WindFall

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “I know who the bastard is,” Traer spat, his nostrils flaring as though a bad smell had rolled in from the sea. “Go on."

  “Gilly had no intention of joining with de Viennes.” Nick took a chance. “She is, and always has been, in love with Kaelan Hesar and he with her. Fate took us by chance to Holy Dale in the middle of that last blizzard and now that they are together again, I've of a mind to keep them that way."

  Traer Saur nodded. “But you might need help in the doing of it,” he stated.

  “Aye.” It was an emphatic agreement.

  Saur scratched his chin. “What about your sister?” he wanted to know.

  Nick sighed. “I'd like to say she'd stay here and wait for us, but as soon as I turn my back, the little bitch will be hightailing it after us."

  “Not good,” the stable owner declared.

  “No,” Nick agreed. “Not good at all."

  “A suggestion?"

  “Anything you can come up with would be greatly appreciated,” Nick confessed.

  “We've a jail."

  Nick's heart slammed painfully against his ribcage, sent sour bile up his throat, and made him swallow convulsively. To lock Gilly up—even for her own protection—was a notion he'd not entertained, but the idea was one that bore consideration.

  It also made him groan with the thought of what his sister might do to him once she was out of confinement.

  “The constable is of the old school of thought,” Traer continued with a twitch of his lips. “A man should protect his womenfolk from harm no matter the cost."

  “Oh, if I have her incarcerated, the price I'll wind up paying will be high,” Gilly's brother whined.

  “But she'd be safe,” Traer reminded him. He fused his gaze with Nick's. “From herself as well as anyone intent on taking her somewhere she's not of a mind to go."

  Nick let out a sigh of resignation. “Aye, that she would be.” He looked toward the constable's office. “Think you he'll cooperate?"

  “Mention Rolf de Viennes to him and see what he says,” Traer suggested through clenched teeth.

  Nick stared at the inn's owner, wondering what de Viennes had done to warrant such a venomous reaction. “All right. That's settled. What about that help I'll need. I'm thinking four men besides myself."

  “Well,” Traer said, taking off his hat and rubbing his forearm across his brow, “there's Riordan A'Lex and his partner, Jess Patrick.” He settled the hat back on his head at a rakish angle. “And the twins, Tyler and Taylor Dixon. All good men.” He smiled nastily. “Rough men, as you say."

  “That's only four though,” Nick reminded him.

  “And then there's me,” Traer grunted.

  Nick's broad smile said he was hoping the man might accompany them. “How much do you think I need to offer for their help in the Storm Country?” he inquired.

  Traer shook his head. “You insult us by offering pay for doing what comes naturally to us, milord."

  “And that being?"

  Traer chuckled. “Bashing in Viragonian heads."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seventeen

  D'Lyn Aubert trudged through the snow, keeping an eye on the hawk which flew above her in the chill air. Now and again, the bird would glide gracefully down to a barren tree branch, perch there for a moment as though testing its course, then, with a flap of reddish-brown wings, lift off in the dull gray sky once more. Each time the hawk lit upon a branch, D'Lyn stopped and waited until the raptor flew on again.

  “Warm as flames in the welcoming hearth, comfort to him I wish to depart,” the witch woman chanted as she pulled her feet from drift to drift.

  Overhead, the hawk suddenly cut through the chill day and landed firmly on a high oak branch. It sat there, its head shifting from side to side, then it turned its beak down toward D'Lyn.

  “What is it, old friend?” the witch woman queried. She had heard nothing. There were no strange scents carrying on the breeze and no glimmer ahead of her from the flash of a lantern or torch.

  “Caaaaa!” the hawk shrieked and sat where it had landed.

  “Those who would do us harm?” she asked.

  The hawk lifted its sharp eyes to the horizon, then shook itself, its feathers rustling. It peered intently down the pathway which led to Holy Dale's pond.

  “Riders,” D'Lyn said to herself for she had at that moment heard the jingle of harness. Her mystical gypsy senses lifted to the hawk and, through its eyes, she saw the men and their mounts winding their way past the pond and onto the lane which swept in front of Holy Dale manor. She counted seven men, bundled in fur and carrying crossbow, sword, and pike.

