WindLegends Saga 9: WindRetriever (5 page)

horse's neck. He moved back to flanks, running his hand along the sleek ebony side, then patted the horse's rump.

"He'll fly, Arbra," Conar prophesied. "Like the wind."

"The thought of that bastard Belial selling Mistral makes me so damned mad I wish the Daughters had not lost him in the catacombs," Asher spat. "That beast was the finest piece of horse flesh I've ever encountered."

"This one will make you eat those words, Stone," Conar told him. "Mistral was fast, but this steed will be faster still." He grasped a handful of the stallion's mane and swung atop the broad back.

"What will you call him?" Azalon asked.

Conar bent over and patted the sleek neck. "I'll name him after what I plan," he answered.

He straightened up. "His name is Revenge."

The door to the dead Prince's office opened and Rachel Stone, Asher's sister, peeked around the panel. "You wanted to see me, Khamsin?" she asked.

He laid the papers aside and sat back in his chair. "I wanted to see you two days ago," he said. He swept his hand to the empty chair in front of the desk.

Rachel closed the door and came into the room. She sat down, placed her trembling hands in her lap, and finally looked up at him. What she saw on his handsome face did nothing to alleviate the nervousness that had gripped since learning he wanted to speak with her.

"Why have you waited so long to come to me, Rachel?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Things have been hectic here. There were matters I needed to help with concerning the Daughters. Now, with the fortress secure and those of our enemies either imprisoned or executed, I have finally found time to seek you out."

"Liar," he said, reaching out to take up a letter opener.

Rachel's cheeks infused with color and her green eyes snapped with anger, but she held her tongue. She knew better than to argue with him.

"Do you want me to tell you why you haven't come before now?" he asked. He dug the tip of the letter opener into the blotter, turning the blade from side to side as he watched her.

She looked down. "There is no need." She jumped when he tossed the opener to the desk and leaned back in his chair. Glancing up, she found him staring steadily at her, his fingers pressed together and templed across his lips.

"Have you any idea how I felt when I thought Falkar had killed you, Rachel?" he questioned. He hadn't expected her to answer and when she did not, he let out a long breath. "I blamed myself."

She flinched. "I know."

His gaze narrowed. "Was it your intent that I keep on blaming myself?"

She looked up. "You saw me that night, Khamsin. In the crowd with the other women gathered in the catacombs. You looked right at me and I saw the relief on your face. You knew I was alive."

"Aye," he said. "I did and I was very thankful that you were. But when I asked Meghan the next morning to have you come to my room, you never showed up."

"Your lady-wife was …."

"This doesn't concern her, Rachel," he interrupted. "This is between you and me."

Rachel didn't say anything. She had heard the annoyance in his voice and she had seen the Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 22

flash of irritation at her mention of his wife. When he pushed back his chair and stood up, she could feel the anger emanating from him.

"When I call you from now on, little girl, you had better not wait to answer that call. You want to be part of the Cadre of the Samiel, then you will obey me just as the others do. Is that understood?"

She nodded. "Yes, Khamsin."

"And that shit about loving me?" he questioned, gaining her immediate regard as she looked up. "I don't know why you told Jaborn that, why you even dared do something so reckless, but you had better
never
do it again. Do you hear me?"

"I thought …," she started to say, but he was on her before she could finish.

"You
didn’t
think!" he snarled, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her from her chair. He slammed her against him and held her there, glaring down into her stunned face. "If Jaborn hadn't needed you, admitting such a ridiculous piece of garbage like that could have truly gotten your throat cut! The women who have professed to have feelings for me have always been sorry they did for without fail they have suffered because of it!"

She stared up into his gleaming sapphire glower and felt her knees growing weak. If he but knew, she thought, how deep were her feelings for him, he would do to her what he intended to do to his wife, and that she could not allow.

"It won't happen again," she told him.

"It had better not!" he snarled, letting go of her. He stepped away from her, skirting the desk and slammed himself down into his chair. "That's all I wanted. You may go."

Rachel lifted her chin. "May I say something?" He flung out his hand in agreement. "I know what you plan in regard to your wife. I …."

"Leave her out of this!" he commanded.

"All right," Rachel concurred. "I just want to know what will happen when you return from St. Steffensburg."

His brows drew together in irritation. "What are you talking about?"

"You are going to leave her there, am I right?"

He ground his teeth together. "What I do with Catherine is none of your concern."

"You will need a woman," she said. She watched his face turn hard and cold.

"Will I?" he sneered. "And are you volunteering for that dubious place of honor?"

"Yes," she surprised him by answering.

Conar sat forward, laid his arms on the desk and threaded his fingers together. He stared up at her as though he could not believe she had dared to admit such a thing to him.

"I am no whore, Khamsin," she told him, mistaking the look he was giving her with one of contempt. "But I can satisfy your needs and at the same time make sure no female spy infiltrates the Samiel through your bed."

For a long time he didn't speak. He just looked at her, seeing the way she held his silent gaze easily and without a flicker of self-consciousness. When at last he leaned back, his eyes locked with hers, all he did was nod his consent.

"Then it's settled?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, using the alien word that he knew would mean more to her than just the 'aye'

of his agreement.

Rachel let out the breath she did not know she had been holding. "Will you tell her?"

"There's nothing to tell," he answered.

"It would make things more final when you left her if she knew there was someone else Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 23

waiting for your return," Rachel advised him.

Conar looked away from her. "That would hurt her."

"I am sure it would, Khamsin," Rachel said, "but if you mean to annul the marriage, what better grounds than adultery?"

He winced. His marriage to Elizabeth had been set aside for just such charges. It had hurt him then and it would hurt him now. Back then, he had been guilty. Now, he was not. He shook his head. "No such betrayal has been committed, Mam'selle," he answered. "I can not admit to a lie."

