Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
He says it is Conar’s repressed anger that triggers these attacks. Whenever he’s had a situation in which he’s had to assume total responsibility for his actions, the headache isn’t far behind.”
“Did he have a very close attachment to his mother?” Rupine had asked.
Montyne had frowned, then nodded. “Aye, I suppose he did. Why?”
Rupine had lit his pipe. “My old instructor was of the opinion that those who suffer from recurring headaches of this sort tend to be overly attached to their mothers and resent it when the ties are broken.” He drew on the pipe, puffing until it was going good. “There is great anger when the connection between them is broken.”
“Conar’s mother died when he was thirteen,” Chase had informed the physician. “That is when his headaches started.”
“The anger he experienced at her loss is still with him, then,” Rupine suggested. “It manifests itself in the form of the headaches. When he comes to terms with the loss of her, the severing of those ties between them, the headaches will go away.”
Hearing the soft whispers of Rachel and her brother in the tent across from him, Sajin lifted his head and stared at the silhouettes on the tent tall. He could not hear what Asher was saying to his sister, but he could see Rachel’s bent head and thought she well might be crying.
“Do you love him, too, little one?” Sajin heard himself ask aloud. He looked around him, but no one was paying attention. He picked up a stick and poked at the fire.
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Chase had also told him how much the girl Rachel looked like Elizabeth McGregor. It was that which bothered Sajin the most. He had seen the way the girl had looked at Conar today. He had seen the way Conar had looked at her, angry though he obviously was.
“There’s nothing between them,” Balizar had assured him, but Sajin thought differently.
If there wasn’t something now, it was coming. But that didn’t resolve his own dilemma concerning Catherine. He didn’t think the woman would just blithely accept a substitution, even if he thought of himself as being Conar McGregor’s equal. He had a feeling any woman who had ever loved the Outlander, would do so for as long as life flowed in her body.
“He’s an easy man to love,” Catherine had told him. “A difficult man to live with, I am sure, but an easy man to love.”
Was there real danger for Catherine if she stayed with Conar or was it a figment of Conar’s imagination? True, there had been women whose deaths could be explained in no other way than with their closeness to McGregor. Murders had been committed because of him. Fate had sealed the fortunes of several women who had loved, and who had been loved by, him. Would Catherine meet the same fate if she stayed his wife?
“Wife,” Sajin groaned, closing his eyes. “How do you undo that, my friend?”
“Talking to yourself again, pog?” Shalu grumbled as he sat down heavily by the fire. “Our nights are not as cold as this.” He shivered, drawing his cape around him. “The heat I can stand; the cold I can not.”
“You get use to it,” Sajin answered. He crossed his booted ankles. “Tell me something, Taborn.”
“The earth is round,” the Necroman quipped. He glanced at Ben-Alkazar’s confused face.
“You didn’t know that?”
Sajin stared at him. “Of course I knew that!” he snapped. “What has that to do with anything?”
Shalu shrugged. “You asked me to tell you something and I did. What else would you like to know?”
The nomad’s lips pursed into a tight line. “You’re as confounding as Conar.”
The Necroman drew himself up. “That is an insult of the highest order, pog!”
“Will he go through with putting Catherine aside?” Sajin demanded, in no mood for silliness.
“If he says he will, he will,” Shalu stated. “The man doesn’t lie and he doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean.” He wiped his nose on the hem of his cape. “How do you feel about this?”
“I think he’s making the biggest mistake of his life!” Sajin snapped.
“One of many,” Shalu snorted. “The brat is a walking encyclopedia of bad choices.” He chuckled, softly. “If he hadn’t traipsed over here, he wouldn’t be in the middle of another war.”
“How difficult will it be for him to divorce Catherine?” Sajin wanted to know.
Shalu frowned. “I know practically nothing of Serenian law, but since he was not married by one of his own priests, I would imagine the ceremony would not stand according to Serenian religion. Since Conar is the government, such as it is at this moment, his word is law. If this is what he wants, his people will uphold him.”
“I’m not so sure the Outer Kingdom government will!” Sajin growled. “If they don’t know by now he married her on the ship, I don’t see how she can hope to keep it a secret from her father once she starts showing.”
