WINDREAPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  His gaze fused with Liza's. "If you call me that one more time, woman," he said in a soft and menacing voice, "I'll make you wish you hadn't."

  "And just how will you do that? Will you rant and rave at me as you have the servants? Do you think to make me scurry as they have done? They may be intimidated by your foul temper, but I'm not afraid of you."

  He came to stand toe to toe with her, his face inches from hers. "You had best fear me, Madame. I am not Legion A'Lex, whom you can bend so easily to your will. It is not my bed in which you practice your whoring arts."

  Liza groaned inwardly. So, he was back to calling her names, or close to it. She wanted to lash out, call him the child he was being, to make him turn away from his insane arrogance. But since she didn't know how to go about doing it, she kept quiet, which seemed to make him all the angrier.

  "What, no ready defense of your honor?" he quipped, one tawny brow raised in challenge. "Shall I take it, then, you are ready to dispense with your disguise and let the world know you for what you are?"

  She ground her teeth. "And just what disguise would that be?"

  "The disguise you use when you're in bed with my brother—the disguise of a lady."

  "In your brother's bed, I am a lady!"

  "In mine you were something far different."

  "I'm no longer in your bed. But you don't seem to have trouble finding women who don't mind being there."

  "Jealous, Queen Liza?" he taunted.

  "Of what? Being treated like a common—" She stopped, wishing she could bite off her tongue.

  Conar's lips stretched into a predatory leer. "Tart?"

  She smelled his warm, male animal scent. She had always liked the way he smelled, never needing colognes and oils most men used. His own essence gave off a heady aroma, a true male scent, and after all this time, she found she was not immune to it.

  Also, she wondered for the hundredth time how his irises had come to change colors.

  As though he could read her mind, he laughed. "When the Black Ascendancy entered me, took me for Its own, when I became one with the Dark Wind as I was destined, the soul inside me darkened. No longer did I see things through the pale eyes of an untried youth, but through the knowing eyes of a man who has dwelt among the fires of hell, had his soul singed by the flames, and come back to rectify the wrongs that were done to him. My eyes changed the moment I knew the vulnerable, weak, and powerless part of me had died." He cupped her chin, tugging gently. His breath, smelling sweet like mangoes, fanned her face. "What my eyes see now is the dark side of human nature, and I have found that none of you are what I thought you were."

  "You see what you want to see," Liza said, jerking her chin from his grasp. "I think you expect everyone to be like you've become—cold-hearted and selfish!"

  He grinned. "But I see you for the whore you've become."

  Liza struck out at him, intent on wiping the smirk from his lips. But he pushed her away, bumping her into the table where Sadie had been boning chicken. She reached out a hand to keep from falling, and it slid disgustingly through a mass of cold, congealing chicken blood. In fury, she turned to face him. "You enjoy using brute force to make your point, you son-of-a-bitch?"

  "I plan on using something else to make my point with you, lady!" He came toward her, with purpose in his gaze.

  "Keep away from me." Liza reached for a boning knife. Her fingers closed around the handle, and she drew it toward her chest, blade down.

  "Be careful of him, Milady," Sadie warned. "He's a tricky one."

  "Get out of here, Sadie," Conar commanded, glaring at her.

  "Not on your worthless life," Sadie vowed with malice.

  With Conar's attention on the cook, Liza tried to sidestep away from the table, but his gaze jerked back to her and swept down to the knife.

  "Put that down before you hurt yourself, woman. You won't be needing it for what I plan for you."

  "I'm warning you, Conar," Liza panted, cursing herself for using his given name again. She backed away, bringing up the knife into a fighting position. "I will use it. You know I know how!"

  Sadie cackled. "You tell him, Milady!"

  "Shut up, Sadie!" he warned.

  "It's past time somebody stood up to you," Sadie shot back. "Time somebody put you in your place."

  Ignoring her barbed remark, he took another step toward Liza.

  "I mean it!" Liza shouted. "I'll stab you!"

  "Oh, there'll be a stabbing, Queen Liza," he promised. "But it won't be you who'll be doing the stabbing and it won't be with that silly knife." He reached out for her.

  Liza slashed at him, but he stepped back, an unholy light of annoyance on his handsome face. He feigned toward her, but she lashed out again. She barely missed his chest.

