WINDKEEPER (53 page)

He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of the spanking he had received from Hern while his brother was made to watch. Although Hern had not laid one finger on Conar, the little boy had seemed to feel every pass of the belt on his brother’s bare behind.

Legion’s wandering attention was brought back to the ceremony as Conar was handed a goblet containing the consecrated Wine of Union, signifying the heady blend of their two sexual natures, a reminder that they would henceforth partake of life’s pleasures and sorrows together. He took a long draft of the heady wine and then passed it to his wife.

Custom during a true Serenian Joining Ritual would have had the groom hold the cup to his bride’s lips, signifying his care of her and his subsequent protection. But since the woman at his side was heavily veiled, and would not raise the silver net from her face until the ceremony was complete, he allowed her to take it in her own hands and bring it under the veil to drink. She lifted the veil with the back of her left hand, moving the silver net only enough to accommodate the chalice. When she handed the wine cup back to Conar, the young Prince, according to tradition, drained the remaining wine signifying his right to all she possessed.

The memory of the day Teal stole the wine from the vintner near Dunwitch—the day they had all narrowly escaped capture—wiped the smile from Legion’s face. Liza had been with them that day.

When his aunt and Queen Medea walked to opposite ends of the altar and took up votive cups to light the two side candles in the tall copper candelabrum, Legion tensed.

When he saw his brother rise and hold out his hand to the woman kneeling at his feet, when he saw the couple holding the candles their mothers had given them to the unlit candle in the middle of the candelabrum, Lord Legion A’Lex began to cry.

This one act alone was the most significant part of the Joining Ritual. It was the beginning of the end for Conar, and Legion could see how it was effecting his brother.

Two lives, two candles. One life, one candle. Fidelity and Chastity. There would be no others for either of them for the rest of their lives. Adultery brought with it a harsh punishment under Tribunal law.

Legion looked away from the couple, for he could not bear to see the carnage passing across his beloved brother’s face as the third candle blazed to life. He walked to the far end of the sacristy where he leaned his forehead against the wall and wept. He did not see the single tear fall from Conar’s face as he was forced to extinguish the candle he held in his trembling hand.

Kaileel rounded the altar and held up his hand for the two Kings to come forward. Another man, robed in the garments of the Royal Jeweler, also stepped forward with his assistant who carried on a black velvet pillow two circlets of banded gold, each flanged open so that they could be slipped onto the couples’ arms with ease.

One bracelet bore the name and crest of the McGregor family and it was the bracelet the Princess Anya would wear from that day forward. The other bracelet bore only the Princess’ name and the date of their Joining. It would be the band that would be placed on the young Prince.

"The outward sign of your union, your link to one another, your eternal reminder that you are now responsible to another for your actions, is the Band of Devotion that will be placed on each of you by your fathers. With this symbol, you will be joined for all time. Let all who witness the placement of these bands know: You are one to another, forever as one, never to be parted by anything, or anyone, under penalty of death."

Aye, Conar thought grimly. Either death by natural causes or, at least for his bride, the hangman’s noose. As for himself, unfaithfulness would be rewarded by a heavy application of the lash to his bare back.

Gerren and Shaz took the bracelets offered them, walked to their children, and waited for their womenfolk to join them.

"As your mothers have held you safe from harm, nourishing you, cherishing you, teaching you, they will now hold your flesh as it is consecrated one to the other signifying the end of their guardianship of you and the transference of that right to your mate."

Dyreil and Medea stepped forward and Medea took her daughter’s left arm, extending it and holding it away from Anya’s body. She smiled at her husband as Shaz slipped the three-inch band of gold around his daughter’s upper arm, placed it just above her elbow, and held the two pieces of the bracelet together tightly.

"As your fathers have held your lives together, providing for you, protecting you, seeing to your wise choice of a mate, they will now hold the two ends of your wedding bracelet together signifying their relinquishment of their obligation and placing it on the shoulders of your husband."

Conar stepped in behind his bride and had to force himself to bring up his hands to the woman’s smooth shoulders. Ritual called for him to bring the woman against him, to brace her body with his chest, protect her, but his flesh crawled as he touched her, and it was all he could do to pull her to him. She smelled faintly of lavender and he inhaled the sweet, heady fragrance and his mouth hardened with distaste.

