WINDKEEPER (39 page)

Meggie only glanced at the tall man before turning her complete attention to Conar. She winced at the silent pleas for help on the young Prince’s pale face. "Get my boy up the stairs, Sir. I’ll fetch my sewing basket and some potions." She reached out a hand to her Prince and laid her work-reddened fingers on his cheek. "We’ll have you right as rain, Highness," she said, and answered the small smile of gratitude before turning to bellow for the tavern wench who stood gawking at the group of men who had entered. "Dorrie! See to the Prince Regent’s men!"

"Thank you, Meggie," Conar managed to gasp before pitching sideways into his brother’s arms.

* * *

When he awoke, Meggie Ruck was hovering over him. He tried to smile, but his thigh was throbbing with pain and he felt warm trickles of blood easing down between his legs.

"You fair did yourself harm," Meggie told him as she surveyed his fever-shot face.

"How’ve you been, my Meggie?" he asked and held out his hand to her.

"Better, it seems, than my Overlord," she snapped before taking his hand and pressing it to her weathered cheek. She looked up at Legion. "You’ll need to help me, Sir."

"Just tell me what to do," Legion told her as he sat on the bed next to Conar.

"You’ll need to be holding the flesh together as I stitch. My old hands ain’t as agile as they once was, but I can still weave a fancy enough stitch." Meggie laid Conar’s hand beside him on the bed and told his brother to lay aside the leather jacket Conar was wearing.

When he did as he was bid, Legion let out a quickly in-drawn breath in a long sigh of disgust; Meggie grimaced, turning an accusing eye to her Overlord.

The whole left side of Conar’s shirt was soaked with dried blood that had turned a dark, ugly brown.

"Conar, by all that’s holy, look what you’ve done!" Legion let out a raging breath as he glared at his brother’s calm face. "You knew you’d opened this wound! You knew it!"

"We weren’t far from the inn—"

"I ought to beat you black and blue!"

"Wait until he heals and then do it, Sir," Meggie snapped. She plucked at Conar’s shirt and jerked back her hand as the young Prince gasped and flinched away from her touch.

"The gods-be-damned, Conar!" Legion exploded. "The shirt’s stuck to you, fool!"

"I know," Conar replied calmly. "Don’t you think I can feel it?"

"It’s got to come off," Legion said.

"I know that, too."

"And it’s going to hurt like the devil when it does!" Legion growled.

"Tell me something I don’t know."

"Do you know you’re a bloody jackass?" Legion inquired.

"I said to tell me something I don’t—"

"Just shut the hell up!"

Meggie straightened from her crouched position over Conar and went to the door, calling for Dorrie to bring up another basin of hot water. She tromped back to the bed and nodded to the basin already prepared for the sewing. "We’ll use that hot warm to wet his shirt and loosen the blood. You pour and I’ll ease off the shirt. And you be careful of what you do to him, you hear?"

"The men are all settled, Legion," Thom said as he entered the room. "Teal was hurting a bit, himself, so I gave him laudanum and made him go to bed." He glanced at Conar, grimacing as he viewed the bloody shirt.

Meggie’s eyes flew to Legion. "You’re Lord Legion A’Lex?" she asked with astonishment.

"Aye." He grinned at her. "Unfortunately I have that dubious distinction."

"You have my sympathy then. Will you unbutton his breeches, now, Lord Legion?"

"It’s just Legion."

"Then Legion it is," Meggie mumbled. "Get them breeches undone, I told you!"

Legion winked at his brother. Meggie Ruck was every bit the woman Conar had said she was. As he undid the ivory buttons on Conar’s breeches, he smiled. He would lay odds he was the only man to ever unbutton Conar McGregor’s pants.

"Is there anything I can do?" Thom asked, wincing as Conar did when the band of his breeches caught on a clot of dried blood and stuck, pulling the tender flesh around the wound on his side.

"You can keep your big hands to yourself," Meggie said, eyeing the massive paws. "This takes precision and delicacy."

"And a heart of steel," Conar added.

"Who has a heart of steel?" Meggie inquired. Her gaze went to the soft nest of blond curls revealed in the opened V of Conar’s breeches and then leapt away, her face red, her thoughts like those of any woman who had seen that blond thatch. "You pour the water now, Lord Legion."

