WindDeceiver (19 page)

Rachel returned her attention to the warden. “We would like the names of those of your master’s friends who own slaves and who mistreat them as he has done.”

Gawking at the woman, the warden shook his head violently. “They would kill me!”

“I will kill you if you don’t tell us!” Conar assured him.

Rachel knelt down in front of the bound man whose hands were tied securely to the rungs of the chair in which he sat. She put a gentle hand on the man’s trembling thigh.

“Do as he says, friend, or you will never live to see the sunset this day.” She glanced up at Conar, then fused her gaze with the prisoner’s terrified stare. “If you learn nothing about this man, learn this: the Khamsin has known slavery and he abhors it. Those who truck in subjugating their fellow man will find his revenge exacting. He is not one to grant mercy when none was granted him.”

The warden looked up into the rigid, deadly face of the man behind her and knew truer words had never been spoken. He wondered who had once dared to enslave this brutal man and if that fool still lived to draw breath. Somehow, he didn’t think that was the case.

“Tell him,” Rachel encouraged.

Sajin glanced up as the door to the shack opened once more and the Necroman and the Outer Kingdom warrior entered. Behind them, he could see Balizar. He swung his gaze to Conar as that man wiped angrily at the tiny trickle of blood oozing from his left nostril and knew Balizar had gone in search of help for McGregor. Pushing away from the wall against which he had been leaning, Sajin joined Yuri at the door. He glanced back at the prisoner who was rattling off names and numbers to save his life.

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“May I suggest you wait until the warden has finished his recitation?” Sajin inquired.

“He’ll be more manageable once he gets what he wants.”

Shalu’s gaze narrowed. “He’s practically weaving on his feet!” he griped. “He…” The Necroman hushed as Conar’s stony stare leapt his way and stayed. Shalu’s chin came up. “Fool!”

he grumbled.

Conar’s stare remained for a fraction of a moment longer, then slowly returned to the woman on the floor who was writing down names. He stood where he was until the prisoner’s voice trailed off, then asked the warden if that was all he knew.

“Yes, my Lord Khamsin.” The warden’s eyes pleaded with Rachel.

Rachel stood up and handed the list of names to her brother. She turned to Conar. “May we let this man live, Khamsin?”

The dark sapphire orbs flashed and the hard mouth tightened, but the golden head dipped almost imperceptibly.

“Thank you, Khamsin,” Rachel acknowledged.

A muscle jumped in Conar’s jaw as she looked away from him. “When you are finished here, Mam’selle,” he ground out, drawing her attention once more, “I would like to speak with you.” His voice was cold.

Rachel nodded then turned back to the prisoner.

Conar spun around and nearly plowed into Shalu. He clenched his teeth together. “Get out of my way!” he spat, shoving the bigger man aside.

Taborn’s mouth dropped open and he stared after the furious whirlwind that yanked the door open and stomped outside. His jaw came together with an audible click as the door was slammed shut behind Conar with enough force to rattle the wall. “Why that shitty little--“

“Something tells me our gallant leader is not in the best of moods,” Balizar chuckled. He swept his glance over Rachel, then lifted a brow at Asher in challenge. “Did she pluck his tail feathers again, Asher?”

“I’ll roast his arrogant hide!” Shalu growled, making for the door.

“Leave him alone,” Rachel ordered and every man in the room turned to her with various degrees of surprise. She met their looks. “I’ll take care of him.”

Asher’s face turned pale. “I don’t think--“

“No,” Rachel declared, “you seldom do, Asher.” Her unfathomable gaze went to Sajin.

“Let him do what he feels he has to do. When he is through, he’ll go back to the camp and I will deal with him there.”

“He said he wanted to speak to you when you’re finished here,” Asher protested.

Rachel turned a bland look to her brother. “He knows I understood his meaning, Asher. I will see him back at camp.”

“He’s in pain, little one,” Balizar told her. “Another headache like he had last month.”

There was a slight lifting of the young woman’s shoulders. “That explains his mood, but he will not appreciate being coddled, so leave him the hell alone.”

