WINDKEEPER (38 page)

"Go back, Conar," the Gatherer commanded, Her voice shattering into a multitude of swirling lavender light.

"Let me stay. I am at peace here in the light." He turned his head, following the bright rose light that beckoned him onward.

"Your time has not yet come; your destiny not yet met." The Gatherer was more insistent, Her voice soft, yet firm.

"There is nothing left for me in my world. I have no one." He moved toward the shaft of light. He could see someone standing there, blending into the light from the deeper darkness surrounding the beam.

"You have more than you know, Conar. You have all there can be." The voice was sterner. It denied resistance.

"You took from me what was once mine. You gave and You took away." He could almost see the figure, now, as it stood with open arms, pleading for him to come.

"What you had was not yours to keep forever. It was a gift, Conar. A lesson and nothing more. It let you see beyond your own limitations into the world of what could be. You have yet to meet that which you will cherish most."

"Let me stay. I am tired. I need rest."

His footsteps moved ever closer to the bright, welcoming, peaceful light. He could see that the figure waiting for him was a woman, and he could feel her love flowing to him as she beckoned. The ground beneath his feet shook as the voice boomed fire and ice at him.

"You will find rest once you have fulfilled the Prophesy, Prince of the Wind. Until then, your soul is not your own! Go back. Go back and meet your destiny, Conar McGregor. Go back, now!"

He could see her clearly now as she waited for him in the beam of light, bright, welcoming, loving. She had her arms out wide to him as she bid him hurry to her side.

His footsteps quickened and he put out his own arms to embrace her. He could see her golden hair glowing around her head, smell the sweet scent of lilac wafting toward him on a summer’s breeze. Her pale peach gown swirled about her slender body and he smiled, remembering well that gown from his childhood. He spoke her wonderful name and heard her gentle, welcoming laughter.

"Do not tempt him, woman!" the voice thundered through the darkness and echoed over Conar. The beam of light wavered, shifted, flickered, and began to fade.

"No!" he shouted, straining to follow the fading shaft of light into that which he had almost entered. "Don’t leave me!" he cried to the woman who had dropped her arms in sad denial. "Don’t leave me again!" He wanted the peace his soul had known in the shadows of the light. He wanted the comfort of those precious arms around him. "Take me with you this time! Please take me with you!"

He ran forward, almost put a foot into the rapidly shrinking light, but he stumbled, fell, and as he did, he put out his hand and briefly touched the bright beam. It ran down his arm, lit his face with a rapturous glow. His smile was as bright as the light, his eyes glowing. He pushed hurriedly to his feet and stepped into the wavering light, reaching out.

With a suddenness that brought him to his knees in agony, the light fled, not even an after-image left to see. He buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly, whimpering in misery and loneliness. "No," he whispered. He raised his head. "Please come back for me, Mama, please!"

Then he was soaring backwards through time and space. The fever was leaving him in waves he could feel. He could feel his head clearing of the ache and blackness inside. His stomach heaved, but he knew he would live and that knowledge hurt him.

He had been thinking of Liza before the light came and now, she, too, was gone.

He moved in his tortuous sleep and tried to call out. He could feel lips on his own, blowing breath into his mouth, making him breathe, and he wanted to pull away his head, to deny the life-giving air being forced into his lungs. His body jerked, for he thought he had heard Liza’s sweet voice—or was it his Mother’s?—speaking to him in quiet whispers of love.

He groaned. Illusion held so much more peace than the reality hovering over him, for reality inflated hard breathes into his shrunken lungs and pummeled with iron fists against his chest. He strained to get back to the shadows, to find the light once more, but he could feel his body surging upward through the dark into an unnatural light that hurt his eyes and made his soul ache with hopelessness. He tried with all his might to deny them the right to bring him back to the world of the damned, but his lashes parted and he looked into the beaming face of his eldest brother.

"Thank the gods, Conar," Legion swore. "You are going to be fine, now. You’re going to be just fine."

Conar wanted to cry. He searched his brother’s face, saw the great relief and love residing there and he wanted to cry.

He had been brought back against his will and he felt deceived once again.

* * *

Two weeks after Conar’s brush with the Gatherer, Legion found his brother in the stable of the Hound and Stag. Conar was staring intently up at the loft. His face was set and hard. He didn’t even acknowledge Legion’s greeting.