  "Cut him, Milady! Rip his heart out!" Sadie barked, her hands beating down on the back of a chair. "Make the little son-of-a-bitch bleed!"

  Liza lunged with the knife, taking satisfaction that he was forced to retreat. She lunged again. When he took another step back, she grinned.

  "That was a mistake," Conar said, watching her closely, circling around to her left side, looking for an opening. He rushed at her, twisting to avoid the knife's thrust. The blade ripped his shirt. "God damn it, Liza!" he spat, looking at the rent in the black fabric. "You're going to regret that!"

  "I bet she regrets the day she ever met your sorry ass!" Sadie hooted.

  "Shut up!" he bellowed.

  When he literally threw himself forward, Liza jerked the knife away from her to keep from skewering him. His fingers closed around her wrist. She screeched as he twisted her hand.

  "Let go!" he snarled. "Drop it!"

  Liza groaned at the excruciating pressure on her hand, but she kept her possession of the knife. She drove her knee into his groin. His loud gasp was like music to her ears. She thought he'd let go of her hand, but he didn't. Instead, he hit her with his free hand, the back of his knuckles catching her across her chin. Her head snapped sideways. She felt blood, tasted it on her lips. They fell to the floor, Liza crying out with pain as her arm twisted backward.

  "You sorry little bastard!" Sadie shouted. "How dare you hit my lady!" She yanked up her broom, obviously intent on pounding him.

  Enraged that he had struck her, Liza kicked him in the shin. She jerked violently and kicked him again, managing to free her wrist.

  "Cut him, my lady!" Sadie yelled. "Stick him!" The old woman brought the broom crashing down on Conar's back. His yelp of surprise and pain made her chuckle. "How you like being on the receiving end of the blows, you little snot?"

  Conar moved away from the blade, eyeing Liza with a look that would have quelled the bravest of men. "Give me that gods-be-damned knife!" he demanded, snarling as Sadie's broom connected hard with his rump.

  "Get up, Milady!" Sadie shouted. "I'll keep the bastard off you!" She brought her broom down on Conar's hip.

  "If you don't stop interfering…" Conar yelled, glaring at the old woman. "So help me Alel, I'll—"

  Before she knew what she was doing, Liza struck. Her fear that Conar would lunge at Sadie made her furious. She shoved at his shoulder with one hand, while the hand holding the boning knife stabbed forward almost of its own accord. Even as she reacted, even as he flung up a hand to stop her from cutting him, the Queen of Serenia knew she had done something horribly wrong.

  Conar sucked in a breath. The knife had slashed across the fleshy part of his upper left arm from about four inches above his elbow to his shoulder bone. Blood gushed from the long rip in his shirt and spread a deeper ebony over the material, plastering the fabric to his flesh.

  "Glory be!" Sadie chuckled, pointing. "You did it, Milady! You really did it!" She hopped up and down on one foot. "You done scored the little snot royally!"

  Conar looked at the hand he had used to deflect the blow. The back swing of the knife had scratched him from elbow to wrist. A thin puckering of blood seeped down the scratch. Slowly, he raised his eyes to stare i
nto Liza's shocked face.

  Sadie raised her broom and came forward. "Don't hurt her, you little bastard!"

  Liza scuttled away from Conar, coming to her feet as she stared at the outrage in his eyes. Her hand, now devoid of the knife she had dropped the moment it wounded him, went out in front of her to ward him off. "I'm sorry," she stuttered, flattening herself against the table, her face paling with terror.

  Sadie hoisted the broom higher. "He don't deserve no apology from you!"

  Conar looked at the ever-increasing flow of blood dripping down his arm, then turned his head toward Sadie and got to his feet. "If you open your mouth one more time, I'll shut it for you. Permanently!"

  Liza hadn't meant for it to go this far, had never intended to use the knife on him. The second she had, she knew he would never forgive her. As he came toward her, she couldn't hold back a whimper of fright. As he grasped her upper arms, his upper lip curled in pleasure when she quivered.

  "Please, Conar…"

  He tightened his grip. "Come," he said quietly.

  "Where are you taking her?" Sadie called, following as Conar drew Liza through the kitchen door and into the service hall.

