WINDKEEPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Conar sighed. He gently placed his lips along her knuckles and kissed the cool fingers. "Thank you for caring, ’Zelle."

  "If there is anything I may do, Milord…"

  "I wish to the gods there was," he said and raised his head to look out the window once more. "But there is nothing any one can do."

  "If it is the gods’ will, Milord," she told him, smoothing her hand over the tense muscles of his back, "she will return to you."

  He nodded. "Do me a favor, Mam’selle. Have one of the guards saddle my steed. If I stay one more minute in this great pile of rocks, I shall go mad."

  "The note?" she prompted, no longer afraid of his outburst.

  "I shall read it," he warned in a soft voice.

  After she had gone, he stood by the window, his shoulders bowed, his face buried in his forearm as he leaned against the casement.

  Gezelle’s touch had hurt him more than he could say. Out of all fairness to the girl, he couldn’t send her away, not now that she had found a place well-suited to her, but he wished with all his heart he didn’t have to see her, for her appearance bit deep into his battered soul. The two women bore such a strong, uncanny resemblance to one another—the black hair and green eyes, the delicate face, the slim and curving bodies were too similar, too familiar. The pain was too raw, as yet. The sight of Gezelle, so like his Liza, always served to remind him vividly of his loss.

  Turning from the window, he snatched up his brown leather jacket. His gaze fell on the rolled parchment and he stared intently at it for a moment but then dismissed it from his mind.

  As he left his chambers, he shouted at a hapless servant he chanced to pass on the stairs to make sure his room was cleaned.

  "It’s in a gods-be-damn mess!" he yelled as he skipped down the stone risers.

  * * *

  Three days later, Conar came across the note Gezelle had brought to him. When he read it, bitter tears fell down his cheeks.

  "Milord," it read, "please meet me today by the old crofter’s hut on the road to Ivor Keep. I will be there until sunset. If you do not come, I will know you no longer want this woman for your love and I will leave you alone."

  "No," Conar cried as he clutched the note to his chest. "Sweet Merciful Alel, no!" He bowed his head and gave in to soul-rending sobs.

  When he had cried himself out, he went to the study, took a bottle of plum brandy and brought it back to his room. Tilting the bottle, he drained it, then smashed the delicate bottle against the fireplace.

  He did not blame the messenger who had delivered the note nor Gezelle who had made sure he received it. He blamed no one but himself for missing the time and place of a meeting with Liza and perhaps giving her the impression he no longer wanted her.

  Sinking deep into depression, abandoning his anger, he took to his bed with an arsenal of liquor and refused to leave his chambers.

  Chapter 15

  * * *

  "I have had all your shit I’m going to take, Conar!" Legion shouted at the top of his lungs. He threw open the drapes on the windows of his brother’s room. "This foolishness will stop today! Get the hell out of that gods-be-damned bed. Now!"

  Conar’s eyes flew open as the harsh morning light flooded the room. Jerking up at the sound of his brother’s bellow had been a major mistake. Groaning, he grabbed his throbbing head and wiggled further beneath his covers. "Have pity, Legion. Shut the damn drapes. Can’t you see I’m dying?"

  Kicking several empty ale bottles out of his way, Legion stomped to the bed and screamed at the huddled mass under the covers. "Either get up or be dragged! Take your pick!"

  Moaning in the after-throes of a violent drunk that had left puke splattered on his sheets, Conar scrunched deeper into his covers and pulled the pillow over his aching head to shut out both the noise and the light. Mumbling something about the fires of hell to his big brother, he also tried to shut out the agony throbbing in his head.

  Legion put his foot on the bed and shook the mattress, gaining a muffled groan of pain from his brother. "Get up, damn it!"

  Conar jammed the pillow harder over his head and mouthed a vulgarity that was meant to deter Legion from his attack.

  It didn’t work.

  If anything, it made matters worse.

  Snatching away the pillow, Legion grabbed a handful of Conar’s golden hair and yanked up the young Prince’s head, ignoring the sharp yelp of outraged pain.

