Frederick Nellis had known all along what would happen as soon as the Jarl found out about the fight. He should have stopped the thing from ever beginning, but it was too late now. He nodded his acceptance of what his Jarl sought and headed for the training room.
“Duncan,” Kaelan said, trying to shake off the men holding him. “The bastard is lying. He made improper advances to her else she would not have mentioned it to me."
The Jarl held up a staying hand. “That matter is settled. ’Tis the fighting that is the issue now. You knew better."
Nick Cree would remember that day for as long as he lived. He'd never seen a man whipped before and would never have dreamed he'd ever see royal flesh seared by the lash. Even as the men holding Kaelan Hesar walked him to a thick oak tree and tied the young man to it, could Nick believe he was actually going to witness such a thing. The ripping of the prince's shirt-exposing a broad, tanned back-set Cree's teeth on edge even before the Master-at-Arms stepped back, unraveled the whip and let the first lash fly.
The prescribed punishment for fighting was ten lashes. Kaelan Hesar took every one of them without ever uttering a word. By the time they cut him down, his back and shoulders were criss-crossed with raw, red welts-some dripping blood onto his cords. Men stood silently watching the young prince shrug painfully out of his torn shirt and throw it away, wincing as they saw the agony such an action caused the young man.
“If you're expecting an apology from me, Duncan,” they heard him tell the Jarl, “you'll not get it."
Duncan nodded. “I expected nothing from you, little brother.” He pointed toward the Keep. “Leave us and go to your room. You will stay there until I decide you may leave. And I'm warning you, Kaelan: disobey the rules again and I'll tack on another ten lashes if I have to have you whipped again, is that clear?"
Kaelan ground his teeth. “Perfectly!"
* * * *
News of Kaelan's punishment spread like wildfire throughout the Keep. Everyone knew he was in his room; the Jarl had sent the Healer to see to his brother's back. And just as the inhabitants of the Keep knew of the fight, they knew well the reason behind it.
Eyes followed Gillian and her sisters and sister-in-law as the four women tried to gain audience with the Jarl. That they were denied was telling. But their stepmother was, miraculously, granted permission to speak with the great man. While the younger women waited outside the doors of the Great Hall, Duke Dakin Cree was in route to Prince Kaelan's chambers.
“He can not have visitors, Your Grace,” the guard Duncan had posted outside Kaelan's door informed the Chalean Ambassador.
“Might I inquire why he can not?” Dakin asked, his concern showing on his florid face. The man had defended his most precious of daughters and had paid a dear price for having done so. The least he could do was to thank him.
“The Jarl's orders, Your Grace,” the guard apologized.
Dakin nodded, turning away, then stopped. He looked back at the guard. “Between you and me, sir: do you believe Duke de Viennes’ version or the prince's?"
The guard never blinked. “I believe Prince Kaelan, milord."
Duke Cree smiled. “So do I. Will you tell him as much?"
“Aye, milord!” the guard agreed.
* * * *
“Something should have been done long ago,” Gillian's stepmother reminded her lover.
“I know,” Duncan sighed. He raked his fingers through his dark hair. “You did what you could; the fault lies with that silly twit of a brother of mine!"
Elga smiled. Aye, she thought, it does. She'd talked to Gillian, telling the girl Kaelan was far too old for her, hinting at a better betrothal, but the girl had merely stood there and listened politely, never once taking the lecture to heart. Elga knew she wouldn't. The fault lay with Kaelan Hesar; not an impressionable teenage girl.
“You realize the entire Keep will be behind him in this folly, now,” Elga hinted. She cocked her head to one side as he turned to stare at her. “The man sacrificed flesh and blood for his maiden, Duncan."
The Jarl groaned. “I'd not thought of it in that light.” He resumed his pacing, thrusting his nervous fingers through his thinning hair. “But a woman surely would."
“Of course, there is a way out of this,” Elga said slyly.
Duncan stopped his pacing. “There is?” he asked, hurrying to her. “What?"
Elga tapped her fingernail against the pearly white surface of her front teeth. “Did you not tell me the Depository was low on funds due to the floods this past summer?"
“Aye,” Duncan drawled. “What of it?"
