WINDKEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Get yourself ready, Mam’selle." He pushed away from the window and strode heavily through the small room. Flinging open the door, he told her, "You and I are going to Boreas, with or without her. But I swear to the gods, Gezelle, if it takes the rest of my life, natural or otherwise, I will find that woman!"

  Gezelle could hear his hissing words even as his booted heels thumped down the stairs.

  "And I will make her rue the day she ever, ever played me for a fool!"

  Gezelle glanced at the crumpled note lying atop her disheveled bed. She had never learned how to read and she was glad she couldn’t. Whatever had been in that note had taken the heart out of Prince Conar McGregor.

  * * *

  When Meggie Ruck changed the linens in the room where her two females guests had slept, she saw the note lying in the cold ashes of the fireplace. Picking it up, she read the missive, but the message made no sense to her. Wadding it up again, she tossed it into the fireplace.

  "What did it say, Meggie?" Harry asked his wife that night as they prepared for bed.

  "Didn’t make no sense, Dearling. I thought it might have had a clue as to where the lady took herself off to. But all it said was: the journey’s done."

  "What journey?" Harry yawned.

  "I don’t have the faintest notion, Harry!" Meggie said with exasperation.

  But as he rode ahead of Gezelle on the road to Boreas, Conar McGregor thought back to that message contained in the note and a fierce gleam came into his cold blue eyes. He had promised himself to Liza for the journey to Boreas.

  "Well," he thought, rage filling his heart, "I didn’t say the gods-be-damned journey was over!"

  Chapter 13

  * * *

  "Your Grace?" Gezelle was trying desperately to keep up with Conar’s long stride as he stomped through the main hall of Boreas Keep. Her shorter legs were pumping furiously beneath her light muslin gown as she tried to gain his attention.

  "What?" he shouted, never breaking his stride.

  "Your brother sent me to find you, Your Grace. The last search party you sent out has returned." She almost plowed into his broad back as he stopped suddenly, spinning around to glare at her.

  He knew even before he asked that the searchers had come back as empty-handed as he had. "And?"

  Gezelle bit her lip before answering. She hated to see him so hurt. "The men found no trace of her."

  "How the hell can that be?" Blazing fury replaced the hope of a few moments earlier, etching deep lines in the sun crinkles at his temples. "I don’t understand! How can she just disappear without a trace?"

  It had been two months since Liza had left them at the Briar’s Hold Inn. Conar had sent out mercenaries, soldiers, members of his own Elite, even men he had hired to cross borders into the neighboring countries, both friendly and unfriendly, to ask questions. None of the men had brought back even one clue as to the girl’s whereabouts. What was more, not one had been able to gather any encouraging word concerning the girl’s existence. It was as though Liza had never been.

  "Did we dream her?" Conar asked Gezelle one night as he sat brooding in the keep’s formal garden. "Was she some succubus, a NightWind who happened along to ensnare me, ’Zelle? If so, I would gladly sell my soul to the demons of the Abyss to have her back."

  "Come inside, Your Grace," she pleaded with him. "It is too cold out here." Snow sifted through the branches overhead.

  "Not as cold as my heart," he said miserably.

  "We will keep looking, Your Majesty."

  "I will find her, ’Zelle."

  "I wish I could help. I have tried talking to some of the women here, but none of them admit to knowing any lady connected with the Daughterhood of the Multitude. Many of them have chastised me for speaking of the Multitude’s existence."

  "They’d better not cause you trouble," he said, a militant gleam crossing his features. "If the bitches so much as say one wise word to you, I’ll have them banned from this court!"

  And Gezelle knew he meant it. She smiled tenderly. "The ladies have been kind to me for the most part."

  "They’d better be!"

  She didn’t dare tell him that there were a few she had caught looking at her as though they ached to say something they dared not. She wasn’t sure if what the ladies wanted to say was good or bad or if it might pertain to the lady he was seeking. Gezelle only knew her Prince would pounce on those poor women like a hound on a rabbit if he suspected they knew something they weren’t telling.

  "You knew I had sent Rayle to Norus to find Belvoir, didn’t you?" he asked.

