WINDKEEPER (26 page)

"You think he’ll listen to us, now?"

"Aye," King Gerren told him, noticing his younger son had stopped struggling. "We don’t want to kill him, now, do we?" He smiled at Legion and then continued his stroll into the stables.

Letting go of Conar’s hair, Legion stepped away from the trough and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. Conar shot to the surface, leaned over the side of the trough, gasping, coughing and spewing water to try to clear his lungs.

As Conar continued to cough water out of his heaving body, Rayle Loure walked over to Legion and handed him a rolled parchment, whispering to him about its contents. Legion’s face took on a gleam of vengeance and he nodded to Rayle. "I’ll see to it," he said and glanced at Rayle’s retreating back.

"You…are…a…dead…man…A’Lex!" Conar managed to gasp, gaining Legion’s attention.

"Is that so?" Legion tapped the rolled parchment against his lip.

"You’ll pay for this," Conar spat as he stood in the trough, weaving, his head spinning.

Legion’s face split into a grin. Those closest to the trough backed away uneasily. "In what way, Your Grace?" Legion asked in a soft, challenging voice.

It took quite a bit of effort, but Conar managed to throw one leg over the edge of the trough, glaring furiously at his brother and the gaping crowd. He swung his angry eyes among those gathered.

"What the hell are you looking at?" he shouted at the servants. He swung the other leg out of the trough and sloshed water down the front of Legion’s breeches.

Legion looked at the wet stain on his legs and got a good whiff of the vomit plastering the backs of his breeches, and he slowly turned to his little brother.

"I’ll see you in hell for this, Legion!" Conar snarled. He spat a stream of water out of his lungs.

"Really?" Legion asked. "You’d better watch what you say to me, pup."

Conar wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "No man treats the Heir Apparent in this manner," he said in a haughty tone, looking down his nose at his eldest brother.

Legion drew back his fist and hit Conar in the mouth as hard as he could, a blow having enough force to topple the younger man and send him flat on his back.

"I knew it," Thom Loure, Rayle’s brother, mumbled.

Conar landed with an audible thud, the wind knocked out of lungs already aching from lack of air. He gasped as his tailbone collided painfully with the ground and he gasped again as Legion came to straddle him.

"Get up!" Legion shouted, his fists clenched by his sides.

Conar recognized that look on Legion’s face. He scanned the courtyard and knew those gathered knew the look, too. When Lord Legion A’Lex had the gleam of battle in his eye, it didn’t matter who was on the receiving end of those meaty fists. That person was going to get hurt and get hurt badly. "Legion, I…" Conar began, stopping upon Legion’s shout of outrage.

"You call yourself a man? Then get up and prove it, Heir Apparent to the Throne!" Legion taunted, his upper lip raised as though he smelled something not to his liking.

Conar’s head pounded furiously and blood streamed out of his nose; his lip was swelling at an astonishing rate and he was sure one of his front teeth was loose. He put a shaky hand to his jaw and thanked whatever god was paying attention that his jaw hadn’t been broken.

"You wanna be dragged up, Prince Conar?" Legion snarled down at him.

Coming to his feet, Conar sent a look of uncertainty at his brother. There was no longer anger and defiance in the blue gaze. There was hurt and wounded pride. He knew he couldn’t take Legion. Not today and, he suspected, not ever. He had let his big mouth run away with him again and his face was going to pay for it.

Weaving in front of Legion, he put out his hand to stop the fight, but he could see the man wasn’t ready for it to end. He saw the fist coming, straight for his left eye, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t duck. He took the hit hard in his face, felt the pain opening a gash on his cheekbone; saw stars; went to the ground once more, landing hard on his right side.

"Get up," Legion whispered. "Get up and fight like the man you like to think you are!"

"I’m sorry," Conar managed to say through the bulge that was his lip.

"I don’t give a shit! You’re gonna be sorrier still!"

Sighing, knowing he had more punishment in store for himself, he pushed up from the dirt and stood there looking at his brother. Blood caked his face, one eye was already swelling shut, and he could taste blood inside his mouth. He watched as Legion’s face twisted with rage and he knew he was going to be hit again.

