WINDWEEPER

He was in the depths of a nightmare and the dream was hurting him.

A moan came from deep within his throat; his eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids. His blond hair thrashed on the pillow; a fine, oozing, pebbled sweat drenched him. His hands gathered the coverlet in a tight grip, while his restless legs kicked at the covers weighing him down.

Liza watched, her green gaze sweeping over the dear planes of his handsome face. Gently shaking him, she called her husband's name, but he didn't wake. She softly called him once more and he turned away from her, tightly hugging the pillow to his chest.

There was an horrific clap of thunder. The window glowed as another loud boom shook the panes and rain began to pelt the keep. She moved closer to him, wedging herself behind his shoulder, putting an arm around his waist.

"Conar?" she whimpered as another shriek of lightning speared the ground. Storms frightened her, and her heart raced beneath her ribcage. She called out to him again.

He couldn't hear her. The sound of rain lashing the windows only added to his nightmare. He buried his face in the pillow and dreamed on:

She was running to him, her face stricken with terror and vulnerability. Her white gown floated behind her in the draft of unseen wind, and the windows behind her—down the long corridor—flared with light and lit her body through the gown. Screaming as lightning streaked across the firmament, she held out her arms, rushed into his embrace, burying her face in the white silk of his shirt. His arms went about her as he whispered her name. Her hands raked at his waist as she plastered herself against him. He whispered her name, lifted her in his arms, then gently cradled her as he took her to his bed. In the tempest of the storm, he took her, soothed her, promised her his heart.

"Conar, please!" Liza moaned as she tried to wake him. She trembled with fear; her lids squeezed shut to blot out the flares of lightning. "Conar, wake up! I'm afraid, Milord!"

Rain swept against the window of the room in which they lay, but he heard their soft moans of pleasure as sexual release came and went. He saw their sweat-dampened faces, their smiles, heard her sweet words of trust and his fervent words of love, and he knew the exact moment she conceived his child.

Conar groaned. He gripped the pillow so hard the seam split. He didn't feel the woman clinging to him, didn't hear her frightened pleading. He was lost in his nightmare, hearing another man's words of love to his wife, feeling that man's pleasure at knowing she would have his child. He groaned again and went deeper into the nightmare.

He was alone this time. He could no longer see his wife and her lover as they strained against one another in the big bed at Ivor Keep. Now, he was walking along a black sand beach stretching for miles away from him. Beneath his feet, volcanic rock crunched; thunderclouds hovered over the tops of the distant snow-capped mountains and rumbled a warning. The sky was lowering to the metallic gray of the approaching storm and streaks of yellow washed across the horizon as the wind, wild and hot, blew over him, tousling his hair.

He heard seagulls careening overhead. They seemed to be mocking him with taunting cries: "Come and see, Conar. Come and see!"

Looking at them, he saw their beady black eyes regard him with contempt for intruding on their domain. They swooped over him, around him, landing in the crashing, angry waves that washed over his bare feet, soaking his breeches. He stumbled in the sucking draw of the water as the ground gave way. The gulls chorlted at his solitude and loneliness as the undertow sought to drag him into the swirling, churning ocean depths.

Ahead of him, in the breakwater, he saw a dark mass lying in the waves. The closer he came, the harder it was for him to move his feet. A chill shot through him and he walked like a condemned man toward what lay before him.

"Come and see, Conar. Come and see!" the gulls taunted once more. He flinched at the evil he saw in their feathered faces.

When at last he could see what formed the dark mass in the breaking waves, his heart felt as though it would break. He tried to turn away, but found he could not; nor could he blink or close his eyes to blot out what he was seeing. A moan of unbearable hurt made its way out of his very soul. He stood helpless in the churning waves and watched the scene unfold.

"Conar, please, wake up!" Liza cried, her hands shaking his shoulders. She heard him moan, felt him tense, but he did not answer. She plastered her body as close to his as she could, but still he did not wake.

It was Brelan Saur lying with Liza in the sweep of the breaking waves, his lean, taut body completely covering hers. Her long black hair undulated in the moving water as it washed over her and her lover. One long, wet tress curled lovingly about Brelan's right forearm as though holding him to her forever. Her slim, white arms were around his bare back, pulling him ever closer. Saur's mouth had captured hers in a never-ending, longing caress full of promise and dark passion. They did not look up at the man who gazed at them with such deep pain. They were oblivious to him and to the world. It was as though nothing, and no one, existed but them.

