WINDKEEPER (25 page)

Conar spun around with an ugly grimace on his face. "And I said it could wait, Mam’selle! Don’t belabor the point!" He saw her cringe against the door and snarled under his breath. He had his bastard brother, Galen, to thank for the girl being so easily unnerved. He lowered his voice. "What’s in the gods-be-damned thing, anyway?" he sniffed, turning away again.

Gezelle had no way of knowing Conar was accustomed to having his mail perused by others. She was offended that he thought she had read his private mail, even if she could have done so. Her chin came up a fraction with indignation. "I would never presume to open your mail, Milord."

Sighing like a man much put upon and misunderstood, he raised his eyes to the heavens. With a sweet, mocking smile, he turned and spoke to her in a voice he reserved for his youngest children. "Well, then, sweet one, open it for me now and read it if it’s all that important."

"I would rather not," she mumbled, her eyes downcast.

Not bothering to see the blush of embarrassment on her lovely face, he snapped before he thought. "I’m not asking you to read it, woman! I am ordering you to do so!"

"I can’t, Milord," she said miserably.

"Mam’selle," he began, annoyed she would dare cause him further anger, "I have commanded you." He finally saw her face and it struck him like a blow to the gut that the girl probably couldn’t read and was too embarrassed to tell him. Mentally kicking himself, he held out his hand. "Let me have it, ’Zelle."

Gezelle walked toward him, wary, her chin trembling. Not even his most charming smile, now bestowed upon her with mute apology, could still the wild beating of her heart nor dry the tears threatening to spill.

As he took the note from her, he lightly caught her hand in a gentle grip and wouldn’t let go. He could feel her trembling. He bent his knees and craned his neck to look up into her downcast face. Enticing her with a dazzling grin, he made her look at him, making a mental note to see that someone began to teach the girl to read this very day.

Gezelle couldn’t resist the impish grin. Her lips twitched with humor as he wagged his eyebrows, teasing her into a laugh she couldn’t stop. She forgot all about her hurt.

"See," he told her, tugging on her hand, "I’m not such a great bad beastie, after all."

He tossed the parchment on the bed and then sat on the rumpled coverlet, patting the place beside him, indicating that he wanted her to sit. Since he still had a light grip on her hand, she had no choice but to join him, even though her knees were shaking and there was hesitation in her lovely green eyes.

"You do know you have nothing to fear at Boreas, don’t you, ’Zelle?" he asked, stroking her hand between his own.

Gezelle nodded.

"And you do know that if anyone should offend you or harm you in any way, they would have me to answer to?" He could feel her shivering and he let go her hand, instinctively realizing she might think his intentions less than honorable. "No one in this keep, or any other that belongs to me, will force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Not now; not ever. No man under my command would even dare suggest you do something you find wrong. And that includes me."

She knew he was trying to reassure her. She began to relax under the steady glow of his warm, engaging smile.

"There will come a day when some man will come to me and ask for your hand in marriage," he said as he stood and walked to the window. Looking back over his shoulder, he held her gaze. "If I don’t find that man worthy of you, ’Zelle, he’ll not have you. It’s as simple as that." He turned to look outside. "I will see you happy, for I feel she would want me to see to it."

Gathering her courage, for his pain hurt her as deeply as though it was her own, she stood and joined him at the window. Hesitant at first, but overcome with her love for him, wanting to ease his torment and give him peace, she placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. He laid his cheek on her fingers and lightly rubbed the bristles of his unshaven face on their softness.

Conar sighed. He gently placed his lips along her knuckles and kissed the cool fingers. "Thank you for caring, ’Zelle."

"If there is anything I may do, Milord…"

"I wish to the gods there was," he said and raised his head to look out the window once more. "But there is nothing any one can do."

"If it is the gods’ will, Milord," she told him, smoothing her hand over the tense muscles of his back, "she will return to you."

He nodded. "Do me a favor, Mam’selle. Have one of the guards saddle my steed. If I stay one more minute in this great pile of rocks, I shall go mad."

"The note?" she prompted, no longer afraid of his outburst.

"I shall read it," he warned in a soft voice.

