“What?” Duncan smirked. “No smart answer this time, Kaelan?"
Finally able to swallow the lump of fear that had shot up his throat, Kaelan put as much respect and calmness into his voice as he could. “Is that what you want to do, milord?” he asked, searching his king's—not his brother's—eyes. “Send your only brother to the Labyrinth?"
Duncan held that gaze, allowing Kaelan to see the very real threat of an unbearable future for himself. After awhile, he watched as Kaelan lowered his eyes.
“You would,” was all the younger man said.
“In a heartbeat,” Duncan declared. Pushing himself up from the chair, Duncan took a cleansing breath, turned and called for Rolf de Viennes to join them.
As though he had been primed to race down the stairs at a moment's notice, the twenty-four year old Duke of Galeforce came rushing down to the cellar. His face was positively alive with excitement for he had heard the threat of transport Duncan had made. “Will you be sending him to prison, then, Your Majesty?” he asked, eagerness filling his youthful voice.
Duncan grunted with annoyance. “Of course not!” he huffed. “At the moment, he happens to be second in line to the throne of your homeland, de Viennes, should that ogress to whom I'm married not produce a living heir for me!"
Disappointment flitted over de Viennes’ face like a cloud passing across the sun, blotting out the light. An instant pout came to Rolf's full lips and he glared spitefully at Kaelan, who was looking back at him with silent contempt.
“But he raped my bride!” de Viennes protested, his hand going to the dagger at his thigh. “I demand satisfaction!"
“In order to rape a woman, Rolfy-boy, she has to fight going under you,” Kaelan drawled. “With Gilly, it was the other way around. She practically tore my clothes off."
Duncan groaned, threw up his hands and eyes to the heavens, but was forced to step quickly to the Duke of Galeforce and grab him, for the boy had reacted very badly to Kaelan's insult.
“LIAR!!” de Viennes roared, snatching his twin-edged blade from the sheath at his thigh.
Had it not been for his king's arms around his upper shoulders, he would have leaped forward and plunged the dagger into Kaelan's breast.
“Still yourself, man!” Duncan snapped, squeezing as hard as he could.
“He besmirched my Gillian's good name!” Rolf shrieked. “I will cut out his lying tongue for that!"
“Your Gillian?” Kaelan questioned, amused. “Hardly. I made her mine and mine she'll stay, boy."
“I demand satisfaction!” de Viennes roared.
Rolf de Viennes’ near ear-splitting scream of outrage stunned everyone in the room, even Kaelan. They all stared at him, watching with bulging eyes as his struggles with his king became more violent and insane; listening with unbelieving ears to the utter filth and mad senselessness spewing from his twisted mouth.
“And you would let this demented fool have my daughter, Hesar?” Duke Cree's voice broke through the shrieks and curses coming from Rolf's straining throat.
“Take him!” Duncan ordered Utley and immediately three men fell upon the wildly gyrating young warrior and bore him away from the king's person. It took all three burly men to subdue and quiet de Viennes enough to get him up the stairs and out of their monarch's sight.
When there was relative quiet coming from above stairs, Duncan turned to look steadily at his brother. “He has asked for satisfaction and that is his right; I have no choice but to allow him to call you out. You have made sure of that with you infernal insults, Kaelan."
“He can not defend himself from de Viennes!” Dakin protested. “Look at him, Your Grace! How can he do battle with a man who has gone insane!"
“I can fight,” Kaelan lied, knowing he'd die at Rolf de Viennes’ hands if it came to hand-to-hand combat. His leg would make it impossible for him to move with necessary fluidity; speed and endurance were out of the question. “I can fight,” he repeated.
“If that nasty tongue of yours were a blade, you surely could inflict numerous mortal wounds!” Duncan snorted.
“Is there honor in allowing a man in his prime to murder a cripple, Your Grace?” Dakin sneered.
“I am not a cripple,” Kaelan replied.
Dakin looked at his daughters’ lover. “Even I could take you, Hesar, and I am well-nigh fifty."
“You could try,” Kaelan said and smiled despite himself.