Conar wanted to run from this material source of his pain, but couldn't. He felt cold and he wrapped his arms around him, but the cold was in his heart and nothing, ever, would warm him again.

"Do you see?" the gulls screamed. "Do you see, Conar?"

The storm grew darker, heavier, and lightning slashed in the distance behind the mountains, turning the sky a deathly gray. Chill air swept over the beach, blowing the layers of lighter sand on the dunes into high spirals of blinding, stinging pain. The waves became stronger, the water moved higher as it lapped with increasing force at the lovers, pushing them closer together; rocking their bodies in a wild parody of lovemaking, blending together their wet bodies in abandon.

"She is his, now," the gulls taunted. "She is lost to you! Gone, forever!"

A terrible crashing sound shot out. Conar lifted his gaze to the ocean. A dark, rolling wave was forming, boiling, lurching, sweeping high within the churning green depths. Heaving itself closer to the lovers, the tidal wave was bearing down with ever-increasing speed, its black crest looming above the fiercely churning white caps. Evil laughter echoed down from the vault of the darkening sky and sank into the heaving waves.

"She is his, now!"

Conar tried to call out to the lovers, to warn them against the danger of the giant wave speeding toward them. His mouth could make no sound. There was a black silk gag wound across his lips; his hands and feet were shackled, bound to a tall post behind him. He forced his head away, looked at a tall ridge of mountain behind him, and saw Kaileel Tohre standing there, an evil smile on his thin lips.

"I've taken you away from her, Conar," the High Priest whispered in the flash of killing lightning. "She is in my hands now!"

The tidal wave swept ever closer to the beach, unchallenged, unrestrained, unnoticed by the lovers. Tearing his eyes from the high wall of water, Conar looked at his wife and her lover and felt his soul lurch with hopelessness.

There was nothing he could do to stop the waves from breaking over them, nothing he could do to keep the lovers apart, nothing he could do to keep Liza from being destroyed along with Brelan Saur. He was bound to the post, his hands burning with pain, his lips silenced.

Suddenly, he was standing on the highest dune with Chandling and Grice Wynth, Liza's brothers. He heard Chand quietly sobbing. With horror, he watched as the wave spread over the lovers, recede, leaving nothing behind but an empty beach.

The sea stilled, the sky cleared, the mocking gulls moved onto the higher dunes to keep their death vigil of the beach.

"The Maelstrom claimed her," Grice said.

"Aye, but she will return," Chand sighed.

Kaileel's sinister voice flitted down to them from the tall peaks of Mount Serenia. "No, she will not. All that is left of her is Brelan Saur's girl-child."

Conar felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him, but he jerked away. He fell to his knees and a scream of pure animal torment burst from his lungs—"No!!!"

Jerking upright, Conar cringed away from the woman who tried to gather him in her arms. His breathing came in gasps, making it difficult to swallow. Sweat covered his body. He trembled from the force of his nightmare.

"Conar," Liza called, stroking damp hair from his forehead. " 'Twas a dream, Milord."

Prince Conar McGregor swung his startled attention toward his wife. Her lovely face shone in the sudden flash of lightning. He wiped the back of his trembling hand over his mouth and tried to still his thundering heart. "What?" he whispered, his voice shaking.

"Only a dream, love," she repeated and drew him to her, patting his head as he buried his face in her shoulder.

Conar closed his eyes and gave himself over to her care. He knew he should be comforting her, for he could finally hear the thunderous storm beating at their windows, but he needed her touch, her comfort, her closeness.

"I dreamt you left me. Promise me you will never leave me, Milady."

Liza brought him closer to her. She looked into the brilliant flashes of lightning washing the windowpanes. "Hush, now," she cooed, lowering her lips to the gleaming gold of his hair. "Hush. 'Twas just a dream."

"I would die if I lost you."

"Hush," she said, her voice more firm. "Think of our going home tomorrow."

Against her breast, Conar smiled. "Home."

"Aye. Tomorrow we leave for Boreas."

"I love you," he said, lifting his head to look at her.

