WINDKEEPER (60 page)

"Don’t you ever accuse me of being conceited again," he said sternly.

"Are you angry that I played by my own set of rules, Conar?"

He chuckled. "No, but I am angry you kept up the pretense even after you had come to marry me."

"I caught you glaring at me those time we crossed each other’s paths, Milord. You didn’t even deign to speak to me but once, and even then rancor filled your voice. My pride would not allow me to go to you. I was rather annoyed."

"So you sought to punish me, eh?" He put his fingers on her chin and raised her face to his. "What would you have done if I had come looking for you in Oceania?" He grinned. "Or had broken the engagement?"

"I would have brought the heavens down about your ears if you had tried! As for the other, if you had come looking in the first place, none of this would have happened. And we would not have enjoyed our year of play, either."

He tugged on her chin. "You’re lucky you didn’t get with child."

"I was careful, Milord." She rolled off him and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "But when the time is right, I shall conceive your child. I shall have many of your children, Milord."

"The ones I already have are yours. You made sure of that." Her face turned to his and he could see the smug smile of victory on her pretty features.

"I told you long ago you should not be made to give up your children. What is yours is mine. I will see to them, Milord. With Wyn’s help, of course." She laughed. "That boy is assuredly your son!"

"And most assuredly your conquest!" he teased, running his hand down her back. "He is very sensitive about his illegitimacy. You have made him feel worthy and that is something even I have been unable to do." He saw her face tighten with sadness. "What is it?"

She put her fingers on his cheek. "I was thinking of the bridal dinner, that’s all."

"If you’re thinking about that gods-be-damned limerick I had Chase—"

She shushed him as her fingers moved to his lips. "You more than made up for that before when you had the musician’s play, ‘The Prince’s Lost Lady.’ I must admit the limerick was funny, but Papa could have strangled you and your papa looked as though he was going to have a seizure. Since my parent’s knew all along how you’d react when you found out what was behind the veil, they were more shocked than angry by your behavior, but your father—" She wagged a finger at him. "You owe him an apology. It was what you did to Legion that hurt me."

"Legion?" He pushed himself up, his face crinkled with worry. "What did I do to him?"

"You don’t remember?" she asked and when he shook his head, she touched his cheek. "Well, for one thing, you called him a bastardly by-blow."

"Oh, no," he whispered. "I didn’t. I couldn’t have." He knew how thin-skinned his big brother was.

She bit her lip, not knowing how to continue.

"What else did I say?" He knew from the look on her face it must have been worse.

"You cast aspersions on his mother."

He stared at her with horror. "Oh, Liza, no!"

"I could have slapped you silly, Conar. As it was, Teal had to keep Legion from knocking you down." She got up, plucked his discarded robe from the floor, and put it on. She walked to the window and threw back the curtain to let in the morning light.

"Teal shouldn’t have stopped him," he said miserably. "I’ll apologize to him if he doesn’t kill me first."

He turned at her gasp of shock and saw she was staring down into the courtyard, a look of pure horror on her face. He was on his feet in a second. "What’s wrong?"

"You told our people you would present me at noon." There was hopelessness in her voice.

"So?"

"Conar! By the sundial it is nearing four in the afternoon!"

"What?" He came quickly to the window and, standing to one side to hide his nakedness, looked into the courtyard to see every available space of grass and gravel covered with people.

She stared at him. "They’ve been there for hours!"

"Quick!" he said, scooping up her veil and throwing it to her, "put that on." His eyes swept over her possessively. "Along with some clothes."

He didn’t give her a chance to reply before he was rummaging through his armoire, tossing clothes left and right in his haste to find something, anything to wear.

She watched his clothes being flung and a vengeful light came into the green depths.

"That is a habit you will cease, Milord!" she murmured as she slipped into her bridal gown, stepping on Conar’s discarded clothing to get to her slippers. "Come button me up," she said, clucking her tongue as she saw him trample a freshly ironed shirt.

"Hurry, Liza!" he said, his fingers flying through her buttons. "We don’t have all day."

