WindWarrior

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  * * * *

  Jules hunkered down beside his cousin, saying nothing as he held the lantern aloft. Dek turned his face from the glaring light.

  "Get that thing out of my eyes, Yn Baase,” he ordered.

  "What the hell are you doing down here? Are you all right?” Jules asked. He had come as soon as a dungeon guard had found him. Ironically enough it had been one of the Geddynian prisoners who had asked the guards to find the Baron's kin.

  "You heard?"

  "Heard what?” Jules countered. “What's going on?"

  Releasing a long sigh, Dek sat up, plowed a blood-caked hand through his hair, winced as pain ratcheted through his palm. He brought his hand down and stared at the gouges in his flesh.

  "How'd that happen?” Jules asked.

  "She's pregnant,” Dek said. “The bitch of Drogh-gheay is with child."

  Jules was staggered by the news. His mouth dropped open. “What?” he whispered.

  "Daragh examined her,” Dek said. He ran his palm along his pants, flinching as the cuts reopened. “I was there."

  "By the gods,” Jules said, slowly closing his eyes to this new development. He hung his head. “I'm sorry, Dek."

  "Aye, well, so am I,” Dek said in a tired voice. He pressed his back against the wall and pushed up from the damp floor.

  Jules got to his feet. “What are you going to tell Maire?” he asked.

  A sharp stab of pain drove through Dek's heart, but he didn't answer. He started up the corridor.

  "Dek?” Jules questioned.

  Ignoring his cousin, Dek walked past the Geddynian prisoners, the dungeon guards, and started up the stairs.

  "Dek?” Jules asked again, following behind after handing off the torch to one of the guards.

  However, the Baron made no reply. When he left the stairs and headed for the door that led to the inner courtyard, he turned to put a hand to his cousin's chest.

  "Leave me be, Jules,” he said. When Jules would have protested, the Baron of Drogh-gheay issued the order again in a voice that brooked no argument. “Leave me be and do not follow me."

  Clamping his mouth shut to the command, Jules nodded for he had no need to ask where Dek was going. Though it was storming beyond the portal, he knew there would be no way to dissuade his cousin from venturing out into the lashing rain.

  "Be careful,” was all the advice he gave as Dek closed the door behind him.

  Taking the covered walkway from the front entrance around the side of the main building to the stables, Dek stopped halfway there as lightning speared the heavens and thunder shook the wooden planks beneath his booted feet. He looked out across the night-darkened inner bailey—staring at the slanting rain that was driving down in torrents—he hated the thought of taking an animal out in weather so dangerous. Instead, he stepped out from under the walkway and into the onslaught—drenched to the bone in a matter of seconds. Gritting his teeth to the icy cold of the water running down the collar of his jacket, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking.

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  Chapter Sixteen

  It was close to midnight when the knock came at Maire's door. She sat up—heart racing. “Aye?"

  "Milady, the Baron's here,” Hank told her.

  Maire gasped and flung the covers aside. She ran to the door, opened it, took one look at Hank's face and knew it was bad news. Oblivious to her wrapper or slippers she hurried past the servant and down the stairs.

  He was standing at the front door with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, shivering. He was soaking wet, his teeth chattering. A pool of water had gathered at his feet, and he was looking down at it, watching it spread on the carpet.

  "Deklyn?” she questioned, coming toward him slowly. She put out a hand. “Milord?” The moment he lifted his head, she knew. A heavy sigh issued from her parted lips.

  "I'm sorry, Maire,” he said.

  She went to him but before she could put her arms around him, he sank to his knees on the floor. She followed him, capturing him in a tight embrace as great sobs wracked his body and a keening that made her ache to the marrow of her bones came from the very depths of his wounded soul. She held him as the sorrow tore through him. He clutched at her—his head against her breast—as wave after wave of torment leached out of him.

  "Shush,” she whispered against his drenched hair. She kissed it. “Shush, now. It will be all right."

  "No,” he cried. “No, it won't.” Heaves shook his body and his hold tightened around her.