The Duke of Warthenham guffawed then turned to plead with Duncan. “In my country, it would be a cowardly thing to do to turn lose that...” He pointed up. “Person upstairs to engage in combat with a man both crippled and many years away from battle practice."
Duncan knew an insult when he heard one, but he chose to ignore it. “I did not say I was going to turn Rolf loose to fight hand to hand combat with Kaelan. In my brother's present condition, he's liable to trip and fall and impale himself on his own sword! There's other ways to settle this."
Dakin didn't like the sound of that. “What other means of satisfaction is there?” A horrified expression raced across his face. “Surely you don't mean to send this helpless man to Tyber's Isle? That would be like signing his death warrant!"
“I am not helpless!” Kaelan snapped, then sneezed so hard he had to put a hand to his ribs.
“That was a threat I am sorely beginning to wish I had not made,” Duncan fumed. “Although, should I take my bumbling fool of a brother back with me to the Keep, the Tribunal might well send him there anyway for all the trouble he's caused!"
“And I'm not a bumbling fool,” Kaelan stated.
“Then what do you intend to do?” Dakin demanded, feeling compelled to come to Kaelan's aid. “Lash him?"
Kaelan started to speak, but stopped, looking to his brother for an answer to that.
Duncan sighed. “He says a priest Joined him and your daughter, legally. He thought he was wed to her. That being the case, t'is not adultery he committed,” the king replied. “Lashing is not called for here."
“Castration?” Dakin voiced, keeping his gaze well away from the young man in question. “You'd let de Viennes mutilate your own flesh and blood?"
“I think not!” Kaelan was quick to say. “Maybe my pecker, but certainly not his own, huh, Duncan?"
“For the love of Alel, Kaelan,” Duncan said, wearily, “do please be quiet while I think what to do with you."
“You could just leave me alone,” Kaelan reminded him and was rewarded with a glare of irritation.
“No, I can't,” Duncan denied. “You've seen to that with your thievery of, and complicity in the running away, of Rolf de Viennes’ lady-wife. Not to mention her debauchery."
Dakin winced at the word, but held out a hand to the king. “May I make a suggestion, Sire?"
“Anything that would be of help, would be most appreciated, Your Grace,” Duncan said, slumping down to the last cellar step and burying his head in his hands. “The embarrassment to the throne once all this gets out is going to make us a laughingstock throughout the Seven Kingdoms."
“It would be my suggestion,” Dakin began after casting a quick glance at Kaelan, “that you allow your brother to quietly escape through the tunnel. Let him join my daughter in Serenia. Did I not hear that a horse had been left there for him?"
Duncan's voice was muffled as he sat hunched over. “I can't be a party to him escaping. I am honor-bound to uphold the law whether he does or not."
“I could knock you out,” Kaelan suggested cheerfully. “Tie up the Duke."
“You could try,” the Duke snorted, not without humor.
“At least let me knock you out, Duncan,” Kaelan suggested.
Lifting his head, the king gave his brother a nasty look. “Keep on baiting me, why don't you? Castration is starting to sound more and more to my liking, Kaelan."
“What alternative is there if you don't allow him to escape?” Dakin asked.
With a tired sigh, Duncan pulled himself wearily from the stairs. He stood there f
or a moment—hands on his hips, head down—thinking. At last, he sighed again, looked over at Kaelan. “I will take Rolf's weapons from him,” he said. “He's never been that much of a fist fighter, you know that, but with your leg the way it is, I'd say the two of you would be just about even."
“A fist fight?” Dakin asked, his brows drawn together over the thought. “Would that suffice?"
“It will if it's the only choice I give de Viennes.” Duncan shrugged as though the weight of the world were on his shoulders. “After all: Kaelan is a prince of the royal house of Virago; Rolf is a lowly Duke of a province that gives me mostly trouble rather than riches."
“That is the gentleman's way in Chale,” Dakin announced. “The settling of disputes by fisticuffs."
“Disputes, aye,” Duncan quipped, “but not mortal insults like the one my foolish brother has thrown at the house of de Viennes. Those would be handled with blades, would they not?"
