WINDWEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "I know," Galen said, his voice breaking with pain. "I wanted his love, too." His crying was like a torrent, a bursting dam. "I tried to protect his son." He seemed to diminish before their very eyes, to shrink. "I promised him I would look after her and I have failed him, as well!"

  Brelan looked at Legion. When had Galen promised their brother anything?

  "He'll blame me for this," Galen wept, tears running down his ravaged face. "He'll curse me."

  There was nothing Brelan and Legion could say. They left Galen sitting forlornly on a garden bench, his shoulders slumped with misery, and heard his last words.

  "I'm sorry, Conar," Galen cried. "I tried."

  * * *

  Five days later, Galen was sitting by his window, his thin shoulders sagging with fatigue and fear. He had not slept for two days. They would try for him soon; he could feel it. It could be today, this evening, this night; it could be a week from now.

  He had lost almost twenty pounds and his six-foot frame was gaunt and stooped. His hands shook, his voice trembled because he was hungry, but he dared not eat unless he prepared the food himself. He couldn't look anyone in the eye for fear they were there to slip a knife in his ribs. He looked instead at their hands. Every sound made him jump, every stranger who crossed his path made him anxious. He didn't know from what quarter death would find him; he only knew it was actively seeking him out. His days were spent alone, his nights, in a locked and sealed room.

  But soon, all that would be over. He could feel it.

  "Galen?" she called to him and he got wearily to his feet and walked to her bed.

  "Aye, Sweeting?" He loved her with all his heart, the only other living thing he had ever loved.

  "No one can touch you here. Do you wish to sleep awhile?"

  Galen smiled at her. Her face was still the lovely oval it had always been with its long thick ebony lashes, upturned nose, and high cheekbones. Her long silky hair was as black as midnight. She was a bit too thin of late, her face a touch too narrow, but she was still the most beautiful woman in the world. Sometimes her voice was actually soft when she spoke to him, as it was now.

  "Come and lie down," she told him, patting the bed beside her. "I'll keep watch."

  He knew she wanted him dead, prayed for his death. He could see it in her eyes, but he didn't think she would be the one to do it. Neither would she stop it if it came looking for him when he was with her. "I love you," he whispered.

  Liza shrugged with disinterest. "So you've told me."

  He went back to the window to stare out into the rosy rays of dawn.

  "I will take good care of our son, Galen."

  He nodded and sighed.

  Something thumped against the bedchamber door. He stiffened. Was it to be now? Here in the very room in which his precious wife lay? He would not let that happen.

  "Are you afraid, Galen?" she asked. Her voice was pleasant, no more inquisitive than as if she had asked him the time of day.

  "Very much."

  "Good. I am sure he was, too."

  He looked at her. "I know he was."

  Liza turned her back to him and gripped her pillow beneath her cheek. "Goodbye, Galen."

  "Goodbye, my love."

  He walked to the door, opened it, then looked back at her. She was everything to him. Nothing else had come to mean what she had. He loved her, he needed her, he would miss her, for he knew where he was going to spend eternity, she would not be there.

  "Close the door, Galen. There's a draft.

  Galen didn't answer. He went to his brother's old room, opened the armoire door and stepped through to the secret passageway to the grotto. With any luck, he would be long gone from Boreas Keep before anyone knew he was missing. He took the passageway to the wine cellar, found the secret door, made his way through the cobwebs to the underground pool, and then stopped.

  His luck had ran out in the very place where his own men had captured his twin. He was not surprised to see Tohre's men standing before him.

  Tymothy Kullen grinned. "Going somewhere, Highness?"

  His life's blood ran into the milky green waters of the grotto, soaked into the thick white sand where his brother had been so savagely beaten, stained the spot where Corbin McGregor had been conceived five years before.

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  Young Prince Corbin Alexi McGregor was four years old when Tymothy Kullen and his men murdered his uncle. The young prince was ensconced in the same room in the Wind Temple at Corinth where his father had been before him. On the eve of his sixth birthday, he would leave Corinth for the Abbey of the Domination high in the Serenian mountains. The boy showed no fear of the Priests who had abducted him, for he had never known anything but love and gentleness since his birth.