Liza returned his gaze and smiled. "And I love you, Milord. Now go back to sleep. The storm is ending."

When he was once more asleep beside her, Liza remained awake, staring into the darkness.

Promise me you will never leave me
, he had begged.

A single tear fell heedlessly down Liza McGregor's smooth cheek. That was one promise she could never make.

Liza was seated at her dressing table the next morning when somebody knocked at her door. "Come," she bid and turned. A smile of welcome lit her lovely face.

"Tampering with perfection again, Milady?" Lord Brelan Saur teased, nodding at the powder puff in her hand.

She smiled as he came up to her. She saw him in the mirror as she tapped the powder across her shiny nose. "You do wonders for a lady's ego, Brelan Saur!"

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he lightly kneaded the smooth muscles. "I only remark upon what I see, Milady."

She sent him a wicked look of reproach. "What are you after, Bre?"

"Me?" he asked, brows raised in mock innocence.

She laughed. "You only compliment ladies when you want something from them."

"True," he said as he hunkered beside her and began to pat her dog, Brown Stuff. "You're a pretty girl, too, huh, Brownie?"

Liza looked down at him. All humor had gone from her face. "I hear you are leaving today."

He shrugged and his wide shoulders stretched the fine lawn of his shirt. "It's time. I haven't run into that idiot husband of yours today, but the longer I stay, the better the odds that I will. I have done all I can here. You are in good health again and I am broken-hearted." He grinned as Brownie rolled on her back and begged for attention; he began to scratch her wide belly.

"Brazen hussy." Liza laughed at her little dog.

"She's jealous, Stuffen," Brelan whispered to the dog. He looked at Liza. "Run away with me and forget that ill-tempered brother of mine."

"I must go home with my husband." Her lips twitched. "That
ill-tempered
person of whom you speak."

"So, I've heard." He sighed melodramatically. "You do have your problems."

Liza smiled at his woebegone expression. "But I do have your friendship, do I not, Lord Saur?" She held out her hand.

He placed a soft kiss on her upturned wrist. "If you should ever need me, you need but ask; you know where I can be found. Call on me and I shall be there for you, sweeting."

"I shall miss you, Brelan Saur," she whispered as she put a hand on his wavy brown hair.

He forced a sad smile to his lips. "As I shall miss you." A wicked grin replaced the forced smile. "But, if he gets out of line again, let me know. I'll hang the fool from the highest tree and leave him there to rot!"

She regarded him with solemn eyes. "You truly don't mean that." When he made to protest, she laid the tips of her fingers across his lips. "You would never deliberately or intentionally harm him."

Brelan gazed at her for a long time, pondering the wisdom of retelling her how he truly felt about her. He placed her fingers against his chest, over his pounding heart.

"Make no mistake, Elizabeth. If it came down to me and Conar, just the two of us, and I knew you were mine for the taking, I'd not hesitate to sweep him from your life forever."

"But you wouldn't kill him, Bre. I know you. You couldn't. He is your flesh and blood."

"Unfortunately, we can't choose our relatives," he growled. He stood, reaching down to touch her cheek. "Take care, Milady." He turned, his heart breaking as he strode to the door.

"Bre?"

He stopped, standing still, his hand on the doorknob, but he didn't look back at her. He didn't want her to see the tears brimming in his dark eyes.

"Be careful, Milord. I would be very sad if anything ever happened to you."

He could only nod as he opened her door and walked through.

* * *

Conar placed the mug of ale on the table and sighed. He hadn't slept well last night; he certainly didn't have an appetite for breaking his fast today. His dreams soured his stomach this morning. Now, as he sat at the table, one of his men refilled his mug.

The Elite chuckled. "Drink up, Commander. You look like death warmed over!"

He took a sip of the spiced ale, but the taste bothered him and he set down the mug again.

"Is it not to your liking?"

Conar shook his head. "I seem to have lost my desire for ale."

A worried frown crossed the Elite's face. Somehow, he had to make Conar drink the ale. It was imperative. A sound from the stairway leading up to the main sleeping chambers caught the man's attention. Lord Brelan Saur came down the staircase.

A wicked grin of purpose settled over the Elite's face. "Lord Saur seems none too chipper this morn, Coni. He went to say his goodbye to our lady."

