"Look more closely," Gezelle told him.
The babe had quit crying, one of the things that had annoyed Cayn most of all, and was now making slurping noises that made the man look down hesitantly despite his desire not to do so. "The little bastard's hungry already!"
"Look at his eyes," Sadie said as the babe opened his sky-colored eyes and seemed to stare up at the Healer.
Cayn frowned; his forehead puckered. He set his bag on the foot of the bed and held out his arms. Gezelle let him take the child, watching as he laid the babe on the bed and pulled the covering away from the wrinkled body. He scanned the blue-tinted flesh; he eased his hands over the limbs and along the slightly distended belly; he turned the child and viewed him from the backside.
His frown deepened. He slipped his index finger into one closed little hand and pried the fingers apart. He saw what the two servants had meant for him to see.
"By the gods," he whispered. His hand trembled as he stroked the white-blond fuzz of hair. His fingers trailed down the round face and cupped the boy's chin, stunned when a tiny smile hovered on the lips. He looked at Gezelle and saw her nod. His gaze went to Sadie.
"And now you know why Her Grace would have died before letting the babe?" Sadie told him.
Cayn glanced at the sleeping mother, then back at the infant. "I should have known." One finger gently traced the small birthmark in the babe's right palm.
"Only one man I ever knew had them crescent-shaped marks in his hand, eh, Cayn?" Sadie asked.
"The Sign of the Wind," Cayn informed her. "The Overlord's symbol."
"Those birthmarks will have to be hid. Someone could see them and they'd know."
Cayn nodded. He would see to it himself. And soon.
"That's why she had to marry that vile whoreson," Gezelle said. "To keep the prince's heir safe."
Cayn glanced at the girl with astonishment. Gezelle was giving him one jolt after another. Where had this timid girl come by such courage? He shook his head at the fiercely gleaming promise of protection in Gezelle's green eyes.
"Their secret is safe with me."
"I know."
"Leave off, mam'selle." He chuckled. "We'll guard this little one."
Cayn covered the babe and handed it to Gezelle. Other than the dual birthmarks in the palm of the babe's hand, there was nothing else in his appearance that could definitely say who the father was. Galen had been born with the same tuft of white-blond hair, the same blue eyes, although they had darkened somewhat as he grew older. The coloring was the same as all babes. The round face and slightly cleft chin were McGregor trademarks.
"I'll have to hurt this babe in order to protect him."
"Then best do it while his mother sleeps, Cayn, else you won't!" Sadie cautioned.
"How?" Gezelle asked, her arms tightening around the boy.
"The only way I know is to burn them." Cayn flinched as he remembered the burns in Conar's palms.
Gezelle's face turned chalk-white. "Is there no other way?"
"I have to make them look like a strawberry rash. A strawberry birthmark in his palm is a sight safer than those Wind symbols." His face took on a protective scowl. "A little pain now is better than a lot of pain later; pain such as his father endured! Conar would have understood."
* * *
The bells from the temple peeled out across the keep and into the surrounding countryside. Everywhere, people looked up from their early morning tasks, then shrugged away any concern for what had taken place. Few, if any, smiled, and those who did, did so out of relief that the young Princess had been spared, for it was common knowledge that her birthing was a difficult one.
But it mattered not at all if the child had been born alive or dead. After all, it was Galen McGregor's ill-begotten seed that had sprung into life, and no one took notice. Had the child been his twin's, a mighty celebration would have started at the exact moment the first bells began to ring.
King Gerren had been ill for quite some time, not really having gotten over his stabbing. His decline began the day they carried his beloved son, Conar, out to sea. The King took to his bed shortly after seeing Conar's dearly-loved wife wed to Galen. He had not risen from that bed again.
"It's a boy," Hern told him as he softly opened the King's door.
"In good health?"
"Aye, with a set of lungs on him like his father's." Hern came to sit beside the one true friend he had ever known.
"Handsome, is he?"
Hern grinned. "Looks just like his Papa did at that age."
Gerren reached out a troubled hand. "The birthmarks?"