“And since the only way you have to replace those used funds that were needed to help the farmers is with a good bride price for Kaelan's hand in Joining...” She paused, smiling.
“That's not the only way...” Duncan stopped. He saw her line of thinking. “A good bride price,” he whispered.
“From a wealthy family willing to overlook a young man's momentary lapse of good judgment in courting a child half his age."
Duncan drew her down onto the settee with him. “Have you such a family in mind?” His smile was predatory.
Gillian's stepmother smiled. “There are several, my love,” she answered.
The Jarl's smile slowly faded to be replaced with a fierce scowl. “But how are we going to make Kaelan ask for another woman's hand?"
“We don't need to,” she replied.
“But I don't see how we can make him do what he is not inclined to do, Elga.” Duncan's face showed his confusion.
“As Jarl,” Elga said in a voice like that of a parent to a small child, “you need only issue a royal edict. Kaelan dare not refuse. He may be your brother, but he is also your subject. And as such, he is subject to your wishes, is he not? If he disobeys, you can send him to prison, can you not?"
“Aye, but I never would.” He smiled nastily. “But Kaelan doesn't know that, does he?"
“Then it is settled,” Elga said, standing up.
“What is settled?” Duncan rose slowly.
“You shall issue a royal edict stating it is necessary to offer Kaelan's hand in Joining to satisfy the depletion of the Depository funds. You'll show great remorse at having to do this, but it must be done if the Keep is not to be bankrupted this winter."
“But how will I decide on the right bride for him?"
Elga grinned. “That's the easiest part, my love. We simply sell your brother to the highest bidder!"
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Chapter Fourteen: Holy Dale Manor
“Gillian, listen to me!"
“No!” she yelled. “Just leave me be, Hesar!” She snatched up her half-dry wool coat and ran out the door.
“GET BACK HERE!” Nick shouted. He cast an apologetic look at Kaelan, then tore after his sister. The sound of his heavy footfalls tripping down the stairs shook the walls.
Kaelan's shoulders slumped and he eased himself to the bed. He thrust out his right leg, massaged his thigh where the pain always dwelt when the weather turned cold. Listening to the angry voices coming up from below stairs, he knew Nick had caught Gillian before she could venture out into the blizzard. Lifting his head, he stared at the window where snowflakes clung to the cracked glass. It was night-most likely close to midnight-and beyond the portal was a darkness almost as deep as the agony in his soul.
“I took the bloody coat away from her!” Nick snarled as he came stomping back into the chamber. He heaved the offending garment across the room. “But she refuses to come back upstairs!"
“Leave her be, Nick,” Kaelan sighed. “She'll come up when the cold gets to her."
“Stubborn little twit,” Nick proclaimed. He plopped down in the straight back chair. “Consider yourself lucky you didn't....” He stopped as Kaelan turned an anguished face to him. Nick shook his head. “By the gods, but you still love her, don't you?"
Kaelan turned away from the sympathy he saw in Nick's eyes. “With all my heart,” was the quiet rep
ly.
Nicholas Cree sat there for a long moment, just watching the slumped posture of his companion. A part of him warned him not to dredge up the past; that it would do no one any good if he did. But another part of him was torn between a need to know what had really happened that summer night and the desire to understand why it had happened at all.
“There's been no other, milord,” Nick said softly. “I doubt there ever will be."
Kaelan lowered his head. “Another sin for which I have to atone."
“When Elga came to me,” Nick said, “and told me what you had said to her, I wanted to come after you."
A faint smile touched Kaelan's lips. “You should have."
Nick looked down at the floor. “Would it have changed anything?"
“No.” The one word was a heartbreak of a whisper.
Hurt passed over Nick's broad face. “Why, milord? Just tell me why."
Kaelan rubbed his thigh, kneading the bone-deep pain that plagued him. He stared across the room: past the peeling wallpaper, the mildewed wood, the cracked plaster. Not seeing any of it, but rather the magnificence of his brother, the Jarl's, bedchamber where pure gold and crystal fixtures vied with the finest Chrystallusian silk and Chalean lace to adorn Duncan's sleeping quarters. If he but drew in a breath deep enough, he thought he might could smell Frieda's perfume and the incense his brother's wife always burned there.