  "I said get up!" Legion yelled, releasing his hold on Conar’s hair long enough to grab the young man’s left arm with one hand as he flung the covers away with the other. With a mighty yank, he pulled his younger brother to a semi-erect position.

  "Leave me the hell alone, A’Lex!" Conar barked, squinting up at Legion, trying to focus on the wavering face hovering over him. A sour belch bubbled out of his mouth and he grinned viciously as Legion turned his face away from the noxious smell.

  "That does it!" Legion growled and leaned toward Conar, putting his hard shoulder to his brother’s midsection and levering him up and out of the bed, onto his shoulder.

  Conar’s head swam unmercifully as he dangled over his brother’s shoulder, his body limp, boneless in Legion’s furious grasp. "God!" he groaned. "Put me down, Legion! I’m gonna be sick!"

  Before Legion could react, he felt the rumble tearing up from his brother’s throat; heard the godawful sound of retching; felt the hot, thick liquid pour down his back and rump and legs.

  A furious snarl of rage covered Legion A’Lex’s face. "By all that’s holy, Conar!" he screamed, "I’m gonna beat you black and blue for that!" He brought up his free hand and smacked his brother firmly on his upturned backside.

  "Legion, don’t!" Conar’s voice was feeble and he was choking as his own puke bubbled down his nose. As Legion descended the stairs with him, the movement brought fresh nausea to his throat and as he opened his mouth to protest the treatment he was getting, more bile spewed out and dropped with a soft plop into the tops of Legion’s boots. He was rewarded with another vicious swat at his backside. "Oh, god!" Conar managed to croak.

  "The gods won’t help you, you stupid fool!"

  Everyone in the main hall looked up as Lord Legion A’Lex came down the stairs at a hard stomp. They ignored the groaning young Prince and looked to the mottled assortment of vomit that was left in the men’s wake.

  From his place by the library door, King Gerren smiled, nodding in satisfaction as his eldest son caught his eye. "I see you are taking care of the situation!" he called to Legion and then turned to the scribe who stood beside him. "Legion has had his fill of his baby brother’s foolery, I see." He looked back at Legion as he neared the front door. "Don’t hurt your little brother too badly, Legion!" He looked toward a young man. "Get the door for him, Tealson."

  Lord Teal du Mer ran to the front door and jerked it open.

  Legion nodded to du Mer in passing, and, never breaking his stride, headed out of the keep into the side courtyard; crossed under one canopied passageway and took another that led to the stables.

  Booted feet on the wooden planks hit with hard thuds that made Conar’s teeth click together and his head bounce.

  Several guards and servants stopped what they were doing to watch in wonder as they realized what Lord Legion was about. They glanced at one another with worried frowns. Surely His Lordship didn’t mean to do what it looked as though he was about to do. Some of the servants hurried away. Now was not the time to be a witness to Lord Legion’s folly.

  Stopping in front of the wide horse trough at the stable, Legion brought up his right hand that had been holding Conar’s squirming legs, put it in the small of his brother’s back and began to lean forward.

  With a great deal of pain and effort, Conar craned his neck and realized where he was. He saw the water looming up at him. "Don’t," he said weakly.

  As Legion leaned further over the trough, Conar felt his body slipping off the hard shoulder and his eyes widened in stunned disbelief. "Don’t you dare!" he sc
reamed at the top of his aching lungs before he landed squarely in the center of the water trough.

  Kneeling beside the trough, Legion caught Conar’s head as it bobbed to the surface and pushed it back under, knocking away his brother’s protesting hands as he held Conar’s head under the water.

  "Oh, no, you don’t," Legion snarled as Conar tried to pry his brother’s fingers away from their fierce grip in his flaxen hair. Legion tightened his hold and pushed the head lower in the trough.

  Water flooded Conar’s acrid mouth, filled his nose and ears and threatened to rush down his throat. He fought Legion’s strong grip, but he was too weak from far too much liquor and far too little food over the past two weeks. He began to see stars and thought he was going to lose consciousness, but then he felt a vicious tug on his hair and his head popped free of the water. "Damn your eyes, Legion!" he sputtered, dragging in long gasps of fresh air.

