Shades of the Wind (15 page)

“He hit me!” Nyria screamed. “The white bastard hit me!”

“Leave off, woman!” Hasani bellowed, easily locking her waving arms tight to her

body and squeezing her so hard she could not turn her anger on him. He snapped his

head toward Bahru. “Get the hell out of here before she gets loose and beats the shit out

of you!”

Scrambling away as fast as he could, Bahru shouted incoherent threats at the

housekeeper. He quickly disappeared inside the mansion, his bare feet slapping on the

stone floor.

“Enough!” Hasani growled from between clenched teeth. His embrace tightened

even more until Nyria was gasping for breath. Slowly she relaxed against him, her head

bowed.

“He hit me,” she repeated.

“I heard you the first time, wench,” Hasani told her. He slowly eased his fierce grip

until she twisted away from him.

“Did you hear what the master is doing?” she asked, tears rife in her voice.

“I heard,” Hasani replied. “It is his right to take a mate.”

“I am his mate!” Nyria declared.

“You know better than that,” Hasani said. “You were his mistress and nothing

more. Don’t stand there and lie to yourself even if you find it necessary to lie to others

about your relationship with the master.”

Nyria began to sob, the sound soul-wrenching, and she collapsed to her knees on

the ground, her hands covering her face as she rocked back and forth in her misery.

Hasani sighed loudly. He went to hunker down behind her, putting a hand to her

back and stroking her gently. “I warned you this would happen, Nyria. You didn’t

want to listen.”

“I love him,” she sobbed.

“We all love him, woman,” Hasani said. “If you keep carrying on like this, he’ll be

forced to act and I doubt you will like what he might do.”

Nyria turned her tearstained face to the coachytes. “You don’t think he will send

me away, do you?”

“He might,” Hasani replied. “Best you make peace with his lady and move on.” His

look became tender. “You know I am here if you need me.”

The housekeeper’s shoulder slumped. “So you keep reminding me,” she sneered.

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Hasani removed his hand as though he’d been burned by the contact then stood up.

He looked down at her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Nyria,” he said before walking

off.

“I won’t let her have him,” Nyria swore as she staggered to her feet and angrily

swiped at the tears flowing down her cheeks. “I won’t! He is mine and mine he will

stay!”

Although she despised him, she went looking for Bahru. The taricheutes would be

the only ally she might have for each of them had a lot to lose when the prince took the

white woman as his legal mate.

* * * * *

“Before gods and man, I declare you husband and wife,” the tribunalist

pronounced. His beefy face beamed down upon the couple from his imposing six-feet

nine-inch height. He exchanged a glance at Lord Kaelin then closed the ritual book he

had placed on the altar.

Kaelin and his bride-to-be Sarah were the only other people in the room. The couple

had stood up for the prince and his lady and were called forward now to sign the

register as Khenty placed a tender kiss on his wife’s smiling lips.

“It is done, wench,” Khenty said. “You are mine for all time. What are your

thoughts on this our Joining Day?”

“All this has happened so fast,” she replied. “I scarcely know what to think.”

“I know what I think,” he whispered against the side of her face. “I am thinking I

can’t wait to get you in my bed.”

Catherine’s face turned bright red and she pushed him gently away. “You are that

evil man Lord Kaelin named you.”

He wagged his brows at her. “You haven’t seen evil yet, wench.” He had hold of

her hand and brought it to his lips, staring deeply into her eyes as he kissed her

knuckles.

“I hear Holly has provided us with one of her superb repasts,” Kaelin remarked.

“Splendid,” the tribunalist proclaimed. “I am a growing boy and I need my

nourishment.”

Kaelin’s fiancée stared up at the man with wide eyes and mouth ajar.

“Close your mouth, dearling,” Kaelin whispered to her. “He’s not going to get any

taller.”

Sarah Tarnes closed her mouth with a snap and a flash of her pale blue eyes. She

nudged her husband-to-be with a not so gentle elbow to his ribs and gave her long

blonde hair a flick to show him her displeasure.

Nyria appeared in the doorway of the parlor where the Joining had just taken place.

There was no expression on her face. “I was asked to inform you the luncheon is

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ready,” she told the group. She inclined her head when the prince thanked her then

turned away, disappearing down the hallway.

Six places had been set at the table but Lord Bahru was nowhere in sight. His

absence did nothing to dampen the high spirits as the others took their seats and Lord

Kaelin rose to toast the bride.

“May all your troubles be little ones!” Kaelin proclaimed, lifting his glass high.

“Here, here!” the tribunalist agreed.

Catherine was sitting in the place of honor reserved for the mistress of Anubeion

but she wished she could be near her husband. The sparkle in his eyes warmed her

though the air had become a bit chill with the approach of another rainstorm.

“I believe you might want to spend the night, Your Excellence,” Khenty suggested.

“It seems we’re in for another round of bad weather.”

“Only if you promise me the beast won’t come nipping at my heels, Your Grace,”

the tribunalist said with a chuckle.

Khenty smiled. “I believe the beast will otherwise be engaged this night.” He lifted

his glass of wine to his bride.

Catherine felt the heat flaming in her cheeks and looked down at the plate Jacob

had just placed before her. She glanced up to thank him and was surprised to find his

gaze filled with concern. She signed to ask him what was wrong.

Jacob shook his head, seemingly trying to cast aside his worried expression. He

smiled gently at his new mistress.

The meal Holly had prepared was excellent—baked ham swimming in its own rich

juices, a spinach soufflé and small, succulent ears of buttered corn, fresh tomatoes from

the garden and spicy custard that had everyone complimenting the cook. Rich red wine

flowed freely and after the meal, a dessert coffee served with a slice of buttery pound

cake completed the repast.

