WINDKEEPER (47 page)

"How did you come by such a wicked gash on your belly?" his father asked, pulling the sheet lower to examine the thin, wavering line.

"What gash?" Conar cautiously raised his head, but the room still wanted to skid away from him. He laid his head down to keep the ceiling from twisting to the left.

"There’s an ugly-looking streak across your belly, below the navel." Gerren bent closer to look at the wound and then tugged down the sheet to see similar scratches and bruises on his son’s thighs and hips. "Did you get these while you and Hern were fooling around yestermorn?" The scratches looked fresh and raw.

"I don’t know." Conar looked up. The ceiling remained where it was.

The cotton inside his mouth seemed to have been folded and put away, the slime gone, the fuzz shaved off his teeth. He ran his tongue over them and felt only the slick, clean enamel. The shrieking metal and clanging gongs were now only tiny tinkling brass bells that sounded rather pleasant. The nausea was gone, the spinning head stilled, the ache non-existent.

"What was in that stuff The Toad sent me?"

Gerren winced. "Don’t call her that, Conar! I have warned you about that before! What if you slip up and call her that in her presence, or the gods forbid, her parents’?"

Conar shrugged. It didn’t matter to him one way or the other if she heard or what the bitch felt. As for her parents, he guessed they knew how he felt about marrying their deformed tadpole. He hoisted himself up and pushed his pillows more comfortably behind him. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it.

Gerren sighed, clenching his jaw in frustration. He sat on his son’s bed and pierced him with a stern look. "You really annoy the hell out of me sometimes, Conar. What is it you were going to say?"

Conar hesitated, not sure if he should ask. He took a deep breath. "Have you seen her without her veil?"

"No. No one has."

Conar turned his face, but his father took his chin and forced the unhappy face around.

"This should have been settled long ago. You should have gone to Oceania instead of sending Rayle; the gods rest his soul. That way you would know what’s in store for you this eve."

"Oh, I know, all right," Conar said bitterly.

"No, you don’t." There was deep concern in the King’s eyes, for he knew what troubled his son. He caressed Conar’s cheek. "You only think you know what lies behind that veil."

"And you will still have me chained to her, sight unseen, knowing how terrified of her I am?" The disbelief in Conar’s voice was an accusation in itself.

"Conar, we have been through all this many, many, times before. Whose fault is it that you have never seen her? You have had ample time to do so. To have sent someone else to do your dirty work was cowardly."

"If I had gone, do you really think they would have let me see her? If they had, they might well have lost their chance at getting rid of the girl."

"You know that wouldn’t have mattered."

"Papa…"

"Conar, you are perfectly aware that this marriage was arranged even as Medea carried the girl in her belly. It was your mother’s wish, Conar. I will see that wish fulfilled, for I promised her!" He stood and walked to the window. "There is nothing left to discuss. Nothing will change what must be."

"I’m afraid, Papa." Conar’s tone was defeated, lost. It hurt his father to hear such a tone.

"Of what, son?" Gerren returned to the chair beside Conar’s bed and sat. "What frightens you so? The way she might look?"

"Aye!" Conar ground out. He bounded off the bed in a lithe spring of his long legs, surprised that he felt no aftereffects of his drunk.

"I have spoken to her, Conar. She has a soft, throaty voice and a sense of humor." He chuckled. "One of the Tucker’s dogs had pups a few days ago and Anya went with Hern to see them. She found one she thought adorable and asked Mistress Tucker if she could have the pup. You know the Tuckers, they have more in that kennel than anyone else in the kingdom. They were glad to find a good home for the dog. Anya took the pup to her room and I see her carrying that little brown ball of fuzz around with her all over this keep." He chuckled again. "She named it Brown Stuff, for it seems that was the first thing the pup did on her floor!"

"Stupid name for a dog," Conar mumbled as he stalked to his armoire. "I don’t like dogs in the keep."

Gerren shook his head. "I have never understood why, either." He shrugged. "At any rate, it shows what kind of sense of humor she has that she named the dog as she did."

"Or how stupid she is," Conar mumbled, remembering that Legion had told him about the pup once before.

