WINDREAPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "How did you know who I was?" He kept his voice soft, and tried to smile as she raised her head.

  "What other man carries such scars, Milord?"

  "You have not seen my scars, save for the ones on this ugly face."

  "No one would dare call you ugly, Milord." Her lips trembled into a gentle smile. "My mother was at the Toad. She heard you speak. She had been a chambermaid at Ivor Keep and, therefore, knew it was you."

  "I suppose I should be grateful it was your mother who recognized me and not one of the Tribunal guards."

  "She sent me to you."

  He sighed. "For what reason?"

  "To serve you." Her face turned beet red. "For whatever purpose."

  He stared. This girl was offering herself, without restraint, without reservations. He dared not accept. "Go home, little one. I am not the man you should be with."

  "Even if you are the one I am destined to be with? Let me be with you, Milord Conar. Let me be the one to ease your needs. With me, there will be no cause to find other women, ones who could be a true danger to you."

  For a long time he said nothing, then cupped her cheek in his hand. He let out a sigh of defeat when she turned her face into his palm, her lips kissing his scarred flesh.

  "Oh, mam'selle." With his other hand, he stroked her silken auburn tresses. "I pray to Alel you know what you're doing." He kissed the top of her head. "For I fear I have no fight left in me to argue with you."

  She gazed at him with longing. "Teach me to be your woman."

  "You may regret it, if I do. I am not an easy man, little girl."

  "So I have heard, Milord," she said just before he reached for her.

  Chapter 13

  * * *

  He was determined that her initiation into the realm of womanhood would be done with infinite care and slow manipulation—arts nearly lost to him over the passage of time but reawakened by the beauty lying so trustingly beside him.

  When he claimed her, he wanted to make sure his hands would be gentle on her delicate flesh, that his kiss be soft and teasing and not the demanding bruising he visited upon those who had come before her. He would take her with tenderness, restraint, and respect. He would give her no reason to regret her decision to give herself to him.

  Amber-lea stroked his bearded face. "You are afraid you will hurt me."

  He kissed her palm, then lowered her hand to his naked chest. "It will hurt you, Sweeting. I can't help that."

  "I know," she whispered.

  "But I will be as gentle as I can." He threaded his fingers through hers and tightly held her hand.

  She smiled. "I know you will, Milord."

  He was lying on his side, his head propped on his fist. She was stretched out beside him, her ivory bosom rising and falling faster with each passing minute, and he thought of a sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter.

  "You make my shaft ache with want of you, Amber-lea. Do you know that?" His words were meant to soothe her, prepare her for his entry.

  She blushed and lowered her gaze. The hollow at the base of her throat pulsed wildly. "I want nothing more than to please you, Milord."

  He placed the backs of his fingers against her heated cheek. "So young," he said with a sigh, rubbing her jaw line. "So young and so beautiful." He cupped her chin, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her lightly, at each corner of her lips, in the center, then moved away. "And your mouth tastes of strawberry wine."

  She tucked her lower lip between her teeth and bit down, as if to keep from groaning at the sensations rippling through her body.

  He ran his thumb over her lips. "Don't do that." He pulled her lips apart, grazed the pad of his thumb over her white teeth.

  She groaned, her body quivering. Her breath came in quick little pants.

  He smiled, knowing full well what his touch was doing to her, but in no hurry to consummate their agreement. He would not rush this pretty flower nor submit her to the baser side of his nature.

  "I could lie here all night and look at you," he said, his eyes roaming over her flesh. "You are one of the most beautiful women I've ever known."

  Amber-lea shivered, his words obviously thrilling her yet making her more nervous.

  "And one my body is dying to know better," he said huskily.

  He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, each eye before slanting his mouth firmly across hers. His tongue slipped possessively between her lips.

  She moaned, her breath coming fast and furious as his tongue probed deeper. She fanned her fingers through his thick hair and gripped him. Her hold was so tight it hurt him.

  With a grunt of passion, he slid his hard body atop hers. With his knees, he pushed her legs apart until he was settled between them, his shaft pressing along her thigh.

  When she groaned, he released her mouth and looked into her eyes. His muscles strained, quivered as he denied himself the ultimate release of his passion. His gentle ministrations had worked him to a fever pitch and he was nearly exploding with want of fulfillment.

  "Are you ready?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "Relax," he whispered, grinding his hips across hers. "Just feel me touching you."

  Amber-lea looked as if she wanted nothing more than to have him thrust quickly into her and be done with the pain so the pleasuring could begin.

  Conar grinned. "You are a horny little imp, ain't ya, Milady?"

  Her face turned bright red. He threw his head back and laughed, the joy of the moment almost as wonderful as the sweetness of her pliant flesh beneath him.

  "I want you," she managed to say, her lips trembling. "Sweet Merciful Alel, I want you, Milord!"

  He smiled. "And you shall have me, but not quite yet." Her groan of disappointment was nearly his undoing; it was all he could do not to ram into her and be done with it. His body trembled with need, his shaft thick and throbbing painfully. A fine sheen of sweat had popped out on both their bodies, and where their moist flesh touched, the sensation was delicious.

