“He certainly does not,” his sister snapped. “The poor man has had quite enough."
“You think someone might have cursed him?"
“I don't know!” Gillian exclaimed with annoyance. “If someone did, they were gods-be-damned good at their conjuring."
He looked sharply at his sister. “Why are you so out of sorts this morn, Gilly? Anyone would think you had caught your tit in a wringer."
“I hate it,” she seethed through her clenched teeth.
“The snow?” he inquired with a cocked brow.
“The sn....?” she glared at him. “No,” she replied as though talking to the village idiot, “what these bastards have done to Kaelan!"
“Ah,” Nick replied. He turned back to his scooping, bending lower now. “And what do you plan on doing about it?"
“You know gods-be-damned well what I plan to do, Nicholas,” she shot back.
Nick sighed. “Aye, lass; I do, indeed.” He shuddered. “But can you wait until we leave this place before you start in on it?"
Gillian snorted and left her brother digging at the drift. Grabbing up her pan of apples, she stomped up the servant's stairs.
Kaelan was sitting on the side of the bed, coughing. He looked up as she came into the room. His eyes were red and watering; his nose was as equally red and running; and his cheeks were flushed with febrile brightness. “I wish you'd quit running around downstairs, brat,” he grumbled. “You're gonna catch cold, too."
“I've a fire going in the grate down there,” she informed him snidely. “Actually, it's warmer in the kitchen than up here.” She laid the pan down and went to him, felt his forehead, frowned. “Are you feeling any better at all?"
“No.” He leaned against her, shivering as her arms enclosed him. Laying his head against her chest, he sighed deeply as her hands smoothed his hair. “You don't know how many times I've dreamed of this."
“What? Catching your death of cold” she teased.
Kaelan grinned. “That, too,” he agreed. His cheek nuzzled her belly. “When I woke just now, I thought I'd dreamed you being here until I couldn't find Brownie and sat up to find her asleep on your cot."
“The tart,” she laughed. “She slept half-atop me all night!"
“I would have, too, if I could have.” When she had no comeback for that remark, he pushed away from her just enough to look up at her face; he was relieved to see her smiling back at him.
“You thought I was going to protest Nicky bringing back a priest, didn't you, milord Kaelan?” she asked.
“All you had to say was no,” he told her.
“All you had to say was no,” she countered.
“Not me, Mam'selle. Joining with you has always been my most fervent desire."
“You're sure?” she pressed.
“Aye, I'm sure. Are you?” His look said he was prepared for her rejection.
She nodded. “I've never been surer of anything in my entire life, Hesar.” Removing her arms from around his shoulders, she stepped back. “Do you need help with the chamberpot, milord?"
“No!” he exclaimed, his face turning a deeper red.
Gillian shrugged. “All right.” She turned to leave him, then looked back over her shoulder, giving him a look as hot as the flames in the hearth before she exited.
* * * *
“What's the world a'comin’ to?” the innkeeper asked, shaking his head. “To steal a man's pack horse while he's out in a mess like what we had yesterday!” He shook his head again. “A sorry state of affairs, milord. A sorry state of affairs."
“Well,” Nick answered, belching and rubbing his belly as he'd seen many a peasant fellow do, “I've a coin or two to buy another mount and provision it.” He glanced around the tavern. “Where would you send me, Titus?"
Titus Neils answered without hesitation: “Van de Lar's for the provisioning.” He polished the already-gleaming bar top with a damp rag. “He's my wife's only brother, he is, and I don't lie when I say he's as fair as the day is long."
“What about a horse?"
“Raine Jale,” a man spoke up from the hearth across the room. He took his pipe from his mouth and motioned with the stem. “Don't let his looks fool you; he's as fair a man as is Giles Van de Lar."
“His looks?” Nick questioned.
Leaning forward, the innkeeper lowered his voice. “Raine's a Hasdu, but we don't make mention of it to him; ’Tis a sore point, you see."
“We're a very tolerant lot here in Wixenstead,” the other fellow snorted.
Nick looked around at the man and saw disgust in the stranger's gray eyes. “That's good to know,” Nicky said, draining the last of his ale. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned his elbows on the bar, mischief turning his eyes dark as sin. “Tell me: who owns that fancy mansion up on the hill?"
