WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "A messenger arrived from Geddyn,” Jules said. “We will be leaving on the evening tide."

  "Why?” Maire queried, feeling fear settle like a rock in the pit of her stomach.

  "Your king suffered a heart attack three nights ago and has died. The prince has ascended the throne and as his first action launched a new offensive in the north. We lost an entire platoon before the regiment could turn him back."

  Thinking of the man who had once come to the field hospital where she worked to speak to his injured soldiers, Maire remembered King Phelan. He had been a warm and generous man—quick to smile and equally quick to cry when a young cavalryman had succumbed to his wounds while speaking to his king. She would mourn for that lost man and pray for the hot-headed son who had been chomping at the bit to take over for several years.

  "This does not bode well for the peace Dek hoped to achieve before autumn,” she said.

  "No,” Jules agreed. “Prince Nathan is a stupid shit with delusions of grandeur dancing in his pointed little head."

  "But he's no tactician, and I doubt King Phelan's commanders will listen to his crap for long. He lucked out this time, catching our platoon unawares. When Dek arrives, we'll send his troops screaming back to Ghraih with their tails between their legs. Then the commanders will take the initiative once they see their prince intends to prolong the war just to make a name for himself in the history books,” Guy offered.

  "Don't worry about escorting us home to Sheidaghan,” Hank said. “We'll take the carriage if that's all right with you. I know you men have packing to do."

  "That would be a help, Hank,” Guy admitted. He wrapped his big hand around Maire's arm. “Don't you worry about Dek, lass. We'll see to his safety."

  "And I've got men posted along the coast to catch the smugglers so don't be worried about that,” Jules injected.

  "Smugglers?” Caro echoed, glancing at her husband. “What smugglers?"

  "Never you mind,” Hank said. “It's being seen to."

  Maire was trembling but she braved a smile for the Yn Baase brothers, hugged them both goodbyes, and begged them to be careful. She watched them go with a heart filled with fear and eyes swimming with tears.

  "I doubt he'll be able to tell you goodbye, milady,” Hank said. “Mayhap we should get on home unless you want to go to the feast at Drogh-gheay."

  "By the gods, no!” Maire said, horrified at the suggestion. She had no intention of going to the keep as long as Ynez was Baroness.

  "Then let's get a move on. My old joints are starting to ache and that usually bodes another of them spring storms moving in,” Hank complained.

  Despite Hank's desire to beat a hasty retreat, people stopped them to speak to Maire, to welcome her, to smile knowingly, to simply reach out to touch her. Word had spread among the common folk of Tarryn who she was, and what she meant to their Baron. They had already embraced her before she ever stepped a foot beyond Sheidaghan.

  "A pleasure to meet you, milady."

  "The grace of the gods be with you, milady."

  "We'll be watching out for ye, lass."

  Although she was pleased by the reception she was getting from those she was meeting for the first time that day and from the greetings of those who had ventured out to her cottage, Maire was worried sick over Dek's departure. Her only consolation was he would not be forced to go to his lady-wife's unwelcome bed.

  * * * *

  Dek was like a sore-tailed cat in a room full of men in jackboots. He had been unable to break away for even a half hour to ride to Sheidaghan to bid farewell to his lady. He had sent her a hastily scribbled missive but he wished with all his soul, he could hold her, kiss her, and tell her he loved her one more time. It wasn't that he worried over his fate. He knew in his heart, he would return all in one piece with a victory in hand. He simply didn't want to leave her. If he could have taken her with him, he would have, but he feared for her safety on the high seas for it was rumored Prince—nay it was King Nathan, now—had a heavily armed ship scouring the seas for the Céirseach. He didn't want to risk her getting hurt should that ship fire upon his.

  As the Céirseach neared the cliff upon which Sheidaghan had been built, he positioned himself at the rail, his heart thundering in his chest. Just to see the lights, to maybe get a glimpse of her through a window would have to sustain him until he returned. The light mist that had begun to fall at Drogh-gheay harbor was now a light rain but if the lightning flashing in the distance was any indication, the storm would be fierce by midnight.