  "Curse me, will you?" Legion thundered and pushed him back under.

  Bubbles shot up from the water and Conar began to struggle in earnest, for water had sped down his throat. His hair was yanked up again and he came up coughing and gagging, water flowing from his nostrils. "You son-of-a-bitch," he said in a weak voice.

  "Insult me?" Legion grated then shoved him under again and held him down. Conar clawed at his hands, digging furrows across Legion’s knuckles, but the older man ignored the relatively minor pain. He was so incensed by Conar’s behavior, he ignored the fact that Conar’s struggling was less intense, the bubbles shooting to the surface, more intense. He kept his grip on Conar’s hair until he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see their father.

  "Legion," Gerren said in a pleasant voice, "don’t drown your little brother, now."

  "I was only trying to get his attention," Legion answered, still holding Conar under.

  "I think you have it." Gerren grinned.

  "You think so?"

  "Well," the King said, looking over into the trough, "it would appear you do, son." He saw that Conar had almost stopped struggling.

  "You think he’ll listen to us, now?"

  "Aye," King Gerren told him, noticing his younger son had stopped struggling. "We don’t want to kill him, now, do we?" He smiled at Legion and then continued his stroll into the stables.

  Letting go of Conar’s hair, Legion stepped away from the trough and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. Conar shot to the surface, leaned over the side of the trough, gasping, coughing and spewing water to try to clear his lungs.

  As Conar continued to cough water out of his heaving body, Rayle Loure walked over to Legion and handed him a rolled parchment, whispering to him about its contents. Legion’s face took on a gleam of vengeance and he nodded to Rayle. "I’ll see to it," he said and glanced at Rayle’s retreating back.

  "You…are…a…dead…man…A’Lex!" Conar managed to gasp, gaining Legion’s attention.

  "Is that so?" Legion tapped the rolled parchment against his lip.

  "You’ll pay for this," Conar spat as he stood in the trough, weaving, his head spinning.

  Legion’s face split into a grin. Those closest to the trough backed away uneasily. "In what way, Your Grace?" Legion asked in a soft, challenging voice.

  It took quite a bit of effort, but Conar managed to throw one leg over the edge of the trough, glaring furiously at his brother and the gaping crowd. He swung his angry eyes among those gathered.

  "What the hell are you looking at?" he shouted at the servants. He swung the other leg out of the trough and sloshed water down the front of Legion’s breeches.

  Legion looked at the wet stain on his legs and got a good whiff of the vomit plastering the backs of his breeches, and he slowly turned to his little brother.

  "I’ll see you in hell for this, Legion!" Conar snarled. He spat a stream of water out of his lungs.

  "Really?" Legion asked. "You’d better watch what you say to me, pup."

  Conar wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "No man treats the Heir Apparent in this manner," he said in a haughty tone, looking down his nose at his eldest brother.

  Legion drew back his fist and hit Conar in the mouth as hard as he could, a blow having enough force to topple the younger man and send him flat on his back.

  "I knew it," Thom Loure, Rayle’s brother, mumbled.

  Conar landed with an audible thud, the wind knocked out of lungs already aching from lack of air. He gasped as his tailbone collided painfully with the ground and he gasped again as Legion came to straddle him.

  "Get up!" Legion shouted, his fists clenched by his sides.

  Conar recognized that look on Legion’s face. He scanned the courtyard and knew those gathered knew the look, too. When Lord Legion A’Lex had the gleam of battle in his eye, it didn’t matter who was on the receiving end of those meaty fists. That person was going to get hurt and get hurt badly. "Legion, I…" Conar began, stopping upon Legion’s shout of outrage.

  "You call yourself a man? Then get up and prove it, Heir Apparent to the Throne!" Legion taunted, his upper lip raised as though he smelled something not to his liking.

  Conar’s head pounded furiously and blood streamed out of his nose; his lip was swelling at an astonishing rate and he was sure one of his front teeth was loose. He put a shaky hand to his jaw and thanked whatever god was paying attention that his jaw hadn’t been broken.

