WindLegends Saga 9: WindRetriever (47 page)

"I am not crazy!" she had yelled at him the night before and Conar could not stop himself from saying to her what he had once said to someone else about himself:

"Well, if you're not, you and I both know you're damn close to it!"

Their words had escalated to an all-out, no holds barred shouting match that ended up becoming a shoving match, as well. When she had finally slapped him to keep his quiet, to still his insults, he had hit her back, hard enough to split her lip, again, and knock her to the floor.

"See what you made me do?" he had yelled at her, backing away from the livid handprint he had put on her face. "Hell, woman! I don't even know who I am anymore!"

"You are who you are, McGregor," she'd hissed at him as she got up. "Who you've always been but were too much of a coward to admit being!"

"No!" He had taken a step toward her, to shut her up, to wipe the sneer from her twisted, bloody lips, but had stopped. His words had been controlled, but he was shivering from the urgent desire to pummel her into oblivion. "I don't want to be that man." He had looked at her with loathing. "I won't be that man!"

"Do you think you can destroy him, McGregor?" she had mocked, wiping her torn lip with the back of her hand. "You can't, you know. And denying he exists won't make life any easier for you."

"Leave me alone!" he'd bellowed at her, running from the room as though the hounds of the Abyss were close on his heels.

"You enjoy it, McGregor!" she yelled after him. "You enjoy what we do. Admit it!"

"Your Grace?"

Conar sat still as stone, staring at the blazing fire in the grate. His forehead was puckered with worry, his hands balled tight into fists in his lap. He had not heard Chaim come in with his supper tray.

"Your Grace?" Chaim's face crinkled with concern. Although there was certainly no love lost between the Serenian and his mistress, the two men had not let that situation cause them problems. Despite the times Chaim was forced to restrain the Serenian prince, there was never any remonstrations from the man, nor hard feelings. He cleared his throat and tried to gain the prince's attention once more. "Your Grace?"

It finally penetrated Conar's brain that someone was speaking to him and he shook himself, glancing around to see who had come into his chambers. When he saw Chaim standing there, he nodded, seeing the tray of food, and returned his attention to the leaping fire.

"Her Grace would like to know if you would care to go riding tomorrow," Chaim said in passing as he placed the tray of food on the table by the garden door. He thought the news would please their guest, as Chaim now thought of him, but the snort of contempt told him otherwise.

Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 210

"You can tell Her Grace to get someone else to go riding with her," Conar growled.

Chaim sighed. Why couldn't the two of them behave as normal married people did? The household was never calm. There was never any peace. Day to day, their shouts shook the timbers and their slaps punctuated the fighting like snaps of lightning during a storm. Sooner or later, one of them was going to be seriously hurt during one of their bouts.

"She is trying to make amends, milord," Chaim said. "Can you not meet her half way?"

Conar looked around at the servant. It was hard for Chaim who had a gentle soul by nature.

The Serenian suspected the man was in love with his mistress and would gladly lay down his life for her. Whenever he had to come to Conar with the small 'requests' Sybelle made, it always embarrassed Chaim for he knew the request would more than likely be turned down and there would be a physical end to the situation.

"Did you see her face?" Conar asked, locking his gaze with Chaim's as the servant looked over at him. "I did that, Chaim."

"You would brag of it?" Chaim asked, astonished and not a little irritated.

"No," Conar sighed, standing up. "I merely mention it because that's what happens when the two of us are alone together. Meeting half way usually means her hand to my cheek or mine to hers."

Chaim winced. Unfortunately what the prince said was all too true. If he could keep the man and woman apart, he would, but he suspected the hatred his mistress had once professed toward the Serenian had turned to a gentler emotion, if not out and out love, then so close to that feeling it would be hard to describe it any other way.

Conar could see the difficulty Chaim was having with the situation and decided to change the subject.

"Has she heard any more from Sajin?" he asked, pulling out his chair and sitting down to his supper.