Titus Neils’ eyes darted to the other man and then away. He set about briskly polishing the bar top once again. “What mansion is that, lad?” he mumbled.
“You got more than one here?” Nick chuckled. “A most prosperous place is Wixenstead Village!"
“How come you to remark on that mansion?” the other man countered, moving away from the hearth. He narrowed his gaze. “Did you stop there, friend?"
Nick nodded. “I did, but no one came to the door."
The innkeeper crossed himself. “Lucky for you he didn't,” Titus stressed.
“Who?” Nick inquired.
“Stay as far away from that evil place as you can get,” the innkeeper warned Nick. “The Demon Duke lives there with his familiar!"
“Familiar?” Nick looked from one stony face to the other, then smiled. “You don't mean that big brown dog, do you? S-hound if ever there was one, and she weren't grinning at you. She was more like sizing you up for her belly."
“Where was you a'seein’ that hound, friend?” the other man queried.
“At the window,” Nick replied and elevated one dark red brow when the innkeeper gasped. “What's wrong?"
“You dared to get close enough to peer in the Demon's window?!” Titus breathed. “Lucky he didn't turn you, lad!"
“Turn me?” Nick asked.
“Tell him, Titus!” the other man laughed.
“You tell him!” the innkeeper snapped through clenched teeth. “You know well as me!"
“Last man that stopped at Unholy Dale got turned into a lizard!” the other man chortled.
“Frog, Lumley,” Titus corrected. “He turned the poor sod into a frog."
Nick hid his grin beneath a pretend yawn. “Well, nothing came of me peeking in. All's I saw was the dog standing there wagging its tail at me. Never saw this Demon Duke you mentioned."
“Like I said: t'is lucky for you that you didn't gain his notice, lad,” Titus answered.
“Actually,” Nick said, slapping a silver piece down on the bar top to pay for his last ale, “I didn't think anyone was living there. The place was so rundown and empty.” He narrowed his eyes at Titus. “What happened to all the furniture."
“Merciful Alel!” the innkeeper gasped. “How long did you dare stay at his window to notice that, friend?"
Nick shrugged. “Not long. Like I said, I thought the place deserted until I saw the mutt."
“You were born under a lucky star, you were,” Titus breathed with awe. “Don't be going back that way if'n you want to stay lucky, son!"
“What's the fellow there done?” Nick asked.
“Nothing,” Lumley Tarnes snorted. He grinned nastily at the innkeeper.
“I don't mind telling you if Lum's too scared to,” Titus said, lowering his voice again although he, Nick and Lumley Tarnes were the only people in the tavern. “The Demon Duke is as evil as they come. Murdered his wife, he did."
“Pshaw!” Tarnes scoffed. “I'm of a mind to think if he did, the conniving little shrew drove him to it. ‘Twas justifiable homicide if anything at all!"
“He be one of the wicked ones, you know that, Lum!” Titus opined. “Murdering
fortunes,” Titus muttered.
“You was off sailing."
“What befell him?” Nick demanded.
Titus lowered his voice even more. “There be those in the village what didn't like the man, you see? He married well, don't you know?"
“Well, hell, Titus!” Tarnes snorted. “He was a prince of the Jarl's house. You expected him to marry a kitchen wench?"
“He probably wished he had!” Titus chuckled.
“There be those of us who still has respect for him.” Tarnes snapped. “Who don't believe he done nothing wrong at all, at all!"
“She's dead, you nasty old man!” Titus shouted. “She didn't do herself in!"
Lumley Tarnes’ lips peeled back from his teeth. “If there was evil at Holy Dale, Titus, it came from that spoiled brat of Sinclair's.” He locked his angry glare on the innkeeper. “And what you people did to that poor boy was even more evil! That curse you're so fond of telling folks he laid at your doorsteps most likely came from the gods, Themselves, for harming a fine, upstanding man like the Prince!"
“Hildy says...” Titus began, but Tarnes’ furious explosion of breath cut him off.
