"He leads them all a merry chase, doesn't he?" Liza asked.
"Just like he always has," Legion answered. He glanced at her. "I hear the two of you had words."
"I tried to talk to him about the girl he has living with him."
Brelan looked up from his food. "Amber-lea?"
"Does he have another of whom I am unaware?"
Blushing, Brelan looked down at his food. "No. What did you talk to him about her for?"
"I thought he needed to deal more honorably with the lady, that's all. Do you have something against her, Bre?"
"He ought not to be messing with her. She's not his type."
"Conar doesn't really have a type, Brelan," Legion said. "Anything with breasts will do."
"Did he become angry at you?" Cayn asked, as if sensing an awkward moment.
Liza sighed. "I spoke to her a few days ago."
"You did?" Brelan's mouth dropped open. "Whatever for?"
"I wanted to get to know her. After all, she is living in the keep, taking her meals here. I wanted her to feel at home."
The men stared at one another, looks of disbelief on their faces. Liza's smile did nothing to banish Brelan's worry.
Liza looked up, her eyebrows lifting at their wary expressions. She put down her fork. "Well, it's not as though I have reason to dislike the girl. I no longer have a claim on his affections." She touched her husband's hand. "I thought she should know that."
"And when Conar found out you'd gone to see her, he took exception." Legion stated.
"Not quite." Liza picked up her napkin and wiped her lips. "I told him there had been a lot of talk around the keep. Mostly talk about Ambie's relation to him."
"Ambie?" the men inquired in unison.
Ignoring their stunned looks, she laid her napkin on the table. "I told him he should make an honest woman of her and marry the girl."
"You what?" Brelan gasped.
"Well, he's living with the woman, Brelan, and she is carrying his child."
Brelan nearly choked. "She's…pregnant?"
Liza nodded. "He's not married, nor is she, and I thought it would be better for the child to have both father and mother around to see him grow up."
"Him?"
"Him."
"And just what did he say to this?"
Liza blushed, looked at her hands folded in her lap. "He took exception to my reasoning."
"How so?" Legion asked, leaning forward.
Her chin lifted. "He said he couldn't get married."
"Why not?"
A pained look crossed Liza's face when she answered. "He said he could not marry because he already had a wife."
Legion threw his napkin on the table. "He may think he does!" He glared at Brelan. "I suggest you disabuse him of that notion, Saur."
"Why me?"
"You're his brother!"
"And just what the hell are you?" Brelan pointed a finger at him. "You got something to tell him, you tell him."
"Whenever I get within shouting distance of him, that's exactly what we do!" Legion's lip raised in scorn. "He sure as hell won't listen to me."
"Neither of you have to say anything to him," Liza said, looking at her husband. "You asked what our words were about, now you know."
"You reminded him that you were no longer his wife?" Legion asked.
She nodded.
"What did he say?" Cayn asked in a quiet voice.
She looked at the sorcerer. "Nothing. He walked out the door, slammed it behind him, and apparently no one has seen him since."
* * *
Conar shivered. He stood in the lady's doorway, water puddling at his feet. He ran a trembling hand under his nose, swiped at the rain clinging to his face. He licked his lips.
"They've been looking for you," Meggie accused.
He glanced at the doorway leading into the common room. "Are they out there now?"
She dusted her hands, folded them over her bosom, and fixed him with an unwavering stare. "What are you up to, lad?"
"Nothing." It was a little boy's quick answer.
"Nothing, my hinnie! This is the second time you've muddied up my kitchen floor." She looked at the wet boots and soaked cuffs of his cords. "I suppose you're going to tell me you were just out taking a constitutional."
A violent tremor shook his tall frame. "I wasn't feeling well."
"Well, I suppose not! It's colder than a mule's hoof out there and wetter than a pig's snout, and here you are traipsing about in it. Serve you right if you caught a vicious cold, it would!"
"I had nowhere else to go, Meggie," he said, sniffing. He shifted on his wet feet. "I really don't feel well. I think I'm sick."
Meggie's brows drew together and she uncrossed her arms. "What's ailing you?" She put her hand on his forehead. "Sakes alive, boy! You're burning up with the fever!"