  "Aye, it will,” she said and only Caro—who was standing in the doorway to the bedchamber, she shared with her husband—saw the light of battle gleaming in her mistress’ eye. “I promise you it will."

  "I can't leave her now,” he sobbed. “I'll never be rid of her. She's carrying my child."

  "Aye, my love,” she said gently. “I know.” She stroked his back, patted him as she would a child.

  Hank walked past her, shooed his wife back into their bedchamber, then closed the door on the misery that knelt in the great room of Sheidaghan.

  "Deklyn,” Maire said in a voice that was calm and full of authority. “You need to get out of these wet clothes before you catch your death of cold."

  "What does it matter now?"

  "It matters to me, and it matters to your people,” she stated then unwrapped her arms from around him. “Get up and come with me.” When he would have clung to her, stayed where he was, she shook him gently. “I've had all the night to think about this, Deklyn. I'll not let that woman take the only happiness you've ever known from you. Not now. Not ever."

  He looked up at her—his face ravaged from the tears he'd shed and wind-rain chaffed from his long walk through the storm. “Maire...."

  "I will not let her win,” she said then got to her feet. She held her hand out to him. “Will you?"

  He hesitated, unsure of her purpose. Searching her face, he thought he saw something there he dared not hope he would ever see.

  She stood there with her hand out to him. “She cheated at this game, Deklyn, and so to my way of thinking she does not deserve to be allowed to claim the victory. She believes herself the winner, but I mean to see her the loser in this. Take my hand, Deklyn, and proclaim her defeat."

  "Are you sure?” he asked.

  "Gods-be-damned sure,” she said with an emphatic nod. “Surer than I've ever been about anything in my life."

  "But Maire...."

  "You belong to me, Deklyn Yn Baase,” she said, cutting him off. “You are mine! You have never belonged to that witch, and you never will. I belong to you. I am yours and before this night is over, you will know this woman's love the way the gods meant for you to know it! You will have the happiness They intended you have when They put us in each other's path! Do you doubt it? Do you doubt you are mine, and I am yours?"

  Wiping a hand over his wet eyes, he shook his head. “Nay, tarrishagh, I do not doubt it. Not for a second do I doubt it."

  "Do you doubt we belong together as the gods intended?"

  "No, I never have."

  "Then take my hand and let us do the gods’ bidding,” she said firmly.

  He reached up to take her hand. The moment his hand slipped into hers, he felt the power of their love warm him. Getting to his feet, he followed behind her as she led him up the stairs.

  "We are not to be disturbed, Hank,” Maire called out. “By anyone."

  "Aye, milady,” came the reply.

  * * * *

  She led him into her bathing chamber then helped him undress, clucking her tongue over the sodden mess that was his clothing and the angry scrapes that had peeled his palms raw. She fussed over him, bathed the wounds, and made him sit at her vanity while she toweled his hair as dry as she could get the thick, curly mass. When he was no longer shivering but still reluctant to raise his head, she took his hand and led him to her bed. There she bid him lie down and with all the gentleness, sweetness, love and generosity in her heart put
her hands to his trembling body.

  "Let me love you for a change,” she whispered as she slipped out of her gingham gown, tossing it aside before crawling onto the bed, straddling him.

  "Maire.... “he began, but she leaned down to press the tips of her fingers to his lips.

  "Shush. Let your woman show you how much she loves and needs you."

  With tender, loving care, she braced her upper body on her elbows and began to rain kisses on his high forehead, his eyebrows, his nose and cheeks, his chin. Bypassing the lips that had parted to receive hers, she worked her way down the strong, lean column of his throat to the hollow where a rapid pulse beat. She spread that kiss over first one collarbone then the other then made her way down the hard plane of his pectorals to his left nipple.

  Dek sucked in a breath as her lips closed around the hard little nubbin. A spike of excitement shot down his side and pooled in his groin—causing his cock to leap in invitation. Her teeth clamped lightly on his flesh and another wave of shock rippled through him. His hands fisted in the coverlet and his breath became rapid and shallow as she licked her way from that nipple to the other then drew him between her lips.

