WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

"I'll do it,” Maire said as she took off her ever-present apron and hung it on the back of her chair. She felt like an old woman as she preceded Caro from the room, giving the older woman a smile she didn't feel as Caro left through the kitchen door.

  Straightening her shoulders, lifting her chin, she opened the front door to find Dek's wife peering at her from the interior of a fancy coach and four.

  "Well,” she heard the Baroness say in a snide tone. “There's my husband's thieving little whore."

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  Chapter Fifteen

  * * * *

  Dek was hot, tired, and needed a bath, but he couldn't wait to see the woman he loved for it had been three months since last he held her in his arms. The moment the ship had passed the cliff upon which Sheidaghan sat, he had wanted to jump overboard and swim the distance. Had Guy and Jules not physically restrained him, he might have done just that despite the very real possibility of sharks lurking in the waters. As it was, when the ship docked, the Baron was pounding over the gangplank, grabbing the first horse he saw, vaulting into the saddle and putting heels to the bewildered beast.

  "Be careful!” he heard Jules yell.

  Racing like a madman, Dek covered the ten miles in record time. As soon as the cottage came into view, he let out a whoop and urged the beast to a faster gallop. Thundering down the oyster shell drive, he saw Hank hoeing weeds at the side of the house and waved. Hank waved back then dropped the hoe to spring around the side of the cottage.

  "He's home!” Hank yelled. “Caro, the Baron is home!"

  Caro was drying the breakfast dishes and nearly dropped the plate in her hand. She put it down and with the cloth in hand raced out the back door for she saw the Baron's horse digging a furrow in the ground as its rider sawed back on the reins.

  "Should I go to get her?” Hank inquired, looking toward the little cave that held the steps down to the beach.

  "Nay, not yet,” she said. The Baron was already throwing a leg over the horse's head and sliding to the ground. She lifted her hand to him as he ran toward her.

  "Where's my Maire?” he asked and would have raced past her if she hadn't put out a hand to stop his headlong rush.

  "Your Grace, there's something you need to know,” she said.

  Dek wasn't listening. All he wanted was his lady but the look on the older woman's face gave him pause. “What's wrong?” he asked. His heart leapt up to his throat. “Is she sick?” The color drained from his face. “Is she hurt?” Once more he started into the house but Caro took his arm.

  "She's on the beach, Your Grace, but I have to tell you something first,” Caro insisted.

  "Tell me what?” he asked, impatiently.

  "Your lady-wife was here,” Caro said.

  Anger infused Dek's face. “When?"

  "A few weeks back,” Caro replied.

  "What happened?” he demanded, jaws clenched. “What did the bitch do?"

  "She didn't do nothing that we know of, but whatever she said to milady took the heart right out of her,” Caro said.

  "Aye, well, I can imagine what she said,” Dek snapped. “And believe me, she'll pay for having said it, too!” He started to turn but Caro still had her hand wrapped around his arm.

  "Your Grace, she cries all the time, now,” she said. “Hardly ever smiles and spends hours at a stretch walking the beach."

  "Alone?” Dek asked, amazed the servants would allow it.

  "She insists on it being that way,” Hank told him. “Don't want no company she says."

  "And when she comes back, she hardly ever speaks and when she does, it is with such sadness and such despair. It's as though her heart's been broken,” Caro amended.

  "We'll see about that,” he said grimly and shrugged off the servant's hand, walking with steely purpose toward the cave.

  "He'll set things to right with our lady,” Hank told his wife.

  Skipping down the steps without bothering to use the railing, pivoting on the platform and all but jumping from it to the beach below, Dek swept his gaze along the beach and when he finally spied her far down the coast, he dug his toes into the sand and starting running. His heart was thudding painfully in his chest. He could well imagine the horrible, insulting and demoralizing things Ynez might have said to cause Maire pain. He knew the bitch was an expert at hurting people. There wasn't an ounce of compassion, a flicker of kindness in her, and if she could brutally wound someone she considered an enemy nothing would stop her from doing so.