After she had gone, he stood by the window, his shoulders bowed, his face buried in his forearm as he leaned against the casement.

Gezelle’s touch had hurt him more than he could say. Out of all fairness to the girl, he couldn’t send her away, not now that she had found a place well-suited to her, but he wished with all his heart he didn’t have to see her, for her appearance bit deep into his battered soul. The two women bore such a strong, uncanny resemblance to one another—the black hair and green eyes, the delicate face, the slim and curving bodies were too similar, too familiar. The pain was too raw, as yet. The sight of Gezelle, so like his Liza, always served to remind him vividly of his loss.

Turning from the window, he snatched up his brown leather jacket. His gaze fell on the rolled parchment and he stared intently at it for a moment but then dismissed it from his mind.

As he left his chambers, he shouted at a hapless servant he chanced to pass on the stairs to make sure his room was cleaned.

"It’s in a gods-be-damn mess!" he yelled as he skipped down the stone risers.

* * *

Three days later, Conar came across the note Gezelle had brought to him. When he read it, bitter tears fell down his cheeks.

"Milord," it read, "please meet me today by the old crofter’s hut on the road to Ivor Keep. I will be there until sunset. If you do not come, I will know you no longer want this woman for your love and I will leave you alone."

"
No
," Conar cried as he clutched the note to his chest. "Sweet Merciful Alel, no!" He bowed his head and gave in to soul-rending sobs.

When he had cried himself out, he went to the study, took a bottle of plum brandy and brought it back to his room. Tilting the bottle, he drained it, then smashed the delicate bottle against the fireplace.

He did not blame the messenger who had delivered the note nor Gezelle who had made sure he received it. He blamed no one but himself for missing the time and place of a meeting with Liza and perhaps giving her the impression he no longer wanted her.

Sinking deep into depression, abandoning his anger, he took to his bed with an arsenal of liquor and refused to leave his chambers.

"I have had all your shit I’m going to take, Conar!" Legion shouted at the top of his lungs. He threw open the drapes on the windows of his brother’s room. "This foolishness will stop today! Get the hell out of that gods-be-damned bed. Now!"

Conar’s eyes flew open as the harsh morning light flooded the room. Jerking up at the sound of his brother’s bellow had been a major mistake. Groaning, he grabbed his throbbing head and wiggled further beneath his covers. "Have pity, Legion. Shut the damn drapes. Can’t you see I’m dying?"

Kicking several empty ale bottles out of his way, Legion stomped to the bed and screamed at the huddled mass under the covers. "Either get up or be dragged! Take your pick!"

Moaning in the after-throes of a violent drunk that had left puke splattered on his sheets, Conar scrunched deeper into his covers and pulled the pillow over his aching head to shut out both the noise and the light. Mumbling something about the fires of hell to his big brother, he also tried to shut out the agony throbbing in his head.

Legion put his foot on the bed and shook the mattress, gaining a muffled groan of pain from his brother. "Get up, damn it!"

Conar jammed the pillow harder over his head and mouthed a vulgarity that was meant to deter Legion from his attack.

It didn’t work.

If anything, it made matters worse.

Snatching away the pillow, Legion grabbed a handful of Conar’s golden hair and yanked up the young Prince’s head, ignoring the sharp yelp of outraged pain.

"I said get up!" Legion yelled, releasing his hold on Conar’s hair long enough to grab the young man’s left arm with one hand as he flung the covers away with the other. With a mighty yank, he pulled his younger brother to a semi-erect position.

"Leave me the hell alone, A’Lex!" Conar barked, squinting up at Legion, trying to focus on the wavering face hovering over him. A sour belch bubbled out of his mouth and he grinned viciously as Legion turned his face away from the noxious smell.

"That does it!" Legion growled and leaned toward Conar, putting his hard shoulder to his brother’s midsection and levering him up and out of the bed, onto his shoulder.

Conar’s head swam unmercifully as he dangled over his brother’s shoulder, his body limp, boneless in Legion’s furious grasp. "God!" he groaned. "Put me down, Legion! I’m gonna be sick!"

Before Legion could react, he felt the rumble tearing up from his brother’s throat; heard the godawful sound of retching; felt the hot, thick liquid pour down his back and rump and legs.