  But his terror upon the arrival of Tolkan Coure at the Wind Temple transmitted itself to his mother in a flash of gut-wrenching agony and the queen rushed to Kaileel Tohre.

  "He'll not bother the child." Tohre her in the eye. "He'll not touch the boy. Ever!"

  "I want my son back!" she screamed. "His father is dead. You had him murdered. Now Corbin is being terrorized by that bastard, Coure, and I want him brought back here!"

  "It matters little what you want, Madame. Corbin will stay at the Wind Temple until he is of age to be sent to the Monastery."

  Her nerve almost failed her. She could see the smug satisfaction in the reprobate's hooded eyes as he glared at her with contempt. And the truth hit her like a bolt of lightning.

  "You knew all along?" she whispered.

  "From the moment you accepted Conar's seed into your filthy body." Kaileel regarded her with interest. "You could have saved yourself a most unwanted marriage to a man you detested if you had but known that I knew."

  Her face turned pale. She gripped his desk to keep from toppling over. "So you will torment the son as you did the father." Her lips quivered. "You will abuse him as you did Conar."

  "It is not abuse, woman; it is instruction." He flicked his reptilian gaze over her. "Something you could never hope to understand."

  Liza shook her head. She had watched his power increase until he had one day outgrown the robes of Archbishop of Law; he had proclaimed himself Cardinal of Law. She knew he wouldn't stop there. His eyes were on the position held by Tolkan. It was only a matter of time until the old Arch-Prelate died. Tohre would see to it.

  "What now, Kaileel?" she asked, shoulders slumping.

  "Return to your quarters and wait for the new marriage contract to be signed."

  Her head came up.

  "Did I fail to mention I have your next husband already picked out, Highness?" His taunting laugh was maniacal.

  Her lips could barely move. "Who?"

  Tohre smiled. "Someone you will approve of this time." He sat behind his desk and rested his chin in his hand. "Someone more suited to your tastes than Galen McGregor."

  "Who?" Her voice quivered; her body trembled; her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

  "Galen was detested by our people," Kaileel said as though he were lecturing her in the politics of the day. "He was loathed, really. We need someone whose hand will be gentle with his people. Someone whose honor is above reproach. A man whose swordhand is as strong as his sense of duty and patriotism. A man our people can look up to, admire, love." He leaned back and looked at her with a steady, unwavering smirk. "A man we can control because we have something precious to him as hostage for his good behavior."

  Liza felt sweat running down her sides and thought she might well be sick on the desk.

  "Sit down, Highness," he told her softly, indicating a chair. "You don't look at all well."

  "Who, Tohre? Who will you force me to wed?"

  "Legion A'Lex, Highness."

  Liza's breath caught in her throat. "Legion?"

  Tohre threw back his head and laughed. Tears of mirth filled his eyes when he looked at her. "If you could see your face, woman!"

  "What game are you playing now?" she
hissed.

  He held up his hands. "No game! A'Lex is the eldest of the royal bastards. To our knowledge both Coron and Dyllon McGregor are dead, so no legal sons of the crown are alive to mount the throne. The people respect Legion, admire him. He was one of their rebel leaders until I threatened to have your head removed. He shaped up quite nicely after that, as did that bastard brother of his, Brelan Saur. I know you would prefer Brelan as your husband, but we must adhere to protocol and crown Legion king. I will have du Mer take you to Ivor Keep until the arrangements can be made and then you will return here for your wedding in six months, an adequate time of mourning for your late husband, don't you agree?" He shook his finger at her. "Be gracious about your upcoming nuptials, woman. I could give you to one of our many allies in Diabolusia."

  "And if Legion refuses such an…" Her lip curled. "…honor?"

  "He'll do what he's told. As will you, if you want to see young Prince Corbin safe." He smiled his evil taunt.