“She’s right,” Yuri concurred. “Best to leave him be.”

Shalu switched his malevolent glare from Yuri to the girl. He squinted. Aye, he thought, with regret, the woman looked too much like Elizabeth McGregor not to have captured Conar’s interest. He wondered if there was more to the relationship between them than he had suspected.

He didn’t think so, but the look on Conar’s face had spoken volumes as he’d pushed past Shalu. If the interest hadn’t been keen before today, it was becoming so.

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“The gods help us,” the Necroman mumbled. “One woman here; one woman there.” He threw up his hands. “No wonder the little bastard has a headache!”

When he had assured himself that everything at the quarry was the way he would have it, Conar had mounted his stallion and galloped away, leaving the others to mop up the mess the Samiel had made of the slave barracks at the quarry that morning. He knew there would be no slaves left in the compound, no shacks left standing, not one piece of machinery left untouched.

There would be nothing worth salvaging once his men were through.

The ride back to the oasis had been an excruciating jolt of thundering hooves and flying sand. With every bounce of the steed’s flanks, Conar’s pain had grown until, now, it was beyond anything he thought he could successfully cope with. As much as he hated the idea, he knew if he was to receive relief of even the barest minimum, he would have to take one of Rupine’s proffered potions. Dismounting at his tent, he had thrown the reins to a young boy and had gone inside the relative coolness of the tent. Flinging himself down on his pallet, he threw an arm over his aching eyes and tried to fight the nausea building in his throat.

It was over three hours later when the first of the cadre began to drift into camp. Rupine was with the first wave of returnees and he went straight to Conar’s tent, ducking under the flap with held breath.

“Khamsin? Are you awake?”

Conar moaned, turning his face away from the sliver of light that filtered through from outside. “Close the damned flap!” he whispered.

Rupine walked over to the pallet and knelt down. “Is the pain no better?”

“It’s worse,” came the bitter reply.

“Will you let me give you something for it?” Rupine asked.

“Aye,” Conar muttered. “I have no other choice, now.”

“I will be right back,” Rupine told him and quickly left, going to his own tent to retrieve the laudanum.

Sajin noticed the physician as he came out of Conar’s tent and he glanced at Shalu. “It must be bad enough by now that he’s going to allow the surgeon to give him something.” He threw his leg over his mount’s head and slid to the ground. “Should we go see to him?”

“No,” Balizar answered. “Let Rachel handle it as she has asked.” He, too, dismounted and handed his horse’s reins to one of the camp boys. He watched Rupine hurrying back to Conar’s tent. “He had one or two of those headaches right after he first got here. This one has lasted him three days.”

“Not unusual,” Yuri commented. He handed his horse off to another boy. “There was one that lasted nearly a week.”

“I have had such headaches, myself,” Sajin said. “But none that lasted over a few hours.”

He frowned. “A day at the very most. Such pain has to be devastating.”

“He’s use to it,” Shalu quipped, still miffed at Conar’s rudeness to him earlier. When the others looked at him, he shrugged. “Pain is something to which our young friend has a very close relationship.”

“She’s here,” Balizar mentioned, nodding toward the straggling group of riders headed their way. Rachel was the last among them, sitting slumped in her saddle as though she were very, very tired.

“Do you think she’ll go in there straight away?” Yuri asked, worry on his face.

“Aye,” Balizar answered. “He told her to and she will.”

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Shalu snorted. “If she does what he says, she’ll be the first woman who has!”

As Rachel entered Conar’s tent, she realized he wasn’t sleeping as Rupine had told her he was. Instead, he was staring at her, his pupils glazed and dilated, but as keenly aware of her as though he had not been dosed with a potent draft of laudanum. He watched her come to sit by him on the pallet, his gaze never leaving her face. She could hear his gentle breathing: even and steady, deep, and she knew he was making a supreme effort to stay awake long enough to take her to task for defying him.