"He has them, but Cayn saw to it. Shall I bring the brat to you, Gerren?"
The King's eyes misted. He nodded.
"I'll be right back," Hern said, standing. His face filled with concern. "Feeling better?"
Gerren tried to smile. His life was fast ebbing away, and he knew it. "Hurry, old friend."
Hern hesitated. "Let me call Cayn, Gerren, he can—"
"My race is almost run, Hern. You know it as well as I. I am ready to see my lady and son."
A look of intense sorrow passed over the aged Master-of-Arms' face and he choked back a sob. "Let me get your grandson," he whispered, his throat closing. "Don't you go nowhere until I get back!"
"I have no intention of leaving until I see my legal heir."
Gerren's gaze followed his friend from the room. He could faintly hear Hern's heavy footsteps running down the hall, skipping down the stairs. He smiled. "Always were rough on the stairs, Hern," he said with a shake of his head.
From outside his window, he heard the dainty call of a mourning dove. He turned his head toward the light. The curtains billowed and a sweet scent drifted through the parting curtains. Gerren inhaled the misty aroma of lilac.
"Gerren?" a sweet voice called.
"Aye, love?"
"Hold out just a bit longer."
"I am trying, love."
The door opened. He turned his head to see Hern standing beside his bed, a wrapped bundle in his beefy hands.
"Here he is, Gerren," the old warrior said as he extended the bundle. "Here's our grandson."
Gerren tried unsuccessfully to raise himself. He looked up at Hern.
"Never you mind," the Master-at-Arms growled and bent over to place the child where the King could see him. He pulled back the swaddling and exposed the naked boy.
"Ah." Gerren's voice was filled with wonder. "You're a handsome one, you are.
Hern smiled proudly. "And will break a few hearts."
Gerren chuckled softly. He raised his weak hands and let Hern settle the babe in his arms. The king's face took on a sheen of pride.
"The lady named him Corbin Alexi," Hern informed his King.
Gerren nodded. "Take care of him, Hern. As you did his Papa."
"With my last ounce of life, Majesty."
Gerren lowered his head to the pillow. "Return him to his Mama. Tell her I am well pleased with my heir."
"She wants to see you when she can be up and about. Cayn has told her she can not leave her bed until tomorrow at the earliest." He held the babe as though it were a precious, rare crystal.
Gerren sighed. "We'll see."
"Do I send her your love, Gerren?"
The King nodded. His voice broke. "Tell her that her secret will go with us to our graves."
Hern swallowed. "I can call Gezelle to come get him. I can stay with you."
"Not this time, my friend. Tonight, I am going to make my Peace with the Wind."
"Gerren, no!"
"I do not have the will to go on."
Hern was unaware he was crying, or that his hold on the infant had tightened, until a mewl from the baby drew his immediate attention.
"Gerren, please," the old warrior pleaded. "Don't go traipsing off without me, too! First our lady and then our boy. You gotta wait until I'm ready to go and I ain't nowheres near ready!"
Gerren shook his head. "She's here, Hern, waiting for me.
Would you deny me?"
Hern looked toward the window, smelled the ripe scent of lilac for the first time and felt his stomach lurch in sorrow. He looked back to his friend. "She's just looking after you, Ger. She ain't here to take you home with her!"
"Aye, but she is," Gerren sighed, smiling gently. "And when it's your turn, we'll be waiting on the Other Side for you."
Hern stepped closer to the bed and held the infant out to his friend. "Take him. Hold him. He don't want his granpappy going nowheres. Here!"
Gerren shook his head. "You won't bully me into doing what you want this time. I'm ready to make my Peace with the Wind and I long to be with my lady. Don't deny me that, I beg you."
Hern's whimper was all the protest he could make. He could find no words to say goodbye, and did not want to.
Gerren smiled. "Goodbyes are for lovers, not old fighting men like us. May the Wind be at your back, Hern Arbra."
Hern's face twisted with grief. "Gerren…"
"Train him, Hern," the king said in his most commanding tone. "Train the heir to the throne as you trained his father. Make Conar proud."