Conar saw Brelan poised on the stairs, speaking with Grice Wynth—his best friend and Liza's eldest brother. An immediate frown formed on Conar's chiseled lips.

"One of the servants says he was in there with her a long time. He waited until you'd come down and then snuck into her room. I hope for your sake he isn't going to cause any further trouble for you."

"I thought Saur left the keep three days ago."

The man shrugged. "I heard him tell one of Prince Grice's men that he had no intention of going until he was satisfied there was no chance the lady would leave you."

Anger hardened Conar's jaw. "Is that so?"

"I don't want you to worry, Conar," the Elite said conspiratorially, "but it was my understanding that he means to make his way to Boreas so he'll be close to Her Grace if you should…" The Elite shook his head. "Well, you know…mistreat her, again."

Pure fury shot through Conar. He looked past his man to where Brelan was still standing on the stairs. Brelan glanced his way and for a momentd their glares held one another. A red-hot poker of jealousy plunged into Conar's gut. "Asshole."

Brelan answered with a single, silent move of his lips. "Prick."

Conar's lips pulled back from his teeth. Without thinking, he snatched up the mug and drained it in two swallows.

The Elite's face filled with triumph.

Conar stood, his mouth pursed into a hard, unforgiving line. He walked to the archway of the dining chamber and watched as Brelan stepped off the stairs.

"You got something you want to say to me, McGregor?" Brelan challenged.

The Elite folded his arms and waited for the explosion. These two had never liked one another, but now the enmity brewing between them was palpable. The tension vibrated through the air, the atmosphere like that of a ticking bomb.

"I want no more of your interference, Saur," Conar told his half-brother. "Keep away from my wife."

"Do you honestly think I give a damn what you want? You aren't master in this keep. If I want to be with Elizabeth, I will be with her."

"I'd be careful how intimately you use my wife's name, Saur. I'm not adverse to spilling your blood here and now; and I can promise you I will not mourn your passing!" His hand went to the black crystal dagger at his thigh. "If you seek to make my lady your concern, think again."

Brelan's lip raised in taunt. "She has always been my concern, McGregor. Long before
you
ever met her!"

Conar's gut wrenched at the reminder that Saur courted Liza before she and Conar wed. He could feel hate for this man boiling his blood and glowered malevolently, vindictively. "She is
my
concern now. She is
my
wife."

"For the time being."

True fury washed over the Serenian prince. He clamped his fingers on the dagger at his side to keep himself from murdering Brelan Saur.

Brelan nodded at the dagger. "I'm not afraid of you and I'm not afraid of that." His face turned hard. "She has asked that I not cause trouble here, and I made her a promise I intend to keep. But if you want a piece of me, I'll oblige you well away from this keep. And I'll make you a promise, as well. There
will
come a day, and we both know it, when I
will
shed that precious blood of yours!"

"Aye," a voice agreed, "and there will
also
come a day when you will hold his blood more precious than anything else in this world, Brelan Saur!" Queen Medea, Liza's mother, called from the balcony above. "I can promise you that!"

Brelan laughed, his stare locking with Conar's. "
That
will never happen."

"Aye, it will," Medea warned.

"Not in this
lifetime!"

"That may well be true, but it will happen just as I say." The Queen came down the stairs. "I would like a word with you, Conar."

"I am at your service, Majesty," he said, all too aware of Brelan glaring at him.

Medea came to the last step and stood watching the two men. "Put your dislike aside, gentlemen. What I have to say concerns you both." She folded her slim arms over her ample bosom.

Conar started to tell her he didn't want his brother there, but her words stopped him.

"Have you no faith in Anya Elizabeth, Conar? There is only friendship between her and Brelan."

He let his gaze wander down Saur in insulting fashion. "It's far more than that for him."

"I've never denied that I love her," Brelan snapped.

Conar took a step forward, but the Queen placed herself between them. "Not in my keep,
ever
again!"

Conar's belly began to burn. He felt anger careening through his system like the advance of molten lava down a volcano. He was aware of his trembling; not enough for Medea or Brelan to notice, but enough for him to feel. His hands were clammy with sweat, his head started to pound, and he felt sick to his stomach.