  “CAAA!” the hawk cried out again, then lifted its wings straight out beside its body, flexed its talons on the branch, then shot up into the air.

  D'Lyn watched her familiar as it arched back toward their little cottage to the east, flapping eager wings in anticipation of the fire that would warm it. For a moment, she stood where she was, then sighed tiredly. Ulia did not sense danger to the manor lord from these men who struggled through the snow to reach Holy Dale. If the hawk did not sense danger, there was none to be found. With one last look at the stone chimney of the manor house, the witch woman shrugged her shoulders and turned back toward her home. Whoever had come calling on Kaelan Hesar meant him no harm and would save him from the fate Jasper Kullen had intended.

  * * * *

  Thècion was shivering badly despite the warmth of his wool great cape. He cast a glance at Diarmuid and knew his boyhood friend was just as cold as he. Beside Diarmuid, Raine Jale could barely been seen for the layer upon layer of clothing he had donned for the trip.

  “In Ventura,” the Hasdu had explained when Thècion had teased about the confinement of so many garments, “we do not need to burden ourselves with such. Our djeelaba is sufficient."

  “How much further, Raine?” Thècion called out and had to laugh as Jale turned a muffled face toward him and struggled to pull down a woolen scarf just to be able to see the young Serenian prince.

  “The gods curse you, McGregor,” the Hasdu spat, put out by the obvious amusement. “I should have let you two blunder about Wixenstead Forest on your own!"

  “How much f ... further?” Diarmuid stammered through numb lips.

  Jale lifted a bulky arm and pointed straight ahead. “There is Holy Dale, but from the looks of the chimney, we've no fire to welcome us!"

  Thècion turned and looked in the direction Jale pointed. He saw no fire, either, but he did see the flash of metal just beyond the house and reined in. “We're not alone,” he said, though not loudly.

  Diarmuid had also seen the flash of light and stilled his horses as well, putting out a hand to touch Jale's shoulder.

  “HURRY!” the trio heard a man yell and glanced at one another. Obviously, something had upset the riders for there was the sound of leather slapped against horseflesh and the collective clucking of impatient tongues urging on mounts that were already knee-deep in the fresh snow.

  “IS HE ALIVE?” someone else called out.

  Thècion didn't need to hear any more. There could be only one subject of which such a statement could be asked. He put his heels to his stallion's flanks, Diarmuid and Jale close on his mount's hooves as they hurried forward.

  Lumley Tarnes barely glimpsed up at the three strangers who rode into the courtyard of Holy Dale Manor behind them. His old legs might be arthritic and thin, but they did him justice as he dogged Nick Cree's long stride as the young Chalean nobleman ran pell mell toward his objective. Traer Saur had been the first to ride into the courtyard and it had been his cry as he flung himself from his mount that had made Cree ask if the man they had come to rescue was still alive.

  Thècion's horse had barely had time to dig its hind legs into the snow to stop before the young prince was off its back and running as fast as he could.

  “Who the hell are you?” Riordan A'Lex asked as Raine Sale raced beside him.

  “A
sk me when we've seen to Prince Kaelan,” Jale mumbled.

  Nick Cree caught Kaelan under the arms as Traer Saur cut the unconscious man down from the branch upon which he'd been lashed. The intense coldness of Kaelan's naked chest sent a wild spurt of despair through Nick. “By the gods, the man is near-frozen!” he cried out.

  Thècion shoved Taylor Dixon out of his way, elbowed past Taylor's twin, Tyler. “Is he breathing?"

  Nick didn't have time to answer. He had shifted Kaelan's weight and was trying to lift him up in his arms, when Riordan stepped in and took his burden from him.

  “You!” Lumley snapped, catching hold of Diarmuid's arm, “get in the house and start up a fire, boy!” When Diarmuid just stared at the old man, unused to being given orders from peasants, Lumley shoved him and kicked him in the seat of his breeches all in one motion.

  “Do as he says, Diarmuid!” Thècion ordered. The Serenian prince was right behind Riordan as that man carried Kaelan inside the manor house.

  The fire was still smoldering in the kitchen grate and it didn't take Diarmuid long to get it blazing away again as, between them, Thècion and Nick stripped off Kaelan's snow-drenched breeches.