Warm water flowed over his side and hip and under him. It was not a particularly pleasant feeling and it made his bladder lurch. He kept his attention focused on Meggie’s intense face as she put her hands on his shirt.

"It may hurt you some, Your Grace," she told him.

Conar shrugged. "What doesn’t, Meggie?"

Legion glanced up at Thom. "Take that water from the girl, Thommy."

Thom grabbed the basin of water from a diminutive tavern wench whose bold scrutiny ran down him from bald pate to muddy boots with unconcealed interest. He grinned at her and turned away, his brow crinkling with delight as Legion winked at him.

As Meggie gently pulled on the shirt, Conar sucked in his breath. The fabric was stuck fast to the tender, hot flesh and he ground his teeth to keep from crying out. He pursed his lips tightly shut as sweat popped out on his forehead and upper lip. Meggie was gently working the material loose as Legion poured the too warm water over him and it was an intense agony that nearly made him faint.

"I want you to go riding again tomorrow, you stupid little shit!" Legion snapped as he caught sight of Conar’s pain-dampened face and trembling lips.

"Don’t you be calling my bonny boy no names!" Meggie snarled as she eased the material away from the gaping part of the wound.

Conar’s brows shot upward and he grinned mischievously at Legion as if to say: She put you in your place!

"He’s incorrigible, Meggie," Legion fumed. "Look at the little bastard smirking at me!"

"He has every right to smirk at a fool baiting him when he can’t do nothing else but smirk!" Meggie defended her Prince. She grasped the shirt and jerked it away from the half-inch spot left attached to Conar’s skin.

"Damn!" Conar gasped, digging his hands into the mattress to keep from passing out.

"Like I said—go riding again real soon!" Legion grunted.

Meggie sighed as she looked at the puckered, gaping hole that had formed along the old stitches. The flesh around the wound looked red and puffy and an ooze of watery blood dripped down the young Prince’s side.

"You there, big fellow!" Meggie called to Thom who had turned green in the last minute of her work. "Hand me the little bowl of brandy with the needle and thread in it."

Thom handed her the bowl with shaking hands. He met the fat woman’s raised eyebrow with a sheepish grin. "I…I’m…"

"An overgrown child," Meggie sniffed and dipped her hand into the brandy to pull out the needle and thread. "Some Elite you are. Hold the flesh tightly together, Lord Legion."

The needle stuck into his flesh. Conar gasped with agony. The pain was even more intense than he could have imagined. Thankful he had been partially unconscious for the first two sewings, he was intensely sorry he wasn’t for this one. The sutures on his ribs didn’t hurt nearly as much as the ones Meggie was putting in his thigh. With every poke he cringed and had to bite his lip to keep from moaning aloud. At one point, the needle drove home and he felt a slight stream of urine dribble from his manhood. He couldn’t stand any more without comment.

"Damn it, Meggie! Are you trying to sew me to my breeches?"

Meggie didn’t bat an eye, didn’t even glance up at him. Her full attention was on the last three stitches she had to make. Her voice was as dry as aged parchment as she spoke. "I thought I would. I’ve heard tell you have a hard time keeping them on, Milord."

Conar blinked and his face turned red. He heard Legion sputter, heard Thom answer, and blushed harder. "Meggie, I…" he began, but felt the needle drag as the thread caught on a knot. He gasped and shuddered, then sank into merciful oblivion.

"Pull them britches of his off while he’s out, Lord Legion," Meggie ordered. She turned her face to the wall. "And then cover him." Her lips twitched. "This is one woman who don’t need to be seeing him in all his glory, for I’m sure the sight would stay with me a goodly time."

Legion hastened to do as he was told.

* * *

Several hours later Conar opened his eyes to bright candlelight and Meggie Ruck’s nodding head as she sat slumped in the chair beside him. Her mop-cap was slightly askew on her graying head and her snores would have roused even the dead. He saw her shift her enormous bulk and then jerk up her head, sputtering and licking her lips. When she came fully awake and focused on him, he smiled at her.

"Are you awake, then?" she asked and stood, wincing as she unfolded her stiff body from the uncomfortable chair. She reached out a hand to put it on his forehead. Pleased with his cool flesh, she stroked a stray lock of blond hair from his eyes. "Do you need anything, Your Grace?"

With an effort, he reached up his own hand to take hers. He brought the chapped, rough flesh to his dry lips and planted a soft kiss in her callused palm. "Only your love, Sweet Meggie," he whispered, for his throat was as dry as his lips.