"And she was concerned for your health after your run-in with those kidnapers. She fretted, even had to take to her bed for almost the entire time you were ill. Her mother wouldn’t let anyone in the room. Does that sound like she has no care for you?"

"It sounds like she’s spoiled to me. If she thinks she’s going to be waited on hand and foot in my keep, she’d best think again! I’ll have no self-centered females in my home!"

"Conar, keep an open mind about the girl. Did you know she even asked her father to see that Rayle’s widow receive a death portion from their treasury, for she was concerned for his children’s welfare? Does that sound like some ogress?"

Conar’s heavy scowl lifted. "Why did she do that?" he asked as he pulled a pair of breeches from his armoire.

"I suppose it was because Rayle gave his life in your defense. She seems to be a caring girl in that way. She spoke to one of our servants who had a bad cold and she gave the man a potion to help clear his lungs and nose. Her thoughtfulness has extended to many members of this household since she’s been here." He watched as his son pulled on his burgundy breeches.

"But she must be as ugly as a salamander if even her parent’s can’t abide looking at her. Her parents are handsome people. Why the hell did their eldest daughter have to be so gods-be-damned ugly?"

"I have often heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps this lady has qualities that will endear her to you. There may be more to this woman than just a face, Conar. She is willing to be your wife. Can you not meet her half way? Do you think your marriage is the first one not based on true love?"

"I had a true—" Conar stopped, looking at his father’s shocked, cautioning face. He flopped down on his settee and thrust his long legs out in front of him.

"What is bothering you so?" Gerren snarled.

"What of my physical needs, Papa? I am a man. I’m no monk. If I can’t have a mistress to satisfy…" He held up his hand at his father’s angry snort. "If I can’t have a mistress, and I find this woman so detestable that I can’t bring myself to mate with her, to even mount her, what then? What do I do then, Papa? You want heirs to this throne. Our people need heirs to this throne. I don’t know of but one way to get heirs to this throne!" He pulled in his legs and stood, pacing the floor like a caged animal, his long fingers plowing through his thick mane of golden hair. He stopped and looked around at his father.

"And there are circumstances involved here for why I’m bothered!" He started counting his reasons on his right hand with the index finger of his left. "I can’t live the rest of my life in celibacy; that’s not natural. I can’t screw her. I can’t screw anybody else. I have hot blood running through my veins. I have needs!" He put down his hand. "I have known the pleasures that beautiful women can give my body. If memories of that are all I’ll have after this gods-be-damned hateful joining, then you had best have me castrated before the wedding!" His lower lip thrust out in a pout.

His father smiled. "Before you even know what she looks like for sure? Isn’t that rather drastic, Conar?"

Conar glared. "Well, after the wedding night, then!"

A discreet knock at the door saved Conar from the bitter remark he had been about to make.

"Come!" Conar shouted, missing his father’s pained expression at the loud command.

The servant girl who had turned the pages for her Queen at the harpsichord the day before entered the room and dipped into a low curtsy before the King. "His Majesty, King Shaz, asked me to find you, Highness. He has gone to the registry and asks that you join him there." She shifted her gaze to Conar and saw the look of despair ravaging his handsome face. Her face seemed to glow at his misery.

"I suppose Shaz wants to go over the contracts one more time. By Alel, but the man is thorough!" Gerren frowned.

"He wants to make gods-be-damned sure there is no way I can get out of this accursed marriage," Conar growled, turning away before he could see the look of reprimand on his father’s face.

"But he’s fair, Conar," his father said. "The addendum concerning your children surprised me, but you have to admit, Shaz and Medea have been very accommodating allowing you to maintain contact with your children. That, in itself, is highly irregular, as you well know." He shook his head. "Highly irregular, indeed. I was very surprised they agreed to your suggestion."

Conar smiled, thanking Liza for giving him the idea to have the Tribunal lawyers add that particular phrase into the Joining papers.

"Well, I’m off to haggle some more," the king sighed. He smiled at the servant. "You are looking quite lovely today, Liza."

"Thank you, Highness," the girl replied, then dipped another low curtsy. She made to follow him, but Conar’s strident voice stopped her. "Stay where you are, Mam’selle, and close the door."

