WINDKEEPER (49 page)

"Well, then, you see that your brothers and sisters behave," he said, slapping his son’s rump.

"I love you, Papa!" the boy called as he ran off, turning around once to wave goodbye.

"I love you, too!" Conar yelled.

For a long moment Conar stood staring after his running child. The woman was obviously trying to endear herself to his children and he couldn’t help but wonder why she had gone to so much trouble over her husband’ bastard offspring.

"What kind of game are you playing, Toad?" he asked and was startled by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned and frowned. "What?" he asked, although he knew gods-be-damned well the answer.

"It is time, Highness," a brown-robed acolyte from the Temple informed him. "You must come in, now, too."

Conar let out an angry snort of breath and fell in beside the acolyte.

"Tonight will be some night, won’t it, Your Grace?" the man asked politely as he and Conar started up the Temple steps.

"Aye," came the bitter reply. "Some night!"

The bathing chamber deep within the bowels of the Temple was a delight to the senses. Lush green plants cascaded from the high vaulted ceiling where soaring redwood beams framed panels of pale green crystal skylights. Massive copper pots, hung from the buttresses over and to the sides of the freeform pool, were suspended from thin copper wires, braided for strength with tempered steel. It gave the illusion that the flowing plants within the pots were suspended in midair. Their burdens of leafy green plants, some with tiny yellow or white flowers, hung all the way to the floor in some places while others trailed down the walls and into a far section of the pool to hide the fieldstone wall beyond.

Tall vines of honeysuckle, wisteria, sweet shrub and clinging rose climbed almost invisible trellises and clung to black, gold-veined marble columns that held a canopy of vines in place over a wooden swing. An espaliered wall of thickly-grown ornamental pear formed a perfect backdrop for the nude statue of the goddess, Serena, for whom the country was named.

The bathing pool itself was set in the center of a dark red brick floor, its water heated by a natural underground hot spring. The edges of the pool had been capped with a shiny, pale pink marble that sparkled in the glow of hundreds of candles burning in tiny clear votive cups about the chamber.

Mists of steam rose in lazy waves above the water’s surface and drifted over the rim to lap at the brick flooring. A pleasant smell of flowers and vines filled the air and seemed to weave their magic fragrances with the vapor floating above the pool like so many lush perfumes.

There was a stillness to the place; a tranquillity, a calm, soothing effect that everyone who visited there seemed to luxuriate in. It was a warm place, humid with the vapors of steam and oxygen given off by the plants, and yet it was cool and welcoming, a cocoon of serenity where the troubles of the outside world did not exist.

Everything within the chamber glistened with a soft green glow cast from the ceiling. The slushing of the bubbling waters was the only intrusion into the peace and harmony offered by the bathing chamber and it helped to enhance the notion that there was nothing left on earth that was of any consequence.

Conar stepped into the knee-high water and waded out a little ways until the lapping waves were mid-thigh. He felt a sigh of pleasure come from him as the bubbling hot water broke over his thighs and wrapped their calm around him.

"Is the water too hot for you, Your Grace?" James Brigman, one of the Temple deacons, asked his Prince.

Conar shook his head and gingerly lowered himself into the pool, gasping as the hot water touched the tip of his manhood. With a slight grimace, he lowered himself all the way, sitting on the black sand bottom, emitting a soft laugh as the sand wedged itself between the cleft of his naked rump.

"Any warmer, Jamie, and I’d be of no use to my bride this night," he quipped.

An uncivilized thought crossed his mind, but he shrugged it away. Boiling his genitals to keep from having to service The Toad wouldn’t stop the wedding and he was pretty gods-be-damned sure he wouldn’t enjoy the process. He chuckled as a vivid image of his manhood being boiled in a pot flashed across his mind’s eye.

"I’m glad you find this amusing!" a snarl erupted from behind Conar.

Arching back his head, Conar squinted up at his older brother. Legion was staring at him with hostility. The man looked massive in his white silk robe.

"May I help you with your robe, Lord Legion?" James asked.

Conar had to tightly press his lips together as Legion noticed the deacon staring unabashed at his rather legendary manhood.

"See anything you like?" Legion snarled.

James looked upward to Legion’s angry face and shrugged. "Nothing of consequence, Lord A’Lex."