  "Maire!” he called out, unable to bear seeing her slumping shoulders as she trudged along the beach. When she turned to face him, he realized how gaunt she looked, how thin. He felt her sadness to the depths of him and when she made no move to run into the arms that ached to hold her, he knew something very bad had happened.

  Maire had spent every waking moment he had been gone to pray for his safe return. He looked hale and hearty as he raced toward her. She could not help but admire the fleetness of his movements, the incredible power in his thighs, the way his shoulders bunched. She longed to run to him, to throw herself into his arms, to feel his body pressed tightly to hers in a welcoming embrace, but she remained rooted where she stood, her body numb, her heart in pieces.

  He was breathing hard when he stopped a few feet from her—his chest heaving, his tongue coming out to lick at his lips. His gaze moved hungrily over her face, searched her eyes. Those precious lines had etched themselves between his brows.

  "Maire?” he asked almost in a whisper. He held his hand out to her—palm up.

  She took a deep breath and walked to him, slipped her hand in his.

  "Welcome home, milord,” she said. She tried to smile but her face felt frozen, as numb as the rest of her.

  He pulled her gently to him, encircled her in the comfort of his arms and laid his cheek atop her hair. “What did she say to you, tarrishagh?” he asked and her answer was not at all what he was expected.

  "That she is pregnant with the heir to the Barony,” she said in a lost, hopeless voice.

  Dek flinched as though he'd been struck by the ta'zeer's lash. Nothing she could have said could have shocked him more. He pushed her back, looking down into her face with horror. He thought he might have misheard her but the look on her face told him he had not.

  "She is with child,” Maire said.

  "She's lying,” he said. “She only said it to hurt you."

  Maire shook her head. “I don't think so."

  "That bitch Miriam put her up to it,” he said. “They've cooked up this scheme to hurt you...."

  "The Patriarch sent Miriam away only a few days after you left,” she informed him. “He sent her to Galrath."

  Dek's brows drew together. “Why? What did she do?"

  "He said she was consorting with a witch."

  His brows drew together. “That's a burning offense,” he said.

  "Aye, but to have accused her in public would have been to accuse your lady-wife, as well, since everyone knows where the Mantis went, so went the Baroness.” She reached up a trembling hand to cup his cheek. “The people know the truth of it, milord. They know your lady-wife visited the witch, but they will not accuse her in public for fear of hurting your good name."

  "The hell with my name!” he snarled. “What good is it to me if I am forced to remain with Ynez?” He shook his head violently. “She's lying. She fabricated this whole thing to hurt you because I was not here to stop her. I'll get to the bottom of it once I get to the keep. The Patriarch will make her admit she lied."

  "The Patriarch has gone. He left before your lady-wife came to Sheidaghan,” she said.

  "Aye, well, that's just as well,” he said, plowing a hand through his hair. “I wouldn't want him there when I beat the shit out of Ynez."

  She stroked his face. “Promise me you won't do anything to her, Deklyn. Lock her in her room if needs be but don't hurt her. Don't lower yourself to her level."

  "She hurt you with her damnable lie!” he pr
otested. “I should beat her black and blue and string her up by her thumbs for crow bait!"

  "If she is carrying your heir, you would never forgive yourself if you caused her to miscarry,” she reminded him.

  For a brief moment, he felt as though the rug had been snatched out from under him, and he was falling through darkness. The thought of a child, an heir—possibly a son—gave him pause but the sure knowledge he would be forced to stay with Ynez was enough to crush that thought into oblivion.

  "I'll get to the bottom of this,” he said, snaking his arm around her waist. “For now, I want you at the cottage. I don't like you being out here alone. Promise me you won't do this again.” He looked down at her. “Promise me."

  "I promise,” she said.

  He was ushering her back to the steps, and she let him. The feel of his body brushing against hers as they walked might well be the last time she experienced it. If Ynez was with child, Dek would be forced to end things between them and that was a thought beyond enduring.

  "She's lying,” he said. “You'll see."

  Maire prayed he was right. He seemed so sure. For the first time in weeks, a ray of hope flashed on the horizon of her despair.