She hesitated, her hand on the knob, but then eased the door shut and turned to face him, her hands demurely folded before her. "Aye, Your Grace?" Her eyes flicked over his naked chest then settled somewhere over his head.

Conar could see the dislike in the way she looked at him, in the way she seemed to be looking down her nose at him. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her. "You don’t like me very much do you?"

She shrugged. "It is not my place to either like or dislike you, Highness."

One tawny brow cocked. "But you don’t, do you?"

She looked him in the eye and lifted her chin. "No, Highness, I do not."

Conar blinked. The girl kept eye contact with him, not in the least afraid of his reaction to her answer. He turned his head to one side. "And why is that, Mam’selle?"

A tight, smirking smile formed on her pretty lips. "I don’t think you’d cared to hear my reasons, Your Grace."

"Oh, but I would!" he answered, leaning against the footboard. "Please, tell me."

"If you wish," she said as though eager to do so. "You are a conceited man, Highness. You are vain, self-centered, unconcerned for other people’s feelings, obnoxious to the point of being uncouth."

Conar’s brow rose even higher.

"You are an uncivilized bore, so pumped up with your own sense of self-worth you are unable to see the value of those around you. Your manners are deplorable and your language at times is vulgar and inappropriate."

His other tawny eyebrow shot up.

Conar glared at her, his mouth tight with a building fury that brought color to his cheek "Are you finished?"

"Not quite." She took a step toward him. "And you are a snob."

He looked at her face, pretty, but filled with the unholy light of total dislike. Her jaw was clenched, her hands tightly clutched and she stood her ground as though she wished he would try to attack her. "And you’re a bitch," he said sweetly.

The girl dared to smile at him. "And you, Highness, are a bastard."

He blinked. How dare the woman say such a thing? He wanted nothing more than to slap the smirk off her lovely face, but he didn’t. He unfolded his arms and pointed at the door, not even trusting himself to speak to her again.

Her smile flared with triumph at having had the last word. She turned to go.

But he could not leave it at that. "And just what is your mistress like?" he shouted.

She spun around and fixed him with a level stare. It was as though she had been waiting for him to ask. She pounced on his question.

"The Princess Anya is a lovely, caring, intelligent woman. She puts others before herself and is careful of what she says so other people’s feelings are never hurt by some careless word. She is filled with compassion and she helps anyone who needs her help without regard to any reward for doing so." Her nose rose. "She is a lady who deserves a gentlemen as her husband."

"And you’d rather she married someone else."

"There is one who would gladly have her hand in marriage. He has told me as much."

"Really? And who is this marvel of manhood?" He chuckled.

"Lord Saur, Prince Grice’s best friend. He would gladly exchange places with you!"

Conar’s mouth dropped open. "Lord Saur?" His lips closed, twitched. "Brelan Saur?" he managed to ask.

"Aye."

Conar broke into a fit of laughter, bending double with the effort. He had to sit on his settee to keep from going to his knees in merriment.

The girl stiffened her spine. "He’s a better man than you!" she spat.

He waved his hand at her, motioning her away, laughing so hard he had to hold his side.

"You will pay dearly for having said all the horrible things about my lady," she warned. "I would love to be there this eve when you remove her veil. We will see who has the last laugh then!"

Conar stared at the girl’s retreating back as she slammed the door behind her. He sobered, her parting shot taking the laughter from his soul.

Gezelle passed the servant in the hall and was startled by the fury on the girl’s face. She looked at Conar’s door. Going to the portal, she raised her hand and lightly tapped.

"Go away!" Conar shouted. "You’ve insulted me enough!"

" ’Tis me, Milord," Gezelle said through the oaken panel.

"Then get the hell in here."

Gezelle came in, saw him leaning against the mantelpiece, staring into the blazing fire, his forehead resting on his arm. She eased the door closed and threw the bolt. Taking a deep breath she walked to stand beside him. "How may I help you, Milord?"

For a long moment he didn’t speak. When at last he raised his head and looked at her, his face was filled with shame. His lips twisted and he snapped them shut, pressing them tightly together. How could he voice that all the things the other girl had accused him of were true? How did you tell a friend that you were aware you were a fool and an uncaring bastard?