WINDKEEPER (17 page)

There had been no mistaking the raw sexual power emitting from him as he leaned against the stall. That careless power had no doubt wrecked many a lady’s virtue, she thought at the time. The negligent way in which he leaned had told Liza the man was as sure of himself as he was of the glistening blade he was doodling with on the ground.

He had fought just as she knew he would. She had as much confidence in his ability with his sword as he did. The outcome was a foregone conclusion on her part until the sneaky innkeeper had come along and her intervention became necessary.

What she had felt when she first touched him had surprised her with a tremor all the way down her arm, through her chest, and into her belly where it settled in a spasm of intense sexual arousal. Having felt that immense sensation, having touched him, she knew there was no turning back. He would be hers or never belong to another woman. She meant to see that he forgot any other woman had ever existed, including the bitch in Oceania.

The thought of the Princess Anya brought a frown to her lovely face. That was one problem that was going to have to be resolved on the way to Boreas Keep. She turned to gaze at the canopy above. Norus Keep was one problem; the Oceanian Princess was another.

Her face darkened as she remembered her first sight of Norus. When they reached the summit overlooking the keep, she had had a chilling premonition of an evil so consummate it seeped to the marrow of her bones. Her instincts had screamed at her that here was one of the Three Gateways to the Abyss; it was one of the portals through which the Domination conjured its vile minions. She had let her ego get in the way of reasoning as she thought back on it. So confident had she been that nothing could hurt either her or Conar if they were together, it had almost ended tragically in the Norus dungeon. She had been forewarned; she had ignored the sixth sense that had kept her alive all these years.

The thought of something, anything, happening to Conar McGregor, sent a deep chill through her heart. She had to be more careful. She had to consider everyone and everything an enemy until they were proven otherwise.

Thoughts along that line brought her attention to Galen McGregor.

He had not fooled her with his politeness and manners. The shock that had gone through her when they touched had been nothing like the shock when she had touched his twin. Touching Galen had left her skin clammy and cold and needing washing. There was evil in the man and she was determined to keep as far away from him as she could. His aura had enveloped her with a black, sorcery-tainted stench that had left a strange metallic taste in her mouth just as her first sight of Norus Keep had. Such an experience was a sure warning that the keep was steeped in the mire being brewed by the Domination.

A noise from the hallway brought her attention back to the present. She laughed at Conar’s loud demands and braced herself on her elbows. She looked at Gezelle, who was awake and stirring. The servant girl’s sleepy eyes were puffy and glazed. Liza grinned.

"We’d better get up before his lord and master comes pounding on our door, ’Zelle."

"Aye, Milady." Gezelle yawned, reluctantly throwing aside the blanket covering her. "I’ll see to your morning bath."

"No need." Liza tossed aside her own covers. She swung her long legs from the bed and stood, stretching. "I’ll just wash my face and get dressed."

Gezelle nodded, another yawn being the only answer she could give. The girl bent over the glowing coals and stirred them, adding a log or two to the fire as she tried to come awake.

Liza was finished with her dressing when the loud pounding came at their door.

"Liza?" The pounding came again. "Get up! We don’t have all the blasted day for you to primp, woman!"

"What’d I tell you?" Liza grinned. She tiptoed to the door and slipped her fingers around the knob with one hand as she gently eased back the bolt with the other. She waited a second and then yanked open the door.

Conar, his arm raised in mid-strike, almost tumbled into the room. His mouth was open with what would have been another loud demand, but seeing Liza’s smug expression, sweeping his gaze down her already clothed form, and looking past her to Gezelle’s merry face, he snapped shut his lips and glared at her.

"Are we ready to leave, Milord?" Liza asked sweetly.

Conar’s eyes were stormy. "Aye."

"We’re ready when you are, Milord."

He glared at her for a moment, not sure if he should say anything, thought he should not and then turned on his heel, striding away with his shoulders humped in the confines of his brown leather jacket.

Liza looked at Gezelle and winked. It was going to be a typical Conar day.

* * *

"Think they’re glad we’re gone?" Conar asked, his voice filled with anger.