"I know."
"Harry!" she bellowed, taking Conar's arm.
"The floor—"
"Can be mopped!" she snapped, drawing him to the fireplace. "Harry Ruck!" She removed his great cape and pushed him into a chair, frowning as he leaned forward, his head in his hands. "Harry!"
"What the devil's wrong with you, woman?" her husband asked as he pushed open the door. "We've got cust—" He stopped. "Milord?" Hurrying across the room, he bent down before Conar. "Are you all right, sir?"
"Of course he ain't all right!" Meggie said, shoving her husband's shoulder. "Are any of his men out there?"
"No!" Conar hissed, gripping Meggie's hand. "I don't want them to know where I am."
"Wasn't going to get them. Harry, tell Dorrie to make up the attic room. Take up some hot bricks to warm the bed. Tell that lazy gal to heat some water and to take out that flannel nightshirt of yours and wrap it in a brick, too."
"Meggie, I'm—" Conar began.
"In no condition to argue." Meggie smoothed the damp hair from his forehead. "I'm gonna start brewing some of my elixir. Harry, as soon as you speak to Dorrie, come back and help him out of them wet clothes. I'll get a robe for him."
Harry glanced at Conar. "What if somebody gets suspicious? They've been in at different times looking for him."
"Don't tell them I'm here, Harry," Conar pleaded. "Please."
"You heard the lad," Meggie hissed. "You don't tell his men nothing!" She watched until her husband was out of the kitchen, then turned to Conar. "How come you're sneaking about, lad?"
His head was aching, his nose running, his body beginning to feel as though it were weighted down with hot stones. He leaned back in the chair, shivering. "I was looking for someone and couldn't find him."
"You got men to go out looking for people." Her hands caressed his flushed cheeks. "And I suppose it was all that important you find him on a night like tonight?"
"Aye, vitally important," he sighed, a tremor in his hand.
"Ma'am?"
Meggie turned and nodded at Dorrie, the bondservant, who was the only tap maid in the tavern. "You got everything done?"
Dorrie shook her head. "Not the water."
"Then get to it! Will you keep this man waiting all eve?" Meggie glared as Dorrie hastened to draw water from the tap, running it into a large kettle to place on the stove. "Is that nightshirt warming?"
"I put six bricks in his bed and wrapped the nightshirt up in two others. Squire Ruck lit the fireplace and said to tell you he'd bring down his robe."
"Come here and help His Grace out of these clothes. I need to be brewing some broth for him." Meggie sniffed as the girl hurried. "And don't be pestering him with any of them looks of yours, Dorrie." She gripped the girl's shoulder and gave her a hard shake. "And mind where you be putting them bold hands of yours, too!"
Dorrie looked into Conar's eyes and smiled. "It's not as like I've never had my hands on him, now is it, Your Grace?" she quipped in a low voice.
Conar darted a quick, embarrassed look at Meggie's retreating back.
Dorrie winked and bent down to unlace his shirt. "She didn't hear."
"The hell she didn't!" Meggie snorted, her back to them. "Just get them clothes off the boy and don't be reminding him of past foolishness on his part!"
Conar smiled weakly at Dorrie, and grimaced at her breath when she chuckled.
"I always knew you had a hot body, Your Grace," Dorrie quipped, running her hand up his bare chest as she removed his shirt. "But you be burning up right now."
He squinted. He didn't remember ever sleeping with Dorrie, but obviously he had, or Meggie wouldn't have known of it. He looked at her cornflower blue eyes and flaxen hair. For some reason, the thought of holding her in his arms bothered him. It wasn't that she was ugly; she was pretty in a coarse, rode-hard-put-up-wet sort of way. But something about her made his flesh crawl, and her touch made him feel unclean. If he had slept with her, he thought with a pang of distaste, he had to have been drunk or stoned, or, more than likely, both.
"You're remembering our night together, ain't you, Your Grace?" she asked, her fingers straying to his belt. "I pleasured you real well that night, I did!" Her lashes lowered. "And I'd love to go at it again sometime."