“I couldn’t eat another thing!” the tribunalist protested, holding up a hand to the

prince’s offer of another slice of cake. “You’ll have to roll me to my room as it is.” He

grinned. “I hope it’s on the ground floor else you’ll be huffing and puffing getting me

up those stairs, McGregor!”

“I know you have a bad knee and prefer not to climb stairs, Your Excellency,”

Khenty said. “We will have a room prepared for you on the ground floor.”

“Much obliged, Your Grace,” the tribunalist said. “Rainy weather tends to play hell

with that knee.”

“Kaelin, will you be staying?” Khenty asked. He knew McGregor’s plantation was

only a mile from his own.

“No, I promised Sarah’s father I would have her home before nightfall so we had

best get going before the storm hits.” Kaelin got to his feet and held his fiancée’s chair

for her to rise.

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Catherine joined her husband as they walked Kaelin and his bride-to-be to the front

door. She hugged Sarah then Kaelin and stood with her arm around Khenty’s waist as

the lawgiver and his lady hurried off the veranda and into the safety of their buggy. The

first fat drops of rain were already plopping down on the roof as the spirited team of

horses began their journey away from Anubeion.

“I like Sarah,” Catherine said.

“I felt you would,” her husband said. “She is the Tribunal’s secretary and they

adore her.”

“She seems an easy woman to like.”

He turned her in his arms. “Do you suppose His Excellency will be annoyed if we

retire to your room early?”

“My room?” she asked.

Khenty’s expression sobered. “I’ll not take you in my bed until the new one arrives.

I want no memories of other bodies intruding on our time together.” He did not tell her

he feared Nyria had laid a curse—ineffective and spiteful but a curse nevertheless—

upon his bed.

Catherine smiled at her husband. She had not wanted to lose her virginity in the

same bed where her husband had lain with his mistress and she was touched that he

was so considerate of her feelings. When he swooped down to lightly touch his lips to

hers, she felt liquid heat spearing from her breasts to her vagina and back again.

“Soon,” he whispered against her lips.

Hand in hand, they went in to give the tribunalist some company but found the

man sitting in an overstuffed chair, his head back, snoring.

“If that isn’t tacit approval to take my wife to our quarters, I don’t know what is,”

Khenty said with a quirk of one dark brow.

Catherine tucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Should we leave him here like

this?” she asked.

“Would you like to wake him and then engage him in a long, lengthy conversation

regarding the Tribunal’s yearly budget—”

“Let’s go upstairs,” she interrupted him, tugging at his hand. “I can think of better

conversations we might have.”

“Lead on, milady,” he said, grinning devilishly at her.

From the plush comfort of his chair, the tribunalist opened one eye as the couple

made their way up the stairs. He grinned then settled deeper into the overstuffed

cushions and closed his eye with a satisfied smile.

The tribunalist was not the only one to watch the newlyweds climb the stairs. Nyria

had been sitting in an alcove upstairs, the front of her gown wet with tears. As Khenty

and Catherine passed, she sat very still but her angry gaze followed them to Catherine’s

room. When Khenty swept his new wife into his arms and carried her over the

threshold, Nyria bit her lip so hard beads of blood oozed from the puncture wounds.

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“You will rue this day, Catherine Brell,” the housekeeper swore. “It will be the

darkest day of your life instead of the brightest!”

* * * * *

Kicking the door shut, Khenty took his bride to the bed and laid her down gently.

He slipped his arms from beneath her and stood there looking down at her, his

handsome face filled with happiness.

“You are a beautiful woman,” he said softly. He bent over to remove her thin

leather sandals.

Catherine felt self-conscious. She could feel heat creeping into her cheeks and put a

hand to her breast. The white linen gown with a fine bead net covering it from neckline

to hem she wore was many years old and had been lovingly removed from a golden

chest Khenty kept in his bedroom.

“It was my grandmother’s Joining gown,” he told her. “She handed it down to her

daughter and now it is yours. Hopefully one day, our daughter will wear it to her

Joining.”

“Your mother didn’t have a daughter?”

His smile faded a bit. “I had a sister,” he said. “Kebechet. She died several years

ago.” When she started to express her sympathy for his loss, he held up a hand. “I do

not like to speak of her, Kate.” His smile returned—although not quite as bright. “Here,

let me help you remove the necklace.”

To the gown, the prince had added a spectacular broad-collar necklace called a

wesekh
of coral, lapis and golden glass bead pendants shaped like lotus flowers as his

gift to his bride and—in the tradition of her people and religion he had sent Kaelin to

the Diabolusian capitol to procure a wide golden wedding band for them both. His

band carried her name and her band carried his written in Kensetti.

Catherine sat up and he moved to sit beside her, reaching behind her to slip the

wesekh from her—careful of the counterpoise in back that made the heavy necklace less

cumbersome and weighty. Gently separating the repousséd falcon-head terminals that

had been linked together, he removed the necklace.

“I can not imagine the many hours of work that went into that necklace,” Catherine

observed as he carefully laid the wesekh on the bedside table.

“It is very old,” he said. “Generations old.” His eyes turned hot. “Shall we remove

the dress now?”

As lightweight as the linen was, the network of beading that covered it entirely, the

tiny pleats that made up the skirt of the gown adding many yards of fabric to the

creation was warm in the Diabolusian climate—as it must have been in that of the

Kensetti deserts. Though the material was soft to the touch, there was a bit of

scratchiness and the perfumed woods in which it had been preserved added to the

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minor discomfort of wearing it. Add to that the thin linen shift she wore beneath the

gown, it would feel good to be relieved of her clothing.

“Please,” she said, and when he stood, she slid from the bed so he could work the

intricately netted gown then the soft linen shift over her head. The coolness of the air in

her room—flowing in freely from the row of opened windows—felt good on her flesh.

She stood there before her husband completely naked as every Kensetti bride was