The scent of lilac grew, A gentle wind began to waft through the chamber.
"Best to get the brat back to his mama," Gerren advised. "It's a bit drafty in here."
Hern could barely see for the tears pouring down his cheeks. He felt alone, lost, his heart breaking inside his wide chest. He held out the infant like an offering, wanting his friend to take the child, but knew he would not.
"She sees him, Hern, and she's very happy," Gerren whispered. "Now, leave me with my lady so we can make the trip home together."
Hern felt a gentle push against his shoulder. He turned, saw no one there, but the pressure of an unseen hand was so real it scared him.
And made it possible for him to leave.
"The gods bear you to Paradise, Majesty," the old warrior sobbed.
"And bring you to me when it is your time to make your Peace with the Wind, my good friend."
With heavy heart and heavier footsteps, Hern trod to the door looked back. "I love you, Gerren McGregor."
"And I love you, Hern Arbra."
The door closed and Gerren once more turned his gaze at the window. A breeze lifted the curtains inward and the aroma of lilac grew more intense.
"Are you ready, my love?"
Gerren took one last breath. He passed out of this life with a gentle smile on his face and his right hand crooked as though it were in the palm of another.
* * *
As he entered his father's room, Legion knew immediately something was wrong. The very air was filled with a strange light drifting in through the window, an unusual floral scent. He called to his father and when he received no answer, walked softly to the bed, but be knew long before he reached the massive cherry footboard his father was gone.
"The Wind guide you to him, Papa," he said to the shriveled, pitifully thin man. He took one age-spotted hand and brought the cold flesh to his lips. He hoped with all his heart his father was now with the son he had loved the best.
"I always envied Conar your love, Papa," Legion said as he stroked his father's hand. "I knew you loved me, but it was Coni who was your favorite."
Tears slid down A'Lex's face. In the space of so short a time, he had lost a nephew he never got a chance to see, a niece, a beloved brother, and now his father. So much sorrow in so little time was almost more than the staunch warrior could stand. He had shed more tears in the last year than he had shed in his entire life and had known more misery than he would have thought possible.
Being a passionate man, Legion A'Lex grieved as hard as he fought and loved. Though his grieving was done in the privacy of his chamber—late into the night when no prying eyes or ears could see or hear—the burden of his sorrow was there for everyone to see. It was there, in the slump of his shoulders and the sadness in his eyes, the weight of Legion's grief.
And the burden of his guilt.
"I should have helped him get away, Papa," Legion said as he wiped his chin on his shoulder to rid his face of tears. "He asked me to and I should have."
In a dark part of Legion's mind, the demon that controlled his temper did a light jig on the warrior's soul and the man felt it in his heart.
"Was it because I wanted her, Papa? Did I allow this to happen because I unconsciously thought she'd turn to me if he was sent into exile?"
That was a question Legion had asked himself time and again since Conar's death.
"He offered her to me, Papa," Legion whispered as he touched his father's cheek. "When he thought he was marrying the Toad." A gentle smile touched Legion's trembling lips. "I forgot you didn't like us to call her that, did you, Papa?"
Liza, Legion thought as he laid down his father's hand. She was the love of his life and he would have done anything for her until she had elected to marry Galen.
"It wasn't right, Papa," Legion said from between clenched teeth. "It wasn't right and I'll not accept it as long as I live!"
Legion thought of the conversation he had with his father only two days earlier when he had been commanded back to Boreas from Ivor.
"Liza needs you," his father had said. "Go to her. Speak to her. Perhaps she will explain why she has done this thing you find so reprehensible."
"She betrayed Conar," Legion growled.
"Conar is dead, son."
"Not even a Widow's Year has he been gone!"
His father put out a comforting hand. "Did it never occur to you that she had reason for the Joining this soon?"
"There is no reason this side of the Abyss that is good enough for what she's done!"
No amount of cajoling from his father could make Legion go to Liza. He had told his father he would not stay under the same roof as her and her ill-begotten husband.