  "Ah, Maire,” he sighed, closing his eyes to the wondrous feeling her mouth was causing. His belly quivered as she kissed her way down from his nipple to his ribs then across to the opposite ribs before scooting lower in the bed to run her lips along the tiger line of hair above his belly button. The moment her tongue slipped inside that deep concavity, he shook like a leaf in a violent breeze, twisting the coverlet fiercely in his fist.

  Her hands molded to his slender flanks as she swirled her tongue around and around his navel, dipped inside then swirled around it once again. She slid lower along the mattress until her toes touched the footboard, but she was right where—exactly where—she wanted to be.

  She kissed the tip of his cock and smiled when it flexed, the head wept, his balls tightened visibly. She flicked her tongue across the broad head, licked at the oozing slit, and then lapped him like a cat would cream all around the helmet of his shaft.

  Dek was shivering beneath her tender onslaught. She was lying between his open legs, using her arms to urge him to spread them wider. Raising his legs, he did just that then let his knees fall far apart. The moment she slid her hands beneath his rump, he thought he would ruin it all by coming, but he clamped his teeth together, willing the release not to come.

  Maire drew him into her mouth and slid her lips down his shaft. Relaxing her throat, she took him as deep as he could go. Using her tongue to press against the underside of his cock, she suckled him hard, drawing upon his flesh with a strong rhythm that had him panting.

  "Tarrishagh,” he groaned. “You are destroying me."

  Never removing her mouth from him, she looked up to find him staring down at her with rapt devotion. To her, he had never looked more handsome with his thick dark hair falling down over his forehead and curling around his ears. He had a two-day growth of beard that made him look wild and dangerous. The muscles in his broad shoulders were bunching as he twisted the coverlet in his hands. She smiled around his cock then drew harder on his shaft, fluttering her tongue just beneath the rim of the head.

  "Argh!” he said, unable to stop the climax that shot from him in a hot, thick stream that made his hips buck wildly. He strained as wave after delicious wave of glorious sensation took him over completely. Writhing beneath her, groaning as the last of the release pulsed from him, he jerked the coverlet so hard he heard it rip.

  Gasping for breath, he lay sprawled, completely drained, utterly helpless as she released him and raised up to slide her body along his. He looked up into her eyes as she closed her mouth over his. He tasted his cum on her mouth and shivered.

  If he thought he would roll over and go to sleep in his depletion, he was mistaken for she trailed her hand down his chest, over his belly to the flaccid prick and began to knead him gently—massaging him firmly, tugging him back to life. All the while, she lay beside him and kissed him, thrusting her tongue in and out of his mouth as she ran her thumb over the slit of his cock and then reached down to cup his balls.

  "Did I say destroy?” he asked. “I think you're trying to kill me, milady."

  She flicked her tongue over his lips then pressed her mouth hard to his, giving him the kind of kiss no other woman ever had. It was a kiss that took his breath away, a kiss that said the woman bestowing it had full ownership of him and could do with him whatever she liked. With her hand rubbing his cock, her foot sliding along the inside of his calf, the sweet curls between her legs grazing his hip, he would soon be as hard as steel in her knowing little hand.

  He moved so quickly she let out a yelp but before she could say anything, he had her pinned beneath him, pushing her legs apart with his knees, slamming his mouth down on hers—claiming her as she had claimed him, branding her his possession as she had proclaimed him hers. He thrust deep with his tongue and ground his hips against hers, dragging his steely cock along her wet folds. His hands were beneath her—his fingers digging into her soft flesh—as he hefted her up to impale her on his shaft.

  Maire moaned and undulated beneath him as his cock drove deep. She lifted her legs to cage him against her, digging her fingers into the flesh of his back as he increased the ferocity of his kiss. He pushed hard inside her. Withdrew. Pushed harder still until the headboard was striking the wall. He dragged his mouth from her lips, his hovering mere inches above hers.

  "Tell me you want me,” he growled.

  "I want you,” she responded, her nails raking lightly over the muscles of his back.