“True,” Dakin acknowledged. He looked at Kaelan. “Unless one of the men were lame."
“I am not lame, either!” Kaelan whispered with outrage.
“That is my decision, then,” Duncan stated, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders. “They can knock each other senseless.” He started to climb the stairs.
Dakin watched until the king was out of sight then turned to see Kaelan pushing himself painfully from the chair. “Can you take him?” he asked, almost feeling the stiffness that was apparent in the younger man's leg.
“Who knows?” Kaelan replied. “I could once."
“But now?"
There was a fatalistic shrug. “Now, it's anybody's guess."
“Do I need to be worrying any more than I already am?"
Kaelan smiled. “What you really mean is, do I think he might well beat me to death?"
Dakin nodded.
“Let's hope not."
“But you're not sure?"
“No,” Kaelan answered. “I'm not sure."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twelve
Ciona was a beautiful seaside town whose inhabitants waved hospitably as the trio of riders-minus the good Brother Herbert Welmeyer, who had gone back to his rectory at Colridge-came cantering across the border from Virago. Smiles of warm greeting met Nicholas Cree and his sister; a few calls of ‘welcome home’ to Lumley Tarnes, a man quite well known in port.
“The Council House be up the road there, across the way from the inn,” Tarnes informed Nick. The old man smacked his lips. “I'll be after having a nip or two down thatta way.” He pointed to a particularly seedy tavern near the waterfront.
“Good ale, eh, Master Tarnes?” Nick chuckled.
Lumley Tarnes blushed and the bristle of wiry white stubble on his thin face got a vigorous rubbing before he answered. “There's a wench there....” he began, then shrugged. “You know how it be, Cap'n. I been a widower nigh on ten year and I do get lonely at times. Can you give me an hour or two?"
“We'll meet you for supper at the inn,” Nick countered. “How's that?"
“Tolerable well, Cap'n,” Tarnes agreed, bobbing his head. His watery gray eyes beamed. “Tolerable well."
Nick exchanged a look with his sister and found her still staring daggers at him. Although the gag had been removed from her mouth a few miles back and the ropes binding her wrists severed, she was still in high dudgeon—despite being made perfectly aware of the riders fast on their trail—and had said not one word to him since Holy Dale.
“They were Duncan's men,” the Chalean warrior explained needlessly.
Gillian glared at him, her lips pursed tightly together. Her back was so straight in the saddle, she looked as though a steel rod had been attached to it. And her emerald gaze had become a sentient being sworn to Nicholas Cree's destruction.
“I know you're angry at me now, but...” he began, only to have her snort with an unladylike explosion of contempt, and fling her head away from him.
Knowing he'd get nowhere with his sister at the moment, he kicked his mount in the ribs. Holding Gilly's horse's reins as well as his own, he ignored the curious eyes of the townsfolk who must surely be wondering why he was leading the furious woman's horse.
The Inn of the Flying Mast was the last building at the end of Sea Nymph Street. Behind it was a large stable with rows of tall windows made of glass.
“I don't think I've ever seen a stable with windows like that before,” Nick commented.
Gillian ignored his comment. Dismounting, Nick was relieved to turn the reins of his horse over to a stableboy. With some trepidation, he walked back to Gillian's horse and stood there, unsure whether or not she would allow him to help her down.
Gillian deigned to lower her chin somewhat and stared down at her brother. She didn't need his gods-be-damned help to dismount and the last thing she wanted was to have the swine touch her. Her squint was meant to convey just that.
“All right,” Nick said, throwing his hands up to the vagaries of female logic. He stepped back and waited for her to slide down from the mare.
“How long will you be staying, milord?” the stableboy asked. “My papa owns the inn and I'll need to be telling him."
Nick shrugged. “I have business with the Council before all else. A day. Two at the most. We're on to Boreas Keep."
The stableboy grinned. “That's a three day ride from here, milord. Will you be needing provisions?"
“A few,” Nick acknowledged. He smiled at the boy's eager look. “Can you recommend an honest storekeeper?"
A grimy finger pointed to back down the street. “Saur's Emporium,” the lad announced. “You'll get treated fair and square. ’Tis my uncle Colten's place."
