WINDWEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Conar smiled, but there was no warmth in that smile. "She wasn't happy with what you did to me, was she?"

  "That's neither here nor there," Medea began, but Conar's derisive laugh was brittle.

  "Oh, I'd say your words said it all!" He shook his head. "These games you play are dangerous, Medea. One day you may find someone who plays them better!"

  Medea blushed. "I did what I thought best for my child."

  "Liza is mine. I will brook no more interference from either one of you again. As for Brelan Saur, don't ever again try to put him between Liza and me. If you do, if you try to, I swear before heaven and earth I will make damned sure you never set eyes on her again and you will be mourning at his funereal pyre!"

  "Medea!" Shaz gasped. "We cannot allow this! The man is not lucid! Listen to what he threatens!"

  "Put no more stumbling blocks in our path, Shaz," Conar warned. "I'll take this bloody keep apart if you do!"

  "Go to the ship, Conar," Medea told him, wanting to diffuse the situation before anymore of her furniture was in danger of being destroyed. "She'll be there shortly." When the Prince made no move, she sighed. "You have my word as a Daughter of the Multitude that your wife will be joining you before the sun is set."

  Conar bowed slightly. "She had better."

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  "We are not sailing to Boreas," Liza informed the captain once the Seachance was well out to sea. "Go where my husband tells you."

  The captain looked from princess to prince, took in the stubborn looks on both young faces, weighed the problems he would have with his king and queen when he returned to Fealst, then took the lesser of two evils.

  "To where do you wish us to set sail, Your Grace?" he asked Conar.

  Unwilling to have anyone cause them anymore problems, Conar ordered the ship to the southern tip of Oceania where the black-sand beach stretched into the hazy wisps of fog, the beginning of the uncharted seas know as The Sinisters. The captain bowed respectfully, looked to the heavens, then ordered his First Mate to change course.

  "He wants to go to Montyne Cay," the captain sighed, shaking his head at the First Mate who stared aghast. "Just get us there, man!"

  The captain wasn't quite as accommodating when told to dock on the island and remain until Prince Conar decided it was time to leave.

  "But when will that be, Your Grace?" the captain asked Liza.

  "Whenever my lord deems it time."

  Once on the small island—most of whose inhabitants had long since moved on to more populated regions—the crew of the Seachance, the men of the Elite, Gezelle who was Liza's maidservant, along with Conar and his lady, made use of the still livable huts and fishing boats left behind.

  The living was comfortable, if primitive. The natives were friendly and helpful. Fresh water was taken from an island spring and plenty of fruit trees and wild boar were found about the land. There were vegetables still growing in abandoned gardens and fish practically leapt into the outriggers when the Elite went fishing.

  Only a few of the crew—those married or engaged men who did not want to be long away from their families—had left the ship at Hare's Down, the last heavily populated town before reaching Montyne Cay.

  When King Gerren, Conar's father, received word of his son's folly, he shouted in fury, punching Hern Arbra on his thick shoulder and reminded the old Master-at-Arms of just how unruly his son had become of late.

  "The boy's tetched!" Gerren seethed.

  "The boy knows what he's about," Hern countered. "Leave him be."

  Only two men were truly angered by Conar's decision to prolong his return to Boreas Keep, the Serenian Capitol. Kaileel Tohre and the Elite guard, whom the High Priest had sent along with Conar. Neither man was willing to let any length of time go by before Conar received the just punishment he so richly deserved.

  Unable to utilize the Brotherhood of the Domination's magical powers so near the boundary of The Sinisters—a sort of no-man's-land where Magik did not work—Tohre had no choice but to leave the prince alone.

  The Elite in Tohre's employment bided his time as well, fearful of causing mischief. Since the protection stones given to him by Tohre had no power within the Sinisters, the man had no choice but to lay low for fear Sentian or Thom would suspect him.

  Peering off into the drifting fog that obscured the rest of the ocean beyond The Sinisters, hiding what dwindling land could be glimpsed, Conar held his wife against him and made a vow. They would stay on this small wisp of land until all was right between them.