  "Dek,” Guy said softly and pointed to the lone figure standing at the cliff's edge.

  "Tarrishagh,” Dek whispered.

  There was no mistaking Maire as she stood there wrapped in an oilskin coat. She raised her hand to him.

  "I love you!” he shouted across the water, not sure if she had heard him but the sailors certainly had. They stopped what they were doing and looked to the cliff. They heard her say ‘I love you, too!'

  "I'll be back as quick as I can!” he yelled. The ship was already well past the spot where she was standing, and he moved down the rail to keep her in sight. “I'll be back!"

  She nodded and waved her hand back and forth over her head. “Dy jed oo slane!"

  Her voice was faint but it came to him like a blessing, and he felt tears gathering in his eyes. She had bid him come safely home in the language of his people.

  The rain took that moment to begin falling in earnest, slashing into Dek's face so he could no longer see her. The Céirseach was running with the wind—moving quickly along the coast—and the cliff was behind them all too soon. Though he ran to the stern, he saw nothing but rain and darkness.

  "I love you,” he whispered, wiping at the moisture running down his face. “Wait for me."

  "Come home soon,” Maire whispered as the running lights of the ship disappeared in the rain.

  * * * *

  Two days after Dek's leaving for Geddyn, Maire, Caro and Hank had just sat down to their noon meal on the back porch when the Patriarch, his archbishops and a bevy of AnÉilvéis mercenaries appeared at the front door. With her heart in her throat, Maire curtsied to the religious leader of Dek's people and invited him into the cottage, holding the door wide for him to enter.

  "Do I smell fried chicken?” the pudgy man asked, sniffing the air.

  Maire's face turned red. “Aye, Your.... “She couldn't remember the title she'd heard Dek call the man. All the color vanished from her warm cheeks. “Ah Your ... Your...."

  "You are not of our religion as yet, dearling, so it is understandable you would not know our proper title. It is Your Beatitude, although we have always thought that such a pompous title,” he said kindly then smiled. “Might you have a piece of that delicious-smelling chicken available for a man who—we do hate to admit it—has never met a food we did not like.” He patted his large belly and sighed.

  Maire giggled at his woebegone expression. “I would be honored if you would join us for our noon meal, Your Beatitude.” She looked past him to the other four men.

  "Never mind them, they have already eaten as have we but a glass of something cold and a drumstick would not go amiss,” the Patriarch said. He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “We are a growing boy, dearling.” He looked over his shoulder. “Take a seat in the rockers, boys. We might be awhile."

  She led him through the great room and kitchen and onto the porch, surprised that both Caro and Hank had vanished—along with their plates and glasses of iced tea. She bid him sit then poured him a glass of tea.

  "What a lovely garden you have started,” he said. He took a sip of the tea, nodded appreciatively and accepted a plate with two drumsticks. “We are told you have a way with healing. Healer Daragh has sung your praises to us."

  "It is a gift with which I was bestowed, Your Beatitude. I try to use it wisely,” she answered, too nervous to eat until he asked for an ear of corn, a large spoonful of mixed greens before waving his fingers at her and telling
her to eat.

  "There are those who use that gift most unwisely,” he said. “Witches and the like.” He took a healthy bite of drumstick and rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. “That is superb."

  "Thank you, Your Beatitude,” she said. She had lost her appetite and the food tasted like cardboard in her mouth, but she managed to swallow it without too much difficulty.

  "Witchcraft is against the tenets of our religion and those who practice it are excommunicated,” he said. “Is it the same in your religion, dearling?"

  She felt a trill of fear rush through her. “Your Beatitude, I do not...."

  The Patriarch put a hand on her arm. “Dearling, we know you are not of that bent. We know all there is to know about you. You are a credit to your parents and to the gift the gods saw fit to give you. We are merely making conversation.” He dove into the mixed greens, once again sighing with heartfelt pleasure.