Liza shrugged. "It certainly looks that way, Milord." She glanced across the road at him. "I know I am glad to be leaving."

Conar grunted, feeling in a like manner. He put up his hand to swat at a horsefly and noticed something odd on his left wrist. He stared at it, a frown on his handsome face.

"Is there something wrong?" Liza asked. Her lovely face filled with worry.

He held out his arm to her much as a little boy would. "I don’t know how I did that."

Liza glanced at the raw, scraped flesh, a deep purple bruise circling the wrist. "In the fight. Remember? At the tavern." Her eyes drew his; held on. She could see a memory forming in his mind.

There was a slightly confused look on his face as he lowered his gaze to the wound. "I guess so," he said, trying to remember exactly how he had hurt himself. He remembered the fight; the wound just seemed to elude him for the moment. He shrugged and looked back at Liza. "I remember."

Liza smiled. "I’ll give you some salve for it." She breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded absently and looked away again. The last thing he needed was to remember being chained in his brother’s dungeon during the night.

Gezelle stifled a mighty yawn as she sat limply in her saddle. She still suffered the effects of the wine she had consumed the night before. Mentally reminding herself to never drink wine again just in case that was the reason she felt encased in cotton batting, she turned her attention to the passing scenery to keep awake.

Trees were swaying in a brisk breeze; the day overcast; the sky a gunmetal gray, heavy with the threat of rain. The air was thick and oppressive; the earth smelled of damp fertility. It was the kind of day when cows gathered in huddles and birds scurried to the closest trees.

They had left the dunes behind and were steadily climbing into the foothills of the Serenian Mountain Range. With every passing mile, the temperature dropped a degree or two.

"Are you still with us, Mam’selle?" Conar called as he turned in the saddle to see Gezelle nodding off, swaying a little on her small pony.

The servant grabbed for her pommel, pulling herself upright, opening her eyes wide in order to get them focused. "Aye, Your Grace," she called, her face one huge swatch of red.

"If you tumble off that nag, Mam’selle, you will stay where you land!" he promised.

Out of sorts, Liza thought with disgust. Out of sorts and taking it out on Gezelle. He had barely spoken to either her or ’Zelle since leaving Norus and now, when he did, all he could do was snap.

"I won’t stop if she falls off that pony," he said petulantly as he caught Liza’s frown of pique. His lower lip thrust out in challenge.

"I’m sure you wouldn’t," she retorted and looked away.

"Be assured, I won’t," he added with emphasis and cocked a stare at Gezelle who was sitting tall and straight and attentive in her saddle. He snorted at her pleasant smile and then jerked around.

He’s just hungry, Gezelle thought as she stared at the back of his golden head. She giggled and looked down at the pommel. She wondered if the prince was at all concerned that she had seen him naked the evening before. His nudity might not have bothered him, she thought, but it was with her every mile they traveled. She could recall every vivid detail of his bronzed body and the memory made her blush. Forcibly tearing her mind from wicked thoughts, she looked up and could tell by the way the prince sat his mount he was angry. To Gezelle’s way of thinking, he had every right to be, considering how he had been treated at Norus.

When morning had come, Prince Galen had not come down to see if they had spent a restful night. Nor had he come to wish them a pleasant journey to Boreas. The servants had not offered, indeed, had not prepared a morning repast. So thunderous had been Prince Conar’s shout, the entire keep had all but come to a standstill. Even the surliest of servants had backed away from that royal anger with fear on their stubborn faces.

"If you will give us an hour, Your Grace…" one of the cooks had ventured before being shouted down.

"You think I have all day to wait for your fires to be stoked, woman?" he had howled.

"Well, no, Your Grace, but—"

"But, hell!" he had screamed before flinging his hand around the gathered group of retainers. Promising retaliation, he had shouted at a nearby servant to have their mounts readied.

The three had ridden out of the Norus courtyard with bellies rumbling in protest.

"Ignore me, will they?" Conar had mumbled as Liza and Gezelle ran to match his long-legged stride to the stables. "Keep me waiting? Not feed me?" His voice was a death knell of fury. "We’ll just see about that! Oh, yes! Let’s see Galen explain this to his King!"