Inexplicably ashamed, Conar felt himself blush to the roots of his hair. He was glad when Harry returned, for Dorrie snatched her hands from him.
"Let's get them wet pants off," Harry said, moving in front of the girl. "Go make sure His Grace's bed be warm."
"I'd like nothing better than to warm his bed." She giggled and leapt back when Harry swatted at her with his big paw.
"Get yourself up the stairs, Dorrie!" Meggie called as she dropped some herbs into a boiling pot of broth. "And you'll keep your diseased arse out of His Grace's bed!" She fixed the girl with a level look. "I'll not have a repeat of what you did the last time to my bonny lad!"
Dorrie flounced her long wavy yellow curls and swished from the room, casting a parting smile over her shoulder at Conar.
"I couldn't have…" Conar murmured as Harry unbuckled his belt and began to unlace his breeches. He looked into Harry's amused face. "I just couldn't have."
Harry chuckled. "Most likely you didn't. Can't see you inviting that little tart to join you in your bed, Milord." He shrugged, glanced at Meggie, and lowered his voice to a mere breath. "But I hear tell she be good with that sassy mouth of hers."
Conar's memory came flooding back. He let out a relieved sigh. "It's good to know I haven't been too stupid in my lifetime."
"You got him undressed, Harry, or you just gossiping?" Meggie asked.
Harry laughed. "Stand up, lad and step outta them breeches."
It was a real effort to stand. Conar felt light-headed, achy, but it was the fever that weakened him the most. It had been a long time since the Labyrinthian Fever had come calling, and it was announcing its return visit with bursts of throbbing pain in his temple and a wretched shivering that clicked his teeth together.
"Get him up the backstairs and into bed, Harry," Meggie commanded. "I'll be right up with this elixir."
"Better the fever than Meg's cure," he hinted as he picked up Conar's breeches from the floor. "It's deadly-tasting."
Conar let Harry help him into a warm woolen robe. He was so weak he was glad Harry belted it around him, for he didn't think he would have been able to. "Right now, I'll take anything that'll help me."
"Don't be so sure."
* * *
"What the hell was that?" His tongue was on fire, his mouth puckering.
"Men are such babies," Meggie scoffed. She handed him a glass of water. "Wash it down, if you must."
He gulped the water. Some dribbled down his chin.
Meggie clucked as she swiped at the wet with her apron. "Such babies," she repeated. "Lay on down, lad."
Conar let her tuck the covers around him, then turned on his side and put his face into the pillow. "I feel like shit," he mumbled into the goose down softness.
"You'll live," Meggie assured him, drawing up a rocking chair to sit beside the bed.
"It'll get worse."
She set the chair to rocking. "This that fever you got at Tyber's Isle?"
"Uh, huh. How'd you know?"
"Heard tell of how you was one of them that contracted it." Her slippers made little tapping sounds on the rug as her feet touched the floor with each forward rock. "Storm Jale's wife said he got it, too."
"Don't leave me," he said, feeling the onset of the bad symptoms.
"Had no intention of doing so." The chair squeaked as she rocked.
"And don't let them find out where I am."
"We'll see," she answered, her look fiercely protective. "You just get on to sleep."
"I might cause you and Harry some trouble. They've had to tie me down sometimes when the convulsions set in. If I get too bad, call someone."
"Whatever you say."
"I don't want to be any trouble." The medicine had began to lull him.
"Go to sleep, now, Sweeting."
"Don't call them unless you have to," he whispered, falling into a thickly-wrapped peacefulness. "Meg?"
She sighed. "Aye, lad?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too, lad."
Chapter 16
* * *
Brelan knocked at Legion's door, waited for his brother to bid him enter, then went in. "We found him."
"Where?"
"At the Ruck's." Brelan sat in the chair beside his brother's desk. "Sleeping off a drunk, I guess."
Legion smirked. "Well, at least you don't have to worry. That's something he's done enough times in his life to have it down pat."
"I guess so."
Legion looked up from the papers he was reviewing. "You're worried about him, aren't you?"
"Aren't you?" Brelan searched Legion's eyes. "I heard this morning that he's planning a raid on another temple near the Diabolusian border. He's been drunk all week. Do you think he's fit to lead such a raid?"