  * * * *

  Taking the steps up the front entrance of the keep two at a time, Dek barely broke his stride as the guards leapt to pull open the doors for him. Once inside the grand entrance, his bellow could be heard throughout the keep.

  "Ynez!"

  The sound of his boot heels rang against the marble floor as he went from room to room, shouting his wife's name at the top of his lungs.

  "Ynez!"

  "I am here you loudmouthed lout."

  Dek skidded to a stop and spun around to look up the stairs. She was standing at the top with a hateful sneer plastered on her face. He had the urge to rush up the stairs and cast her down the risers, aching to hear her body thumping on every step until it lay sprawled—broken and dead—at his feet. Instead, he swung his narrowed gaze to a nearby servant and spoke low and urgently, ordering the Healer be found and brought to the Baroness’ room.

  "Aye, Your Grace!” the servant replied and hurried off.

  With a stony expression set on his handsome face Dek started up the stairs—never taking his eyes from Ynez's. The woman was smirking, standing there with her arms folded across her chest. When he was only two steps from her, he expected her to step back from the anger aimed at her, the hatred showing on his face, but instead she smiled slowly, a nasty glint in her eye.

  "So the slut told you,” she said, lifting her chin. “How did I know you'd go see her before you came to your wife?"

  Dek's hands fisted at his sides. It was all he could do not to hit her, to slap the scornful look from her face. He'd never wanted to beat her as badly as he did at that moment.

  "Get your ass into your bedchamber and strip,” he said.

  Ynez cocked her head to one side. “Didn't she tell you you've already done your job, Deklyn. I am carrying your brat, so there is no need for more Seeding."

  "I wouldn't touch you again if you were the last woman left on this world! Get your ass into your bedchamber and strip!” he thundered.

  She snorted, intending to tell him no, but then looked past him to see the Healer coming toward the stairs. An unholy light suffused her smug face. This was the moment she had been waiting for, the culmination of all the planning she and Miriam had done. Even though her lover was not there to see Deklyn Yn Baase's defeat, Ynez knew Miri would somehow know.

  "What's happening?” Daragh inquired as he reached Dek. He looked from husband to wife and back again.

  "Examine this lying bitch. She claims to be with child,” Dek growled from between clenched teeth.

  Daragh's lips parted in shock. “She's said nothing to me of it!” he protested.

  "I don't tell you everything, you quack!” Ynez scoffed. “I assure you I am, indeed, carrying the heir to Tarryn's Barony."

  Coming up the last two steps, Dek shot out his hand and gripped his wife's upper arm, spinning her around to march her toward her bedchamber. Her snicker of amusement set his teeth on edge as he dragged her along behind him. Not bothering with the handle to her door, he lifted his foot and kicked open the portal. The jamb shattered under the force, the sound of splitting wood loud.

  "You are an ill-mannered bastard,” she hissed at him, trying to jerk away from his savage hold, but he flung her none too gently toward the bed. Her thighs hit the mattress, and she reached out to grab the headboard post to keep from falling.

  "Take off your clothes, Ynez, or by the gods I'll rip them off you!” he threatened.

  "All she needs do is lift her skirt, Your Grace,” Daragh said, knowing he was dealing with the Baron and not his lifelong friend so thus the formal title. “I can examine her just as well that way."

  "Mayhap he wants to see what a real woman looks like instead of the skinny whore he...."

  She got no further for Dek lashed out a hand to enclose her throat in a brutal span. He backed her against the wall beside the night table and held her there. He slapped the palm of his free hand to the wall close to her head, coming nose to nose with her, his fury raging.

  "One day you are going to push me over the edge of my control, Ynez, and when that happens, I am going to snap your neck like a dry twig!” he told her.

  "Don't threaten me, you crazy bastard!” she hissed.

  "It's not a threat, bitch. It is a promise!” he said, his eyes shifted back and forth between hers.

  "Even though you would be killing your unborn child?” she countered.

