WINDREAPER (29 page)

She flung herself at him, pummeling his chest, crying out her humiliation. "You did it on purpose! You wanted her to find us there!" She pushed away from him, the accusation clear in her pale face.

"That's not true." He reached for her, but she put up a hand to stop him.

"Why did you do it?" she sobbed. "Did you see the hurt on her face?"

He stared at her. "Hurt? For all the care she had of finding us, we might as well have been one of her brood of kittens!"

Amber-lea shook her head, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You meant to hurt Her Grace and you did! Why else did you want to go up there?"

"To get you some damned clothes! How the hell was I to know the bitch would come in on us?"

"It was her room!" Amber-lea shouted.

"So what?" He tried to calm her, to make her see reason. What he managed to do was make matters worse.

She flung herself to his cot. "It wasn't right!" Amber-lea sobbed, burying her face into his pillow. Her small fists beat the mattress. "You knew it wasn't right! How could you?"

"A perfectly reasonable question," said another unexpected voice.

Conar's head snapped up. "I want no quarrel with you, Elizabeth," he began, vaguely aware of Amber-lea sitting up on the cot, her face as white as snow.

"You conceited jackass! I'm not here to see you." She looked at Amber-lea. "I'd like to speak with
you,
mam'selle."

"The hell you will!" Conar shouted, putting himself between the women. "I'll not have you insult her. She—"

"I'm not here to insult her!" Liza spat. "
You
were the one at fault. Leave me with her so I can try to undo what your mindless rutting has caused!"

He glared at her, seeing nothing in her face but contempt.

"Get out!" Liza shouted, entering the cell like an avenging angel. She grabbed his arm, yanked as hard as she could, and literally shoved him toward the door. "Get out! Now!"

Amber-lea pushed herself off the cot and put herself in front of Conar, as if fearful he would hit the Queen. "Milord, please!" she begged, putting her hands on his chest. "I would like the chance to explain to Her Grace—"

"You've nothing to explain to this woman, Ambie! I won't have her berating you—"

"He thinks we're going to fight over him!" Liza scoffed, tilting her chin. "Such arrogance. The only fighting that'll be done today is if he doesn't leave us alone." She took a step closer. "Because then I'll scratch his gods-be-damned eyes out!"

Conar reached around Amber-lea, intent on grabbing Liza's arm.

Amber-lea pushed him back. "Please, leave!"

He looked from Amber-lea's angry face to Liza's furious face—what he saw on both made him a little bit crazy. "The demons take you, then!" He roughly pushed past Liza and stomped down the damp corridor.

* * *

Silence reigned until Conar's reverberating footsteps died away and the distant banging of the iron door marked his exit. At last, the women looked at one another.

Liza sighed. "If nothing else can be said about him, it will go down in history books that he had a nasty temper."

Amber-lea nodded. "I'm afraid so."

Liza looked about her. Shirts hung precariously to anything that had speared them in their flight from their owner's body. Breeches lay inside out. Socks were stuffed into the pigeonholes of a desk. Liza shook her head at the mess. "I thought he had changed, but I see his personal habits are just as bad as they ever were."

Amber-lea's lips twitched into a shy smile.

Spying the chamber pot peeking from beneath the bed, Liza wrinkled her nose. "Does he still miss so big a hole as that?"

A nervous giggle broke Amber-lea's shyness. She shrugged her dainty shoulders. "What can I say, Your Grace? The man's aim is not quite as good as he thinks."

* * *

From his sleeping room several doors down the corridor, Bent heard childish giggling coming from Conar's cell.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Things were going to be all right after all.

"You're late," Liza admonished Brelan as he joined them at table. She smiled at his woebegone expression and damp hair. "And you're wet."

"I had to go out to help look for him," he said, knowing she knew who he meant. He looked at Legion. "He's disappeared again."

Cayn gasped. "He's out in this rain?" He looked behind him where lightning flared at the windows. The late November wind howled at the panes.

"He has the manners of a wood louse," Legion quipped, his face hard and set. "He'd much prefer drowning in that godawful gale than to keep company with those in the palace."