The Prince had been mulish and sullen as the stable boy brought their mounts. Scowling the whole time, he had obviously been making a mental note to inform his father of both his twin’s lack of respect and his servants’ lack of fealty to their future King. Somewhat mollified to be able to cause his twin trouble, he swung into his saddle and waited for Liza and Gezelle to mount.

"Will you hurry?" he had snapped.

"Will you behave?" the Lady Liza had snapped right back at him.

Only the Master-at-Arms, Sir Belvoir, had nodded a farewell as they crossed the rotting drawbridge. He seemed to catch the Lady Liza’s attention and she had smiled at him, nodding. Gezelle could have sworn a slight stretch had come upon the good knight’s hard mouth, but he had turned away as the portcullis began to lower and Gezelle thought she had been mistaken. Sir Belvoir never smiled.

"It looks like we’ll see rain before the day is out," Liza remarked now, gaining both Gezelle’s and the Prince’s attention.

Conar’s head went back and he took in the lowering sky. "Aye, but no storm, if that’s what bothers you," he snarled.

Liza felt like beaming the fool on his head. What bothered her most was his bruised ego. He was upset that his people had not bowed and crawled along on their bellies to him. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, she thought with a grimace. The servants had been rude and sullen. They surely deserved whatever trouble Conar meant to give them; but she and Gezelle did not deserve to be treated with such disdain.

"No, I don’t think there will be a storm, either," she said sweetly.

"Even if it does," he said, looking down his nose at her, "we will ride straight through!"

"Of course," Liza agreed, seeing him frown over her answer. "After all, we have cloaks."

Conar turned and glared at her, his face a study in frustration. It was obvious he was spoiling for a good fight. She could almost see the steam coming from his nostrils. If he was expecting the two of them to be a burden to him, he was going to be sadly mistaken.

They had traveled only a mile when the rain began. Still ten miles or so from the nearest tavern, a new establishment called the Briar’s Hold, Conar informed the women that they would ride until they came to a more well-known tavern where accommodations might be better prepared.

"I’ve heard tell the place isn’t even open yet," Conar said, remarking upon the new tavern.

"Whatever suits you, Milord," Liza answered and almost laughed at the jaundiced look he swept over her. " ’Zelle and I are just fine."

Their heavy cloaks were put on under the thick, spreading canopy of an old live oak. Snuggling into the oilcloth cloaks, they ventured once more into the steady cascade of cool water.

The roads were still passable, not yet the quagmires they would likely become. The air was warmer, not yet the frigid blast of arctic chill expected come nightfall. So, in the fading light, they traveled on, their heads bent against the onslaught of ever-increasing wind and rain.

A boom of distant thunder caught Liza’s attention and she stretched her senses; probed; sought; evaluated. The rain was nature’s way of cleansing the earth of man’s foul corruption. This rain was nature-sent, not sorcery-induced. She relaxed with the knowledge and somewhat enjoyed the gentle rhythm of the rain’s beat. Her main concern was Conar.

He was a miserable sight as he sat huddled on his big black destrier. His hair was plastered to his head and he looked fit to kill. She had a strong notion they would be stopping at the Briar’s Hold whether the inn was ready to receive guests or not. As soon as that establishment was in sight, she was sure he would make some excuse to stop.

Conar felt like screaming. Having to travel with one woman was not to his liking; traveling with two was insanity; traveling in the rain with one woman was asking for trouble; traveling in the rain with two women was suicidal. He glanced at Liza and grinned wickedly.

The woman looked like a drowned cat. He turned to the road again. As soon as the sign for the Briar’s Hold was in sight, she’d be begging for him to stop.

Conar’s head snapped up when Liza sneezed. "Are you catching cold, woman?" There was challenge in his voice.

Liza ground her teeth behind a sweet smile. She shook her head in denial, not trusting herself to speak. He looked like a man with the burdens of the entire world on his shoulder and he wanted her to know it. She tried to stop it, but another sneeze blasted out.

"I suppose you want to stop at the Briar’s Hold." He sounded disgusted, but Liza could see a gleam of hope in his blue eyes.

"Not unless you feel the need to, Milord. I am fine. Really."