  Liza felt his hard gaze leave her when he stopped and faced Sadie. She flinched at the unbelievable coldness in his voice as he spoke to the old cook.

  "Interfere one more time between me and this woman and I swear by all that is sacred, I'll turn you out of this keep!"

  Liza flinched. "Sadie, don't make him any angrier. Just leave be. I don't want to be the cause of you leaving."

  "Milady—"

  "Sadie, please!"

  Sadie clamped her lips together, but glared at Conar, making it plain she wasn't afraid of his threats. "One of these days you're gonna be made to pay for all your high-handed ways, Milord."

  "Sadie!" Liza gasped.

  His grin was malicious, evil, as he turned from the old woman. Pulling on Liza's arm, he continued down the serving hall.

  Liza glanced up at his set face. "I'm sorry."

  Never looking at her, he continued moving. "Not half as sorry as you're gonna be."

  "Legion won't let you beat me."

  "I have no intention of beating you. But I have every right to do so." He stopped, jerked her around. "And Legion A'Lex sure as hell couldn't stop me if that was what I wanted to do!"

  "I told you I was sorry,"

  He yanked her forward, taking her down the corridor leading to the servant's workrooms. "Sorry isn't good enough."

  Gezelle was coming out of the sewing room as Conar reached the door. She gasped when he gently shoved her back into the room.

  He whipped Liza against the sewing table. "You will repair the damage you've done!"

  "I can't!"

  "You can and you will!" he shouted, jerking her into the chair.

  "Don't make me do this!" Liza begged. "Please, dearling, I can't!"

  Ignoring her mistake, he took her chin in his bloody hand. Bending over her, he hissed through clenched teeth. "You will, my Queen. By all that is holy, you will!"

  Gezelle gasped, staring at the blood on his hand, the darker stain along his arm. "Milord! You're hurt!"

  "Aye, your lady gave me a love tap!" He let go of Liza's arm, grasped the front of his shirt, and tore it from him, rending it down the middle. He threw it down and glanced at the wicked gash on his arm.

  When Liza saw the extent of the damage, she felt the blood leave her face. "Oh, Coni, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. I—"

  "Stop apologizing to me!" he bellowed, raising his hand as if to strike her. "You will sew it!"

  "Milord, let me," Gezelle offered.

  "She did it—she'll fix it!"

  Liza saw her defeat written in his face. She stood, cautious of him, and moved nervously behind the chair. "S…sit down."

  He swept his unwounded arm over the sewing table, scattering the contents. When he sat in the chair, he slammed down his wounded arm, smearing blood on the tabletop.

  "G…get me the s…sewing kit, 'Zelle," Liza whispered, staring at the blood running freely down his arm.

  "Clean it first," he ordered.

  Gezelle handed her a soft square of muslin. Liza's hands trembled as she tried to gently wipe away the blood.

  "You can't hurt me anymore than you already have," he spat. "Just clean it!"

  She wiped away what hadn't congealed. When the dried blood wouldn't budge, she looked at Gezelle. "Would you get me—"

  "If you need something, you get it!" he snapped.

  Liza hurried from the room and fled to the kitchen. Servants stood still, looking at her with shocked, worried faces. Sadie took a step toward her, but Liza put up a hand.

  "Not now, Sadie! Please!" She snatched up a pitcher of water, grabbed a bottle of astringent from the cupboard where medicines were kept in case of kitchen accidents, and rushed back to the sewing room.

  Gezelle was standing quietly. There were several strips of muslin laid out on the table. Liza was frankly amazed Conar would have allowed the girl to do even that much. She tried to smile her thanks, but his words froze her lips.

  "I tore the linen, lady."

  Liza blanched, but managed to nod. "Thank you."

  "My pleasure," he snarled.

  Wetting a wad of muslin, she wiped away the blood, patted the seepage. When she was fairly sure most of the bleeding had stopped, she uncorked the bottle of astringent and saturated a pad of muslin.

  Conar stared at her, his mouth pursed into a thin, angry line. His jaw clenched to keep from making a sound. Liza could well imagine that the strong astringent felt like liquid fire as she wiped it over the cut.