Pushing away the papers, Legion leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and studied Saur. "Do you think you can stop him even if he isn't?"
"It's more than the liquor. If what Marsh suspects is true, if he is taking some drug, then he's out of control. Maybe we should try talking to him."
"Talking to Conar is like talking to a mule. He might hear you, but he sure as hell isn't listening." Legion shook his head. "Let him go. He's a grown man. If he screws up, there won't be anyone to blame but himself."
"And what about the men who'll be going with him into battle? Do we throw their lives away because we can't make our brother see reason?"
"You have this notion that you can reason with him! That hasn't been my observation of late. He sure won't listen to anything I have to say."
Brelan stood, raking his fingers through his thick mass of curls. "Would it hurt to try?"
"I don't suppose so. But just don't expect him to listen."
* * *
Meggie wiped the sweat from Conar's face. He had come to for only a moment, no longer, but his eyes had focused on her for the first time in two days. "I'm with you, lad," she'd whispered.
"Water…" His pupils were dilated. Sweat trickled over his hot flesh. He turned his matted hair into the pillow.
"Not too much, now." She lifted his head and let the chilled water dribble past his parched lips. She eased his head to the pillow and smoothed away an oily lock of hair from his flushed face. "How are you feeling, son?"
"Like hell," he answered, turning his face into her palm.
Meggie smiled. He hadn't spoken in more than two days. His voice was hoarse, raw-sounding, the effort obviously draining. But at least he was coherent, something he had not been for forty-eight hours.
"Do you think you could take some broth?"
"I'll try."
Meggie stood and looked at Dorrie. "Stay with him until I get back."
"Aye, Madame." Dorrie moved toward the bed.
"And keep your paws off him!" Meggie snapped.
* * *
Dorrie waited until the old woman left the bedchamber befo
re looking down at her charge. "Can I get you something, Milord?"
"Aye," Conar whispered, trying to stay awake. He beckoned her closer, annoyed when she grinned knowingly with satisfaction. As she bent over him, her foul breath fanning his face, he had to look away.
"What is it I can do for you?" she purred, her fingers stroking his arm.
He looked to the door, then in a rush, his strength waning, grabbed her arm. "Listen to me! Find Sern Jamar, the nomad. Tell him…tell him I'm ill and I need my medication." He watched her eyes, dumb as they were in her pretty face, trying to gauge her understanding. "Do you hear me? Find the nomad and tell him I need him to give you something for me." His voice became gruffer by the moment, his head throbbing, his body so limp he could barely move. "Don't let anyone see you with him and don't tell anyone I sent you to him. Do you hear?"
She frowned. "I don't understand—"
"Damn it, you don't need to understand!" he hissed, the effort taking more out of him than he would have thought. "Just do what I tell you. I'll see you get paid."
Dorrie smiled. "There's only one kind of payment I want, Milord." She eased her hand down his arm, briefly touched his fingers, then slid her hand to the V of his legs. "I just want to taste you again."
Conar nodded, swallowing hard, feeling his raw throat burning. "Anything. Just get the medicine." When she made to straighten, he yanked her arm, brought her closer, his voice a whisper. "Don't let anyone on to what you're doing."
"Aye, Milord," she whispered back. "I'll do your bidding like you want. But I dare not go 'til the old bitch comes back."
"Aye, you can. Just go!"
"No, Milord. She'd take a switch to my arse, she would."
Unaccustomed to having his orders thwarted, Conar knew an irrational anger that drove deeper than mere human fury. It pierced him with more frustration than the most seething rage. He tried to push himself up, couldn't, and fell back with a vile curse. "Damn it, woman! Do as you're told!"
Dorrie held her ground, as if fearing Meggie Ruck more than she feared him. She shook her head with finality. "Can't."
He shook, emotions running amok within him. His teeth clenched against the scream that threatened to burst. The moment he awakened, he had felt the itching along his chest, under his arms, and recognized the withdrawal symptoms that reminded him it had been days since he'd last taken Sern's elixir. He gathered the sheet in both hands, jerking on the material. "If you don't do what I say—"
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