Kaileel turned as an acolyte stepped forward with a burning brazier pot hanging from a thick, wool-covered chain and held out the soldering wand to his master.

The glowing heat from the soldering wand was applied to the bracelet and held, melding the two ends together. There was a slight discomfort from the heat, but nothing unbearable. However, the young Princess could not stop the slight cry of pain as the soldering wand accidentally grazed her flesh as it was removed.

"I am sorry, Highness," Tohre said with feigned contrition, his gaze going to King Shaz.

Shaz was ignoring the priest. He was looking at Conar. "Outside of childbirth, this had better be the only pain my daughter will ever experience or suffer because of you, Conar!"

Conar barely heard the man. Although he found the ordeal and the marriage, itself, an abomination, his tender heart would not permit him to overlook pain caused in his behalf on another. He had firsthand knowledge of too much such agony in his lifetime. He bent his blond head to the woman and spoke softly over her shoulder. "Are you all right?" When she nodded, he asked again, "Are you sure?"

"Aye, Your Grace," she whispered. "I will be fine." She reached up to briefly pat his hand.

The Prince raised his head and the look he gave Tohre made the man take a step back.

Tohre’s chin came up. "Kneel at your woman’s feet so you may be bound to her," Kaileel sneered at his Prince, seething rage at Conar’s look of warning turning the priest’s face hard with revenge.

Conar stood there, staring intently at Tohre, hating him with every fiber in his being. His hands clenched into fists, a muscle jumped in his lean jaw, but he finally knelt, his legs spread wide as his bride placed herself behind him and put her icy hands on his flesh. He schooled himself not to flinch, not to let Tohre see how much the woman’s touch bothered him. He shivered as she pulled him against her.

Dyreil came forward and brought up Conar’s left arm, holding it against her hip to brace it as his father knelt beside him and slipped the wedding bracelet over his son’s flesh.

Conar looked at his father. The King’s eyes were misted, his lips trembled, but he held his son’s gaze as the bracelet was soldered into place around the young man’s flesh. Gerren knew his son felt the heat from the soldering wand, but he gave no outward sign that it hurt. Not even when Tohre held the wand in place far too long and the flesh around the bracelet began to turn red. Conar’ lashes partially closed, his breathing stopped, but he didn’t move.

Beneath her hands, the muscles of her husband’s shoulders tensed, bunched and Anya felt a tremor go through him. Her grating voice from behind the veil was a hiss of warning as her hands tightened protectively on his flesh. "You are deliberately hurting him, Priest. Remove that wand. Now!"

King Gerren looked at the woman, struck with the possessive way she had spoken. His gaze went to Conar, and although there was pain and despair on Conar’s face, there was something else. Admiration for the woman who had dared speak so to Kaileel Tohre.

The High Priest let his piercing glare settle on the woman’s face behind the veil and he hissed back at her. "Do you presume to tell me my business, woman?"

"Aye, and I will presume even further. I will make you a promise, Tohre," she hissed, "if you ever lay hands to this man again to hurt him, you will answer to me!"

Conar’s head snapped around and he stared at the woman whose hands were now painfully tight on his bare shoulders. Toad or not, his eyes glowed with respect. When he turned around, he found Kaileel’s hot glower on him. The smile Conar gave him, one of pure delight, and the snorting laugh he added for insult, made Tohre snap off a long nail as he clenched his fist.

With his mouth a thin slit of rage, the priest stared at Conar and his words were filled with venom. "As this woman is now a part of you, and this man, a part of you, woman, so shall these bracelets be a part of you. As your wife and your husband may not be taken from you, so shall these bracelets never be removed. They are the symbols of eternal union blessed by the gods, sanctioned by Tribunal Law, acknowledged and accepted by your parents, witnessed by those gathered and placed by my own hands as a representative of Alel on this earth." His smile was evil as his voice lowered and the words became a seductive, insinuating caress. "Conar McGregor, you are bound to this woman for the rest of your life."

