WindSeeker (14 page)

hundred years." He gripped Legion’s wrist. "It’s been a long time, my friend."

"Too long," Legion agreed. "How’ve you been?"

"Alive."

As the men talked, Conar drew the tent canvas aside, looking into the gloom. So dark was the sky, so

heavy the rain, he could barely discern the tops of the battlements. The keep was a black blob of shadow

hunched over him. Here and there a solitary archer marched from one end to the other, but the force of

men who had been on guard when Conar had ridden up went unseen.

"She’s still there," Grice said quietly, laying a hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder.

Conar turned to look at him. "How can you be sure?"

"Because Galen is there. I saw the son-of-a-bitch up on the battlements when I came into the tent. He

even had the gall to wave. Do you believe that?"

"I believe he’s lost what little mind he had. He’s a fool to think he can get away with this."

Grice downed the last of his ale. "Try not to worry about her, Conar. You’ve a good and loyal ally in

Belvoir. He’s our mother’s man. He’s a Sentinel."

"A what?" Conar had never heard the term before.

"A Sentinel. They are trained by the Daughters of the Multitude as a guardian, a messenger, men they

trust to personally protect them. Belvoir will protect my sister with his life. He’ll be her messenger until

the day she chooses her own Sentinel. He’ll protect her from this nefarious business Galen McGregor has

engineered."

"He’s not behind this."

"Who is?" Grice asked, surprised. Was there more to this than he and his father knew?

Conar shook his head. "All that matters is I get Liza back, at any cost."

Prince Grice Wynth was a tall man with eyes the color of dark rum. Flashes of silver speckled his deep

black hair at the temples; his lean face bore the unmistakable lines of a man who spent most of his time

out-of-doors. His lean body matched the leanness of his face, but beneath the loose gray tunic, his chest

was strong and powerful, his arms a hard ridge of muscle honed from years of constant weight training

and calisthenics. He commanded his men with an iron will and dogged determination, never asking any to

do what he had not done first. He was also educated, studying ancient battles with infinite care. He never

left a stone unturned.

Grice turned a fierce face to Conar. "If I get to Galen first, I’ll kill the bastard."

"Don’t kill him," Conar whispered. "He’s mine."

Grice walked with Conar as the Serenian prince poured himself another hot mug of brandy and offered

his brother-in-law a refill. "Better make it ale," Grice said. "Brandy goes straight to my head."

"His, too," Legion remarked. "Go easy on that, brat."

Conar took a sip of the brandy and then sat, leaning against a travel trunk and stretching his long legs.

"Don’t mollycoddle me, A’Lex."

"No matter how long it takes, Conar," Grice said, smiling at the two brothers glowering at one another,

"my men and I don’t leave this keep until Liza is back safely."

Conar nodded his acceptance. "I must tell you men this. If, for whatever reason, my lady is not able to

leave this keep, then neither shall I ever leave."

"Don’t talk like that," Legion snarled.

" ’Tis the gods’ truth, Legion. My life is worthless without Liza."

Teal stared at him. "If you don’t leave, then neither will I."

"Nor I," Sentian piped up, speaking in unison with Thom. They looked at one another and the spark of a

budding friendship took hold.

"That goes for Storm and me," Marsh said.

"I can think of no better way to leave this life than with the ones I shared it with," Grice said.

"Every one of us will leave this place and with Liza beside us!" Legion vowed.

"I’ll drink to that!" Grice held his ale aloft. The others did the same.

All except Conar. In his heart, he suspected he would be the only one left behind when they rode away

with Liza to safety.

Prince Galen McGregor sat beside Liza’s bed, her cold hand held lovingly in his. He raised the slender

fingers to his mouth and placed kisses on their tips, then brought her hand to his cheek, savoring the feel

of her flesh. With his other hand he swept back the soft fringes of hair over her high forehead.

"I love you," he whispered to her sleeping form, trailing his fingers down her cheek, and listening to her

quiet breathing. He sighed, bringing her fingers to his lips once more.