"It doesn't have to be a lie," she countered, meeting his unsure look with an encouraging one of her own. "It takes only a few moments to turn a would-be lie into the truth, Khamsin."

Conar knew Catherine would never forgive him if he betrayed her. She was not a woman to grant clemency for deceit and transgression. He knew little of her religion, but he did know adultery was considered a deadly sin, a more than adequate cause for the dissolution of a marriage.

There would be no way her church would absolve him of such a sin and neither would Cat.

His gaze went to the door, held for a moment, and then returned to her. Slowly, his hands went to the laces of his shirt. "Lock the door, Mam'selle," he told her.

Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 24

Sajin finished giving the orders to Asher's men and let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. Leaning back in his chair, he thrust his long legs out in front of him and closed his eyes. It had been a very long day and on the morrow, they would be sailing to St. Steffensburg.

"I hope tomorrow isn't anything like today's been, don't you?" the Kensetti asked the other man in the room. When there was no reply, he opened his eyes and looked across the room. His expression softened and he drew in his legs, eased himself from his chair, and walked over the chair in which Conar sat. He moved behind the chair and reached his powerful hands down to the sagging shoulders of the man sitting slumped in the overstuffed chair. He began to massage the tight muscles. "Is it bad?" he asked in a voice soft with concern.

Conar had been sitting with his fingertips rubbing small, tight circles on his pounding temples. His eyelids were closed and he was gritting his teeth to the blinding pain inside his head.

Every muscle in his head, neck and shoulders was as tight as a drum head. "It feels as though something is trapped inside my skull and trying to get out," he answered his friend.

Sajin Ben-Alkazar was on personal terms with such debilitating headaches, himself, and he knew the pain could be so intense it often made the sufferer want to pound his head against a wall in order to let the demons inside out. He kneaded the muscles over Conar's collar bone, his thumbs working along the strong neck. "Do you want me to call Rupine?"

"No," came the immediate answer.

"Then why don't you go to bed, at least, Conar?" Sajin asked. "Maybe you can sleep it off."

His hands threaded through McGregor's thick spun gold hair. He was alarmed at how tight his friend's scalp was. The pain had to be intense.

"I promised Catherine we would talk," Conar answered. "I can't keep putting that off, Sajin."

"Yes, you can," Sajin replied. "You don't need to try to deal with that when you're hurting like this. It can wait."

Despite the riveting pain in his right temple, Conar shook his head. "If I put it off, it's just going to be that much harder when we get to St. Steffensburg."

Sajin smoothed his friend's hair and came to stand in front of him. Hunkering down, he put his hands on the chair arms. "I could talk to her for you."

Conar opened one eye. "That would be the cowardly way out for me, wouldn't it?"

"Did it ever occur to you that all these headaches you've been having might be because you're feeling guilty over deciding to give Catherine up and don't really want to?"

"You know I don't want to," Conar argued, "but what choice do I have?" He felt the nausea coming again and swallowed tightly to keep it down. "Besides, to whose advantage is it that I give her up, nomad?"

"Even at the expense of your health, my friend?" Sajin reached up to draw one of Conar's hands down. "I may love her, McGregor, but I'd rather see you well than suffering like this."

"The headaches have nothing to do with Catherine," Conar told him. "I've had them since I was thirteen. You know that."

"Yes, but they've never been this bad, have they?"

"No." He gagged, making Sajin jump back. He was able to keep the bile down, but could taste the insipid fumes filling his nostrils.

Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 25

"That's it," Sajin snarled. "You're going to bed!" He reached down to help Conar up.

With his head throbbing like someone was driving a sharp spike through his right temple, Conar allowed himself to be levered up from the chair. He swayed against Sajin for a moment as the pain lurched in his eye, spraying sparkling pinpoints of light along his vision. He could feel the secretion of sweat popping out along his upper lip and on his forehead. That wasn't a good sign and Sajin noticed it, as well.

"You're going to wind up having to be given something for the pain, Conar," he warned.

"God, no," Conar answered. "That's all I need."

Pushing the pain to the back of his conscious thought, Conar stumbled along with Sajin to the sleeping chamber, Jaleel Jaborn's own. He stood weaving at the door as the two women warriors lowered their pikes and one reached out to open the door for him.

"Would you send for Rupine, the physician?" Sajin asked the shortest of the two women.

He gripped Conar's arm tightly as his friend sagged against the door frame.

"Immediately, Your Grace!" the women answered. Her sister sentinel leaned her pike against the wall and took Conar's other arm to help him into the chamber.

"I can walk by myself," the Serenian mumbled, but neither Sajin nor the woman paid any attention to him. He stumbled and began to pitch forward.

"Go pull his covers back," Sajin ordered the woman and took the full weight of his friend's suddenly limp body, bending down to put one arm under Conar's legs and the other under his back to lift him up. He carried Conar to the bed and then laid him down.

"I will get his boots and socks, Majesty," the woman said and went to the foot of the bed to carry out her task.

Conar put his hands up to dig the heels into his throbbing eyes, but Sajin pushed them away. "Let me get your shirt off," Sajin told him and began to unlace the ties.

"The doctor will be here shortly, Your Grace," the returning sentinel informed the Kensetti Prince.

"I don't need him," Conar muttered. He turned his face from the light that was streaming in through one of the small oval openings set in the wall.

"Yes, you do," Sajin answered and nodded at the woman who had just come in to help him lift Conar up so they could pull his shirt off. Between them, they managed to strip the sweaty clothing from him and unbutton the top two buttons of his breeches. Sajin glanced around at the woman who stood at the foot of the bed. "Can you find something to cover up those windows?"