  "Aye, I had heard, Your Grace."

  "Stop calling me that!" he thundered. He clenched his teeth and glared at her, striving to calm his raging temper. He sucked in a long breath, then exhaled. "If you must give me a title, ’Zelle, call me Milord." He saw her hesitate. "I command it, Mam’selle."

  They had had this argument before. Gezelle shook her head. "It is disrespectful, Your…" She stopped at his warning growl. Her head dipped. "As you wish, Milord."

  "That’s better. I despise titles. By the gods, how I despise titles!" He sat on a bench beside a marble fountain and threw back his head. "I just don’t understand any of this. I went looking for her at Norus that day, but she hadn’t returned there. Both Belvoir and Galen were gone so I didn’t get to question either of them. And when Rayle got to Norus, he found Belvoir gone again. This time on a leave of absence. That stupid brother of mine had given the man a leave of absence!" He glared at the ceiling as though he were glaring at Galen. "The bastard didn’t even know where his man went." He looked at Gezelle. "And he didn’t even know where Belvoir called home. Can you believe that?"

  "Perhaps Sir Belvoir didn’t wish for him to know, Milord." She hesitated only a moment before placing her hand on his shoulder. It was a mark of the growing friendship between them that she dared to do so. Her fingers caressed his tense shoulder beneath the fabric of his cambric shirt. "Someone will come forward eventually."

  "The gods help anyone keeping knowledge of her from me!" His mouth twisted in a line of hurt. "I’ll make them sorry they did."

  Gezelle didn’t doubt that for a moment. "Is there anything you wish for me to tell your brother, Milord?"

  "Tell him…" He shook his head. If he didn’t get out of this damned keep, he’d explode. "Never mind. There’s not a gods-be-damned thing Legion can do!" He stormed out of the keep with his shoulders bunched in anger.

  * * *

  Stomping through the Central Hall of Boreas Keep, Conar did not see the beauty that enraptured all those who viewed it. He did not notice the glory that was his birthright. The keep and the palace had become claustrophobic to him in the last two months. He spent more and more time outside, riding, searching, asking the same questions over and over and over again until he thought he would go insane. He would come back at night, late, exhausted, heartsick, but he would be up again at first light to start all over.

  Taking the passageway that led from the Central Hall to the artisans quarters and beyond that the drawbridge, his thoughts were not on the bustling activity surrounding him. He did not see servant and freeman stop in their work and nod to him. He saw nothing save the blazing red haze before him. He crossed from the artisan passageway to the rock-strewn path leading to the inner bailey and all but ignored two of his children who called to him as he passed.

  Watching from the shaded overhang of the medical passageway, an older man paid close attention as Conar practically ran over the drawbridge and took the turn toward Lake Myria.

  "In a foul mood again, eh?" the keep’s physician asked the watcher.

  "It would appear so, Cayn," the watcher sighed. "I’d better see to him."

  Conar was walking rapidly through the thick trees that rimmed Lake Myria. He was wrestling with his fury, unable to bring it under control. He had become so irascible that his own father and brothers would not go near him. He snapped at anyone who dared annoy him.

  His food was e
ither too hot or too cold. His bed was too lumpy or too smooth. Not enough covers, too many. His clothes were either too limp or too full of starch. If his bath water was the right temperature, the towels were too scratchy. His boots could never be too shiny, or else they were so shiny they gave him a blaring headache.

  Gezelle had been pleased when he had installed her in the tiny servant’ room just off his own. It was a room reserved for his personal manservant, but since Conar had never wanted the services of such a gentleman, Gezelle took over the duties of the apartments where his lady-wife and her handmaidens would one day reside. She also took over the care of his bedchambers, saw to his clothing, his linens, and the cleaning of his office. Happy as she was with her new life, there were times when even she felt like pushing him over the balcony and into the thick brambles beside the sea gate.

  Perhaps the only person other than Gezelle still willing to endure his outbursts, was his half-brother, Legion A’Lex.