Tousling his hair to rid it of the fine coating of snow that had covered him on his way to the stable, Legion sighed and walked past Conar to his horse’s stall to lead out the animal. "They say it may snow again before we reach the keep." Legion lifted his horse’s saddle from a low stool and slung it across the animal’s back. "Are you sure you’re able to travel?"

"I’ll be fine," Conar assured him. "I’ll damn sure get no better here." His gaze left the loft and strayed to a corner of the stable where a pitchfork was stuck in a mound of hay. His voice was clipped and as cold as the air outside. "Is du Mer going with us?"

"Aye. The little bastard is chomping at the bit to get home." Legion patted his steed’s velvety brown nose as the stallion craned back its neck to nudge his shoulder. He watched his brother’s stony profile as Conar walked to the pitchfork and withdrew it from the hay mound. "Papa sent word this morn. The wedding party is concerned for you. I think the Princess was worried about you."

Conar frowned and drove the pitchfork as hard as he could into the hay. "Let her worry. She’ll get used to disappointment. I’m in no haste, and in no condition, to hurry home."

"If you can’t ride…"

Conar speared his brother with a haughty glower. "I’m fine."

Legion shook his head and handed his steed to an Elite who had come in after the beast. "I wish you would reconsider and ride in the coach with Teal." He saw his brother start to explode with anger and he held up his hand. "I said I wouldn’t argue with you over this and I won’t. You’re a grown man, but you’ve been in bed nearly three weeks, Conar. If I see you weakening, I will have them put your ass in the coach anyway."

"I am not a child," Conar grumbled. "Don’t treat me as one."

"Don’t act like a child and you won’t be treated as one," Legion snapped back. He sat on the lower rung of the ladder that led up to the loft. "Papa also sent word of Rayle’s widow. She thanks you for the money you sent to her and she says she wishes you Godspeed."

The squeaking of the ladder as Legion shifted startled Conar and he turned. His hope swiftly fled. "Rayle was a good man." Loss crept into the hard voice. "If his wife is willing, I will have her and her children declared members of my personal household. Her family will lack for nothing."

Legion had not missed the look of expectation that had crossed his brother’s face as he looked up to the loft. His heart ached for the disappointment that he knew Conar felt. "She isn’t going to return this time, Conar," he said softly. "If she were going to, it would have been while you were so gravely ill."

"She was here." Conar put his hand over the braid of Liza’s hair circling his wrist and longingly caressed the silky strands. "I could feel her."

"I wish you wouldn’t hold out hope that she’ll come back like she did before. If you think she will, you’re only deceiving yourself, little brother."

"She won’t be back!" Conar snapped and reached for Seayearner’s saddle. "I know that, A’Lex!"

Realizing his brother’s intent, Legion snarled, "Don’t even think about it!"

"I can saddle my own nag!" Conar growled, but he was pushed none too gently out of the way as Legion swung the brown leather saddle from the low partition and draped it over the steed’s broad back.

"You can get the hell out of my way, too," Legion told him.

Conar glared at his brother, but kept his mouth shut. His thigh ached like the very devil and he wasn’t even sure he could have lifted the saddle. His gaze went once more to the loft and he felt another pain, this one, deep in his heart.

Legion ground his teeth as he saw where his brother’s attention had gone. He pulled tight the cinch and walked the steed to where his brother stood, leaning against a stall.

"I wasn’t joking, Conar. If I see you not feeling well, I will have you put in the coach with du Mer."

"Try it. I give the orders here, A’Lex, not you. You are my servant, not the other way around!"

Legion blinked. Servant? Him? Conar had never said such a thing before. "I am not your servant," he said quietly.

"No matter what you call yourself, it is my will that will be done. It is best you started to remember who the Crown Prince in this family is!" He walked his horse into the stable yard, Legion following close on his heels.

Something hard had entered Conar’s voice and for a moment Legion had actually feared the lad. Conar had never taken seriously his title of Prince Regent unless he was in a foul mood and wanted to annoy someone or get his way when he knew he shouldn’t. The disdainful look on his face, the look of unmistakable authority was something new. Watching his brother swing into Seayearner’s saddle, he grimaced at the pain that flashed momentarily over Conar’s face. Instinctively he put up a restraining hand, but Conar gripped his hand in a steel-like clinch.