Conar snorted and then laughed as Legion stomped into the pool and flopped beside him, making the water lap hungrily at Conar’s chin.

"Damn your eyes, Conar!" Legion growled as he felt his own manhood shriveling from the heat. "Are you trying to maim us?"

Conar didn’t answer, but the wicked grin on his face said it all. He tuned out Legion’s grumpy comments as the larger man tried to get comfortable in the raging heat and concentrated on the bubbling warmth that lulled him.

Legion stopped grumbling and glanced at Conar’s serene face. He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click.

"Afraid you might shrink, A’Lex?" Conar joked, glancing down at Legion’s lap.

"Shithead," Legion said under his breath as he wiggled in the water, grimacing at the feel of the sand oozing under his genitals.

Legion had never been allowed in the bathing chamber before but Conar had requested his presence today. Spreading out his arms on each side of him, Legion hooked them on the pool’s rim and looked about, awed by the place’s beauty. He hoped he could forget about his shaft turning a most peculiar shade of red as it bobbed about in the water.

"You don’t have to go to the steaming chamber with me if you don’t want to," Conar told him.

Legion glared at his brother. "I’ve steeled myself to bake alongside you."

"You don’t have to." Conar let his toes rise to the surface then wiggled them. "Galen’s here."

"I know," came the terse reply. "Seen his ugly face."

Conar grinned. "He bears a striking resemblance to your Prince, A’Lex."

Legion snorted. "As much resemblance between the two of you as between a viper and an earthworm!"

Conar’s brows rose. "I hope that remark was meant to be a compliment, not a judgment."

"Take it any way you feel fit," Legion retorted, out of sorts and not really knowing why.

"I won’t have the bastard insulting you or your mother. If you prefer not to be in his company, I will understand."

Legion rolled his eyes to the heavens. "Oh, for the love of Alel, Conar! You know gods-be-damned well you want me there to protect you from the vile little prick!"

Conar shook his head. "I do well enough with Galen on my own."

Legion turned. "You let the fop get away with murder. Besides"—he shrugged—"I suppose I could slit his gullet for you if you’re inclined that way. Wouldn’t mind doing so."

"I’ll get back to you on that," Conar said with a laugh in his tone.

Legion glared. "You do realize I am making a supreme sacrifice on your behalf by even being in this hot cauldron, don’t you?" Legion took a lot of cold showers.

Conar smiled. "I am well aware of your loyalty to the crown, Legion."

"Just as long as you are."

They stayed another ten minutes, until Jamie Brigman came to tell them it was time to head to the steaming chamber, and from there, to the masseur.

Legion glanced up as Conar stood in the water. His eyes went to the juncture of his brother’s thighs and he stared unabashed at Conar’s manhood. "It’s still there, little brother." He cocked his head to one side. "Has it always been that small or did this boiling water make it shrink?"

Conar looked woefully down at himself and shook his head. "I believe it did shrink somewhat. But it has this tendency to expand sometimes."

"Not much expansion possible with a little pecker like that." Legion grinned.

Conar stepped up the wide pink marble steps and wrapped one of the fleece towels around his waist. But before he had the end of the towel folded into itself, he felt the nudge of someone watching him and turned to the entranceway. His gaze met Kaileel Tohre’s and he couldn’t stop the violent tremor that ran through his limbs. Instinctively he stepped closer to his older brother.

Tohre stood there for a moment and then his mouth stretched into a thin, wicked line. He nodded at Conar, completely ignoring A’Lex, and then disappeared down the hallway leading to the sacristy.

Legion tucked his own towel around his waist. "Why does that bastard stare at you like that, Conar?"

A shadow of memory crossed Conar’s mind, a shadow of certainty, and he looked down at the streaks on his thighs. He glanced once more to the entranceway. The suspicion of how he had come by the wicked marks on his belly, thighs, and legs made him clench his teeth in fury. "Who put me to bed last eve?"

Legion halted drying his chest and glanced up. "I did. Why?"

"Where was Tohre?"

"Still at the table." Legion tossed his robe over his shoulder. "He was gone when I got back to the meal, though. Like he always is when you’re not there."

"Where did he go?"

"How the hell should I know? Why does he bother you?"

"I hate him," Conar answered, turning away. "I have reason to hate the bastard."