“What do you think will be their reaction?” Shalu inquired.
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“They brought him over there to marry her,” Sajin informed the Necroman. At Taborn’s raised brows, the nomad Prince nodded. “That was their intent from the beginning. They will no doubt be beside themselves at the wedding.”
“But?” Shalu asked, sensing something more.
Sajin’s face showed his uncertainty. “Once they learn he means to put her aside like a worn out boot, I’m afraid they will be insulted beyond measure. They might even declare war on Serenia.”
“Pooh,” Shalu snapped, waving his hand as though a vile stench had wafted over them.
“Anyone stupid enough to invade Serenia will have the might of Six Kingdoms breathing down their necks.”
“Then there’s the problem of Jaleel Jaborn,” Sajin groused.
Shalu looked up from the fire. “I’ve heard that name too much of late. Who is this ass?”
“The most powerful man in Rysalia,” Sajin answered. “And he hates Conar. I think he might well be the reason Conar has made the decision to divorce Cat.”
“To protect her,” Shalu grunted.
“Yes,” Sajin agreed. “Chase told me Jaleel might have been responsible for Conar’s daughter’s death.”
“Nadia?” Shalu gasped.
“The man who died? Jale? He told Conar he handed the child over to Jaborn and that Jaborn killed her himself.”
A shiver of apprehension ran through the Necroman. “If that is true, Conar will go after him.”
“I don’t doubt that at all,” Sajin answered.
“Well,” Shalu said, getting to his feet with a grown of aging muscles. “I think I should go back to Asaraba in the morning and look for the rest of our crew.” He glanced around him and found Yuri sitting off to himself. “If there’s to be more trouble, it would be best if Conar’s friends were with him.”
“To protect him,” Sajin mumbled.
“Aye,” Shalu sighed. “To protect him.”
“You disobeyed him,” Asher accused, throwing aside his burnoose. “He expressly forbade you to come along with us this morning and you ignored him!”
“He isn’t my lord and master, Asher,” Rachel argued. “Nor my husband that he can order me about as he sees fit.”
“He is our leader!” Asher snapped. “We must do as he says. He knows what is best!”
“The rest of you can cower down and kiss his boots if you like, but I will not!” Rachel told him. “This is not his fight, Asher. These are not his people he is freeing from slavery. I have been at this longer than he has and I have more to lose than he does.” She pointed a finger toward the tent where the man of whom they were speaking was lying. “What do you think will happen to us once he loses interest in the game and decides to go home to his country? Or once he goes after Prince Jaleel? We will still be here to fight for our countryman long after he has gone!”
“Will you just try to do as he asks, Rachel?” Asher asked with exasperation. “He fears for your safety. You remind him of his lady-wife and he--“
“Enough!” she spat, glaring at her brother. “I am sick of being compared to his dead wife!”
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Asher stared at her, taking in the heaving bosom, the flash of fire in her green eyes, the high color on her cheeks, the way she clenched her jaw. It was more than being compared to Khamsin’s wife that irritated her. If he had not known better, he would have sworn Rachel was jealous.
“Stop looking at me like that!” Rachel snarled.
Shaking his head to the incomprehensible emotions of the female race, Asher sat down on his pallet and decided to let the matter drop. “Will you be going with us to the meal the Lady Sabrina has invited us to attend?”
“No,” Rachel mumbled. “Montyne asked the men, not me.” She pummeled her pillow then stretched out on her pallet, glaring up at the ceiling. “She has women to keep you men company there.”
Asher turned his head and looked at her. WAS that jealousy he heard in his sister’s sharp voice? Surely not. “I am sure she would not mind you coming with us.”
“No,” Rachel repeated. She flipped over onto her side, away from her brother’s probing look.
“Suit yourself,” Asher answered.
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The next morning found Conar bleary-eyed and irritable. The headache was gone, but the lassitude he had learned to hate during the time he had been addicted to Sern’s potions, was there to remind him that he had had to depend on another to rid him of the pain. When he ventured out of his tent, squinting against the harsh
late morning light, he appeared disoriented and tired.