Brelan glanced at Liza. They both knew it wasn't the entire keep's inhabitants who Conar wanted to avoid. "He does what he pleases."

"He always has," Liza mumbled, flinching as a burst of thunder shook the chandelier.

"It's just as well he doesn't take meals with us." Legion grumbled. "His self-absorption gets old after a while."

Cayn cleared his throat, gaining Brelan's attention.

Turning, Saur glanced at the door and saw Bent Armitage hovering under the archway. He cocked his head and the big man lumbered forward at a clumsy gait. Brelan thought, had the floor not been marble, the man's purposeful steps would have shaken the room's foundations.

Brelan sighed. "What's he done now?"

"We haven't found him, yet," Bent said. He nodded a good eve to the others at the table.

Brelan laid down his knife and fork. "You've tried all the taverns, inns, and brothels?" He cast an apologetic look Liza's way.

"He just can't be found," Bent answered.

"Meggie Ruck's?" Liza asked.

Bent nodded. "That was the first place we went, but they haven't seen him all night."

"Didn't anyone follow him when he left the keep?" Legion snapped.

"Only those idjits from the Outer Kingdom," Bent replied, his lip raised in scorn.

"You saw them?" Brelan asked, shocked. No one had ever seen those men, only sensed their presence.

"Didn't have to see them to know they was there. They always are," Bent said as though everyone should know it. He folded his thick arms over his wide chest. "They'll keep his scrawny arse safe, I'm thinking."

Brelan pursed his lips to keep from laughing. He'd never heard Bent speak of Conar in words other than worshipful. It was a good indication of just how mad the big man was. Brelan managed to nod sagely. "Well, go get some food. There's nothing more you can do tonight. Hopefully he has sense enough to get in out of this mess."

Bent lifted one thick shoulder and fixed Saur with a narrowed gaze. "I don't too much care if he don't!" He bowed to his Queen and King, nodded at Cayn, and clopped off, his thick rawhide boots squishing.

"He leads them all a merry chase, doesn't he?" Liza asked.

"Just like he always has," Legion answered. He glanced at her. "I hear the two of you had words."

"I tried to talk to him about the girl he has living with him."

Brelan looked up from his food. "Amber-lea?"

"Does he have another of whom I am unaware?"

Blushing, Brelan looked down at his food. "No. What did you talk to him about her for?"

"I thought he needed to deal more honorably with the lady, that's all. Do you have something against her, Bre?"

"He ought not to be messing with her. She's not his type."

"Conar doesn't really have a
type,
Brelan," Legion said. "Anything with breasts will do."

"Did he become angry at you?" Cayn asked, as if sensing an awkward moment.

Liza sighed. "I spoke to her a few days ago."

"You did?" Brelan's mouth dropped open. "Whatever for?"

"I wanted to get to know her. After all, she is living in the keep, taking her meals here. I wanted her to feel at home."

The men stared at one another, looks of disbelief on their faces. Liza's smile did nothing to banish Brelan's worry.

Liza looked up, her eyebrows lifting at their wary expressions. She put down her fork. "Well, it's not as though I have reason to dislike the girl. I no longer have a claim on his affections." She touched her husband's hand. "I thought she should know that."

"And when Conar found out you'd gone to see her, he took exception." Legion stated.

"Not quite." Liza picked up her napkin and wiped her lips. "I told him there had been a lot of talk around the keep. Mostly talk about Ambie's relation to him."

"Ambie?" the men inquired in unison.

Ignoring their stunned looks, she laid her napkin on the table. "I told him he should make an honest woman of her and marry the girl."

"You what?" Brelan gasped.

"Well, he's living with the woman, Brelan, and she is carrying his child."

Brelan nearly choked. "She's…pregnant?"

Liza nodded. "He's not married, nor is she, and I thought it would be better for the child to have both father and mother around to see him grow up."

"Him?"

"Him."

"And just what did he say to this?"

Liza blushed, looked at her hands folded in her lap. "He took exception to my reasoning."

"How so?" Legion asked, leaning forward.

Her chin lifted. "He said he couldn't get married."

"Why not?"