“Duncan always hated me,” Kaelan said, remembering a childhood full of slights and cruel practical jokes. “I would imagine he still does."
Nick looked up from his contemplation of the scuffed bare wood floor. “You're never mentioned at Court, milord."
A soft, self-contemptuous laugh came from the Viragonian prince. “Out of sight; out of mind, eh, Nicky?"
“There are those of us who remember you and still speak well of you."
Surprised, Kaelan looked around. “Who?"
“Gunter. Me. Our father.” He shrugged. “My brother, Ruan.” He raised his chin. “We might not have understood why you did what you did, but we don't condemn you for it, either.
“Gillian does,” Kaelan reminded him with a hurt look.
Nick lifted his hands as though to ask: who can tell what a woman is likely to do?
Kaelan shook his head. “I did the one thing I swore I would never do.” He returned his gaze to the far wall.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fifteen: Five years and nine months earlier: Tempest Keep
“No."
Duncan looked up from his writing desk. “I beg your pardon?"
“I said no."
The Jarl leaned back in his chair. “Did you hear me give you a choice, Kaelan?"
Kaelan Hesar stared his brother down, knowing Duncan was not of the bent to keep eye contact with someone he knew he was misusing. When the Jarl looked away, Kaelan nodded. “Who put you up to this, Duncan? De Viennes?"
Angry that he could not maintain the posture of authority, Duncan threw his pen down and pushed back from the desk. “No one runs the Court, but me!” He got up and strode heavily to the mantle to retrieve his pipe.
“You couldn't possibly have come up with so grand a scheme on your own, Duncan,” Kaelan scoffed. “You're not that intelligent."
Duncan had been about to light his pipe from a blazing piece of fat lighter, but stilled, jerking his head around to glare at his brother. He straightened and pointed the stem of his pipe at Kaelan. “Insult me once more and I'll have them take the hide of your back piece by bloody piece!” He slammed the pipe back into its rack. “I am tired of your disrespect, boy!"
“Boy?” Kaelan hooted. “I am two years your junior, Duncan!"
“And I am also your Lord and Master or do you still, after nearly three years, conveniently forget I am Jarl?” Duncan roared.
“I've not forgotten,” Kaelan snarled. “Nor are you likely to ever let me do so!"
Duncan's eyes narrowed. “Be careful how you speak to me, Kaelan Hesar. I grow tired of your insolence."
The younger man flung his head back, the dark sweep of his raven hair flying away from his forehead. He stared at his brother. “Insolence?” he questioned with disbelief. “Insolence, my arse!” he snapped.
Lady Frieda Hesar glanced at Kaelan. A tremulous smile hovered on her pale lips. “Good eve, Kaelan,” she said. She cast a look at her husband's stiff back, then left.
“By the gods, but I hate that woman!” Duncan sneered from between clenched teeth.
“And yet you'd have me shackled to one I detested, as well?” Kaelan growled. “At least Frieda is good-natured."
Duncan turned and fixed his brother with a look that brooked no misunderstanding. “My Jarl chose Frieda Reghur for me to wed. I did not love the drudge; I did not even like the bitch; and I cannot abide her to this very day, but I did as the Jarl ordered and Joined with her.” He moved away from the fireplace and jabbed an angry thumb at his chest. “It was my duty, my obligation to my Jarl, that shackled me to Frieda Reghur. I had no say in the matter and even had I dared to voice an objection, Father would have laughed it away!"
“You are not Father,” Kaelan reminded him.
“NO, BUT I AM JARL!” Duncan thundered. He strode to his brother and grabbed Kaelan's arm. “AND YOU, JUST LIKE ME BEFORE YOU, WILL DO AS YOUR JARL DEMANDS!"
“You'll see me as unhappy as you, is that it?” Kaelan asked, shrugging off Duncan's hand.
“I,” Duncan said in a low, deadly voice, “will see you do your duty to Virago, Prince Kaelan."
Kaelan's eyes flashed dangerously. “There are other ways to restore the monies to the Depository, Duncan, and you know that! Binding me to a woman I neither want nor desire should be the last choice."