"She’s a married woman, little brother," Legion called from the deeper shadows of the room where he had sat for most of the night, unable to sleep for Meggie Ruck’s snoring and unable to dethrone the staunch woman from her bedside vigil.

Conar grinned wanly at the woman’s blushing face. "Alas, I am all too aware of that fact." He kissed her palm again and then nuzzled it close to his cheek, flinching as a shooting pain coursed through his side.

"I will get you something for the pain, Highness," she said, unable to bear his hurt.

Conar shook his head. "No need, Meggie," he answered, willing the pain to go away. "Just sit here beside me, sweet lady."

Legion stood and stretched, coming to stand over Conar. "Let her get you something. It’s snowed a good six inches since we’ve been here and it doesn’t look like we’ll be traveling any time soon. I’ve sent word to Papa. You need to rest and let those stitches mend."

Conar kept Meggie’s hand in his, holding the rough fingers to his cheek. "I don’t take drugs for pain, Legion. You know that."

"You won’t leave this bed until I am sure those stitches are healed this time," Legion snapped. "You’d better make use of the time to rest. It’s only a sleeping potion she’s offering."

Conar turned his head so the light was out of his eyes, dragging Meggie’s hand with him as she chose to sit on the bed near him. "I can sleep well enough without help, thank you."

Legion met Meggie’s worried frown with one of his own and something silent passed between them. The lady nodded and eased her hand from Conar’s.

"I need to have more wood sent up, Milord," she told her Prince.

"Legion can see to it," Conar said petulantly. "Don’t leave."

"I’ll be back before you know it." She astonished herself as she planted a light kiss on his brow. She placed her fingertips over his lids. "You close those pretty blue eyes and rest until I get myself back." She nodded at Legion and left.

"Don’t you have a bed to go to, Legion?" Conar asked without looking at his brother’s smiling face.

"Aye." Legion was amused by Meggie Ruck’s ability to make his brother mind her. Idly he wondered if he could hire Meggie as a nanny for the ill-tempered little brat.

Conar glared at him. "Then make use of it. Quit hovering over me." He nuzzled down into the comfort of his plump pillow, dismissing his brother.

Legion stood there for a moment, then shrugged. He knew a dismissal when he had been given one. "Sleep well, then," he advised, and shut the door behind him with more force than was necessary.

Conar took as deep a breath as his stitches would allow. He knew where he was. He had known from the moment he had awakened. His heart had told him what his foggy mind had forgotten.

It was this very room, this very bed, where he had made Liza his woman. He could almost smell the scent of lavender still permeating the room and it hurt him more than he cared to admit.

His hand strayed to the pillow beside his own and a muscle worked in his jaw. He could see her lying beside him, could feel the warmth of her body close to his own and wanted to scream with the injustice of it. That was why he hadn’t wanted Meggie to leave. He had needed a feminine presence to help banish the pain that was invading his heart.

He jerked his head to the door as it opened, ready to do fierce battle with whomever had dared to intrude on his misery, but Meggie Ruck’s cheerful face peered at him from a tilted mop-cap and he couldn’t help but smile.

"I’ve brought you some broth and you will drink it down," she said without preamble. She came to sit beside him.

"Promise me something, Meggie."

"I make no promises until you have had this broth. You need to build up your strength." Her tone told him she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He eyed the cup and let out a helpless sigh. He was putty in the woman’s hands. "I’ll drink the gods-be-damned broth if you make me a promise." He tried to sit up, but his breath caught on a ragged gasp and he stilled.

"You young men are all alike," she hissed and put one huge arm under his shoulders to lift his head with as little effort as if he were a babe. "You all think you are made of steel instead of flesh and blood." She brought the cup to his lips. "And it takes a woman to let you know otherwise!" She frowned down at him as he looked up at her. "Drink the broth, lad!" she commanded and emphatically nodded, her mop-cap coming perilously close to tumbling off her head.

He was given no choice whether to drink the brew. She was holding it to his lips and the liquid was running into his mouth. It had a wonderful, beef-flavored taste that seemed to make his dry and scratchy throat feel better. He drained the cup and only winced a little as Meggie laid his head back down on the cool pillow.

"Now. What’s this you want me to promise?" Meggie asked, tugging his covers over his naked chest and tucking them under his arms.