  * * *

  "This was Syn-Jern Sorn's hideout, wasn't it?" Liza asked, thinking of her husband's outlaw ancestor.

  "Aye," Conar said, "and this is where he brought his lady-wife so no harm could befall her."

  "And their children were born here," she sighed, looking at the little ones playing in the surf.

  "Liza, I…" he started, feeling the loss of their own son, but she put a hand to his lips.

  "I am tired, Milord," she whispered. "Don't you think we should go to bed?"

  Conar grinned at her as he saw the twinkle in her green orbs. "Will I get any sleep, Milady?"

  "Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Don't you think we should strive to give Serenia an heir?"

  "You think so?"

  Liza nodded thoughtfully. "I do."

  The Prince of the Wind sighed deeply. "The things I do for my people."

  He brought her hand to his lips. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he placed a tender kiss in her palm then lowered her hand and pressed her splayed fingers over his heart.

  "We need to talk, Milady." He cupped her cheek with his free hand. "Without the distraction your lovely body causes me in bed."

  Blushing, Liza lowered her head. She giggled. "There I go being a distraction again."

  Her reference to a conversation they had when they first met made Conar smile. "Far more pleasant than a loud noise or buzzing insect."

  She looked up. "You remember that?"

  He pulled her to him. "I remember everything that has ever happened between us, Liza-love," he whispered against her hair. "Most things have been sheer bliss, but there have been times when I think you would have been better off never having known me." When she tried to pull away, he would not allow it. "Let me have my say while I have the courage to speak my mind."

  She relaxed against him, her cheek pressed to his wide chest. "So long as you do not denigrate the man I love, I'll hear you out."

  He rested his chin on top of her head and looked out to sea. The wind blew gently across his face, fanning the thick golden hair and mingling with her raven tresses. The symbolism of the moment was not lost on him.

  "You know what I made Gezelle do," he said softly.

  Liza closed her eyes. "Aye, Conar. I know."

  "She has every right to hate me."

  "She does not."

  "It was an evil thing I made her do and…"

  She pushed away from him. "Do not say what you are about to say, Milord!"

  "Liza, I was punished for it and you were punished alongside me. I…"

  "Stop!" she snapped, tearing free of his arms. "What happened to our child was an accident, Conar McGregor. No one was punishing either of us. It could have happened had you been at Seadrift or not!"

  He had often admired the militant gleam in his lady-wife's eyes, and as he looked at her he knew she would always refuse to believe the death of their son was his fault. He also knew he would ever hold himself to blame, but made a silent vow to never bring up the subject again with Liza. He opened his arms.

  Liza sniffed disdainfully then went to him, slipping easily into his embrace. "No more such talk, do you hear?"

  "Aye, Milady."

  "What else?" she mumbled, holding her breath.

  "Brelan."

  Liza winced. "We are friends and nothing more."

  "To him you are more."

  "Do you trust me, Conar?"

  "Without reservatio
n."

  Liza cocked one brow. "Is that why you fought with Bre?"

  "I said I trusted you. I did not say I was not jealous of you. You know gods-be-damned well I'm the most jealous man on the face of the earth." His arms tightened painfully around her. "And why do you think that might be, Madame?"

  She grinned. "The stables in Ciona might have a tad to do with it, I suppose."

  Now he arched a brow. "And the library at Seadrift when that jackass rubbed your belly and declared he wished the babe was his? Might that not have a tad to do with it, as well?"

  "It might."

  Conar snorted. "It had everything to do with it, woman. If he lays another hand to you, he'll draw it back as a stump."

  Liza started to laugh, but her husband lifted her face so he could stare into her eyes. She sobered when she saw his stern expression.

  "Of all the men in all the world I do not want you near, Brelan Saur is at the top of the list. Do you understand, Anya Elizabeth?"

  When he used her full name, she knew he was being deadly serious. "Aye, Milord, I understand."