“Hildy Jamerson is a vicious she-devil! Any sorcery in these parts, you'd be wise to lay it at her doorstep!” Tarnes growled, flinging out a hand. He turned his anger to Nick. “You asked what happened to all the furniture? Duke Sinclair came and took it all, he did. Every last stick of anything worth having; whatever weren't nailed down. Even took the poor lad's clothes and him a'lying there with a broken leg unable to stop ’em!” He stabbed a finger at Titus. “And our godfearin’ townsfolk-so tolerant of Raine Jale's kind-left that young man out there in the dead of winter with no clothes, no food, nothing! They even put out the fires in the hearth in the hopes he'd freeze to death!"
“I had no part in that,” Titus said, drawing himself up.
“Nay, but your son did,” Tarnes accused. “Wasn't it him and Kullen's boy what salted the lad's well and pulled up his garden?” The sailor made a crude noise. “Hell, they even tried to burn the poor boy out!"
“Well, we wanted him gone from here!” Titus defended.
“Well, he ain't left!” Tarnes countered. “And more's the power to him for having more guts than any of you bastards gave him credit for having!"
“He would have hightailed it if it hadn't been for you and your son and the Kullen girl!” Titus shot back.
“My Ned is a good boy,” Tarnes snarled from a tight jaw. “And don't you dare to say nothing ‘bout my daughter-in-law!"
Nick smiled as he looked from one man to the other. Kaelan would be pleased to find out that the only two people in Wixenstead he'd ever trusted were now married to one another.
“You mark my words,” Titus said, moving away. “This ain't over with yet. The Demon Duke will cause this village more trouble before he's done."
“Not if'n you leave the man alone, he won't!” Tarnes defended. He raised his voice as the innkeeper disappeared through a door behind the bar. “Not if'n you leave him alone!"
Silence settled on the tavern as the sailor snatched up his near-empty mug of ale and went back to his table. Plopping down into his chair, he turned his head and looked at Nick. “Not all of us are superstitious fools, friend. If you're of a mind to stop back at Holy Dale, you go on and do it; the lad would most likely welcome the company."
Nick strolled over to Tarnes’ table, but lowered his voice as he spoke. “Do you go to visit him, Master Tarnes?"
Lumley Tarnes shook his head. “I ain't usually in port,” he said. He motioned Nick to sit down. “I'm First Mate of the Whirlwind, Captain Nyberg's clipper. This be the first time I've been home in three year."
“But your son and daughter-in-law go to see this Demon Duke?"
Tarnes winced. “Please, don't call him that.” He shook his head. “To answer your question: no, they don't dare go visit him.” He looked past Nick. “But they do take the lad food now and again. As much as they can afford.” He smiled ruefully. “They ain't rich, you understand."
Nick leaned back in his chair and shot his long legs out. He studied the older man's face for a moment, then smiled. “What if I were to tell you I'm a friend of Kaelan Hesar's, Master Tarnes?"
Tarnes’ gaze narrowed. “I'd ask how you knew him,” he replied.
“From court,” Nick answered. “My father is Duke Cree, the Ambassador."
“You're Chalean!” Tarnes said, slapping his thigh. “I thought I recognized that brogue of your'n."
Nick grinned. “And here I thought I'd hid it well."
Tarnes shook his head. “Not altogether.” He glanced once more toward the door behind which Titus Neils had hidden himself. “What be you here for, friend?"
The smile left Nick's face. “That's personal, but I will tell you this: I didn't know Kaelan was here until I broke into the manor house. Now, I'm of a mind to get him the hell out of there."
The Whirlwind's First Mate bobbed his head in agreement. “That would be a godsend for him, Milord Cree.” He leaned toward Nick. “How can I help you?"
Nick's smile returned. “Can you tell me where I can find a priest?"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
“I'm not sure I should do such a thing."
Nick laid another gold coin to the stack already on the table.
“The villagers might object."
Another coin joined its brethren.
The priest licked his lips, then looked up from the growing pyramid of gold. He wore a pained expression. “There are those who'd say my very soul would be in jeopardy should I even step foot inside Unholy Dale."
Nick thumbed two more gold coins onto the stack.
A small groan came from the priest. “You are making this very hard for me, milord."