  She doubted this man did anything for the mere doing of it. He had an ulterior motive behind his talk of witchcraft, and she hoped there had been no talk of her delving into the black arts. His next words eased some of her trepidation.

  "Everyone to whom we have spoken has nothing but good things to say of you, Maire,” he said. “You are said to be a warm and caring woman, a compassionate woman who is generous with her time and talent.” He finished the first drumstick then picked up the second.

  "I do what I can, Your Beatitude,” she said softly.

  "Just yesterday we had a line of people wandering into and out of Deklyn's office speaking with us on your behalf. It was a most heartening thing to see and such a pleasure to hear the Cochianglt of their beloved Baron has the people's approval."

  Maire's heart thudded hard in her chest. Dek's people had gone to see the Patriarch concerning her?

  "We invited them to speak with us,” he said as though he knew she wondered why people were discussing her. “We wanted to know their opinions before we came out to ascertain for ourselves the merits of the woman Deklyn loves so dearly."

  "As I love him, Your Beatitude,” she said.

  "We know you do, but we must ask,” he said, taking up the ear of corn. “Do you hold even the smallest amount of anger toward him for his raping of you?"

  Maire's eyes widened. “Dek did not ravish me!” she said then put a hand to her mouth for she had dared to raise her voice and had not shown respect to the holy man.

  "Perhaps I should have said forced seduction upon you?” the Patriarch countered, chewing the corn kernels slowly.

  "He did not force me, Your Beatitude,” Maire said. “Seduced, aye, but there was no force involved."

  "Not by him, perhaps, but not so with his friend?"

  She realized the Patriarch knew more about that night than Dek realized he did. “We do not speak of that person, Your Beatitude. He has left this world."

  "And met his judgment,” the Patriarch stated. “One he deserved, I am sure.” He laid the bare cob down on his plate, took up his fork and scooped up a large portion of the greens. He paused with the fork almost to his mouth. “Deklyn did not tell us of that night. We learned of it from the clergymen who cared for you afterwards.” His pudgy eyes beamed with brightness. “We do our homework, dearling."

  "I can see you do,” she agreed.

  The greens consumed, the Patriarch looked wistfully at the bowls of vegetables but shook his head at the offer of more.

  "Archbishop Mongey insists we need to lose a pound or two.” He sighed deeply. “Or forty or fifty."

  More like four times that much Maire thought but offered him another glass of tea which he accepted.

  "We believe,” he said, struggling to get up, “that rocker there has our name upon it.” He waddled over to the chair and sat down gingerly, the frame groaning beneath his corpulence.

  Maire held her breath—praying the rocker wouldn't break or the rush seat split beneath his weight. She joined him when he patted the arm of the rocker beside his.

  "Such a lovely yard to have and is that a creek we spy down there?"

  "It is, Your Beatitude. There is a waterfall, as well."

  "Ah, well, there was a time when we would have walked down to see that sight for ourselves but our knees are not what they once were,” he said then looked over at her. “Regarding this matter of witchcraft...."

  Maire felt the breath catch in her throat.

  "It has come to our attention that the companion of the Baroness has been seen communing with a practitioner of the forbidden arts on several occasions,” he said. “We learned of it just this morn. The woman in question and the Baroness were nowhere to be found when we sent for them, so we could discuss the matter. We must wonder if they might not be visiting this evildoer even as we speak."

  Maire knew what the clergy of her own religion did with witches and those who trucked with them. To hear the Patriarch's suspicions regarding Dek's wife indulging in the nefarious craft was frightening.

  "What will you do if what you suspect is true, Your Beatitude?’ she asked, a sour taste bubbling up her throat.

  The Patriarch shifted in the chair—the frame cracking loudly as he did—and gave her a steady look. “Dearling, we cannot accuse the Baroness of indulging in wickedness for to do so would be disastrous for Deklyn. It would mean we would be forced to bring her before the Archtribunal in Bergen to be tried for heresy. That is where the cathedral and the seat of our power are located.” His expression was serious. “Likewise, to accuse her companion—a woman with whom she is in nearly constant company—would be to cast suspicion on the Baroness, though we are sure the people know there has been communion between the three. We are afraid we must refrain from handing out the punishment the companion justly deserves."