The servant shook his head. "Not this week, but I heard there was a raid on a slave ship just north of Asaraba on Tuesday." He smiled. "The Khamsin is doing a good job, wouldn't you say?"

Conar scored the meat on his plate, speared a chunk and popped the delicious beef into his mouth. "Aye," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "I think Sajin has found his niche in life."

"She worries about him," Chaim told him. He leaned against the wall and looked out into the still garden. "He is her favorite."

Conar nodded as he reached out to take a sip of his wine. "Understandable. Sajin is a likable man." He washed down the beef, savoring the pungent taste of the rich red wine.

"Do you miss the excitement of it, Your Grace?" Chaim asked, watching his companion's face.

There was a brief lifting of one shoulder. "What good would it do me to miss it?" He glanced at Chaim over a forkful of creamed potatoes. "I'm as much a prisoner here as the slaves Sajin is out to rescue."

Chaim frowned. That wasn't exactly true. The man was married to his mistress, but Conar McGregor did not have the run of the keep, not since his attempted escape. There might have been no shackles applied to his limbs to hold him, yet there was precious little freedom allowed.

"Don't worry about it, Chaim," Conar chuckled, sensing the man's embarrassment. "I made my bed and I'll have to lie in, now, won't I?" He stabbed a cherry tomato and crammed it between his teeth, chomping down on the fruit with fervor.

"Go riding with her, Your Grace," Chaim pleaded. "Please? There will be several of us along as ...."

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"Guards," Conar snapped as he wiped his lips on the linen napkin.

"As protection," Chaim retorted. "There are suzerains in the mountains who would love to catch one of the Alkazar family out riding alone." His lips twisted with disgust. "Ransom is a good way to buy seed for your crops."

Conar sopped up the creamy sauce from the potatoes with a chunk of crusty bread and then popped it in his mouth. He chewed it as he stared at Chaim, seeing the pleading in the man's warm eyes. "I'll regret it, Chaim," he said after he swallowed. "I always do."

Chaim's face brightened. "Perhaps it will be a good day."

"Yeah, right," Conar mumbled as he washed down the bread. "And maybe the earth will open up and swallow me. I've a feeling that's the only way I'll ever be free of your mistress!"

Maybe not even then, Chaim couldn't help thinking. He had a feeling that the lady would follow this man through the depths of hell to keep him at her side.

"He says he will," Chaim replied. He could see the happiness such news brought to his mistress and was happy to have been able to give it to her.

Sybelle clapped her hands together. "Good!" She walked past him and headed for the kitchen, giving instructions to the cook to prepare a feast for the next day's excursion. "Everything you know he likes!" she ordered.

Chaim smiled as he listened to the princess make arrangements for the two hour ride up into the Capstan foothills. Fine linen. The best silver and chinaware. Only the best vintage wines and aged cheeses. The baker up long before dawn so the bread would be hot and as soft as a fleecy cloud for the noon meal.

"Things must change," Sybelle told him as they walked back to her chambers. "I must make them change, Chaim."

"I sincerely hope you succeed, Your Grace," Chaim agreed.

"What
is
your problem, Nathan?" Nick asked as he kicked at his brother's boot.

"Leave off," Nate spat at him.

Nick was closer to Nate than any man alive, even closer than Nate's twin, Kirk. He was as finely attuned to Nate's moods as he was his own and could always tell when something monumental was worrying the man. All week, ever since they had come back to Abbadon, Nate had been acting strange, secretive, and hadn't shared his thoughts with his brother.

"Tell me!" Nick finally snarled, hunkering down before Nate and refusing to allow the man to get up and out of his way.

"Can't you just let me think in peace, Beriault?" Nate snapped.

Nick's blue eyes narrowed. "It's about Conar, ain’t it?" Nick asked.

Nate snorted, refusing to take the bait.

"It is, ain’t it?" Nick repeated. He reached out to jab a hard finger into Nate's thigh. "You know where he is, don't you?" When his brother only glared back at him, Nick grinned. "You do!

