WINDREAPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Conar smiled. "Of course! Liza has riding breeches and skirts that have probably never even been out of her armoire! We'll get—"

  Amber-lea gasped, holding up her hands to ward off his suggestion. "I couldn't take Her Grace's things!"

  "He paid for 'em," Sadie interjected, her face beaming with spite. "Some of them things are over eight years old."

  "That's right, I did," Conar said. "Liza will never miss them."

  "Milord, no!" Amber-lea protested. "It isn't right."

  "Let the boy give you a gift or two, Ambie," Sadie commented dryly. She fixed Conar with a curious stare. "He ought to get some enjoyment from what his money bought and paid for."

  Yes, there was something evil in the old woman's look, something malicious Conar truly couldn't understand. It seemed she was deliberately baiting him about the clothes. Her next words made it all too plain that she found the situation amusing.

  "They'll just go to waste up there in that big old chest. Her Grace don't want to be reminded about most of that stuff he bought her. She don't need no reminders of what used to be. Ain't that right, Your Grace?"

  Hurt, Conar looked away. "Aye, I suppose so."

  "Then go up and get the little gal something to wear." Sadie stood, a twist of pain momentarily touching her wrinkled face as her arthritic bones protested. She put a hand to her back, stretched, and walked to the sink. "Ain't no use letting good clothes go to waste 'cause of pride." She chuckled. "Besides, the King done bought her a lot of pretty things to wear."

  Unable to bear one more moment of Sadie's digs, Conar took Amber-lea's hand. "Come on."

  "Milord—"

  "Not another word," he told her, drawing her behind him. "I want you to go riding with me and that's what we're going to do."

  "But Her Grace—"

  "If I want you to have the clothes, Ambie, then you'll have them!" His fingers tightened around hers. "I think she owes me that much."

  Amber-lea stumbled along in his wake. She had to practically run up the steps to the bedchambers as his long-legged stride never broke.

  At the top of the stairs, Conar headed for the Queen's suite of rooms. Not bothering to knock, he wrenched open the door and pulled Amber-lea into the room, kicking the door shut behind them.

  Amber-lea gaped, obviously missing nothing of the surrounding elegance, the color scheme that blended delicate shades of pale green and beige with a darker blush of rose. The bed coverings were an intricate design of green and rose bordered in beige lace. Thick folds of lace hung at the windows, skirted the bed and draped its tall four posts. The two facing settees to either side of the beige marble fireplace were covered in rose and beige stripes, adorned with pale green pillows. The complex pattern on the rug blended the three colors along with faint swirls of lavender and creamy pink. The furniture was mellow oak; the lamps, crystal and brass. The entire room was airy, feminine, and the most beautiful room in the keep.

  "It's so lovely," she whispered, her fingers trailing over the marble top of a low table.

  "She's got taste, if nothing else," Conar quipped. "Most of this stuff she sewed herself before our…" He paused. "She made it before she came to live at Boreas. She picked out the fabric for the furniture…spent hours decorating this place."

  "A lot of love went into it."

  "I…suppose…"

  "Milord? Is something wrong?"

  Conar mentally shook himself of the sudden memories. "It's just that I haven't been in this room in…"

  "Let's go, Milord. This wasn't a good idea."

  He let out a long breath. "We came here for a reason." He headed for the tall, ornate armoire and shuffled through it.

  Amber-lea sighed. "Milord, please. It takes hours to iron—"

  "This!" he barked, triumphant. "How about this?"

  The velveteen habit he held before her was of a dark emerald green trimmed in a paler green. The long sleeves were cuffed in ivory lace. Tiny pearls buttons ran down the jacket and adorned the pockets.

  "Here," he said, walking to her. "Try it on."

  "I don't—"

  "Come on, Ambie!" he said, annoyance rife in his voice. "Put the damned thing on!"

  She took the habit and smiled, outwardly marveling at the soft velveteen. "Where can I—?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Am I supposed to turn my back? It's not as though I've never seen you naked before, mam'selle."

  Amber-lea blushed to the roots of her fiery red hair. She hugged the habit to her and looked up at him through the fringe of reddish-gold lashes.