  "Please," she begged and clutched eagerly at his shoulders.

  He shook his head, then took each of her hands in his and placed her arms by her head. "Not quite yet," he repeated and flicked his tongue over the soft fullness of her lower lip—tasting, demanding.

  She wiggled beneath him, her thighs pressing against his hips.

  He tightened his grip on her hands, entwining their fingers. He shifted against her, placing the tip of his manhood gently inside her.

  "Oh!" she gasped, her body stiffening.

  "Relax," he cautioned again. "I don't want to hurt you anymore than I have to."

  "The gods-be-damned hell with that, Conar McGregor! Take me, man, and do it now!"

  He chuckled, then covered her mouth with his. With a single plunge, he impaled her and thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth.

  Amber-lea tensed as though she'd been starched, her fingers gripped his, her long nails scoring the backs of his hands. He moaned deep in his throat as he kissed her. Soon, her rigidity slipped away.

  He moved against her, slowly, expertly, and could feel the blood of her virginity slippery around him. She was tight, holding him to her as though never to let him go, and a sudden overwhelming protectiveness filled him.

  He released her lips. "Never again will I hurt you, Sweeting." He placed feather-soft kisses on her eyes and nose. "Never will I let anyone hurt you."

  * * *

  Something was building inside her. She felt a warmth, an itching sensation deep within her, and marveled at it. Was this what the act of love was? She squirmed beneath him, gasped as a little wave of pain shot through her, sensed his immediate stillness and concern. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she was all right, but something odd happened to her. Something rushed up out of the darkness of her soul and spilled forth in a brilliant burst of unforgettable pleasure.

  Never in her life could she have imagined there could be such delight. Never would she have thought the mere coupling of two bo
dies could bring about such soul-searing pleasure. She knew an absolute joy she was sure no other man could ever give her and she fell heedlessly, totally, irrevocably in love with this glorious golden warrior.

  * * *

  He had watched her closely as her passion came full-blown. Her body tightened around him, pulsed, quivered, and she arched her back as her soaring climax gripped her in a feverish pitch of wanton glee. He could not have stopped his own pleasure if he had tried. He felt himself pulled deeply inside her welcoming body and he released his seed with a groan of animalistic pleasure.

  Long ago he had begged the gods to harden his heart, to take away the last vestiges of love inside him, to make him hollow and immune to passion. That had not happened. He still loved Elizabeth; he still felt tremendous passions lurking inside him; he was not the empty man he had wanted to be. If he could still feel, and he knew now that he could, then perhaps this lovely woman beneath him would replace his love for the woman who had scorned him.

  He hoped so.

  With all his heart, he hoped so.

  * * *

  Brelan woke him early the next morning. The sky was still only a black curtain of mist across the heavens. The air was chill, the stars clear and sparkling, with a hint of snow coming, teasing the riders who mounted their steeds.

  "Do you want me to pay the girl?" Brelan asked as Conar pulled on his black leather gloves.

  Conar's dark gaze flickered with annoyance. "She will be staying with us from now on."

  "That's a mistake, Conar."

  "It's my mistake," Conar snapped. The two brothers had been arguing ever since Conar had gently eased the sleeping girl from his arms and followed Brelan from the cell.

  "A mistake that could get us all killed," Brelan snapped back. He didn't like the girl. For some reason, she made him uneasy.

  Conar fixed his brother with a hostile stab of displeasure. "Let me worry about her." He crossed his hands over the saddle horn. "Just make sure she's right where I left her when I get back with the brat."

  Brelan shivered. Things might well be very different when you return with Elizabeth's son.

  "Do you hear me, Brelan?"

  Brelan glanced at his brother. "I hear you."

  "Good!" Conar tugged on his steed's reins. He dug his heels into the horse's flanks and headed toward Lake Myria.

  "Take care of him, Hawk," Brelan told Roget du Mer.

  "I'll guard the fool with my life." Roget laughed, winking. He, too, set his horse on the pathway into the forest, closely followed by Belvoir.

  Brelan watched them go. He was worried. Conar was heading for the monastery of the Domination, that evil sect of sorcerers who controlled the whole of five kingdoms. Never did he doubt that Conar would return with the boy. Occultus had seen to the Raven's invincibility and powers. But what worried Brelan now was the outcome of the rescue. One look at the boy Prince and Conar would know the truth.

  Shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, Brelan turned to go. A glimmer of light shot across the heavens as a falling star plunged earthward. Not a good omen, Brelan thought. Not a good omen at all.

  * * *

  Elizabeth A'Lex sat in the window seat of her sleeping chambers and saw the star arcing across the firmament. A strong foreboding of evil invaded her soul. She shivered, drawing her shawl closely around her body.

  Would he be going after Corbin this morn? Would he be able to bring her child back to her after all these years?

  A sob hitched from her aching throat. Would he keep the boy with him until she had fulfilled her debt to him?

  She turned and looked at her sleeping husband. Legion lay on his side, his back to her. He was gently snoring, as always, and she smiled. Sometimes his snoring was not so gentle. Sometimes she slept in the room she had once shared with Conar.