  “Raine!” Thècion demanded as he looked around for something to dry the Viragonian's wet chest, “look upstairs and bring him some clothing."

  “What little he's got ain't worth putting on,” Nick interrupted. He turned to Tyler Dixon. “Get the clothes we brought for him.” He looked over at Thècion. “Who are you?"

  “McGregor,” came the answer. “Who are you?"

  “Cree,” Nick answered, then became aware for the first time that one of the three men who had ridden into the courtyard right after them was staring at him. He was about to tell the man to mind his manners when he realized he was looking into the confused face of one of his homeland's young princes. He blinked. “Prince Diarmuid?” Nick questioned with disbelief.

  “I saw your father in Wixenstead,” Diarmuid said.

  Nick Cree's face became infused with a deep red heat. “My father was a part of this?” he asked.

  Diarmuid shrugged. “I don't know, but Hesar was in a big hurry to get to Ciona. He wanted us to take him with us on the Boreal Wind."

  Lumley Tarnes spat into the hearth. “Gods-be-damned bastards. They must have hung the young one out there in the freezing cold to get him to tell where the gal went to!"

  Tyler Dixon ran in with fresh clothing and kneeling down beside Nick, began to help the man dress Kaelan. “Look at his face,” Dixon remarked, flinching at the livid bruises and blood which adorned Hesar's battered flesh.

  “Tried to beat the truth outta him,” Tarnes scoffed.

  Diarmuid put a hand on Thècion's shoulder and leaned down. “Did you see de Viennes’ knuckles?"

  Thècion craned his head around and frowned up at his friend. “Why the hell would I have been looking at the fool's knuckles, Brell? And why the hell did you feel the need to?"

  Diarmuid straightened up. “They were bruised.” He sniffed. “The first thing a Chalean warrior does is look to a man's hands to gauge his ability to wield a sword.” he sniffed again. “Thus, I looked to his hands."

  “You think de Viennes did this?” Nick demanded. At Diarmuid's nod, Nick's jaw clenched. “Just one more reason I have to hate that bastard!"

  “Not as much as I do,” Traer Saur grunted.

  Raine Jale hunkered down beside the men already clustered around Kaelan. He took in the high color on the unconscious man's cheeks and laid a hand to the Viragonian's forehead. A quick frown crossed his dark face. “We had best get this man a Healer or we'll be turning him over to the Gatherer before night fall."

  “There's a bed upstairs,” Nick told him. “Let's get him up to his room and then I'll ride back to Ciona for a Healer."

  “And run the risk of getting caught by one of Hesar's men?” Traer Saur asked. He shook his head. “Jess, how about riding back into Wixenstead and..."

  “You need no Healer,” came a soft voice from the kitchen door and all the men turned as one.

  The most beautiful woman any of the men had ever seen stood poised in the kitchen doorway. Her hair was the color of midnight and hung down nearly to her ankles. Her eyes were bright and were the color of amethysts. Her complexion was almost as dark as Jale's and when she smiled shyly at the men, deep dimples shown in her rosy cheeks. The girl was a Rom half-breed if they'd ever seen one.

  “I would have returned to my home, but I was bid turn and come back,” she explained. Her gaze fell sorrowfully to the man lying on the floor. “He needs my help."

  Jale, no stranger to the magi of his homeland, took a step back as the beautiful woman ventured further into the kitchen. He made a strange sign, flinched as her attention slipped slowly to him, and then lowered his eyes for fear she would cast a spell upon him.

  “You have no reason to fear me, nomad,” she told him.

  “I do not fear you,” Jale said, but refused to look at her.

  Thècion's brows drew together for he had no idea why their guide would have reason to be uneasy with the woman. He stepped over to her, intent on helping her if he could when her gaze fell unerringly upon him and he fell hopelessly in love with her.

  “I knew you would come one day, milord,” the men heard her say and watched as her face became infused with a dreamy light.

  “I ... am ... here,” Thècion managed to answer.

  Diarmuid rolled his eyes. “That is a matter of opinion, McGregor."

  Nick looked from Serenian prince to peasant girl and thought: ‘Oh, hell! Here's another pair of star-crossed lovers to deal with!'