Jah-Ma-El entered the room, a tray of potions in his trembling hands. He set the tray on the bedside

table and looked uneasily at Galen. "It is time for her medicine."

Galen nodded, but did not speak. He closely watched the sorcerer who opened a dark amber bottle

and poured a spoonful of thick-looking liquid into a spoon.

"You are sure that drug will have no lasting effects?" Galen asked, worry crinkling his brow.

"The Master assured me it would not."

Gently lifting Liza’s head, Jah-Ma-El parted her lips with one hand while he let the thick liquid trickle

down her throat with the other.

Liza moaned, her lids fluttered and a single, short and violent tremor went through her before she lay still

again.

"Is she aware of what is happening?" Galen asked, his eyes searching the sorcerer’s.

Jah-Ma-El held Galen’s gaze. "I think she is." His lips twisted in disgust. "No, I know she is."

"That is the only part of this I regret," Galen whispered. He ran a hand over his face.

Jah-Ma-El glanced at him with wonder. He had never known him to show any emotion other than anger,

but Galen McGregor was crying.

"Does it surprise you that I have true feelings for this woman?"

"Do we truly need to keep her drugged?" Jah-Ma-El countered, loathe to answer such a ridiculous

question.

Galen looked away. "I can’t allow her to be awake long enough to aid Conar. Her rune stone has been

destroyed, but the Master fears her familiar may have gone elsewhere. We must keep her asleep until I

can take her from this place. I would give up much for this woman."

"So would Conar."

"She will come to love me in time."

"Conar will not give you the time. He’ll never let you live long enough to leave Norus."

"Conar can do nothing!" Galen shouted, placing Liza’s hand on the bed and standing to face his

half-brother. "Her heart may belong to that bastard at the moment, but her body belongs to me! That is

more than he will ever be able to say again!"

"Her heart will always be with our brother. She is his woman."

"She is mine!" Galen screamed, pushing aside Jah-Ma-El. He strode to the door, threw it open and

slammed from the room.

Jah-Ma-El shrugged his thin, stooped shoulders. Let the man posture and rant all he would, Conar’s

woman would never truly belong to him. Gazing down to the lady, he smiled.

She was so very beautiful, a worthy bride for his beloved brother, Conar. Her dark skin and midnight

hair were perfect foils for Conar’s blond male beauty. Her lids were closed over the glory of those bright

green eyes, but Jah-Ma-El had seen them flashing with fury and vengeance the day Kaileel Tohre’s men

had brought her to Norus.

"He will kill you, Galen McGregor!" she had shouted before they forced the drug between her clenched

teeth. "Conar will kill you all for this!"

Jah-Ma-El had stood in the shadows of the great hall, marveled at the fight still left in her even as she

began to succumb to the drug. One guard had nearly had his eyes gouged.

"Aye," the lanky warlock whispered as he tucked the covers around her, "you are the perfect bride for

our Overlord, Milady." He placed an affectionate kiss on her rosy cheek and then traced the back of his

fingers down her cheek. "And I will do everything I can to protect you, Sweeting. You are Conar’s lady

and Conar’s you will remain."

Alone in his chambers that night, the sorcerer sat at his window, his tall, gangly frame jammed into a

chair, and brooded as he watched the campfires of the troops below. He rubbed a filthy hand down his

lean face, and smoothed what was left of his thinning black hair. Somewhere in that throng was his

precious half-brother.

A grim smile touched Jah-Ma-El’s lips. Maybe this time he would get to speak to Conar, get to hear

Conar greeting him when the Prince Regent stormed the keep to recover his lady-wife. He never

doubted Conar would.

He, himself, was many things, Jah-Ma-El thought: a coward, a liar, a thief; but his one and only true

devotion, his only unwavering loyalty, belonged to Conar McGregor, as it always had and always would.

Conar was the only one who cared whether he lived or died. Only Conar loved him.

Jah-Ma-El sighed. He would give his worthless life for Conar or his ladylove. What good would life be if

there was no Conar? And if there was no Liza, what manner of man would Conar Aleksandro

McGregor become?