A pained look crossed Liza's face when she answered. "He said he could not marry because he already had a wife."

Legion threw his napkin on the table. "He may think he does!" He glared at Brelan. "I suggest you disabuse him of that notion, Saur."

"Why me?"

"You're his brother!"

"And just what the hell are you?" Brelan pointed a finger at him. "You got something to tell him,
you
tell him."

"Whenever I get within shouting distance of him, that's exactly what we do!" Legion's lip raised in scorn. "He sure as hell won't listen to me."

"Neither of you have to say anything to him," Liza said, looking at her husband. "You asked what our words were about, now you know."

"You reminded him that you were no longer his wife?" Legion asked.

She nodded.

"What did he say?" Cayn asked in a quiet voice.

She looked at the sorcerer. "Nothing. He walked out the door, slammed it behind him, and apparently no one has seen him since."

* * *

Conar shivered. He stood in the lady's doorway, water puddling at his feet. He ran a trembling hand under his nose, swiped at the rain clinging to his face. He licked his lips.

"They've been looking for you," Meggie accused.

He glanced at the doorway leading into the common room. "Are they out there now?"

She dusted her hands, folded them over her bosom, and fixed him with an unwavering stare. "What are you up to, lad?"

"Nothing." It was a little boy's quick answer.

"Nothing, my hinnie! This is the second time you've muddied up my kitchen floor." She looked at the wet boots and soaked cuffs of his cords. "I suppose you're going to tell me you were just out taking a constitutional."

A violent tremor shook his tall frame. "I wasn't feeling well."

"Well, I suppose not! It's colder than a mule's hoof out there and wetter than a pig's snout, and here you are traipsing about in it. Serve you right if you caught a vicious cold, it would!"

"I had nowhere else to go, Meggie," he said, sniffing. He shifted on his wet feet. "I really don't feel well. I think I'm sick."

Meggie's brows drew together and she uncrossed her arms. "What's ailing you?" She put her hand on his forehead. "Sakes alive, boy! You're burning up with the fever!"

"I know."

"Harry!" she bellowed, taking Conar's arm.

"The floor—"

"Can be mopped!" she snapped, drawing him to the fireplace. "Harry Ruck!" She removed his great cape and pushed him into a chair, frowning as he leaned forward, his head in his hands. "Harry!"

"What the devil's wrong with you, woman?" her husband asked as he pushed open the door. "We've got cust—" He stopped. "Milord?" Hurrying across the room, he bent down before Conar. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Of course he ain't all right!" Meggie said, shoving her husband's shoulder. "Are any of his men out there?"

"No!" Conar hissed, gripping Meggie's hand. "I don't want them to know where I am."

"Wasn't going to get them. Harry, tell Dorrie to make up the attic room. Take up some hot bricks to warm the bed. Tell that lazy gal to heat some water and to take out that flannel nightshirt of yours and wrap it in a brick, too."

"Meggie, I'm—" Conar began.

"In no condition to argue." Meggie smoothed the damp hair from his forehead. "I'm gonna start brewing some of my elixir. Harry, as soon as you speak to Dorrie, come back and help him out of them wet clothes. I'll get a robe for him."

Harry glanced at Conar. "What if somebody gets suspicious? They've been in at different times looking for him."

"Don't tell them I'm here, Harry," Conar pleaded. "Please."

"You heard the lad," Meggie hissed. "You don't tell his men nothing!" She watched until her husband was out of the kitchen, then turned to Conar. "How come you're sneaking about, lad?"

His head was aching, his nose running, his body beginning to feel as though it were weighted down with hot stones. He leaned back in the chair, shivering. "I was looking for someone and couldn't find him."

"You got men to go out looking for people." Her hands caressed his flushed cheeks. "And I suppose it was all that important you find him on a night like tonight?"

"Aye, vitally important," he sighed, a tremor in his hand.

"Ma'am?"

Meggie turned and nodded at Dorrie, the bondservant, who was the only tap maid in the tavern. "You got everything done?"

Dorrie shook her head. "Not the water."

"Then get to it! Will you keep this man waiting all eve?" Meggie glared as Dorrie hastened to draw water from the tap, running it into a large kettle to place on the stove. "Is that nightshirt warming?"