But Legion had been trained from childhood to do what was right, to uphold the law and he knew now he would have no choice in the matter. He would be forced to swear fealty to the new king and the woman who was his queen.
"If I had only known what they were going to do, Papa. If either of us had known what Tohre had planned for Coni, I would have slit Galen's miserable throat! To have Liza with that bastard…" Legion squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, god. What did I help do? What did I do?"
Wild, debilitating grief shot from Legion A'Lex. He hung his head and great racking sobs erupted from his body.
* * *
When Legion left his father's room an hour later, Galen was waiting for him on the stairs. He tried to pass the man, making the decision to ignore him until he was forced to accept Galen as the new ruler of Serenia.
Galen put out a restraining hand to stop A'Lex. "Have you been to see Liza?"
"No," Legion snapped, shaking off the hand
"But you are going?"
"No!"
"You refuse to do so?"
"Aye."
"Then I command you to go see her!"
"Command all you want!" Legion snarled and tried to continue down the stairs, but Galen stepped in front of him.
"I demand you…"
Legion shoved the Prince, almost tumbling him down the stairs. "Demand all you want, McGregor! I will not do it!"
Galen's face turned bitter. "I will be your King one day, A'Lex! You had best start learning to obey me!"
Legion's upper lip curled back from his teeth. "You will never be a true king of mine! I may well renounce my citizenship the day you take the throne!"
A'Lex pushed past him and continued down the stairs. The Prince was of a mind to call the guards, to have them bring back the bastard, in chains, if necessary, but he knew Liza would never forgive him for it. Galen looked up the stairs, saw his father's door slightly ajar and wondered how much the old man had heard. With a sigh, he headed up the stairs.
* * *
Teal, Thom, Storm, and Sentian were already seated on their horses, waiting for Legion. They knew he'd gone to speak to his father. He'd sent word that they would be leaving on
ce more for Ivor and wondered what was taking him so long. Lin Dixon was speaking quietly to them, begging the men to talk to Legion, to make him stay.
"You've got to reason with him," Lin pleaded. "Our lady needs to see him."
Sentian shook his head. "His mind's made up."
"He can unmake it!"
"You know," du Mer remarked, his voice snappish, "I am growing to detest that man." He was watching a rider dismount by the stables.
Lin glanced at whom du Mer meant. "Lord Brelan's been a comfort to the lady."
"Think you anyone here cares whether he has been or not?" Teal grated.
It was at that moment that the giant, dull-toned Temple bell—the largest of the twelve hanging in the bell tower over the Tribunal Hall—began to chime. Every movement in the courtyard ceased. Every hand stilled. Every breath held. Every heart skipped a beat.
"Sweet Merciful, Alel," Storm whispered. "The King is dead!"
The hair on Teal's forearm rose. He sucked in his breath. "By all that's evil. Galen is king!"
All around, men and women were going to their knees, their voices raised in mourning, but the men who sat their horses could only stare in sudden disbelief at the bell as it swung back and forth.
"The vultures are scurrying already!" Sentian snarled, thrusting his chin toward the Temple.
Three members of the priesthood, Kaileel Tohre included, hurried from the steps and into the keep, their robes fluttering behind them as they ran.
Tolkan Coure walked behind with dignity and ill-concealed contempt for the keening going on around him by the kneeling people in the courtyard. His hooded gaze swept over Teal du Mer and a smile as evil as it was vile briefly stretched the thin lips.
"Do you think Legion will stay now?" Storm asked Teal.
"I doubt it. Galen will want to be crowned right away. He's been wanting this a long, long time." He looked up at a shrieking of metal and flinched. The King's pennant was being lowered. It would be flown upside down until three days after the state funereal at which time Galen's would be run up in its place.
"He couldn't wait, could he?" Thom growled, watching the pennant being reversed.
"I never noticed Her Grace's pennant," Sentian said quietly.
Liza's personal pennant flew just below her husband's on Galen's staff. When she had been Conar's wife, her pennant had flown beside his on a staff of its own.
WINDWEEPER Page 31