“Yes,” she said, opening the conversation, “you did tell me not to go with the men this morning. And yes, I am a pig-headed, stubborn woman. And yes, I could have been hurt. And I agree, I could have gotten some man killed trying to keep me out of harm’s way. And no, I don’t want you to chain me to a tent pole next time there’s a raid. And, no, I won’t --“

“Give me some water and shut the hell up, Rachel,” he sighed, putting a hand to his forehead to rub at the pain there.

Rachel reached for the water jug. Pouring him a cool glass of spring water, she held it to his lips as he lifted his head. “Is the pain no better at all?”

“No,” he muttered as he took a long drink. Slowly he lowered his head and closed his eyes.

“It’s so bad I can hardly think.”

Moving to the head of the pallet, she eased his head onto her lap and began to massage the pounding at his temple. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the heavy beat and knew the pain must be agonizing. “You aren’t going to berate me?” she asked.

“Aye, but not now,” he countered. Her hands were cool on his flesh and soothing. The faintest hint of lavender perfume clung to her clothing to remind him once more that this woman bore so strong a resemblance to Liza she could well be her twin.

“You would have killed that man had I not intervened, Khamsin,” she said softly. “I could see it in your eyes.”

“I know,” he answered and turned his head so that his face was against her belly. “I should thank you but I won’t.”

Rachel smiled down at him. “I didn’t think for one moment you would.” She threaded her fingers through the lush flax of his hair and gently began to manipulate his tight scalp. “How long have you had these headaches, milord?”

Conar could finally feel the laudanum taking control of his mind and he was beginning to drift. Her voice seemed to be coming from far away, but her gentle touch was keeping him anchored to earth.

“Since I was a young boy,” Conar answered. “Thirteen, fourteen. I don’t remember.” He could hear the slur in his own voice.

“I am sorry,” she said in earnest.

“Me, too,” he mumbled. He nuzzled his face against her and lifted one arm to drape over her thigh, holding her to him. “Good night, Liza-love,” he whispered.

Her hand stilled in his hair. She felt him gather her closer still to him, heard his soft sigh of contentment. Then he was sound asleep in her lap.

Rachel held him for over an hour before Rupine came in to check on him and helped her to stand since her legs were asleep under his weight. They covered him and left him in the care of Yuri Andreanova who had unrolled his pallet beside Conar’s own.

“Call me if when he awakes he still has that pain,” Rupine had instructed before leaving with Rachel.

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Yuri lay awake for a long time, watching his friend sleep. He wondered if Conar realized he was falling in love.

Again.

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Sajin Ben-Alkazar stared into the fire for a long time that night. He was remembering the conversation between him and Conar the day before when his friend had handed over the care of Catherine Steffenovitch to Sajin.

“Listen to me, nomad,” Conar had insisted, waving away all concern Sajin had had about Catherine accepting him. “I love her too much to have her hurt because of me. People who get close to Conar McGregor usually pay dearly for it in one way or another. I would rather hand her over to you than any man I know. You will be good to her and I know you love her.”

Sajin had snapped at that remark. “Yes, I love her, but she doesn’t care a fig for me. It’s you she wants, Conar. It’s you the woman loves!”

“Will you have her die for that love, nomad?” Conar had argued. “Others have. Will you have her name added to that list?”

In the end, it had been no use to argue with the Outlander. Conar McGregor was more stubborn than any man Sajin could ever remember encountering before. And just as determined that things be the way he wanted them to be. Such an attitude was the ultimate in arrogance, but it wasn’t self-serving. Sajin knew Conar’s decision to hand Catherine over to him was causing the man great heartache. He also knew it was causing the man the physical pain he was enduring because of it.

“Every time he’s ever had hard decisions to make, he’s wound up with one of those damned headaches,” Chase Montyne, who had ridden into camp an hour before, had told Sajin. “When things get too rough around the edges and he can’t cope with them, he seems to come down with another headache.”

“A safety valve,” Rupine had nodded. “Better to have a little pain now than a breakdown later.”

Chase had agreed. “Cayn once told me the headaches are caused by tension and anxiety.