  After threading a needle, she laid it on the saturated muslin and poured more astringent over it. Lifting it in shaking fingers, she tentatively brought it to his wound, but stopped, unable to pierce him.

  "Do it," he commanded.

  Her chin lifted. She took hold of his arm, pulled a deep breath, and stuck the needle through one side of the thin cut, wincing as she did. Her knees felt like they would buckle, but she eased the needle through the opposite side of the cut and pulled gently to close it. She tried not to falter as she expertly looped the thread under a knot and tugged it tight to secure it. Although the procedure took nearly fifteen minutes, Conar never blinked, never looked away from her, never flinched as the needle pierced his flesh. When she finished, she used a wet cloth to wipe away the remaining blood, applied more astringent, then cut the loose thread with a pair of embroidery scissors.

  "Wrap it!" He handed her a long strip of linen bandage that seemed to materialize out of thin air.

  She carefully wrapped it around his arm, then tied it securely, just above the elbow. When her hands came nervously away from him, she steeled herself to look into his furious face.

  He stared for a long time, no emotion showing. Finally, he stood, tugged at the bandage, then stooped to pick up his ruined shirt. He walked to the door, stopped, and peered over his shoulder. "Thank you," he said hatefully and stalked from the room, never looking back at the two women.

  Liza dropped into the chair. Her arms wrapped tightly around her sides, she bent forward, tears coursing down her face. "I hurt him, Gezelle! I didn't mean to."

  Gezelle soothed her, stroking her hair. "Hush. You didn't do it a' purpose."

  "I've hurt him again! Dear Alel, I've hurt the man again!"

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  "Aren't you looking pretty today!" Sadie said, ushering Amber-lea into the warmth of the kitchen. "A ray of sunshine, you are, dearie!"

  Amber-lea blushed, ducked her head under the affectionate regard of the old cook. "Thank you, Missus MacCorkingdale."

  Sadie patted Amber-lea's arm. "You can call me Sadie, you know." She put her hand on the girl's lustrous reddish-gold hair. "Such a pretty color, Amber." She peered into Amber-lea's face. "Such a pretty girl!"

  "I keep telling her that, but she doesn't believe me."

  Sadie stiffened,
turning to look at the speaker. Her face hardened. "You tell that to every skirt you meet so you can get yourself up that skirt. No wonder the gals don't believe you."

  Conar sighed. One of these days, he thought with a pang of regret, he was going to have to take the old woman to task for her scathing disrespect. It seemed she had gotten worse while he was away. What he had once passed off as insulting playfulness was fast becoming sheer hatefulness and unrelenting spite.

  Sadie looked away from him. "You are one of the prettiest little girls in the kingdom." She cocked her head in Conar's direction. "And far too good for the likes of him."

  "That's enough, Sadie," he warned, frowning.

  "Just telling it like it is," the old woman snorted. She lifted one shoulder in disdain. "Can't help it if you get insulted by the truth."

  He took a deep breath. "Have you eaten?" he asked Amber-lea, not really in the mood to joust with Sadie so early in the morning. The girl shook her head. "Can you get us something, Sadie?"

  "I could," she mumbled. "Or you could dish it out yourself."

  Conar thought he actually saw dislike in her fading eyes. Wondering what it was he could have done to warrant her ill regard, he looked away.

  "I'll get it," Amber-lea said, as sensing the undercurrent between Conar and the cook. "Is that oatmeal I smell? I have always loved oatmeal."

  Sadie sniffed. "His nubs don't like gruel. Used to smear it on my floor when he'd be in one of his moods." She cocked her head toward the stove. "There's bacon and eggs there. Help yourself, dearie."

  "Are you going somewhere today, Milord?" Amber-lea asked, ladling scrambled eggs and bacon onto a platter.

  Conar shrugged. "I thought you might like to ride with me to Corinth."

  Amber-lea stopped in the middle of putting a biscuit on a plate. "On horseback?"

  "I don't have any ostriches available right now," he teased. "It'll have to be horses, I'm afraid."

  "I don't have anything to wear for riding." She put the food on the table.

  Sadie sat at another table, setting a bowl of potatoes in her lap. "Her Grace has clothes she ain't never worn. Reckon she's got some she never will."