“You will do as you are told,” Duncan stressed, his own eyes as cold as the snow on the Serenian Alps.
The two men stood there-nose to nose-staring at one another. The clock ticked on the mantle; the fire snapped in the hearth; the old Keep's timbers settled now and again with a pop and groan. Outside, a wind had risen and was skirting along the eaves, pressing leaves against the window panes.
“You will do as you are told,” the Jarl repeated, his gaze shifting among the golden flecks in his brother's dark orbs.
Kaelan's jaw clenched tightly as did his fists. “Don't count your money before it's paid into the coffers, Duncan,” was all he said before spinning around and stalking to the door.
“What does that mean?” Duncan sneered. When his brother did not answer, but jerked the door open instead and flung it back with enough force to crack the plaster upon which it hit, Duncan's long stride took him to the gaping doorway. “WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN, KAELAN?” he shouted after his brother's retreating back.
* * * *
“But I don't understand,” Gillian said. She followed behind Kaelan, her arm tight in his grip.
“Just change your clothes,” he ordered as he continued on down the corridor toward her room. He looked around them, then lowered his voice. “Don't tell anyone what we're about, Gillian.” He shook her. “Do you understand me? No one!"
“But, Kaelan...” Gillian gasped as she was jerked up to him and his mouth swooped down to claim hers in a heady kiss that made her toes curl. When he released her, he set her from him and gave her a warning look.
“Meet me at the Farthane Bridge at eight o'clock and make sure no one sees you leaving the Keep."
“Farthane Bridge,” she repeated. “Aye, but..."
“Tell no one, Gillian,” he stressed, then spun around, heading for his own chamber.
“Kaelan?” she called after him, but he'd already entered his chambers. She stood where she was, worried. He had seemed so cold, so furious when he'd found her in the stables. She rubbed her arm where he had taken hold.
“We're leaving,” he'd said. “Go put on your riding clothes."
He'd dragged her out of the stable and up the servants’ stairs, cautioning her not to speak as they went. She doubted anyone
had seen them anyway.
“Kaelan, you're frightening me!” she'd whimpered as she had looked up into his stony face.
“I'll not let anyone tear us apart, Gillian,” he'd said, cryptically. “No one!"
“Who do you mean?” she'd asked as they climbed the stairs.
He'd stopped and turned her toward him, gripping her shoulders in a hold that was almost painful. “I'll never hurt you, Gillian,” he said. “Nor will I ever allow anyone else to hurt you!"
Before she could question his strange statement, he had continued on up the stairs, propelling her along in his wake.
“What is happening?” Gillian asked. She slouched against the wall, her heart hammering in her chest. Had some man asked the Jarl for her hand? The mere thought of something like that having happened jerked her away from the wall to rigid attention.
Surely that had not happened! Fear gripped her very soul. She would not allow herself to be parted from Kaelan.
There was only one person in the entire Keep who knew everything that went on there. If a betrothal request had been made, that person would know. In the absence of her father-who was at that very moment making the crossing to Chale—there was only one other who could help; who could stop the betrothal from being acted upon.
Without another thought to the warning Kaelan had given her, Gillian snatched up her skirts and ran for the stairs.
She had to find Elga!
* * * *
Elga Cree opened the door and blinked. “My dear! What's wrong?” She ushered her stepdaughter into the chamber. “You are as pale as a ghost."
“You have to tell me!” Gillian pleaded with her, taking Elga's slender hands in her own. “I have to know!"
“Know what, Gillian?” Elga helped her husband's daughter into a chair and felt the girl's forehead. “Are you ill?"
Gillian shook her head furiously and grabbed both Elga's hands. “I am fine!” She was gripping her stepmother's hands so tightly the older woman was wincing with the discomfort and lowered herself gracefully to the floor beside Gillian's chair to loosen the pull. “You have to tell me!"
Dakin's wife's thoughts were flying. Surely the girl didn't know about the planned betrothal yet. Kaelan would not have been so foolish as to mention it and Duncan was certainly not likely to. “Gillian,” she said sternly “you must calm down and tell me what is troubling you!"
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