  “Please,” D'Lyn said, her gaze now on Riordan, “take him upstairs. I've a potion to brew if we are to keep him with us."

  Riordan nodded and scooped the thin man up as easily as though Kaelan had been a child. He turned, Tarnes leading the way, and headed for the stairs.

  “What are you called?” Saur asked the girl. That she was a gypsy, he had no doubt. That she was also a witch was a foregone conclusion.

  “D'Lyn,” she answered and she went to the fire, pulled a small leather bag from inside her voluminous cape and opened it.

  “How can I help?” Thècion asked quietly, kneeling down beside her.

  Diarmuid sighed heavily. There would be hell to pay when King Drayton, not to mention the future King Blasdin, learned of this. Thècion was not one to go getting himself involved with strange women and certainly had never dared to let himself fall in love with a commoner he knew he'd never be able to Join with. But knowing him as well as he did, Diarmuid knew Thècion had fallen hard.

  “When will the ship sail?"

  Diarmuid turned to find Nick speaking to him. He shook his head. “Ain't nothing getting out of port for a few days at least. The storm rather effectively shut everything down and there are floes already scattered across the North Boreal.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I'd say maybe the day after tomorrow. Maybe even longer."

  Nick nodded. “That should give us time to get back to Ciona and get Gilly."

  “His lady will not be pleased to see you,” D'Lyn remarked, a slight smile on her face. “Her cell is unpleasant though the Constable's wife has tried to make your sister as comfortable as possible.” She looked up at him. “She will never forgive you."

  “I don't care,” Nick snapped. He refused to allow himself to wonder how the woman kneeling in front of the fire, filling a goblet of hot water with strange-looking herbs, could know where Gillian was at that moment.

  “Witch,” Diarmuid mumbled and moved as far away from her, as had Jale.

  “They fear you,” Thècion whispered, then chuckled.

  “They should,” D'Lyn replied seriously, but gave lie to her words with a titter of laughter.

  “Can't find Brownie,” Tarnes said as he came heavily down the stairs. “I've looked everywhere for her, but I can't find her."

  “Try the cellar,” Nick offered.

  D'Lyn turned to look
at him. “Do you look for his dog?"

  “Aye,” Nick replied. “Have you seen her?"

  The witch woman nodded and went back to her brewing. “She was hurt, but will be fine. She is at my cottage and when she is mended, I will send her to him."

  “We'll be getting him out of this gods-be-damned place, Mam'selle,” Nick swore through clenched teeth. “I'll not let him stay another day where Duncan Hesar and that murderous father of mine can get their hands on him!"

  D'Lyn frowned as she stood up, the potion ready. She locked her attention on Nicholas Cree. “Your father did not do this to His Grace."

  Nick squinted. “Are you telling me it wasn't Rolf de Viennes who beat my brother-in-law nearly senseless?"

  “Brother-in-law?” Diarmuid questioned.

  “No,” D'Lyn replied, shaking her head. “'Twas he who fought with the prince, although not fairly as it should have been. It was the woodcutter and his son who tried to murder His Grace."

  “Kullen!” Tarnes hissed as though the mere word was a curse unto itself. “By the gods, I will skewer that old varmint!"

  “It has been taken care of, Master Tarnes,” D'Lyn assured him and her eyes lit upon the old man with tenderness. “They shall atone for what they did."

  * * * *

  Jasper Kullen had not been able to get the thought of someone finding Kaelan Hesar alive and nursing the Demon Duke back to health out of his mind. He had nearly paced a hole in the floor of his favorite tavern as his son sat swilling down ale after ale and muttering to himself that he had been cast with the evil eye.

  “He saw us, Pa,” the younger Kullen had sworn. “I knowed he saw us. He will tell and they'll come for us to hang us! He saw us, I tell you!"

  “Did not,” Jasper had barked, but, the more he thought on it, the less sure he was. As the sun began to lower, the surer he was that something had to be done. The noose he had imagined was beginning to choke him.

  It was with a great effort that Royce lifted his head as his father stomped up to his table and demanded him to get up. The numerous ales he had poured down his gullet to blur the sight of that evil eye looking up at him from the battered face of the Demon Duke had done nothing more than make Royce's head spin. The evil eye was still there, hovering just over his father's bony shoulder.