You know where the brat is!"

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a pain in the ass, Beriault?" Nate replied.

"Where?" Nick asked, his mood altering to one of jocularity. If Nate knew where their Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 212

brother was and hadn't said, Conar couldn't be in all that much trouble.

Nathan clenched his jaw and stubbornly refused to answer. He hadn't sorted it all out yet and the spies he had hired to snoop around the Kensetti woman's keep had yet to return with the information he had sent them to get.

"The hell with you, then," Nick groused, plopping down to sit cross legged beside Nate.

"He can't be in any danger if you won't discuss it with me."

Exasperated by Nick's incessant prodding, Nate squinted at him. "I don't tell you everything, Beriault, any more than you tell
me
everything. Some things are best left unsaid until you are sure of them."

"Just tell me he ain’t in no trouble," Nick shot back. "If you tell me not to worry about him, I won't."

Nate's guffaw of disbelief was instantaneous. He looked away from the intensity of Nick's probing stare.

"He with that loose-skirt?" Nick asked, wagging his brows. "The Kensetti siren?"

Nate threw up his hands. "If you knew that why have you bothered me these past two weeks, Beriault, trying to get me to tell you what was wrong?" He knew his brother as well as his brother knew him.

Nick grinned. "Because I like to annoy you, Nate. That's why I was put on this earth, you understand. To annoy you."

"I believe it," Nate grumbled. He should have known Nick would have picked up on the undercurrents crossing between him, Nate, and the Kensetti bitch.

Nick sobered, his face relaxing from it's happy grin to a visage of concern. "He
is
all right, ain’t he?"

Nate shrugged. "I think so, but I got the impression he isn't happy."

"When has that brat ever been happy?" Nick inquired.

"When he was with the Oceanian princess," Nate said quietly. "Since then?" He spread his hands. "Who knows?"

Nick leaned back on his elbows and regarded his brother with a serious expression.

"Should we go see?"

"See what?" Nate asked although he knew what was on Nick's mind.

"If he didn't want Sajin to know he was there, I can understand that. Maybe he ain’t been on top of the weather of late and needs to rest. Maybe he's content to let the Kensetti woman take care of him while her brother leads the Samiel." Nick's face hardened. "Then again, maybe he has gotten sicker and don't won't none of his friends to see him." He shook his head. "We're family, though. He shouldn't begrudge us wanting to be there for him, should he?" At Nate's ironic look, Nick grunted. "Well, even if he does, it don't matter none."

"I've sent spies to have a look around," Nate admitted. "If things aren't what they should be with Conar, then we'll take a ride back up there."

"And if it looks like he needs rescuing?" Nick prompted.

Nate sighed heavily. "I suppose we'll just have to take matters into our own hands."

Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 213

The three women paused to allow the children to catch up with them. Above them, the sky was a bright, piercing blue with a few wisps of white vapor stitching amidst the azure material of the heavens. There was a soft breeze soughing among the oak branches and the smell of clover was heavy in the air. Here and there, a white puff of fluff bounded away from the footpath as a rabbit caught a whiff of the women and children approaching.

"This is my favorite time of year," Gezelle said as she looked out over the babbling stream that was silver-shot with sunlight. She bounced Brianna on her hip and cooed at the girl-child who had taken her first step on the day before and who was trying to bend over Gezelle's arm to get down, eager to try her new skill on the lush green carpet of grass.

"I prefer fall," Catherine remarked as she shifted the picnic basket from her left hand to her right. "I love the smell of burning leaves and the crispness of the air."

"Being in the fall of my life," Meggie grunted, "you can give me the springtime!"

Cody McGregor, Galen's only son, nudged his half-sister, Jillian, Brelan Saur's daughter, and nodded toward the silent doe who was standing at the edge of the forest watching them. Jillian smiled and reached out to tug at Adair Patrick's arm. Adair was Gezelle's youngest child.