  Dek had told Maire about the woman he called the Mantis. “What judgment would that be, Your Beatitude?” she asked.

  "Burning at the stake, dearling,” he said, his face hard and eyes cold. “But to do that, the Baroness’ name would be invoked, and that we cannot have. Not that we care overly much about her, but we do have great affection for Deklyn and to besmirch his family name would be a terrible blow to him. Therefore.... “He spread his pudgy hands. “We have decided to do Deklyn a favor and remove the companion from the Baroness’ company and install her at Galrath."

  Maire's eyes widened. “The convent in Serenia?” she asked with a gasp.

  "Fortunately, there is only one Galrath,” he stated.

  "And the witch?” she asked. “The one you believe Dek's lady-wife has visited?"

  "Regrettably, that poor soul is already lost and her days on this earth limited. We have sent men to bring her to us."

  "Your Beatitude, please.... “she began but the corpulent clergy held up a restraining hand.

  "The punishment of the Baroness must be left up to her husband. Knowing Deklyn as we do, our guess would be he will remand her to her chambers in solitude once again for the poor lad has no heart for beating her as she so richly deserves. Not that we are condoning the abuse of a wife. We are not. We are merely saying that some deserve retribution. Beyond that, barring any unforeseen problems, we intend to give our blessings to Deklyn for this union between you and him when he returns. We have ascertained that you are, indeed, the Cochianglt. You are a fitting bond-mate for a man who deserves so much more than the evil that has been handed him over the years. The two of you have our express approval, and we look forward to performing the Joining between you.” When she would have spoken, he shook his head. “We know what you wish to say, Maire, but the decision regarding the heretic and the companion has already been made. Nothing you say will sway us. Be happy that we have, hopefully, nipped in the bud any evil the witch might attempt to set into motion that would keep you and the Baron apart."

  Long after the Patriarch had taken his leave, Maire walked along the beach, staring out across the waves. There was nothing she could do to save neither the witch's life nor anything she could say to keep the Baroness’ companion from being sent to the living
hell that was Galrath convent. The Patriarch had made that clear to her.

  "Be happy that we have, hopefully, nipped in the bud any evil the witch might attempt to set into motion that would keep you and the Baron apart."

  Maire knew in gifted hands witchcraft actually worked. She had seen many an old woman wield powers no Healer ever could. Whether for good or evil, there were ancient ways certain things could be accomplished outside the realm of modern medicine. She had also heard of terrible things, evil things witches had set into motion that were unstoppable.

  "Be happy that we have, hopefully, nipped in the bud any evil the witch might attempt to set into motion that would keep you and the Baron apart."

  Shivering, Maire sat down on the beach, digging her bare feet into wet sand. She locked her arms around her legs and put her chin on her knees. The fear that Dek's wife had already used the black arts to hurt him was something she had to consider.

  * * * *

  "Milady?” Caro said as she came into the sewing room where Maire was finishing up the embroidery on a confirmation robe. “You have a visitor."

  It had been three weeks since the Patriarch had come to call. Not having heard the jangle of harness or clop of hooves, Maire didn't think the clergy had returned. She clipped the thread she'd just tied into a knot on the underside of the fabric and looked up at Caro with a smile on her face. One look at the older woman's pale countenance, clutched hands and worried eyes, she knew there was a problem.

  "Who is it?” she asked, laying the embroidery aside.

  "Her,” was all Caro had to say.

  Maire frowned. She knew sooner or later Dek's wife would come, but she had hoped to put off the confrontation for as long as possible.

  "She came with only one soldier,” Caro said.

  "That's because she knows she has nothing to fear from me,” Maire said. She got up from her chair. “Would you and Hank go out to the little cottage while she's here?” she asked. “I would like to keep this between me and her."

  Caro looked as though she would protest but nodded. “Want me to show her in?"