All the fight had been knocked out of him already. What was coming now was his final embarrassment. His final put down. Legion wanted him to know who was boss and it gods-be-damned sure wasn’t the Heir Apparent!

He took the hit squarely on his nose and felt hot blood gush down his throat. The jab was powerful, so devastating, it propelled him sideways against the water trough and he hit the hard wood side and slid once more to the ground, gasping in agony, for he felt a rib crack.

"Get the hell up and quit moaning, Conar!" Legion demanded. He kicked Conar’s bare ankle with his booted foot. "I’m not through with you."

"Don’t beat your little brother to death, Legion," the King called as he headed back to the keep. "That would be a hanging offense, son." He stopped and crossed his arms over his chest.

Nervous laughter rang out at King Gerren’s comment.

Holding a hand to his side, Conar looked uneasily at Legion’s stormy face. "Why don’t I just stay down here?" he wheezed through his pain. "It would save you the trouble of knocking me down again." His ribs shot bursts of stabbing agony.

"Don’t let these people gathered know you aren’t man enough to take your punishment," Legion sneered. "If I have to tell you once more to get up, I won’t be as gentle when I put your gods-be-damned ass down again!"

Hoisting himself painfully to his feet, holding his breath against the agony in his side, he stood up as straight as he could in front of Legion, prepared for the blows he thought were coming. He could see the others gaping at him. He could feel the pain in his side and still he wouldn’t put up a hand to stop Legion. He waited for the blow that could conceivably push the broken rib straight through a lung.

Instead, Legion threw the rolled parchment at his feet. He looked down with a hope that was hastily quashed.

"It comes from King Shaz!" Legion told him. "He will be here with his wife and the wedding party this afternoon. You had better be on your best behavior when your betrothed comes through that gate. Do you hear me, Conar McGregor? If you aren’t, I can guarantee you will regret it!"

Conar groaned. He didn’t need The Toad today. His head spun crazily and he felt himself pitching forward and couldn’t stop. The jolt as his knees hit the ground sent white-hot pain spearing through his side. Grimacing in agony, he reached for the trough, missed, his hand sliding down the side. "Oh, god!" he whimpered and a servant rushed over to him, but Legion’s angry voice stopped the man dead in his tracks.

"Leave him be! Let the fool get up on his own!"

The servant looked to his King. When Gerren nodded, the man backed away, but his attention was on Conar’s pain-twisted face and he was worried. "Prince Conar?" he whispered, darting a glance to Lord Legion’s wrathful face. "Are you all right, Your Grace?" Just out of his line of vision, he saw Lord Legion take a step toward him and he backed away, fearful of incurring that man’s ire. "Milord, he’s hurt."

"Good!" Legion snarled. "I meant to hurt him!"

Conar groped for the edge of the trough and pulled himself up, hanging on with one hand while the other pressed tightly to his side. He had almost gained his feet when, with a gasp of shock, he doubled over, acute pain reflecting in his surprised eyes.

"Lord Legion, please!" the servant shouted. "His Grace is really hurt!"

Conar turned and saw Legion’s face pucker in sudden concern. "Legion?" he questioned softly, weakly, and then he pitched forward into darkness.

* * *

By the time Conar regained consciousness, the King of Oceania had sent word that he and his family were unable to visit after all, and would not be journeying to Boreas as planned.

Ordered to stay in bed, his ribs tightly bandaged, Conar was overjoyed at hearing the news. He breathed a sigh of relief that he would not have to entertain his future father-in-law or explain the mass of bruises that made eating difficult.

"Feel like a visitor?" his father called from the open doorway of his room.

"You gonna beat me, too?" Conar smiled.

"Do you need it?" Gerren asked as he took a chair by his son’s bed. Craning his neck to get a better look at the cuts and bruises on his son’s face, Gerren whistled. "By the gods, Coni, but you’re a mess, son."

Conar’s left eye was swollen shut; his right cheekbone cut open; his left cheekbone a deep purple; his lip had been torn and he had a long scratch across his chin where Legion’s signet ring had cut a wavering gash. His nose had been broken and the flesh covering it had turned a most peculiar shade of green.

"If you see an inch on me that needs beating, let me know," Conar quipped.

"No," his father said slowly. "I think Legion did quite well on his own."