She started to put on her veil but stopped to watch him hopping about on one foot as he drew on a boot. She had to dig her nails into her palms to keep from screaming at him. His boot heels were making little half-moon tattoos on clean shirts scattered all over his floor. She winced as he kicked a pair of breeches into the bathing chamber, craning her neck to see them land in the scummy bath water.

"Liza! Hurry up!" he pleaded. "They’ll think we’ve killed one another!" He hurried to the door and flung open the portal with a crash.

Liza looked away from the breeches that were disappearing beneath the grayish water.

"The day isn’t over yet," she mumbled, sidestepping the mess he had made of their room.

The courtyard was filled with as many people as could fit into it. Some were standing under the protection of the covered walkways, some hovered near the burning cans of pitch that had been hastily brought out when the time had dragged on. Men slapped their arms around themselves; women huddled deep into their shawls and woolen coats; children wrapped themselves within the folds of their mother’s skirts. There were those who peeked out from the confines of blankets, shivered under the overhangs of the keep’s high crenelated walls, leaned out of windows, sat on tree branches.

Legion and Teal stood side by side with Thom, Storm Jale, and Marsh Edan. The men had tightly pulled their military great capes around them, but white plumes of steamy breath eased from them, giving evidence that they, too, were being chilled by the clear, wintry blast of icy December air flowing through the open courtyard.

For once Teal did not have a humorous look on his dimpled face and Thom’s beady eyes were not intent. Storm was unusually quiet; Marsh was unusually talkative. Legion was sulking, his anger at Conar still festering with hurt.

Coron had waited to see his new sister-in-law. He stood with his wife held tightly against his chest to protect her from the cold. Dyllon sat on a stone lion at the base of the steps leading up to the portico. His feet dangled over the statue’s ears. The young Prince was hunched down in his wool parka, the collar up over his ears. He cupped his hands and blew into them, then thrust them once more inside the pockets of his parka.

The Emperor and Empress of Chrystallus were stamping their feet in an effort to get warm and King Gerren was flanked by Dyllon’s young, bored wife, Princess Grace, and Sir Hern. Gerren’s scowl left no doubt in anyone’s mind as to his displeasure. King Shaz and his lady-wife stood only a few feet from the main steps.

Gezelle, her green eyes blank and filled with speculation, kept staring up at the window of the Prince’s room. She had seen what no others in the courtyard had—the Prince and Princess staring down into the courtyard. She knew it would be only a matter of moments before the couple came to greet those gathered. She cast a side look at the servant girl, Liza, and timidly smiled.

There was no answering smile on the other girl’s face. Instead, a hard, brittle glower of dislike hovered over the Oceanian’s lips before the girl deliberately looked away.

Galen and Kaileel Tohre stood side by side on the gallery that ran across the front of the Wind Temple. Both men sipped on hot mugs of spicy ale and stood close beside a burning brazier that had been brought out to keep them warm.

Hern leaned against the lion statue opposite the one on which Dyllon sat. His arms were folded across his wide chest and there was a look on his face that few, if any, men had ever seen. One of uncertainty. He chewed on his lower lip. He was edgy, nervous, confused and his scowling face was not a sight many wished to look long upon.

As the couple came onto the steps of the main keep, the buzzing talk, stamping feet and moaning hisses of very cold people stopped.

Liza’s hand rested on Conar’s arm as he stopped at the top of the steps. His hand covered her fingers, patting them reassuringly as she squeezed his arm. She glanced up to one of the covered walkway canopies and then she nudged her husband. She heard Conar grunt with surprise.

Scattered along the hastily swept canopy, dotting the wooden structure from one end to the other, their legs dangling over the side, were what she knew must be all of her husband’s love-children. Their little cheeks and noses were red with cold and they were all huddled in such a way it looked as though they had been glued together. She saw their little faces break into wide grins because he had noticed them. She brought up her free hand and waved to them, grinning behind her veil when she heard them giggle as they returned her wave.

"Ready?" Conar asked.

"Aye, Milord."

His face became grave and he cleared his throat. He felt his wife’s fingers tightening under his own and knew she was sending him encouragement and strength. He took a deep breath and then let it out in a rush.