There was hard resolve on Jah-Ma-El’s lean face. No one would take Conar’s woman from him. He

would see to that if he had to risk the trek into the Netherlands of the Domination’s spite. He vowed to

see Kaileel Tohre’s vile plan defeated even if his own life was forfeit in the bargain.

* * *

carry tales to the men camped at Norus’ walls, Galen crept back to Liza’s room. He stood looking at

her, his heart filled with the immense love he had never known himself capable of feeling.

"I do love you," he said to her. "I love you with every ounce of feeling in my body, lady."

Liza moaned as though she had heard him. Her head turned on the silken pillow beneath the sweep of

her ebony hair.

"I will show you just how much I love you, Sweeting."

His hands went to his tunic. He pulled the soft material over his head, tossing the pale green silk on the

foot of Liza’s bed. As he unhooked the buttons of his breeches, he found himself staring at the slow rise

and fall of her chest beneath the white satin nightgown. He could see the pulse beating slowly in her pale

throat and his body ached with love and need. There was only a slight hesitation as he pulled aside the

covers and slid beside her under the satin sheets, only a moment’s remorse at the way he touched her so

intimately as she lay sleeping.

Her skin was as soft as the petals of a gardenia and held the scent of the lavender fragrance she

preferred. As he stroked her arm and the silky expanse of her shoulder, he inhaled that delicate scent and

it made his shaft ache with fullness. The feel of her flesh against the pads of his fingers was more

intoxicating than the most potent brandy and it set his juices to flowing. Threading his fingers through her

thick ebony tresses, he lifted a lock to his nose and inhaled the perfume clinging to the strands, then

placed the soft lock to his lips and tasted it. He buried his face in her curls and sighed with pleasure,

closing his eyes as he settled his body closer to hers. His fingers splayed over her chin and slid down her

throat and then further down until they rested in the center of her breastbone. He held his palm there,

feeling the steady beat of her heart, reveling in the warmth of her soft flesh.

He shifted lower in the bed, braced himself on his elbow and lay his cheek against the creamy perfection

of her left breast. He hooked his finger in the gown’s neckline and pulled it down until he revealed the

soft coral tip of one nipple. With infinite care, he circled the aureole with his index finger, then ran his

thumb over the sweet nub, stroking the protrusion until the flesh hardened. Smiling, he claimed the nipple

with his lips, suckling, gently nibbling. He cupped her breast, lifting the weight of it to his mouth, then

circled the expanse with his tongue. She tasted faintly of lemon and the firmness of her breast pressing

against his chin sent a shiver of excitement through him; his manhood leapt with anticipation.

In her forced sleep, Liza groaned, her body reacting to the invasion. She writhed beneath his assault and

a whimper escaped her parted lips.

Galen McGregor had always reveled in the experience of the flesh. Sexual expeditions with numerous

partners had given him a keen sense of being. He defined himself by such experiences. He had taken

great delight in the feel of other bodies beneath his and the sensations of other hands—hard, male

hands—upon his willing flesh. His world had been one of perverted pleasures that often left bruises upon

his partners and blood smeared on the bedsheets. His satiation had come from the coarse skin and

sinewy muscles of palace and temple guards or the soft, beardless flesh of young boys with soft muscles

and sweet, tender lips.

But now his world had shifted on its axis and what had once thrilled him, made him ecstatic with

forbidden pleasure, was but a blink of the eye compared to the overpowering urges he felt as he slid his

hand down Liza’s belly and tugged her gown upward.

The satin smoothness of her thighs, the wiry silk of her pubic hair, the slick warmth of her vaginal lips

was more pleasurable than anything imaginable. The scent of her womanhood as he parted her nether lips

hardened his erection more than he would have thought possible. As he slipped his finger inside and felt

the involuntary constriction of her muscles, he groaned with pleasure. Probing deeper, feeling the rough

interior walls, searching for that small convex shape he had discovered the night before—that place when