"I believe he managed to give me some other man’s share, as well."

His father smiled. "How many times have you riled your brother over the years, Conar? Fifty? A Hundred? More?" At Conar’s grin, Gerren went on. "And how many times have you come out on the bad end of things?" Arching a brow at his son, he laughed. "Then I think you should leave the man alone. I never bested any of my older brothers and I don’t believe you’ll ever best Legion."

Conar snorted. "I just might surprise him one day."

"Famous last words." Gerren sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Your big brother is a natural fighter. I’ve seen men challenge him, men twice his size, and I’ve seen those men carried off the field of honor on stretchers. There’s not too many men who could beat him in a fair fight, I’m thinking." He laid his hand on his son’s leg. "Besides, he’s angry at himself for actually doing you harm. He didn’t intend that, Conar. That rib could have punctured a lung." The King’s face was grave as he looked at his child.

"He feels bad?" Conar gasped. "How the hell does he think I feel, Papa? I didn’t deserve the beating."

"It wasn’t a beating."

Conar cocked a golden brow at his King. "What would you call it?"

"A discussion. He discussed your recent behavior with you." He folded his hands together under his chin. "There is a certain morbidity to your nature at times that only violence seems to be able to deter, Conar. Merely speaking with you doesn’t seem to have any effect. You need to have your nose rubbed in the dirt to gain your attention, and that was exactly what Legion did."

"Aye, the bastard got my attention, all right!"

"He thinks of you as a little boy still," his father reminded him.

"Well, let him think what he will. I am no child. He may just find that out one day!" He flung the covers from his legs. "As cold as it is, why the hell am I so warm?"

Gerren frowned. "I need to speak with you about this girl who is causing all these problems for you."

Conar tensed. "The missing bondservant?"

King Gerren pierced his son with a stern look. His once-blond hair was now totally white; his blue eyes beginning to fade to a watery shade of azure; his tall frame shrinking somewhat; his once-powerful physique shifting and settling in places; but his face could wither the most fearsome warrior. For all its masculine beauty as a lad, it still bore the unmistakable stamp of authority that now, in age, was a stern reminder of his position in the realm. He put the tip of one long finger into the deep cleft of his chin and fixed his son with an unwavering look of reprimand.

"This girl is not some bondservant, Conar. You would not have allowed a mere servant to cause all this trouble." He squinted. "Don’t compound your offenses against your family with lies."

"I don’t know that she isn’t a bondservant, Papa," Conar defended.

"You don’t know anything about her, do you?" his father shot back. When his son remained silent, Gerren pressed the issue. "Where is her home? Who are her people? Is she married? Engaged? Widowed? What exactly do you know about her?"

Conar flinched at the steady look his father gave him. "It doesn’t matter now, Papa. It’s been four months. She’s gone; out of my life."

"But not out of your heart."

Conar tore his gaze from his father’s stare. "It’s over, Papa. There is nothing standing in the way of me marrying The Toad." He grimaced. Never had he meant to ever use that name for the bitch in his father’s hearing.

"Both Shaz and his lady-wife are two of my closest friends, Conar. Medea was your mother’s dearest friend. They were closer than sisters, for they were confirmed into the Multitude together. They shared a bond few women will ever know. It was your mother’s fondest wish that Medea’s firstborn daughter be your wife, and nothing, nothing, will stand in the way of that happening. I made a promise to your mother only a few days before that blessed lady died that I would see nothing stand in the way of that union."

"And nothing will." Conar looked away. "I’ll honor my mother’s wish, Papa."

"There is no doubt of that," King Gerren said sternly. "It is your lack of respect that needs work. You lack respect for Shaz and his lady-wife, as well as their daughter. If I ever hear that vicious nickname you have for the Princess Anya again, I will make you regret it!"

Conar turned to his father. "My marriage to her? I already regret it."

King Gerren stood. "Not nearly as much as I will make you regret ever having met this girl Liza if you continue with this foolishness!"

"Nothing anyone can do will ever make me regret having met her," he swore.

"You love this girl, don’t you, Conar?" his father asked with astonishment. When his son did not reply, the King let out a hard breath. "Well, it is a love that will be terminated. Terminated today. This very instant!"