  Lord Legion—eight years older than Conar—was the eldest of King Gerren’s bastard sons. Given the status of Vice-Commander of the Serenian Force, second only to Conar who was titular commander, Legion was a soldier first, a lover second, and a statesman third. His training at the hands of the Wind Warrior Society had honed his body into a prime example of young manhood. Weightlifting and wrestling competitions kept it that way.

  With his dark brown wavy hair and startling blue eyes so like Conar’s, Legion A’Lex never had trouble finding a female companion with whom to wile away the hours. His thick, dark lashes would sweep over the amber-fire of his flashing eyes and the lady would melt right into his bed. Twin dimples in his lean cheeks gave him just the right amount of boyish charm to soften even the hardest of maiden’s hearts and loosen even the tightest clamped thighs. His tall frame—he was well over six feet—his heavily furred chest, wide and hard as flint, his long legs and thick hands, always caught the ladies’ eye when he stripped down for competition in the soldier’s compound each month.

  Totally devoted to his father and his father’s firstborn legal heir, Legion A’Lex had a strong attachment to Conar that went far beyond brotherly love and devotion. They were the best of friends and there was a bond between them that survived boyhood tantrums, fist fights, stolen girlfriends and lost competitions on horses, with weapons and in wrestling matches. There was naturally a rivalry between them and Conar tried to do everything his older brother could do. By the time he had reached his eighteenth birthday, there was precious little Legion could do that Conar couldn’t.

  Just as his love for Conar made him overly concerned and overly protective of his younger brother, Legion’s anxiety over Conar’s current foul temper and morbidity made him want to throttle the lad. In his wisdom, Legion felt Conar needed something only he, himself, could give him.

  Putting aside his titles of lover and soldier, Legion A’Lex donned the mantle of scholarly statesman and fell into step behind his brother as Conar left the keep.

  * * *

  Conar didn’t look back; he didn’t need to. He could hear Legion crashing through the foliage like a bull elephant. He grimaced, wondering why it was Legion could never leave him the hell alone. He angrily shoved a branch from his path, cursing at the world in general as a sliver of bark drove under his thumbnail. Sucking on his injured finger, he came into a clearing where a small pond fed from the waters of Lake Myria. He had often swum here when he was a boy and it was here that he came when he wanted to be alone.

  Not that Legion was going to let him alone, he thought with malice. Legion had a way of interfering when he should keep his nose out of other people’s business.

  Conar didn’t look up as Legion joined him. He continued to sit on his favorite rock, his head in his hand, staring at the ground. He was aware of Legion coming to sit beside him on the moss-covered ground, stretching his long legs, leaning back on his elbows, but he totally ignored the man, preferring the silence of the forest to conversation with unwanted company.

  Legion glanced at his brother, shook his head and laid on the ground, his head cupped in the palms of his hands. He started to hum.

  For a long time neither spoke. Conar continued to pretend Legion wasn’t there; Legion continued to hum.

  It wasn’t actually a tune Legion was humming. Legion A’Lex was tone-deaf, going about humming and singing off-key.

  Conar could stand it no longer. He raised his head and snapped caustically at his brother. "Is there something you want, Legion?"

  Legion shook his head…and continued to hum.

  "Did you come here for a reason?"

  "Nope," Legion took the time to say before humming louder.

  Conar turned his head from Legion’s merry grin and stared into the forest, wishing with his entire being a were-tiger would hear that infernal humming and come to gobble up A’Lex. If it was bothering him, it had to be bothering every creature within earshot.

  "Aren’t you needed somewhere, Legion?"

  "Nope." Legion began singing a song Conar knew all too well. And was murdering the little ditty.

  "I don’t need this, Legion!"

  Legion gave his brother a lewd wink and wagged his bushy brows. "Oh, I think we are all fully aware of what you need!"

  "The demons take you, A’Lex!" Conar shouted, coming to his feet in a lithe bound. Putting his hands on his hips, he glared at his older brother. "Leave, damn it!"

  "And if I don’t?" Legion began to whistle.

  "I’ll throw your ass in the pond." There was steel in his tone.

  Legion snorted at the suggestion and resumed humming.