  She angrily shook her head, forcing away the memory. Would she never be free of this terrible ache in her soul whenever she thought of her dead mate? Would she ever know the same love with Legion that she had known with his brother?

  "No, sweet lady," a voice seemed to say. "There will be only one such love in your lifetime."

  Elizabeth loved Legion. Her love for him was a sharing love, a common love for each other and the children they had created. She lovingly put her hand on the mound of her belly. Aye, such a love was lasting, for there was a materialization to it that was visible. Having a child gave one a link to a particular man forever.

  She had such a link to Brelan, as well. Their one passion-filled night long ago during the height of a terrible storm had produced a daughter. But her love for Brelan was one of friendship, deep and abiding. Their common bond had been forged at a time when she had needed the comfort of strong arms around her. At the height of the storm that had precipitated that eventful night, she had run into Brelan's arms, never dreaming of the consequences her actions might bring about. Though she did not regret her liaison with him, it was something she knew she would never willingly allow to happen again. Her love for Lord Saur was not the love of a woman for a man, but a friend for a friend.

  And then there was the love she still bore the man who would always hold her heart: Conar, her one true love. She had bore children to Conar, too, and that was a link that would be there for as long as time. Two of those precious children had died, but one, Corbin, had lived. Conar had never known she was carrying their child when he was sent to the Tribunal punishment yard that day. To protect that babe, Liza had been forced to wed Conar's twin, Galen. But though she had borne a son to Galen during that short, ill-starred marriage, she had never felt love for him. She had felt compassion, sadness, for he bore the taint of having been the cause of his twin's death on his tortured soul. The link between them had been one of necessity on her part and triumph on his, but had never been one of love. Most people had said Galen McGregor had not been capable of that emotion.

  But they were wrong.

  Galen had loved her and he had loved their son.

  And Galen McGregor had loved his twin. Liza knew that. He had told her so during a rare moment of personal insight and confession. He had been stricken with a great remorse concerning Conar's death and, with tearful eyes and trembling lips, would often stare into the courtyard where his brother had died, lashed to death at the hands of Kaileel Tohre. Often was the time Galen would sit, head in hands, and beg for forgiveness for what he had done. Liza had never understood his words, though. But they came back to her as she sat in the window seat this chill December morn.

  "I could have stopped them from carrying him away," he told her as tears slid down his cheeks. "He would be here if I had only pleaded with Tohre."

  "There was nothing you could have done, Galen," she had soothed him, stroking his golden hair. "He was not meant to die. Kaileel did not intend for the beating to kill him."

  "He is suffering, Elizabeth. My brother is suffering horribly because of me." He gripped her hand, bringing it to his lips. "I can feel his pain." His voice was filled with a lost and tragic pain of his own. Long into the night, he had slept fitfully, calling out Conar's name, tears of pain flooding his face.

  She had never understood him, Elizabeth realized. He spoke of Conar as though he were still alive. Perhaps, in his tortured, guilt-ridden soul, he saw his brother that way. What a horrible way to spend your last days on this world, she thought sadly. Galen had died, at the hands of Kaileel Tohre, she knew, thinking his brother alive and in great agony.

  And what of that evil bastard, Tohre? Elizabeth's lip curled with disgust. He had once told her how much he loved Conar. A vulgar, sickening love that had raped and tortured a young boy; raped and tortured a young man; scarred and killed the heir to the throne of Serenia; the cause of Conar's father, King Gerren's death. A love that had brought about Conar's total destruction. What kind of love was that?

  One of pure, unadulterated evil, Elizabeth thought. She tore her mind away from the leer of Kaileel's face and gazed at the night sky.

  Her though
ts went to the tall black-masked man. She knew he was on his way to Corbin. How, she didn't know, but she could feel it in her soul. A part of her rejoiced; a part of her was filled with great consternation and alarm, and she wondered why.

  She was afraid of Lord Darkwind. There was something about his coldness that set her teeth on edge. He had made it obvious what he thought of her. That, in itself, was odd. Why did he despise her? What could she have done to warrant his enmity? She was sure it had something to do with Conar and his death. But what?

  The man seemed to hate Conar, too. Had he been in the Elite, perhaps? Could one of the six men hanged that day in the Tribunal Square have been a friend, a loved one, some kin? Or could the Darkwind have just been a commoner who felt cheated at Conar's death? There were many who did. There had even been talk around the Seven Kingdoms that Conar could have saved himself from that horrible death on the whipping post. Even a few, snide rumors that the man was still alive and was being kept imprisoned by Kaileel Tohre.

  Those rumors had caused Elizabeth great pain. She had seen her husband as he lay in his casket, had viewed the handiwork of Bent and Tohre. Bent had only been doing his job, had even refused to finish the required punishment, but Tohre had taken up the whip and struck Conar with a killing vengeance. No man, sorcerer as Conar was or not, could have survived such a vicious attack.

  "Liza?" Legion called sleepily from the bed.

  "Aye, my love?" She went to him, slipping beneath the covers.

  "Can't you sleep?" He folded her in his arms and tugged the covers tightly around them, snuggling close to her chilly flesh.

  "He's gone."

  Legion did not need to ask who. "He'll bring him back. If anyone can."