A furious snarl of rage covered Legion A’Lex’s face. "By all that’s holy, Conar!" he screamed, "I’m gonna beat you black and blue for that!" He brought up his free hand and smacked his brother firmly on his upturned backside.

"Legion, don’t!" Conar’s voice was feeble and he was choking as his own puke bubbled down his nose. As Legion descended the stairs with him, the movement brought fresh nausea to his throat and as he opened his mouth to protest the treatment he was getting, more bile spewed out and dropped with a soft plop into the tops of Legion’s boots. He was rewarded with another vicious swat at his backside. "Oh, god!" Conar managed to croak.

"The gods won’t help you, you stupid fool!"

Everyone in the main hall looked up as Lord Legion A’Lex came down the stairs at a hard stomp. They ignored the groaning young Prince and looked to the mottled assortment of vomit that was left in the men’s wake.

From his place by the library door, King Gerren smiled, nodding in satisfaction as his eldest son caught his eye. "I see you are taking care of the situation!" he called to Legion and then turned to the scribe who stood beside him. "Legion has had his fill of his baby brother’s foolery, I see." He looked back at Legion as he neared the front door. "Don’t hurt your little brother too badly, Legion!" He looked toward a young man. "Get the door for him, Tealson."

Lord Teal du Mer ran to the front door and jerked it open.

Legion nodded to du Mer in passing, and, never breaking his stride, headed out of the keep into the side courtyard; crossed under one canopied passageway and took another that led to the stables.

Booted feet on the wooden planks hit with hard thuds that made Conar’s teeth click together and his head bounce.

Several guards and servants stopped what they were doing to watch in wonder as they realized what Lord Legion was about. They glanced at one another with worried frowns. Surely His Lordship didn’t mean to do what it looked as though he was about to do. Some of the servants hurried away. Now was not the time to be a witness to Lord Legion’s folly.

Stopping in front of the wide horse trough at the stable, Legion brought up his right hand that had been holding Conar’s squirming legs, put it in the small of his brother’s back and began to lean forward.

With a great deal of pain and effort, Conar craned his neck and realized where he was. He saw the water looming up at him. "Don’t," he said weakly.

As Legion leaned further over the trough, Conar felt his body slipping off the hard shoulder and his eyes widened in stunned disbelief. "Don’t you dare!" he screamed at the top of his aching lungs before he landed squarely in the center of the water trough.

Kneeling beside the trough, Legion caught Conar’s head as it bobbed to the surface and pushed it back under, knocking away his brother’s protesting hands as he held Conar’s head under the water.

"Oh, no, you don’t," Legion snarled as Conar tried to pry his brother’s fingers away from their fierce grip in his flaxen hair. Legion tightened his hold and pushed the head lower in the trough.

Water flooded Conar’s acrid mouth, filled his nose and ears and threatened to rush down his throat. He fought Legion’s strong grip, but he was too weak from far too much liquor and far too little food over the past two weeks. He began to see stars and thought he was going to lose consciousness, but then he felt a vicious tug on his hair and his head popped free of the water. "Damn your eyes, Legion!" he sputtered, dragging in long gasps of fresh air.

"Curse me, will you?" Legion thundered and pushed him back under.

Bubbles shot up from the water and Conar began to struggle in earnest, for water had sped down his throat. His hair was yanked up again and he came up coughing and gagging, water flowing from his nostrils. "You son-of-a-bitch," he said in a weak voice.

"Insult me?" Legion grated then shoved him under again and held him down. Conar clawed at his hands, digging furrows across Legion’s knuckles, but the older man ignored the relatively minor pain. He was so incensed by Conar’s behavior, he ignored the fact that Conar’s struggling was less intense, the bubbles shooting to the surface, more intense. He kept his grip on Conar’s hair until he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see their father.

"Legion," Gerren said in a pleasant voice, "don’t drown your little brother, now."

"I was only trying to get his attention," Legion answered, still holding Conar under.

"I think you have it." Gerren grinned.

"You think so?"

"Well," the King said, looking over into the trough, "it would appear you do, son." He saw that Conar had almost stopped struggling.