  "I don't want you to see him. I don't want you to correspond with him. I do not want you to have anything to do with him. Is that understood?"

  His fingers were hurting her, but she did not protest. "Aye, Conar."

  He relaxed and threaded his hands through her hair to bring her face to his. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, then placed a feather-soft kiss upon her lips. When he lifted his head, he smiled softly, then swept her up in his arms, heading toward the huts.

  "Conar!" she protested, laughing.

  "I intend to love you well and truly, Liza McGregor," he said as he started down the trail.

  "Distraction that I am?" she asked, lowering her head to his shoulder.

  He chuckled. "You are a distraction I have learned to enjoy."

  Sentian looked up as his Overlord kicked open the door to the hut. The warrior stood, grabbed the mending he'd been doing and darted past the prince and his lady. "Have fun," he said over his shoulder as he closed the door.

  "I intend to," Conar called and grinned when he heard Sentian's answering laugh.

  With infinite care, he laid his wife on the bed and sat beside her. His gentle smile was filled with peace and pride in the lovely woman who belonged to him.

  Liza lifted her arms to him; he stretched out beside her. She drew him to her, molding his long body to hers and pulled his head to her breast.

  "I have one request," she said.

  Conar looked up from unlacing her gown's bodice. "That being?"

  "No more tantrums."

  He craned his neck. "I've had none since we've been here, despite Thom annoying me with…"

  "I don't know what caused such ill temper, Milord, but I'll have no more of it." She sternly looked at him. "And no more drinking, McGregor. You can not handle it."

  He drew in a long breath—his fingers stilled at her bosom—then nodded as he slowly exhaled. "No more liquor." When she arched a black brow, he crossed his heart. "I swear it!"

  "And no more dallying where you ought not to be dallying, else I'll relieve you of the ability to dally with that tallywhacker of yours."

  Conar's face turned crimson at her use of the vulgar word, but he understood her command.

  "Now," she said. "Show me how well this man loves his woman, Milord Conar."

  He eased apart the laces of her bodice and slipped his hand inside. Her quick intake of breath as he molded his hand around her breast caused his manhood to leap in anticipation. He pressed her hand to the juncture of his thighs.

  "This man loves his woman more than any man has ever loved a woman in the history of time," he whispered.

  "You make it hard for me not to appreciate that." She giggled.

  Conar laughed and lowered his lips to her breast. "I will," he said, capturing the turgid peak between his teeth and speaking around the sweet obstruction, "make it harder still, Milady."

  Liza reveled in her husband's touch as he undressed her. A cool breeze drifted in from the window. For a moment, she worried about a passerby looking in, but as Conar's urgency increased, all thoughts vanished from her mind save the expert ministrations of her husband's sure hands.

  There was still sadness in his eyes, she thought as he smiled at her before molding his hard body over hers and nudging apart her thighs. She realized the tragic death of their son had humbled this proud man more than anything that had happened to him over the years. His touch was gentler, calmer, less hurried than in the past. His lovemaking seemed more tender than it had ever been.

  And if there was sadness in his azure eyes, then surely time would replace it with happiness when their next child was conceived. Saying a quick prayer to the Goddess, Liza asked that such happiness would not be long in coming for her love.

  It was a little more than ten months later that their daughter was born.

  * * *

  He sat on the beach, staring out to sea. He had been there all day and Liza watched him. There was something disquieting about the way he just sat, his knees drawn up into the safety of his arms, his eyes on the farthest reaches of The Sinisters where the fog was the thickest. Her gaze had gone to him time and again during the day even as she turned away offers of intervention from among the natives and his men.

  "He seems to want to be alone," she told them. "Let him." In her heart, she knew if he had wanted her company, he would have invited her to the high rock promontory where he kept his vigil.

  Near time for the evening meal, she handed their daughter to Gezelle, took a deep breath, and headed up the winding oyster-shell pathway to the place where her husband sat. He didn't turn his head as she approached, but she knew he was aware of her presence. Hiking up her skirt, she sat beside him and laid her head on his shoulder.