“Seems to me,” Lumley Tarnes remarked, “you and the other priests are always a'sayin’ how you need more money for the coffers.” He smiled slyly, then cocked his chin toward the stack of gold coins.
Nick cast an amused look at Tarnes then reached out to scoop up the bribe. “I can see Brother Herbert is not to be swayed, Master Tarnes. Perhaps if we try the next village...."
“WAIT!” the priest protested. His hand had shot forth to grab Nick's wrist.
Nick waited politely, not speaking.
“What's it to be, Brother Herbert?” Tarnes inquired.
The priest forced his avaricious stare from the gold to Nick's calm face. “You say he was wrongly accused?"
Tarnes nodded. “That he was, Brother."
Brother Herbert Welmeyer looked back down on the coins. From the pained expression on his beefy face, he seemed to have developed a case of acute indigestion. “Do you think he will make an act of contrition for those sins he has committed against Our Lord Alel?” the priest asked. He tore his admiration from the gleaming gold to look once more at Nick. “He must do so if I am to perform a Joining."
“Even if he was innocent of the crimes for which he was accused?” Nick snapped.
“There is always some truth in any accusations Milord,” Brother Herbert replied. “If he was not directly responsible for his wife's death, neither was he entirely guiltless. I can not, in good faith, Join him to this wench of whom you've told me unless I know he has unburdened his sins before Alel."
At Tarnes’ suggestions Nick dared not tell the priest who the “wench” in question really was until he agreed to perform the Joining. It was best no one in the village know they had been there or where they were going once they left.
“If it will set your mind at ease,” Nick said through gritted teeth, “I'm sure His Grace will unburden his sins on you."
Brother Herbert let out a long sigh. “This is highly irregular,” he said, raking the coins toward him, then pocketing them. “But since Prince Kaelan has been disowned by his brother, there will be no need for Prince Duncan's permission for the Joining to take place."
Nick exchanged a quick look with Tarnes. That, to
o, had been the older man's suggestion.
“You'd best tell him the lad's been disowned, friend,” Tarnes had warned him. “It's against the law for royalty to marry without the Jarl's permission."
“I know,” Nick had replied. “But it won't matter for once we're in Serenia, we'll have the McGregor's priest re-do the ceremony."
“Well, if'n you want the Joining to take place a'fore you leave Virago, you'd best be thinking of doing a wee bit of lyin',” Tarnes had responded. “The priest surely won't be performing no Joining if'n he thinks he'll be punished for it!"
“The Prince Regent has washed his hands of his young brother,” Nick said and that wasn't a lie.
“Cast him out without a shill to his name,” Tarnes commiserated.
The priest shook his head with pity. “'Tis a shame when families come apart."
“Will you perform the Joining, then, Brother?” Nick asked.
Brother Herbert sighed. “Aye, I will. If you will wait here a moment, I will ready myself for the journey.” He stood up then ambled off, his sandal-shod feet making little slapping sounds against the stone floor.
While Brother Herbert was dressing for the long ride out in the crisp winter air, Nick sat brooding by the rectory's roaring fire. His fist was clenched tightly under his chin and his gaze was steady on the leaping flames. Everything about his posture bespoke tension and anger.
“What ails you, milord?” Tarnes inquired, lighting his pipe with a taper from the fire. He drew on the stem, fanned out the taper then pitched it into the flames. “Your spine could get no stiffer if'n I poured starch ‘pon it.” As he puffed away, he narrowed his gaze against the smoke and waited for his companion's answer.
“Kaelan was right about how the people feel about him,” Nick finally muttered. “Not a one of them, save you,” he looked up at the old sailor, “had a good thing to say about him."
“Well, milord,” Tarnes drawled, “there are people in this world who rejoice at the misfortunes of others.” He drew deeply on his pipe, then blew the smoke out the side of his mouth. “I reckon Wixenstead ain't no worse than most little villages in that regard.” He removed the pipe stem from his mouth and gestured with it. “There be close kin down there; most be related in some fashion or another to the Sorns and Sinclairs, either legal or otherwise. Most have worked at one time or another up to the manor house or had kin what did. When the Duchess died, they lost their livelihood and blame it on the poor lad. They reckon it be his fault that they have to trek as far as Colridge to make a living nowadays."
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