  He lifted his hand, snagged it in the bodice of her gown, and released her neck to grab another handful of gown then rent the fabric from neckline to waist in one violent tear. Ynez shrieked with outrage, and even though she slapped at his hands, kicked at him with her slipper-shod feet, he divested her of her clothing then shoved her to the mattress. She scrambled across it, fear finally registering in her eyes. She crouched on the bed with one arm over her naked breasts and a hand covering the apex of her thighs.

  "You see? You see? He's insane!” she told Daragh. “The bastard has finally lost what little sense he had!” She yelped when Dek made a move to come at her, putting up her hands to shield her face instead of trying to camouflage her body.

  "Examine her!” he ordered the Healer.

  "Your Grace, you should leave,” Daragh said. “It is not right...."

  Dek rounded on his friend, flinging a hand behind him to point at Ynez. “Believe me when I tell you I've seen that bitch's cunt more times than I've ever cared to. Examine her and be done with it, Frazier!"

  Daragh knew better than to argue. He hurried to the bed, instructed Ynez to lie down. As she did as he bid, he went into her bathing chamber to wash his hands as quickly as he dared. Once back, he made quick work of examining her. When he discovered the undeniable truth, his gaze flicked up to hers.

  "I told you,” she said.

  Standing at the footboard of the bed with his hands wrapped around the crosspiece between posts, Dek could feel the blood pounding in his ears. When he saw Daragh look up at Ynez, watched her slow, triumphant smile begin, his grip tightened.

  "Daragh?” he questioned.

  The healer swiveled his head around. There was no need for him to give voice to the answer, the reality of the situation shown in his sympathetic eyes.

  "No,” Dek said, shaking his head slow. “No."

  "Will you tell your whore she must leave Tarryn or shall I, husband?” Ynez asked, sitting up to send him a look that scalded his very soul.

  Dek's gaze moved from his wife to the healer. He searched his friend's face, and what he saw that put a deep, abiding hurt in his heart. “Daragh?” he questioned in a voice only marginally louder than a whisper.

  "I'm sorry,” Daragh said.

  "What?” Ynez said. “No congratulations for your Baron on the impending birth of his first born, quack?” she challenged. “Is this not a glorious occasion in w
hich to rejoice?"

  Letting go of the bed rail, Dek stepped back, needing to put distance between him and the gloating woman on the bed. He took another step backwards, feeling as though he was drowning in her hateful grin.

  "I am the Baroness of Drogh-gheay,” she told him, “and the Baroness, I will remain!"

  Striving to keep from howling with the pain tearing at him, Dek spun around to run from the room, Ynez's taunting laughter following him as he thundered down the stairs—running blinding, not caring where he was going, blind to everything and everyone around him. He took the first door he saw, jerking it open, propelling himself down twisting, winding stairs that went deeper into the bowels of the keep.

  Those he passed, those who saw him made no move to intercept the Baron, to question his headlong flight. One look at his stricken face was enough to keep the stupidest among them from opening his mouth. As he blundered into the darkest, most dismal part of the underbelly of Drogh-Gheay, not even the guards stationed in the dungeon area dared to question his presence among them. Nor did the Geddynian prisoners comment when their captor stumbled past their cells to disappear into the dank, lightless depths beyond. They craned their heads to watch his passage and when there came a soul-shattered howl from those ebon recesses, they backed away from the bars to put distance between themselves and the inhuman cry that made the hair on their arms stir.

  Howling in frustration, he approached the solid barrier of a rough stone wall that blocked farther passage, Dek slapped his hands to the slimy, cold wall and dropped to his knees—his palms scraping along the jagged surface. He threw back his head and howled again—the sound even more pitiful and heart-wrenching. So filled with utter misery and hopelessness, he slammed his forehead against the stone, barely conscious of the pain that shot through his head. Twisting his flesh from side to side, grinding it against the rough face of the stone, he heaved great gulps of air into his lungs, moaning piteously with each exhalation.

  "What have you done?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Deklyn, what have you done?"

  He slid down into a heap—curling in on himself in a fetal position. His eyes were squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to keep from sobbing. He bit his lip until he tasted blood.