  "Worried about me?" he asked, his gaze on the sun as it sank gracefully toward the water.

  "No."

  He looked at her. One thick golden brow slanted upward.

  "Well…maybe a little, Milord." She snuggled under his arm so that he held her against his side. "Is something wrong?"

  His attention returned to the sea. "I've been having this feeling all day."

  "What kind of feeling?"

  He seemed to be weighing his words before he spoke. "I'm afraid."

  Her forehead crinkled. "Of what, Milord?"

  "That's what concerns me the most. I don't know. It's as though something is warning me to stay here, not to leave tomorrow."

  "If you want to stay, we will."

  "I can't, Liza. My place is in Serenia." He turned away. "But I fear in my heart that, if we leave, I will wish we hadn't."

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  Liza watched as Conar stood facing the wind, his ripe wheat-colored hair blowing wildly about his head. He had a firm stance on the rolling deck beneath his bare feet. One sun-bronzed hand gripped the tall spar that rose beside him. He had left his shirt in the cabin when he had gone out earlier that morning, and a fine glistening of salt spray clung to his torso, mingling with the fine hair between his taut, manly breasts.

  He threw back his head and gazed at the sun. Liza wondered why he didn't seem to feel the chill of the late fall day as she did. The smile on his upturned face told her he felt little save the warmth of the love they had found once more.

  As though her thoughts had touched him, caressed him with their intensity, he looked at her. His smile deepened. He removed his hand from the spar, extending it toward her.

  Coming eagerly to his side, she snuggled into his arms, inhaling the sweet fragrance of salt spray, the aroma of the cinnamon scent he wore, and the pleasant smell that was entirely Conar. His strong arms enclosed her and she was content to feel the strength that held her securely to him. His lips brushed the top of her head before he laid his cheek where he had kissed her.

  "Is she settled in?" he asked, rocking her gently.

  "Aye, she is. Fed, changed, and being spoiled by who
ever happens to go by our cabin." She smiled and chuckled.

  "Who would spoil her, Liza?"

  She looked up at him. "Who, indeed, Milord?"

  "I've not spoiled her, Liza," he retorted. "Now, Storm and Sentian and Thom and Marsh and Gezelle have spoiled her, but not me. I will never spoil her. I will be wise and gentle and caring to her, instructing her in the courtly ways, teach her what not to do and say around boys. I will be—"

  "Putty in her hands."

  He grinned. "That, too."

  Laughing at the firm expression on her husband's handsome face, she tickled him. "I knew that the moment you first laid eyes on her, Milord!"

  "Who is with her now?" he asked, easing away from her probing fingers.

  She laughed. "That most excellent and diligent of nannies, Marsh Edan."

  Conar nodded. "It's time he had a little one of his own. He dotes on her, doesn't he?"

  "That he does." She smiled thinking of Marsh's big hands cupping their tiny daughter the first time he had held her.

  "Will she break if I drop her?" the Elite had asked nervously.

  "Are you planning on dropping her?" Sentian snapped at his friend.

  A smirk lit Marsh's face. "Well, of course not!"

  "Then you've got nothing to worry about," Thom informed him.

  The four—Sentian, Marsh, Storm, and Thom—had been gathered around the babe's cradle, oohing and ahhing. None of them had seen Liza standing in the doorway as they gently picked up their Overlord's daughter and took turns holding her.

  "She's a beauty like her mother," Storm said wistfully, obviously missing his own wife and children.

  But it was Marsh who spent most of his time in the cabin with the babe, Marsh who held her and could make her stop crying when no one else could, Marsh who gazed at the babe with such longing and love. It was Marsh Edan, that stalwart Elite, who had stayed up with her all night when she had the colic.

  "I think if you give him half the chance, he'll steal her from us," Conar now remarked, hugging his wife as they stood in the brisk ocean breeze. "We've got to find him a wife."