  "All right!" he said, pointing to an inlaid screen. "Get behind that, then."

  While waiting, he lounged on a damask settee, stretched out his legs, and let his attention wander about the room. Whenever his gaze fell upon a particular object, a memory would taunt him. Tearing his gaze away did little to stop the flood of memories. Even the lingering aroma of lavender invaded his peace of mind. Trying to concentrate on Amber-lea's little sighs of exasperation as she changed did nothing but forcibly bring back other times when he had sat here, waiting for Liza to dress.

  Something sparkled on Liza's dressing table, where a radiant beam of sunlight filtered through a window. Curious, he got up and strolled to the table. What he saw made him hurry back to the settee. He plopped down with enough force to break a spring in the delicate seat.

  "Hell!" he hissed, drawing in his legs and sitting up, thrusting his fingers through his hair. "Why did she keep that damned thing?"

  Again, his vision leapt to the dressing table. A shaft of memory scalded him. He remembered buying the golden locket for her so long ago. Meant as a peace offering, he had brought it all the way from Ciona to Seadrift Keep, then home to Boreas. When at last he'd draped the pretty heart-shaped locket around her neck, on a hillside overlooking Jasmine Cay the day before they set sail for Boreas, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him…

  "Stop it, Conar!" he snarled.

  His senses were being bombarded by sights and sounds and smells. Even the feel of the settee's damask had memories, because once he had made love to her on this very spot…

  "Just stop it!" Getting up, he began to pace. His eyes jerked to the bed where many an afternoon had been spent. He knew the feel of that mattress, knew the peculiar way the bedsprings squeaked when he reached the height of passion. "Shit!"

  "Milord?" Amber-lea called. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," he mumbled, tearing his gaze from the bed. He walked to the window and looked at the garden. When his hands shook on the thick lace, he buried them in the pockets of his cords.

  "Could you unhook this last button, please?" Amber-lea asked.

  He started. "What?"

  "This last button? I can't seem to reach it."

  He turned and saw her poking her head from behind the screen. Relieved at having something to take his mind from the torture running roughshod over it, he stalked to the screen. Seeing Amber-lea standing there, the smooth expanse of her creamy back open to his view, the high curving rise of her rump pushing against the gown's fabric, made his mouth water.

  "Milord?" She craned her head. When she obviously viewed a look on his face she had grown to know intimately well, she shook her head. "Not here, Milord."

  "No better place."

  * * *

  Liza stood with her hand on the door knob. She didn't make a sound, didn't move, didn't blink. She took in the scene unfolding before her as though she were a detached part of the room's scenery. Her breath was even, her heartbeat slow and just as steady. She wasn't sweating; she wasn't cold or hot or feeling faint. What she was feeling was immense, soul-shattering fury.

  "Are you finished, Conar?"

  Amber-lea gasped, looking over Conar's shoulder at the Queen standing in the doorway. A whimper of fear escaped her throat.

  Conar, who had stilled at the soft mention of his name, craned his neck to peer behind him. "You should have knocked."

  Regardless of his stupid comment, Liza kept her face c
alm, her words soft and civilized. "I would appreciate it if you vacate these quarters as soon as possible." She raised her chin. "I will give you ample time to do so."

  Conar pushed away from Amber-lea and covered her with the sheet. He shifted on the bed. As Liza's gaze clawed over his nakedness, he dragged up the coverlet to hide himself. "Are you going to watch?"

  Liza's mouth tightened. "I would consider it an immense favor if you hurry." She stepped back and gently closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  For a moment Conar didn't move, just stared at the door like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He felt Amber-lea trembling beneath him and slid off the bed.

  "It's all right," he said. "Just get dressed."

  Her body one immense blush, Amber-lea rolled from the mattress, dragging the sheet with her, and hurried to the screen where her clothes draped the mother-of-pearl panels.

  It was hard to dress with one eye cocked to the door that separated Conar from the irate woman he knew waited on the other side. He heard her pacing, her heels clicking on the parquet. The healing wound on his left arm throbbed and he absently rubbed at it.

