneasy. To get her mind off such things she told him how she, Caro, and Hank had used the hidden steps behind the waterfall to climb down the cliff to reach the beach.

  It was Dek's turn to frown. “I would rather you not do that, Maire. The steps are slippery. You could fall and break an arm, a leg.” He shuddered.

  "We held onto the railing,” she said.

  "Railing? What railing?” he inquired, having no idea such a thing existed on the land he'd purchased.

  "There's a railing someone put in not too many months back,” she explained. “One of the farmers who comes by to bring me honey—oh, did I tell you he's going to help me start my own hive?"

  Dek shook his head. “No, and never mind about that. What about the farmer?"

  "He said someone put it in to get to and from the beach easily. Plenty of people trek up and down the steps,” she told him.

  "I don't know that I like people traipsing around your property, tarrishagh, and I can't see any need for them to unless.... “He narrowed his eyes. “Someone is using that egress to the beach for smuggling.” He got to his feet, pulling lightly on her hand. “Show me."

  They walked around the side of the house and to the rear of the property, following the little stream as it wound its way to the edge of the cliff. Just before the waters tumbled over the side and into the ocean below, they came to a small cave—the entrance half-hidden by lilac bushes. He used his arm to push them aside so she could duck under a low-hanging branch.

  Inside the cave the roar of the water passing overhead drowned out any other sound. It was dark but Maire found the lantern sitting on a natural shelf of stone and struck a match from a tin kept there for that purpose. Golden light chased away the darkness and Dek walked over to the broad steps that had been carved into the cliff many decades before then hunkered down to inspect the iron railing that had been driven into the cave's floor and cemented in.

  "Someone went to a lot of trouble to put this in,” he said, pulling on the simple railing that ran the distance of the steps to a small stone platform. He knew the platform was actually the floor of a tunnel that ran beyond the scope of the waterfall and down five steps to the sandy beach. At high tide, the platform would be hidden and the water covering the first few steps leading up to the cave.

  "What do you think they could be smuggling?” she asked.

  "Whatever they don't want to pay revenue on,” he muttered darkly. He stood. “I think I need to have Jules look into this. The idea of smugglers practically at your back door doesn't set well with me."

  "Do you want to go down to the beach?” she asked then the dream of them making love in the waves came at her, and she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. He must have remembered, too, for he shook his head.

  "I don't think that's a good idea, tarrishagh.” He suggested they return to the house.

  After a filling noon meal, Dek sat on the back porch while Maire and Caro shelled peas. He sat with one booted foot braced on the porch railing, the rocker tipped back as he conversed with Hank. The Baron had put the older man at ease right after their first meeting a month before and now the two of them were carrying on a lively conversation about horse racing.

  Throughout the rest of the afternoon as the sky continued to grow darker with every passing hour, Dek kept glancing at Maire. He studied her when she wasn't watching and memorized every facial expression, every little habit, and every mannerism that set her apart from other women. He etched the sight of her into his mind's eye. When she caught him staring openly at her, she winked then turned away from her conversation with Caro
to make an inquiry of him.

  "Didn't you say you had a birthday coming up?” she inquired, running her thumbnail down a pea pod.

  "Aye,” Dek answered. “The eighth of Boaldyn."

  "Boaldyn babies are said to be the happiest,” Hank observed.

  "You couldn't prove it by me,” Dek said. “At least not up until now.” He gave Maire a look that made her blush hotly.

  By the time the rains came, supper had been eaten, the dishes cleared away, Caro and Hank retiring to the little parlor with crocheting and book respectively, Dek and Maire were sitting cross-legged before a fire lighted to chase away the damp. Between them was a chess board on a low table. They were both barefoot and his shirt was untucked, unbuttoned halfway down his tanned chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  "Checkmate,” Maire said and giggled when Dek groaned.

  "Will you not let me win at least one game, tarrishagh?” he complained. He put a hand to his heart. “You are wounding my manhood."

  She shook her head as thunder made the panes in the windows shake. “I've always heard chess was a game of strategy,” she said. “You should be much better at it than me.” She paused with a hand on her queen then gave him a steady look. “Or are you letting me win?"

  He grinned like a little boy. “Now, would I do that?” He leaned back on his elbows, and as he did a glint from a bowl of sea glass caught his eye. He liked the play of the firelight catching in the shards and said as much.

  "After the storm, I'm sure I'll find more glass and shells and hopefully pieces of driftwood I can incorporate in the sculpture I'm doing for the garden,” she said.

  Dek had seen the unfinished piece and complimented her on her creativity. Her many talents never failed to impress him.

  "I wish I could go hunting along the beach with you,” he said. They both knew he needed to leave at first light and neither knew when he'd be allowed to return to Sheidaghan.

  "Would you like a glass of plum wine?” she said. She got to her feet and went over to the sideboard where a pair of crystal decanters stood.

  "It would only put me to sleep and my eyelids are heavy enough as it is,” he told her.