He flicked his attention from Brelan and stared at his mother-in-law, taking his frustration out on her. "What is it you want, Lady?" he asked belligerently. "I have better things to do than stand here and chatter!"

His insulting tone alarmed the Queen. She could sense his tightly-checked rage, could smell the hatred rolling off him, and took a self-protective step backward. She cringed as his eyes leapt back to Brelan. His words further shocked her: "By the gods, I hate you, Saur!"

"Don't start something, McGregor," Brelan warned, also aware of the suddenly charged emotions hovering around Conar. "She's asked you, and so has Elizabeth."

"Keep my wife's name off your filthy tongue!" Conar hands itched to strangle the life from Saur's body. "It comes far too easily to your lips!"

The Queen probed the aura surrounding him; a dark scarlet haze of murderous intent haloed his body. Her alarm turned to fear. She tried to enter his thoughts, to read his intentions. He wasn't even looking at her, yet she could tell he was more than aware of her psychic probing. He blocked her out as easily as if she were a novice.

He turned to her. "Stop that. Don't try it again. If you do, you'll wish you hadn't!"

Medea's face paled. "What is wrong with you?" When he only glared, she shook her head. "I am not sure we should allow Anya Elizabeth to leave with you, after all."

A sneer formed on Conar's sensual mouth. He raked her from head to toe with a scathing look of dismissal. "If you try to stop me, Madame, your keep will run red with the blood of your followers! I promise you!"

Medea gasped. "You're speaking of shedding blood to get what you want?"

"If that's what it takes, so be it. When I leave Oceania, my lady goes with me, or you'll have to bury me in this land!" He took a step toward her, grinning evilly as she moved back. "And
you'll
bury more of your men than you'll be able to count!"

"He's lost what precious little reason he ever had," Brelan said under his breath, confused by the glimmer of madness in his brother's face. Conar had always been a bit irrational, but never had he made such ridiculous threats.

Conar glanced at his brother. "Not threats, Saur. Promises!" He turned to walk away.

"I'm not finished with him, Brelan," the Queen whispered. "Get him back."

"With pleasure." Saur grabbed his brother's arm, spinning him around and pushing him against the balustrade. He didn't give Conar a chance to reach for his dagger before drawing his own.

Conar felt the blade at his throat.

"I have things to say to you, Conar," Medea told him, "and you
will
listen."

"Do I have a choice?"

Brelan pressed the sharp blade into the soft flesh just above Conar's Adam's apple. "None."

Queen Medea sat on a stone bench near the stairs and folded her hands in her lap. She was no longer afraid, but her worries intensified and, until she could get to the bottom of this irrational rage, he would not be taking her daughter anywhere.

"Brelan is privy to what happened at the Abbey, Conar. He knows about what goes on in that vile place, and he has some knowledge of what must have been done to you there."

What Conar saw in Brelan's eyes wasn't what he had expected. There was no disquiet, no disgust, no loathing. If anything, there was understanding. Brelan's words were even more of a shock. "I'd have done the same for her, McGregor."

If Conar had ever had doubts concerning Brelan's affections for his wife, that one statement dispelled them.

"You both love her and you both want what is best for her," the Queen said, bringing Conar's attention back to her. "As do I. I have gone to the Shadowlands and spoken to the Oracle. What I learned there greatly distresses me."

"I did what I had to do," Conar defended. "If your gods-be-damned Oracle doesn't approve—"

"There was never a question of whether she approved, Conar," Medea interrupted. "She would have protected you if she could have, but the gods did not allow it. Even the Great Lady, Herself, could not stop what had to happen, nor could She have retrieved Liza from Tohre's clutches. Your sacrifice was needed for that."

"It wasn't what happened there that concerns us," Brelan put in. "It's this insane anger of yours."

"Look whose hands are on me! I have a right to be angry."

"Look at yourself," Medea pointed out. "You are literally quivering with rage and it started before Brelan ever laid hands on you. Where such fury comes from is a mystery to me and I suspect a mystery to you, as well."

"I can handle it."

"You could not control it at Boreas when you abused your wife."

Conar flinched. "That was different. Now…"

Medea stood and approached the two men, laying a hand on Conar's cheek, stopping his words. "There's something the Oracle thinks you must know, something Anya would never tell you."