  "Once you are through, there will be nothing left of Conar's son but the wicked thing you have made of him." She raised her chin. "One day, Tohre, you will have to pay for all you have done to this family."

  "Not in your lifetime," he said sweetly.

  "I have no choice but to do as you want, but I will go to my grave hating you with a hate so virulent it will follow you to hell!"

  Kaileel leaned forward. His thin face split into a grin so evil and full of malice, it was deadly in its own right. His pale face shone with triumph, while his long, red-tipped nails drummed softly on the desktop. "And do you give your word for Legion A'Lex and Brelan Saur? If not, they might find themselves in Labyrinth Colony with"—he grinned—"other men of their acquaintance."

  Liza put her face in his, despite the compelling urge to spit in that ugly visage, and her voice was as cold as the glaciers on the Serenian Alps. "I promise I will see to it Brelan and Legion and all those you have spared to this day will give you no problem, as long as Corbin is not touched by Tolkan Coure."

  Kaileel raised one thin, blond brow. "Oh, he won't be. Corbin is mine." He lifted his chin. "But you say nothing about me touching your boy. Does that not concern you?"

  "You can't touch him until he's reached his sixth birthday. Even you have some sense of honor." Her face twisted with loathing. "You think you can succeed with Corbin where you failed with his father."

  "True," Kaileel conceded. "I'll not lay a hand on him until he is of age, according to the laws of the Brotherhood." His face filled with hate. "Tolkan would; I won't. That is why Tolkan will be eliminated before the week is out. But I would think you would worry about what happens after these next two years are up and Corbin reaches his sixth birthday."

  "Two years is a long time, Tohre. Who knows what can happen in two years?"

  * * *

  Eight days after Galen McGregor was laid to rest beside his mother and father in the family vault, it stormed.

  It was a harsh spring storm filled with jagged lightning that spat from the heavens in thick bolts of death. Loud crashes of thunder shook the ground and the air filled with the cloying stench of ozone and burned wood. Rain lashed against the windows of Ivor Keep and ran in ever-increasing rivers of oozing mud over the grounds in the courtyard and beyond the protection walls.

  Inside Ivor Keep, chandeliers swayed and curtains billowed from unseen drafts of air that managed to leak in around the windowsills and caulking. Some windows were blown inward, the glass shattered over the carpets. The servants raced about to lash the shutters but the force of the buffeting wind hindered their work.

  Liza's fear of storms had not lessened over the years. If anything, those fears became worse. Galen had managed, as his brother Conar before him, to keep the horrors at bay; now there was no one to stop the wild beat of her heart, the trembling that made her body quiver from head to toe.

  Galen was dead, his untimely death fashioning a wall around her. She missed what little strength he had afforded her and the love he had professed was hers. She had held no care for him, but a sense of loyalty, and her once-given word, had nurtured in her a grudging respect for the man's attempt to make her love him.

  His constant devotion to her, and the love and care he had given Corbin, had made her feel guilty when he had been found slain in the grotto. He had slept with her only when the world had come too close to them both; he had asked nothing of her on those occasions save her arms around him in comfort. Iin return, he had given her all of him. Even though she could sense his pain, his guilt, she had been unable to give to him in return. But he had never pressed her.

  But she, huddled alone in her chambers, missed him this night. A loud crash of thunder shook the room. She could stand it no more. Her bare feet flew over the cold floor. She flung wide the door to her chamber, crashing the massive portal against the wall as she fled. She ran terrified through the night-darkened corridor, her whimpering lost in the loud cracks of lightning and the rumbling boom of thunder, and she found herself safe in the haven of a dear friend's arms.

  All the weeks and months of despair and helplessness had been dredged up with the storm. All her hopelessness surfaced in one wild moment of panic. She clung to him like a drowning woman seeking the arms of a rescuer and barely felt the arms that lifted her high against her savior. With her face buried in the thin wet silk of his shirt, plastered to his brawny chest by the rain, she blotted out the lightning.