  Conar blinked. "I’ve no great desire to fight you, Legion."

  "I would think not, all things considered, but I think we shall see who throws who into yon pond." Legion unfolded his arms and braced himself. He wiggled his fingers at his brother. "Okay, come on. I don’t have all day to put your snotty little butt in its place. Let’s do it."

  Conar risked a look at the pond. "Just go back to the keep and let me have some peace. I—"

  "Let’s do it!"

  Conar knew that look in his older brother’s eye. He’d seen that look too many times over the years. Not wanting to wind up in the pond, he feigned running to his left. When Legion started that way, Conar darted to the right. He’d gotten only a few feet before Legion tackled him from behind and sent him crashing to the mossy ground. He landed heavily, Legion’s weight pressed solidly against his back.

  "Get off!" Conar managed to gasp.

  "No," Legion bent forward and purred in his ear. "Hey! Listen. You wanna feel something really interesting, Conar?"

  Conar tensed, expecting a band of pain somewhere on his body. He wasn’t prepared for his big brother’s ultimate attack.

  "Let’s see if I remember how this goes," Legion said in a wondering tone. He thrust his tongue deep into Conar’s ear, chuckling as the boy jumped, squirming desperately to get away.

  "Shit!" Conar screeched, shuddering all over.

  "And how ’bout this?" Legion crowed, jerking Conar to his feet, lifting him and tossing him like a bag of salt into the pond.

  Legion chuckled as Conar’s head broke the pond’s surface. He heard Conar’s gasp and knew the water must be like ice this time of year. He raised his head and grinned at Conar’s wide-mouthed gape as the boy drew in quick gasps of air.

  "Cold?" Legion inquired. When Conar didn’t answer, Legion rubbed it in. "Who’s in the pond, Conar?"

  "The hell with you!" Conar sputtered, his teeth chattering.

  "A little upset, are we?" Legion asked, clucking his tongue as though at an unruly child.

  "Go to hell!"

  "Not a happy soldier, huh?"

  Glaring hotly at his brother, not an easy thing to do since he was freezing to death, Conar reached out his hand. "Help me out, Legion."

  Legion’s mouth dropped open. "Are you serious? You got yourself in; get yourself out!"

  Conar mumbled and waded out of the pond, the water coming only u
p to his shriveled paps. He struggled up the slippery bank to flop on his stomach, coughing up some of the icy water he had accidentally ingested as he hit the surface. He shivered from head to toe.

  Several minutes passed before Conar broke the silence. "You could have broken my arm, Legion." He bent his arm, testing it, wincing with the pain in his shoulder caused from the angle in which he’d landed in the pond.

  "If that’s what it would have taken."

  Conar looked at his brother. "You’ve never hurt me before."

  "I know." Legion turned his head also.

  "Why did you feel the need to hurt me?"

  Legion sighed. "Because," he said as though speaking to a not-too-bright child, "you haven’t been the most pleasant of companions of late. You have managed to single-handedly make life most impossible to enjoy. If it hadn’t been me, then someone less tender, and less inclined to play with you, would have taken your ass down."

  "You call nearly drowning me being gentle, do you?"

  "I pity this woman who has caught your attention."

  Conar frowned with annoyance. "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "Have you forgotten your betrothal?"

  Conar glared. "You know damned well I haven’t. As if I could forget it!"

  "Just because the wedding was postponed, doesn’t mean you can go on with your dalliances. Papa made that clear the other night at table. Your marriage contract expressly forbids liaisons within six months of your marriage date."

  Conar snorted. "I know what the gods-be-damned thing states."

  "But you ignore it, don’t you?"

  "I’m not a damned eunuch and I’ll be damned if I’ll let Shaz and Medea and The Toad turn me into one!" His eyes were hard and unforgiving.

  "And you know perfectly well there are ways of relieving yourself—"

  "I won’t do that!" Conar shouted.

  "Will you let me finish? There are plenty of women at the keep more than willing to ease you, if that’s what ails you. You don’t have to engage in copulation to relieve sexual tension." Legion stared at his brother’s angry profile. "Have you held to the bargain?"