Nick nodded his thanks, reached into his pocket and took out a silver coin. Thumbing it into the air, he laughed when the lad swiped it in mid-flight.
“Much obliged, milord,” the young boy grinned. “You're most generous."
Gillian snorted again, but when the stableboy looked at her with just a touch of hurt, she winked audaciously at him to let the boy know it wasn't him with whom she was angry.
Kinion Saur smiled at the pretty woman and bobbed his head to let her know he understood. If the lord standing there with them had business with the Council, it hadn't been wise to drag his lady along for the ride. Briefly the stableboy wondered if the lord didn't trust his lady. After all, he did come riding in holding her reins as though he expected her to make a run for it.
“Are you coming, Gillian?” Nick snapped. He was cold and hungry. They hadn't been able to stop to eat the food Lumley had brought with them because Duncan's men were on them too fast.
Gillian was still looking at the stableboy, wondering how she could speak to him in private. Her mind was filled with anger, and the need to get back across the border and to her husband's aid. The hell with Duncan Hesar or Rolf de Viennes. If it took going back to Tempest Keep with them to ensure Kaelan's safety, she'd gladly do it.
“Gillian!” Nick growled.
With a further narrowing of her eyes, Gillian swept past her brother and headed for the back entrance of the inn, her shoulders square and her head up.
Nick watched her for a moment, then turned to give the stableboy a stern look. “Under no circumstances are you to aid my sister in leaving this town,” he said with a fierce expression. “Do you understand what I am telling you, boy?"
Kinion's attention flicked to the pretty woman walking so stiffly toward the inn. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth. “I believe so, milord."
“There are men after us, lad,” Nick admitted and watched as the stableboy's gaze widened and returned to him with something akin to excitement. “King Duncan Hesar's men."
The young boy's mouth dropped open. “Lawd,” he breathed. “What did you do?"
Nick leaned down and put a conspiratorial arm around the boy's thin shoulders and spoke to him man to man. “Have you heard of the Demon Duke over Wixenstead way?"
Kinion's eyes nearly popped from his
head. “Aye!” His voice was a mere whisper. “Who ain't heard of him?"
“Well,” Nick said, jerking a finger toward his sister, “The Demon Duke wants my sister as his wife.” He lowered his voice, trying to keep from laughing at the horrified expression that was forming on the lad's face.
“Now, Gillian thinks it all a romantic thing. You know how women are.” He squeezed the lad to him, man to man, conspirator to conspirator. “I'm sure you've had your share of wenches, eh?"
Kinion bobbed his head eagerly: A man of the world. “Aye, milord. Had my share, I have.” A lie if ever the lad had uttered one. The boy shuddered and lowered his voice. “He's a warlock, they say!"
Nick nodded sagely. “That's what I've heard.” He fused his gaze with the lad's. “And I don't want that happening to my sister."
“Nay, milord,” Kinion agreed, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “No one would!"
“We understand one another, then?” Nick asked, straightening up and removing his arm from the lad's shoulder.
“Aye, we do!” Kinion concurred. “I'm to watch her for you real close and if'n the lady wants to leave, I'm to try and stop her."
Nick's lips twitched. “Well, at least come and get me, eh?” He fished in his pocket again and drew out a gold coin this time. Holding it on the palm of his hand, he let the lad see it. “And I'll give you this for your trouble."
Hesitantly—for he'd never put fingers to so much money in all his born days—Kinion reached out to take the shiny coin, resisting the urge to bite into it to make sure it was real. The weight of it made him breathless.
“Now, there's another of these for you if you'll do one more thing for me,” Nick said, knowing the boy was his for as long as he wanted him.
“Anything!” Kinion exclaimed. “Whatever you want, milord!"
“I've no doubt the Duke will send his bully boys across the border. Speak it around town for me. Let the folk know who those men are and what they're here for. Make sure everyone in town knows that the king is trying to thrust that murdering bastard on my sister.” Only a fleeting winch of guilt nudged Nick's gut at the lie, but he figured Kaelan would understand.
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