  She wondered if he had been out walking, as was his wont in the wee hours of the night, and had been caught unprepared by the storm. "You should take better care of yourself," she whispered.

  "Don't worry about me. Just let me take care of you."

  He carried her to his chamber and laid her down. Knowing prying eyes should not find them together, he locked the door, shooting the bolt into place, sealing out the world.

  He shrugged out of his wet shirt and tossed it on a chair. He fetched a towel, then came back drying his hair, his naked chest gleaming in the light from the hearth.

  "I got you wet," he said, looking down at her.

  She would have answered, but a shriek of lightning made her yelp. He rushed to her, gathered her in his arms and held her tightly.

  "Hush," he whispered. "It's all right. Nothing will happen to you, I promise."

  He smoothed the hair from her cheek and smiled as she buried her head against his chest when another flare of lightning lit the room. Though his breeches were soaked, he stretched out beside her and brought her trembling body close to his.

  It was his gentleness that took away the terror, the helplessness, the hopelessness. It was his presence and his soft voice that overshadowed the sound of the crashing storm. It was his arms that hid her from the fury of the gale building within her, and his brawny chest that blocked out the flashing light beyond the windows. And his love brought solace to her broken heart.

  It was not until dawn that his caring became more than just the comforting of a friend.

  She turned to this man, this brown-haired, brown-eyed friend, this wonderful protector, who had loved her for as long as she could remember.

  "Everything will be all right, Elizabeth."

  "Kaileel knows about Corbin."

  There was a faint pause in the man's breath. "I know."

  "What will we do?" She wept.

  He kissed the top of her head. "Get him back. I swear. Somehow we will find the way."

  "Make me forget, Bre," she asked, need brimming in her eyes. "For just this once…"

  And he did.

  His way of helping her beyond her pain became a wild, thrusting joy that left them both stunned with its intensity.

  Liza looked into Brelan Saur's soft eyes. This was Conar's brother, Legion's brother, Galen's brother. Now her lover. She conceived his child, had known it the moment it happened, just as the goddesses meant her to. He, however, knew nothing of the precious gift he had given her.

  "You have betrayed no one, Elizabeth. You are widowed. You are free to choose…"
/>   "Didn't Teal tell you?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "Kaileel has betrothed me to Legion. Legion will be crowned king."

  Brelan stiffened. "Not if I don't allow it!"

  Her hand went up to his cheek. "Legion is firstborn of the illegal sons, Bre. It is only right that he be king."

  "I don't give a damn about that!" he snarled. "You marrying him is out of the question!"

  "It will be him I wed, Brelan."

  "By the gods, it will not!" Brelan got out of the bed. "I took you but a moment ago, or is my lovemaking so numbing you slept through it?"

  "You know I did not," she replied, reaching for him. "Brelan, please try to understand."

  "Understand what?" His handsome face twisted.

  "Why I must marry Legion."

  "Stop saying that!" He grabbed her. "I made love to you. Does that not count for anything with you, Queen Beth?"

  "Don't call me that," she begged, looking at him with hurt.

  "I love you, woman!" he said, his voice breaking. "I love you with all my heart and all my soul. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  "Aye," she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. "More than you will ever know."

  "Then why?" he asked, his own tears flowing. "Why won't you love me in return?"

  "I do love you. I will always love you, but not…"

  "Not as a husband!" he snarled, his hands tightening on her arms. "Is that it? Not as your husband but as a substitute for Conar McGregor when the mood hits you?"

  "Brelan, don't."

  "Tell me, Queen Beth: did you go willingly into Galen's bed as willingly as you came to mine?"

  "You know I did not."

  "But I'll wager you'll spread your legs for Legion easily enough, won't you?"

  She hit him, slapping at his arms and shoulders until he pinned her wrists to the pillow. "Oh, Brelan, how could you say such a thing?"

  With his heart breaking, he gathered her to him, his arms trembling with the ferocity of his emotions.

  "I have to do this, Brelan," she sobbed. "I have to."

  "I can take you with me. We can go…"