  "Tell me you need me."

  "I need you, Deklyn Yn Baase."

  His voice broke. “Tell me you love me."

  "With all my heart and soul and being do I love you and only you, and it will be you and only you for as long as I draw breath and even into the world beyond,” she pledged.

  He made a soft sound that surely came from deep within him, and he thrust into her with every ounce of his pent up desire.

  * * * *

  He wasn't there to break the lovers apart, but he was there to fetch Deklyn back to the keep no matter what it took. The matter at hand desperately needed the Baron and when Jules came riding hell-bent for leather down the oyster shell drive, he had the look of a very determined man stamped on his unsmiling face.

  Long before he recognized the rider, Hank had seen the dust cloud following in the steed's wake. He stood on the back porch undecided, debating whether he should go up the stairs to awaken his overlaird. Given the situation, a man racing toward the cottage at breakneck speed couldn't be bringing good news.

  "Whoever it is, is riding like a bat out of torment,” Caro said, shielding her eyes to the early morning sun.

  "I believe it is Captain Jules,” he told his wife.

  "Maybe he's coming to tell him the bitch fell down the stairs and broke her evil neck,” Caro suggested.

  "No such good luck,” Hank grumbled. The matter became a moot point and the decision made for him for the rider was, indeed, Jules and the captain had reached the cottage, dragging his mount to an abrupt stop before flinging a leg over the horse's head, tossing the reins to Hank.

  "He's here?” Jules asked, striding forward.

  "He is, Captain."

  "With her?"

  Hank nodded as he led the mount to the porch to tie the reins to an upright hitch.

  "Are they up?"

  "No, milord. They're still sleeping,” Caro replied for her husband. “They had a late night of it."

  Jules grimaced. “I'm afraid I've news that can't wait until he wakes,” he said then left the servants standing on the porch. He headed for the stairs, stamping down the impulse to take the treads two at a time. Since he had helped carry the furniture into Maire's room, he knew precisely which one was hers and made a beeline for the door. Listening at the portal, he heard no sound beyond the panel. He took a deep breath. Pausing with his hand up to knock, he t
hought better of it and simply opened the door with breath held. There was no need to wake Maire if it could be helped but neither did he want to intrude if she and Baron were involved in intimacy.

  Dek opened his eyes as the door opened. He looked into his cousin's face, frowned, and then eased his arm from beneath Maire's head, careful not to wake her. She sighed, but did not move as he gently left the bed—as naked as the day he was born.

  Jules’ gaze leapt from his cousin's nakedness, and he stepped back, turning from the door to look back down the staircase. He heard rustling in the room as Dek dressed then looked around when the door softly closed. “I wouldn't have come had it not been important,” he said in his defense.

  "Downstairs,” Dek said, cocking his chin toward the stairs. He was carrying his boots—still wet from his long walk to Sheidaghan.

  Gaining the great room, Dek sat down on a chair to draw on his boots. “Tell me."

  "Prince Nathan has been assassinated."

  Dek paused with one boot on and a foot halfway in the second. He looked up. “When?"

  "Right after we set sail from Geddyn. I don't know why the news is just reaching us,” Jules replied. “Apparently his council had had enough of his shit and considered there was no way they'd ever change his mind about ending the war. Our spy at the castle says good old Nate was slipped an unhealthy dose of Maiden's Briar with his nightly meal."

  "Bad way to die,” Dek said with a wince as he finished pulling on his boot.

  "You know the old saying: Ny smoo vees er y tailley, ny strimmey vees yn eeck,” Jules stated.

  "The more on the tally, the heavier the payment,” Dek translated. “It's true the bastard had a lot for which to pay."

  "So, now, the council has set up an interim government and is suing for peace. Baron Wynth Ralston is temporarily in command until democratic elections can be held.” Jules scratched his cheek. “The Tribunal needs you there to co-sign the treaty alongside Ralston and perhaps speak to their newly seated Tribunal."

  Dek tucked his lip between his teeth then gave Jules a long look. “Does everyone at the keep know about the pregnancy?"