"My people, I have something to say to you before I remove Her Grace’s veil. First, I wish to apologize for keeping you waiting, but the lady and I had much to discuss."

A nervous titter went through the crowd.

"It wasn’t that kind of discussion!" he said, his face breaking into a slight smile before resuming its stern look. He waited until the second smattering of nervous laughter went through those assembled.

"Second, I wish to apologize for my conduct last eve. It was deplorable and I can offer no excuse except for that of being drunk. If I offended any of you, I offer my most sincere apology and ask your forgiveness.

"I dishonored this lady last eve. I dishonored my father and King, my relatives, this lady’s parents. I behaved like a spoiled child who had been denied what he coveted and could not have." He brought Liza’s fingers to his lips and planted a light kiss on them. "I have asked this lady for her pardon and she was gracious enough to grant it. Now I ask my father’s pardon, as well." He turned to the King. "Majesty, I shamed you and I would understand if you could not find it in your heart to forgive me. I dishonored the name of our fathers and there is no excuse I can give for that."

Gerren could barely control the anger in his voice. Did the boy think an apology would solve everything? "It is your lady-wife and her kin who must be the ones to grant you absolution. It is she to whom you have done the most damage. If she has forgiven you, then so must I forgive you, but I will hear her say it in my presence!"

Conar held his father’s stony stare for a moment and then sighed, realizing his King would see him humbled for his behavior of the night before even if his father would forgive him. He squeezed Liza’s fingers, lowered himself to his knees, and knelt on the cold steps at his wife’s feet. He touched his forehead to her fingertips, raised his head, and looked up at her veiled face.

"Before all those gathered here, Milady, I beg your forgiveness."

Liza spoke in as clear and carrying a voice as she could muster. "You have it, Milord."

Conar came to his feet and faced his wife’s parents. "You, better than any others here, know why I behaved as I did. Can you forgive me for my actions?"

King Shaz glanced at his wife, saw her tiny, fleeting smile and turned a grave face to his new son-in-law. "As long," he said with authority, "as you will promise to honor our daughter from this day forward and seek no others before her, we shall grant you pardon, Prince Conar."

Legion and Teal exchanged a quick look.

Conar smiled. "I will gladly promise you that, Highness."

"Then you have our forgiveness," Medea told him.

The Prince’s blue eyes wandered the crowd until he found Legion’s stony face. His older brother stared back at him with heat. Legion’s stare never wavered from Conar, but the lean jaw jumped where a muscle ground.

Conar could feel the disappointment in his brother’s rigid form. He raised his head a fraction more and put true contrition into his words.

"My conduct was horrible last eve and I am hurting for that which I did; but no hurt I caused any of the rest of you can compare to what I caused my brother, Legion." He saw Legion flinch. "I called that good man names that were unforgivable. If another man had dared to use such vile names to him, I would have slain that man where he stood. I would have gutted him with my sword to defend Legion’s honor, for I love him dearly. My insults were unpardonable, Legion. My only excuse is that they were the ramblings of a drunken fool. My most hardy regret is that Teal du Mer stopped you from giving me the beating I so richly deserved." Legion looked down. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I would be most grateful, brother."

Legion’s heart welled with tears. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. All he could do was nod and that cost him, for a tear rolled slowly down his cheek. He, more than any man, knew what an effort it was for Conar to humble himself in front of these people.

"If there are any others among you whom I have offended or shamed, I humbly beg your pardon. It will not happen again."

A soft murmur went through the crowd. The Prince pleading with them for forgiveness? Prince Conar? They looked to the silent, veiled woman beside their Prince and true concern went through each and every one. What had this woman done to their Prince? What kind of sorceress hold did the woman have over him? Had she put a spell on their bonny boy? They looked back to Conar’s calm face, and worry replaced the concern on their faces. Was this the same young man whose vile temper could curdle milk? Was this the same young man whose language could turn the air blue? Was this the same young man whose lustful appetite for any female over sixteen was legendary? He looked worried; he looked, well…humbled!