"I put six bricks in his bed and wrapped the nightshirt up in two others. Squire Ruck lit the fireplace and said to tell you he'd bring down his robe."

"Come here and help His Grace out of these clothes. I need to be brewing some broth for him." Meggie sniffed as the girl hurried. "And don't be pestering him with any of them looks of yours, Dorrie." She gripped the girl's shoulder and gave her a hard shake. "And mind where you be putting them bold hands of yours, too!"

Dorrie looked into Conar's eyes and smiled. "It's not as like I've never had my hands on him, now is it, Your Grace?" she quipped in a low voice.

Conar darted a quick, embarrassed look at Meggie's retreating back.

Dorrie winked and bent down to unlace his shirt. "She didn't hear."

"The hell she didn't!" Meggie snorted, her back to them. "Just get them clothes off the boy and don't be reminding him of past foolishness on his part!"

Conar smiled weakly at Dorrie, and grimaced at her breath when she chuckled.

"I always knew you had a hot body, Your Grace," Dorrie quipped, running her hand up his bare chest as she removed his shirt. "But you be burning up right now."

He squinted. He didn't remember ever sleeping with Dorrie, but obviously he had, or Meggie wouldn't have known of it. He looked at her cornflower blue eyes and flaxen hair. For some reason, the thought of holding her in his arms bothered him. It wasn't that she was ugly; she was pretty in a coarse, rode-hard-put-up-wet sort of way. But something about her made his flesh crawl, and her touch made him feel unclean. If he had slept with her, he thought with a pang of distaste, he had to have been drunk or stoned, or, more than likely, both.

"You're remembering our night together, ain't you, Your Grace?" she asked, her fingers straying to his belt. "I pleasured you real well that night, I did!" Her lashes lowered. "And I'd love to go at it again sometime."

Inexplicably ashamed, Conar felt himself blush to the roots of his hair. He was glad when Harry returned, for Dorrie snatched her hands from him.

"Let's get them wet pants off," Harry said, moving in front of the girl. "Go make sure His Grace's bed be warm."

"I'd like nothing better than to warm his bed." She giggled and leapt back when Harry swatted at her with his big paw.

"Get yourself up the stairs, Dorrie!" Meggie called as she dropped some herbs into a boiling pot of broth. "And you'll keep your diseased arse out of His Grace's bed!" She fixed the girl with a level look. "I'll not have a repeat of what you did the last time to my bonny lad!"

Dorrie flounced her long wavy yellow curls and swished from the room, casting a parting smile over her shoulder at Conar.

"I couldn't have…" Conar murmured as Harry unbuckled his belt and began to unlace his breeches. He looked into Harry's amused face. "I just couldn't have."

Harry chuckled. "Most likely you didn't. Can't see you inviting that little tart to join you in your bed, Milord." He shrugged, glanced at Meggie, and lowered his voice to a mere breath. "But I hear tell she be good with that sassy mouth of hers."

Conar's memory came flooding back. He let out a relieved sigh. "It's good to know I haven't been too stupid in my lifetime."

"You got him undressed, Harry, or you just gossiping?" Meggie asked.

Harry laughed. "Stand up, lad and step outta them breeches."

It was a real effort to stand. Conar felt light-headed, achy, but it was the fever that weakened him the most. It had been a long time since the Labyrinthian Fever had come calling, and it was announcing its return visit with bursts of throbbing pain in his temple and a wretched shivering that clicked his teeth together.

"Get him up the backstairs and into bed, Harry," Meggie commanded. "I'll be right up with this elixir."

"Better the fever than Meg's cure," he hinted as he picked up Conar's breeches from the floor. "It's deadly-tasting."

Conar let Harry help him into a warm woolen robe. He was so weak he was glad Harry belted it around him, for he didn't think he would have been able to. "Right now, I'll take anything that'll help me."

"Don't be so sure."

* * *

"What the hell was that?" His tongue was on fire, his mouth puckering.

"Men are such babies," Meggie scoffed. She handed him a glass of water. "Wash it down, if you must."