“Chase Montyne came while you were asleep last night,” Shalu told him, handing him a steaming cup of coffee. “He’s inviting us to a feast his lady is preparing.”
Conar grunted in answer and burnt his tongue as he took a quick sip of the aromatic brew.
“I think I’ll pass on the feast and head back to Asaraba to meet up with the others,” Shalu said.
“Tell them to get their asses back home,” Conar grumbled. “I don’t need them mucking up things over here.”
The Necroman scraped at the day’s worth of beard on his dark cheeks. He grimaced at the feel. “As if they give a rat’s pecker what you want, Conar,” he replied.
Conar stared at him over the rim of the tin cup. “Do each of you lay awake at night trying to find ways to make my life as complicated as possible?”
“There’s no need to,” Shalu said dryly. “You complicate your own life quite nicely without our help.”
Lowering the cup, Conar glared at his old friend. “Tell them to go home, Shalu. I don’t need them here.”
“I’ll tell them,” Shalu said, “but I know what they’ll say. They’ll say you’ve gotten yourself into mischief again and they’re here to bale you out.”
“And get themselves killed in the bargain!” Conar snapped. “This isn’t like home, Taborn.
These people are demonic. You haven’t seen the slave warehouses, the places where they sell human flesh! People like this are beyond the understanding of men like Brell and the Hesars.”
“What are you afraid of?” Shalu asked, his brows drawn together. “You’ve been acting strange ever since I got here.”
Conar looked away, unable to meet his friend’s intense gaze. “I can’t protect them here, Shalu,” he finally answered.
The Necroman’s forehead crinkled. “Protect them? In what way do you mean that? The men of the Wind Force are warriors all, McGregor. They have fought beside you before and you didn’t worry about their safety. Why do you feel the need to do so, now?”
“I have no power here, Shalu,” he admitted, looking back at Taborn. “None whatsoever.
Anything could happen to them and I wouldn’t know it.” He tossed away the rest of his coffee.
“They could be in harm’s way at this very minute and I wouldn’t even be aware of it.” His face took on a look of intense pleading. “How can I keep them safe if I am not aware of their danger?”
Shalu understood. He had no powers in this strange land, either, but he hadn’t let it bother him all that much. He’d had no powers in the Labyrinth, either. Neither had Conar, but they had not really been in any great danger in that hellhole. There had been no reason to need Conar’s protection. If anything, it had been them: the men of the soon-to-be-formed Wind Force that had had to protect Conar McGregor. Afterwards, after the Binding Ceremony that had linked them for WINDDECEIVER Charlotte Boyett-Compo 97
all time, it had been Conar’s powers that were to keep them all safe and out of harm’s way.
Without that power, Conar felt impotent to protect them.
“We can take care of ourselves,” Shalu said in a soft voice. “We are grown men, my friend.”
Conar stood up, shoved his hands into the pockets of his breeches, and stared out across the vastness of the desert. “Tell them to go home, Shalu.” He looked back around. “MAKE them go home. If I have to worry about them, I’ll go mad. Do you understand that?”
Shalu stood, as well, and put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You are the mighty oak, brat; we are the branches. Can the oak go where the branches do not follow?”
Conar stared into the Necroman’s face for a long moment. “It can if those branches have been lopped off,” he answered.
Taborn squeezed Conar’s shoulder. “I’ll tell them what you’ve said, but don’t expect them to turn tail and run because you’re afraid for them. If anything, they’ll be insulted.”
“I’d rather they be insulted than dead,” Conar answered. “I’ve lost too many people I love to lose any more.”
“Well,” Shalu sighed, giving his friend’s shoulder one more affectionate squeeze, “if I am to find them, I’d best get on with it. Balizar is going with me. It might be awhile before you hear from me again.”
Conar reached up and laid his hand on Shalu’s. “Be careful?” he asked, searching the dark face before him.
“Am I not always?” Shalu grunted.
Rachel stood in the doorway of her tent and watched Khamsin saying goodbye to his compatriot. She sensed his unease and when he turned to find her looking at him, she could see the tenseness in his eyes. At his silent signal, she started toward him, wondering if the browbeating she didn’t get the evening before was to be given now.