  Amber-lea came from behind the screen, the neatly folded sheet in her arms. Not looking at him, she put the sheet at the foot of the bed and waited for him to tuck his shirt into his breeches.

  "Ah, you ready?" he asked, casting a nervous glance at the door.

  Obviously mortified, she nodded. Her hands were tightly clutched together, the fingers threaded.

  "She won't dare say anything to you," he said, a fervent prayer on his lips that it would be so. He took her arm, pulled her gently to the door. "At least, she'd better not."

  When he opened the door, Liza stopped pacing. Conar tried to gauge her anger. No emotion showed on her lovely face. He might well have been one of the cleaning boys, for all she appeared to care. But there was a pinpoint fire blazing in the green depths of her eyes that he knew, from close contact with the lady, would soon burst into a roaring conflagration.

  "I…" he started to say.

  She cocked her head to one side. "Yes?"

  He swallowed, feeling both foolish and terribly guilty. "Nothing at all."

  When Liza entered her room and shut the door behind her, Conar breathed a sigh of relief. There had been no angry confrontation, no screaming recriminations. He loosened his grip on Amber-lea's arm. When no sound came from the room, save for the bolt being secured, he gently guided Amber-lea to the stairs.

  * * *

  Elizabeth A'Lex surveyed her bed. A hiss of anger issued from her lips as she took in the crumpled sheets and sagging coverlet. When she detected a faint odor emanating from the sheets, she spat a filthy epithet. Then, with a howl of animalistic rage, she gathered sheets and coverlet, pillows and blanket, and rushed to the blazing fireplace, stuffing them into the yawning maw.

  "Damn you, Conar McGregor! Damn your unfaithful soul!"

  With a heavy iron poker, she shoved every inch of fabric into the fire. The coverlet caught, flared, and soon crinkled into ash. The pillows let out a musky odor as the goose-down burned. The satin sheets and wool blanket took longer to burn, but the constant stabbing of the poker, thrusting them further into the flames, soon reduced them to blackened soot.

  * * *

  Conar wasn't prepared for Amber-lea's outrage, guilt, and shame after he brought her to his dungeon cell.

  She flung herself at him, pummeling his chest, crying out her humiliation. "You did it on purpose! You wanted her to find us there!" She pushed away from him, the accusation clear in her pale face.

  "That's not true." He reached for her, but she put up a hand to stop him.

  "Why did you do it?" she sobbed. "Did you see the hurt on her face?"

  He stared at her. "Hurt? For all the care she had of finding us, we might as well have been one of her brood of kittens!"

  Amber-lea shook her head, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You meant to hurt Her Grace and you did! Why else did you want to go up there?"

  "To get you some damned clothes! How the hell was I to know the bitch would come in on us?"

  "It was her room!" Amber-lea shouted.

  "So what?" He tried to calm her, to make her see reason. What he managed to do was make matters worse.

  She flung herself to his cot. "It wasn't right!" Amber-lea sobbed, burying her face into his pillow. Her small fists beat the mattress. "You knew it wasn't right! How could you?"

  "A perfectly reasonable question," said another unexpected voice.

  Conar's head snapped up. "I want no quarrel with you, Elizabeth," he began, vaguely aware of Amber-lea sitting up on the cot, her face as white as snow.

  "You conceited jackass! I'm not here to see you." She looked at Amber-lea. "I'd like to speak with you, mam'selle."

  "The hell you will!" Conar shouted, putting himself between the women. "I'll not have you insult her. She—"

  "I'm not here to insult her!" Liza spat. "You were the one at fault. Leave me with her so I can try to undo what your mindless rutting has caused!"

  He glared at her, seeing nothing in her face but contempt.

  "Get out!" Liza shouted, entering the cell like an avenging angel. She grabbed his arm, yanked as hard as she could, and literally shoved him toward the door. "Get out! Now!"

  Amber-lea pushed herself off the cot and put herself in front of Conar, as if fearful he would hit the Queen. "Milord, please!" she begged, putting her hands on his chest. "I would like the chance to explain to Her Grace—"

  "You've nothing to explain to this woman, Ambie! I won't have her berating you—"

  "He thinks we're going to fight over him!" Liza scoffed, tilting her chin. "Such arrogance. The only fighting that'll be done today is if he doesn't leave us alone." She took a step closer. "Because then I'll scratch his gods-be-damned eyes out!"