"I don’t need a mother hen, A’Lex. Leave off!" He pushed away his brother’s hand, and although his face twisted with pain as he straightened in the saddle, he held Legion’s gaze.

"I am worried about you."

"I said to leave off, Legion. I meant it."

"I can’t help worrying."

"Then worry about the woman I’ll be wedding come next week. She’ll need all the worry and pity she can get!"

Conar clucked his tongue and sent his horse into the snow-laden countryside.

"Damn it, Conar!" Legion shouted, running after him. "Get your ass back here!" He turned to his own horse and was about to mount when Thom’s hand fell on his shoulder.

"Let him go, Commander," the big man said and pointed to the two horses that had fallen in behind Conar’s. Marsh Edan and Storm Jale rode only a few yards behind the black destrier. "They’ll watch him."

"There were four of us on the road with him a few weeks ago, Thom. Remember what happened then?" Legion shook off the big paw. He put his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up. "I want his ass with us!"

Thom smiled and nodded to the group of eight riders who were even then turning their mounts to the roadway.

"They’ll have to ride a helluva lot faster than that to catch my brother and that hell-steed of his!" Legion fumed.

"He’ll not ride fast for long with his thigh the way it is," Thom told him and crossed his arms over his wide chest. "He’s hurting whether he lets on or not."

Legion snorted. "I know." Glancing up, he saw du Mer hobbling out of the kitchen door, supported by the young innkeeper. His face turned red with suppressed fury. "What the hell happened to you now, du Mer?"

Teal had the good sense to lower his head, but when he glanced up at Legion’s scowling face, he couldn’t stop the sheepish grin that touched his firm lips. "Tripped on the stairs and twisted my ankle."

Legion mumbled something vulgar and then pinned Teal with a steely-eyed glower. "Get in the gods-be-damned coach, du Mer. I don’t want to see your half-breed face for the rest of the gods-be-damned day!"

"What did he mean about you worrying about the Princess?" Teal, ignoring the slur, asked as he hobbled toward the coach. "Does he doubt he will be good to the lady?"

"I think he means to punish her for being the reason his Liza left," Thom put in.

"Her love made her leave," Teal corrected.

"Love?" Legion exploded. "She took his heart and crushed it, leaving him alone in his grief. I fancy I’ll not ever want a woman to love me so tenderly!"

* * *

When Legion and Thom rode away, the coach rolling along behind them, from the straw-strewn loft came a hitching sigh. A trembling hand brushed at the drops of moisture clinging to pale cheeks. "No, Milord," the watcher whispered. "He will never be alone. The Princess will be with him from now on."

As hard as it had rained that spring day when Conar, Liza and Gezelle had first stepped foot in the tavern at Briar’s Hold, it snowed the cold autumn afternoon that Conar and his men arrived there. During the last two miles before reaching the snug haven, the heavens had opened to send blinding, stinging, driving white cascades of snow to cover the ground and freeze both traveler and animal alike. Close to a complete whiteout, the landscape, sky, and distance before the men were an unrelieved glare of brightness.

It was with a sigh of relief that they saw the half-covered signpost advertising the inn, a twisted bramble bush and a single scarlet rose on a jet-black background.

Entering the cheerful warmth of the little tavern, the men smiled with pleasure. The sweet aroma of baking apples, cinnamon and hot spiced wine filled the air.

"Your Grace!" Meggie Ruck cried out as she caught sight of her visitor. Sinking into a deep curtsy before her Prince, she raised her head to smile, but his flushed face and pain-filled eyes brought her immediately to her feet. "Are you not well, Highness?" she asked with concern.

Conar stood beside the front door, wavering on his feet, his left hand gripping the upright beam that supported the little alcove leading into the tavern. His right arm was around a tall, bearded man who had a deep scowl on his handsome face. "Don’t feel real good, Meg."

Legion didn’t know the woman, but he had heard many times of her generosity and her loyalty where his brother was concerned. He dusted the snow from his hat, beating the wide-brimmed felt on his knee. "He pulled loose some stitches in his thigh, Madame Ruck. Could you sew them closed for him?"