  "You wanna be dragged up, Prince Conar?" Legion snarled down at him.

  Coming to his feet, Conar sent a look of uncertainty at his brother. There was no longer anger and defiance in the blue gaze. There was hurt and wounded pride. He knew he couldn’t take Legion. Not today and, he suspected, not ever. He had let his big mouth run away with him again and his face was going to pay for it.

  Weaving in front of Legion, he put out his hand to stop the fight, but he could see the man wasn’t ready for it to end. He saw the fist coming, straight for his left eye, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t duck. He took the hit hard in his face, felt the pain opening a gash on his cheekbone; saw stars; went to the ground once more, landing hard on his right side.

  "Get up," Legion whispered. "Get up and fight like the man you like to think you are!"

  "I’m sorry," Conar managed to say through the bulge that was his lip.

  "I don’t give a shit! You’re gonna be sorrier still!"

  Sighing, knowing he had more punishment in store for himself, he pushed up from the dirt and stood there looking at his brother. Blood caked his face, one eye was already swelling shut, and he could taste blood inside his mouth. He watched as Legion’s face twisted with rage and he knew he was going to be hit again.

  All the fight had been knocked out of him already. What was coming now was his final embarrassment. His final put down. Legion wanted him to know who was boss and it gods-be-damned sure wasn’t the Heir Apparent!

  He took the hit squarely on his nose and felt hot blood gush down his throat. The jab was powerful, so devastating, it propelled him sideways against the water trough and he hit the hard wood side and slid once more to the ground, gasping in agony, for he felt a rib crack.

  "Get the hell up and quit moaning, Conar!" Legion demanded. He kicked Conar’s bare ankle with his booted foot. "I’m not through with you."

  "Don’t beat your little brother to death, Legion," the King called as he headed back to the keep. "That would be a hanging offense, son." He stopped and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Nervous laughter rang out at King Gerren’s comment.

  Holding a hand to his side, Conar looked uneasily at Legion’s stormy face. "Why don’t I just stay down here?" he wheezed through his pain. "It would save you the trouble of knocking me down again." His ribs shot bursts of stabbing agony.

  "Don’t let these people gathered know you aren’t man enough to take your punishment," Legion sneered. "If I have to tell you once more to get up, I won’t be as gentle when I put your gods-be-damned ass down again!"

  Hoisting himself painfully to his feet, hold
ing his breath against the agony in his side, he stood up as straight as he could in front of Legion, prepared for the blows he thought were coming. He could see the others gaping at him. He could feel the pain in his side and still he wouldn’t put up a hand to stop Legion. He waited for the blow that could conceivably push the broken rib straight through a lung.

  Instead, Legion threw the rolled parchment at his feet. He looked down with a hope that was hastily quashed.

  "It comes from King Shaz!" Legion told him. "He will be here with his wife and the wedding party this afternoon. You had better be on your best behavior when your betrothed comes through that gate. Do you hear me, Conar McGregor? If you aren’t, I can guarantee you will regret it!"

  Conar groaned. He didn’t need The Toad today. His head spun crazily and he felt himself pitching forward and couldn’t stop. The jolt as his knees hit the ground sent white-hot pain spearing through his side. Grimacing in agony, he reached for the trough, missed, his hand sliding down the side. "Oh, god!" he whimpered and a servant rushed over to him, but Legion’s angry voice stopped the man dead in his tracks.

  "Leave him be! Let the fool get up on his own!"

  The servant looked to his King. When Gerren nodded, the man backed away, but his attention was on Conar’s pain-twisted face and he was worried. "Prince Conar?" he whispered, darting a glance to Lord Legion’s wrathful face. "Are you all right, Your Grace?" Just out of his line of vision, he saw Lord Legion take a step toward him and he backed away, fearful of incurring that man’s ire. "Milord, he’s hurt."

  "Good!" Legion snarled. "I meant to hurt him!"

  Conar groped for the edge of the trough and pulled himself up, hanging on with one hand while the other pressed tightly to his side. He had almost gained his feet when, with a gasp of shock, he doubled over, acute pain reflecting in his surprised eyes.