  Conar reached around Amber-lea, intent on grabbing Liza's arm.

  Amber-lea pushed him back. "Please, leave!"

  He looked from Amber-lea's angry face to Liza's furious face—what he saw on both made him a little bit crazy. "The demons take you, then!" He roughly pushed past Liza and stomped down the damp corridor.

  * * *

  Silence reigned until Conar's reverberating footsteps died away and the distant banging of the iron door marked his exit. At last, the women looked at one another.

  Liza sighed. "If nothing else can be said about him, it will go down in history books that he had a nasty temper."

  Amber-lea nodded. "I'm afraid so."

  Liza looked about her. Shirts hung precariously to anything that had speared them in their flight from their owner's body. Breeches lay inside out. Socks were stuffed into the pigeonholes of a desk. Liza shook her head at the mess. "I thought he had changed, but I see his personal habits are just as bad as they ever were."

  Amber-lea's lips twitched into a shy smile.

  Spying the chamber pot peeking from beneath the bed, Liza wrinkled her nose. "Does he still miss so big a hole as that?"

  A nervous giggle broke Amber-lea's shyness. She shrugged her dainty shoulders. "What can I say, Your Grace? The man's aim is not quite as good as he thinks."

  * * *

  From his sleeping room several doors down the corridor, Bent heard childish giggling coming from Conar's cell.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. Things were going to be all right after all.

  Chapter 15

  * * *

  "You're late," Liza admonished Brelan as he joined them at table. She smiled at his woebegone expression and damp hair. "And you're wet."

  "I had to go out to help look for him," he said, knowing she knew who he meant. He looked at Legion. "He's disappeared again."

  Cayn gasped. "He's out in this rain?" He looked behind him where lightning flared at the windows. The late November wind howled at the panes.

  "He has the manners of a wood louse," Legion quipped, his face hard and set. "He'd much prefer drowning in that godawful gale than to ke
ep company with those in the palace."

  Brelan glanced at Liza. They both knew it wasn't the entire keep's inhabitants who Conar wanted to avoid. "He does what he pleases."

  "He always has," Liza mumbled, flinching as a burst of thunder shook the chandelier.

  "It's just as well he doesn't take meals with us." Legion grumbled. "His self-absorption gets old after a while."

  Cayn cleared his throat, gaining Brelan's attention.

  Turning, Saur glanced at the door and saw Bent Armitage hovering under the archway. He cocked his head and the big man lumbered forward at a clumsy gait. Brelan thought, had the floor not been marble, the man's purposeful steps would have shaken the room's foundations.

  Brelan sighed. "What's he done now?"

  "We haven't found him, yet," Bent said. He nodded a good eve to the others at the table.

  Brelan laid down his knife and fork. "You've tried all the taverns, inns, and brothels?" He cast an apologetic look Liza's way.

  "He just can't be found," Bent answered.

  "Meggie Ruck's?" Liza asked.

  Bent nodded. "That was the first place we went, but they haven't seen him all night."

  "Didn't anyone follow him when he left the keep?" Legion snapped.

  "Only those idjits from the Outer Kingdom," Bent replied, his lip raised in scorn.

  "You saw them?" Brelan asked, shocked. No one had ever seen those men, only sensed their presence.

  "Didn't have to see them to know they was there. They always are," Bent said as though everyone should know it. He folded his thick arms over his wide chest. "They'll keep his scrawny arse safe, I'm thinking."

  Brelan pursed his lips to keep from laughing. He'd never heard Bent speak of Conar in words other than worshipful. It was a good indication of just how mad the big man was. Brelan managed to nod sagely. "Well, go get some food. There's nothing more you can do tonight. Hopefully he has sense enough to get in out of this mess."

  Bent lifted one thick shoulder and fixed Saur with a narrowed gaze. "I don't too much care if he don't!" He bowed to his Queen and King, nodded at Cayn, and clopped off, his thick rawhide boots squishing.