King Gerren cringed at the words, still another deviation from proscribed ritual. He watched as the smile on Conar’s face slid away.

It was over, Legion thought. Done. Finished. No turning back.

Ever.

Conar was this woman’s mate for life. The look on the young man’s face told everybody that he thought it a pronouncement of eternal misery.

Tohre turned his fierce regard to the woman at Conar’s side. "Anya Elizabeth Wynth, you will be the only woman for this man for as long as you live."

Legion shuddered. The two were now legally wed.

The King helped his son to rise and walked behind him and his bride. Now was the time for the unveiling. He glanced at his sister, Dyreil, and tried to smile.

Conar’s thoughts were no longer on what was happening around him. His thoughts were far, far away in the big brass bed at Ivor Keep. He glanced briefly at his father’s worried face as the King took his place at Conar’s right side, could almost feel the anticipation flooding the room, but it no longer mattered.

Nothing mattered.

Not the smoldering pain along his left elbow, nor the blazing nag in his heart.

Not what his bride looked like beneath that infernal veil, nor what she was.

Not all the miserable years of unhappiness he saw before him.

Nothing would ever matter again.

He stepped back as Tohre advanced, waiting for the priest to lift the woman’s veil, but when Tohre bent toward him and spoke, Conar’s head jerked up and he stared at the High Priest. "Why now?" he asked.

"Do you wish for me to have my men escort you?"

"What is it?" the King inquired, stepping forward. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Highness," Kaileel assured him. "I must speak to our Prince privately regarding a matter that has come to my attention. There is no need for anyone else to be privy to personal matters regarding the royal family."

"What personal matters?" Gerren snarled. "He went through everything today at the Temple."

"With all due respect, Highness"—Tohre bowed—"it is a delicate matter between your son and the Temple."

Conar flinched. He looked at Tohre and he saw the warning in the man’s thin face. He wanted to refuse, but fear, old and well-remembered, well-taught, shot through him and he lowered his head, nodding. "It’s all right, Papa. I’ll go with him."

"Conar, no!" the voice came hissing through the thick veil, but Conar didn’t hear it. He followed Kaileel from the altar through the archway and into the sacristy. He vaguely heard the mumbles coming from those assembled guests, but paid no attention.

Kaileel led him out of sight of the wedding party and those assembled. He stopped, turned, and reached inside his robes to bring out a curved, jewel-handled dagger.

Conar’s face stilled, then became infused with hate and fear. His arm still stung from the soldering wand. He had known Kaileel would hurt him, had expected it. It was why he had schooled himself not to show the pain when it came. Looking at the blade, he almost wished the insane fool would come at him with it. He would have enjoyed turning the man’s own weapon against him and ridding himself of Tohre once and for all.

They stared at one another: Tohre with smug satisfaction; Conar with wariness and loathing. Neither spoke, but they were as aware of the other’s feelings as if they were carrying on a conversation.

"Your carefree days are over, aren’t they, sweet Prince?" Tohre cooed to him.

"What do you want, Tohre?" Conar asked, unable to bear looking at the man much longer.

A smile of pure malice touched Tohre’s bloodless lips. His gaze lowered, then moved up to Conar’s and fused. "Give me your wrist."

Blazing fury entered Conar’s face and he took a slight, protective step backwards, his gaze immediately lowering to the same place Kaileel’s had—the black braided hair bracelet on his right wrist. He protectively covered his wrist with his other hand. Slowly, very slowly, the Prince’s eyes came up to Tohre’s. "No." It was a soft, quiet and decisive denial.

"You knew better," Kaileel told him. "I let you save face before the wedding guests, but I demand you give me your wrist. Now, Conar." His voice was pleasant, charming as though he were reprimanding a slightly stubborn child.

"No." A single, firm, blunt reply.

"The King bows before the power of the Temple, Conar. Our word is law. When we speak, Kings obey. You will obey, Sweet Princeling." He held out his free hand. "You will obey me!"

"No!" A sharp, bitter snap of anger, bitten out from teeth grinding so hard it was audible.

Tohre quirked a brow at his Prince. "Give me your wrist, Conar. I will not tell you again."