"Well, I gathered that much, brat."

He would have continued the conversation, but the closed, set look on Conar’s face made him hesitate. It had always been that way when the subject of Tohre was brought to Conar’s attention.

Not wanting to upset his brother further, Legion draped a heavy arm over his Conar’s shoulder. "Well, now that you’ve boiled that little prick, let’s go bake it for awhile!"

* * *

Prince Coron McGregor, third in line to the crown of Serenia, was a handsome young man only two hours short of being exactly one year younger than Conar and Galen. He was the scholar in the family. Coron would rather turn in with a good book than sit a horse or pull a bowstring. His knowledge of swordplay was limited to the volumes of books on the subject he devoured with relish.

Seventeen-year old Prince Dyllon McGregor had a smile that was impish and wicked and challenging, all at the same time, and he had a few select, choice friends to whom he vowed allegiance. As intelligent as his brother, if not as scholarly, Dyllon weighed carefully a problem, looked at it from as many angles as were visible, and even from views that were not, and calculated the problem’s affect on his life. There were no half measures with Dyllon. It was either all or nothing.

When the young men saw their older brothers coming, their faces lit up and they abandoned a third man with whom they had been carrying on an uneasy conversation. Jockeying for a better bear hug on Conar, the young men pushed each other out of the way.

"Move, Dyllon!" Coron snapped and shoved his younger brother against Legion A’Lex.

"Make me," Dyllon hissed and shoved his brother back.

"My god, how you’ve grown, brat!" Legion remarked as he looked into Dyllon’s eyes. It wasn’t that long ago when he had to tilt down his head to look at the boy. Now they were at the same eye level. "How do you find boots to fit you?"

Dyllon punched Legion’s arm. "That’s not all of me that’s oversized!"

Coron snorted, rolling his eyes. "No, his ego is, too."

"Go to hell, Coron." Dyllon smiled sweetly.

"Been there," was the terse reply. "You forget I used to bunk with you."

"I’m happy the two of you were able to come," Conar said as he tousled Coron’s short hair. "How long will you stay?"

"Coron will stay until the end of the year, but I’m having the same old problem with that Necromanian jackass. The man’s a veritable pest!" Dyllon feigned a punch at Conar’s midsection. Hitting Legion was one thing. Actually hitting his idolized older brother, Conar, was considered inappropriate.

Coron snorted and draped an arm over Legion’s shoulder. "Dyllon wouldn’t have all that trouble with King Shalu if he didn’t go raiding in Necroman all the time. You know Dyllon…any excuse to fight. I have no such troubles with Chale and Ionary or Virago."

"Ionary and Chale don’t have Princes who take exception to being raided," Dyllon sniffed.

"That’s because I never go raiding there!"

"Isn’t your wife an Ionarian, Coron?" Legion countered.

Coron blushed. "I went raiding once," he mumbled.

"Aye, and Chase Montyne came looking for you, too," Conar teased, referring to the golden-haired aristocratic Prince of Ionary.

"I married her, didn’t I?" Coron grinned. "It tied our two families together. Chase couldn’t bitch about me abducting his baby sister when it was she who engineered the entire thing!"

"Aye, and who was it that made her want to engineer her abduction, Coron?" Dyllon barked.

Coron grinned. "I admit I coerced her a bit."

"Aye and that’s why both of you boys had to marry far too early," Legion quipped. "It was either that or lose your danglies."

"Leave off, Legion. They’re McGregors." Conar chuckled. "We always go after what we want."

"Like the woman you’ve been running with of late?" a tired, bored voice broke into the conversation. "Against the Tribunal’s orders, I might add."

Conar slowly turned and the look he gave the man who sat beside the steaming chamber door would have cowered any other man. But Galen McGregor was immune to dirty looks and he had no fear of reprisal from his twin. His pale blue eyes glared with confidence that Conar would do nothing in front of their brothers.

"Not that it is any of your business, but the Tribunal hasn’t given me any orders, Galen," Conar stated.

"Not yet, anyway, but once this Joining is done, you touch any other woman, ever again, and the Tribunal will have your precious hide."

"I wouldn’t let that concern you, Galen," Dyllon said, his voice crackling with challenge. "Conar knows where his obligations lie."