Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (47 page)

Lin Su weakly raised his hand and made odd movements that no one could understand. When he

realized he was not being understood, he put the fingertips of his right hand together and mimicked

writing on a pad.

“Here!” Sara said, fumbling in her pocket for her grocery list. She looked around. “There is no quill!"

Lin Su ran his index finger in his own blood and smeared Sara's grocery list. ‘5’ he wrote.

“Were they Hasdu?” Tiernan inquired, hoping that wasn't the case for those bastards sold the women

they took.

Lin Su shook his head. “Lord” he wrote on the paper.

“Lord?” Kerm questioned. “What does that mean?"

“It means he thinks a nobleman took her,” Syn-Jern answered.

“Who?” Tiernan queried.

“Who else?” Syn-Jern snarled.

Syn-Jern hunkered down beside the warrior. “Did they hurt her?"

Lin Su's face collapsed and his lips trembled.

At the man's reaction, Syn-Jern sucked in an agonized breath, threw back his head, and howled with

sorrow.

“Holy Merciful Alel!” Tiernan gasped, jumping. As Syn-Jern was about to vent his grief once more,

Tiernan leapt at him and plastered a firm, restraining hand over his friend's mouth. “Stop that!” he

ordered. “Stop it, now!"

Lin Su closed his eyes as the two strangers wrestled his lady's husband to the floor and whispered

furiously for him to be still. The grief, the shock on Syn-Jern Sorn's face was too much for the

Chrystallusian warrior to bear. He was mortally ashamed of having allowed harm to befall the lady while

she was in his care. A low moan of agony pushed from Lin Su's throat.

“I'll sew that wound, now,” Sara said gently, interpreting the groan as physical pain. She pushed Lin Su's

bloody shirt aside and began to clean his wound.

The warrior welcomed the pain of her astringent and the prick of her needle through his flesh for it

helped to blot out the pain of shame in his heart.

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By the time Demonicus and his escort of Tribunal guards rode into the circular driveway of Holy Dale

manor, Tiernan was sitting in the drawing room, staring into the flames. It had taken a bit of doing, but

between them, he and Kerm had held Syn-Jern down and Sara had poured tenerse down the man's

unwilling throat. At that moment, Sorn was sleeping soundly beside the bulky Chrystallusian warrior.

“They are here,” Sara said, her face tight with disgust.

“Aye,” Tiernan replied. “I can smell him."

The noise of the Arch-Prelate's arrival wore on Tiernan's nerves, but he made no move to leave the

comfort of his chair and the warmth of the fire. If the priest wanted to speak with he, he could

gods-be-damned well seek him out. For once, his rank of Prince of the Court of the Winds lent

arrogance to Tiernan McGregor. He barely looked up as the door to the drawing room opened and

Demonicus Voire strode in.

“Well, young McGregor,” the Arch-Prelate sneered, “so this is where you are hiding from me."

Tiernan snorted his reply.

Demonicus walked to the fire and spread his hands over the flames. “I trust your sojourn in this

heathenish land has been uneventful.” When the young prince did not reply, Demonicus laughed. It was a

cold, hateful laugh that frosted the air. “Still as disrespectful as you have always been,” Demonicus said.

“Well, no matter. Your time with me will come soon enough."

Tiernan turned his head and spat into the flames, leaving no doubt of his feelings. He glared at the

Arch-Prelate, then pointedly ignored him.

“Do you think I do not know you have been aiding Syn-Jern Sorn, sweet prince?” Demonicus inquired.

He swept the hem of his red robe aside and sat in the chair across from Tiernan. “Do you think I care

what you do?"

“Do you know I don't give a damn what you think?” Tiernan shot back.

“Ah, the impetuosity of youth,” Demonicus sighed. “Such fire and flame in one so young and so...” He

grinned nastily. “Untried."

The threat made Tiernan ill and he looked away from the priest's knowing grin.

“We will catch him, you know,” Demonicus said. “And we will hang him this time."

Tiernan remained silent. His hands had clenched into fists on the arms of his chair and his body had

grown rigid with anger. Every time he was near one of the sinister Brothers of the Domination, he felt sick

to his stomach.

“Be careful, my young friend,” Demonicus said, rising, “that you are not hanged alongside him."

“I am not your gods-be-damned friend, priest!” Tiernan threw at the man. “And you can keep your vile

threats to yourself. Your kind will never lay hands on a McGregor male. That I can promise you!"

Demonicus’ left eyebrow crooked upward. “You think not?” His smile was brutal. “I can promise you

there will come a day when father and son from the clan McGregor will lie beneath the weight of the

greatest sorcerer to wear the mantle of Arch-Prelate of the Brotherhood of the Domination and be slave

to him!"

Tiernan's blood ran cold. “You lie!” he spat, coming to his feet. He ached to ram his fist into the priest's

thin, cadaverous face.

“No lie, sweet one,” Demonicus replied. “It will come to pass as surely as the Outlaw will hang!"

Sara's eyes were wide in her head as she came into the drawing room, oblivious to the presence of the

priest. “Your Grace, Duke Sorn has returned and he has brought a lady with him!"

It was on the tip of Tiernan ‘s tongue to ask the servant what the hell difference did it make, when he

noticed that she was wringing her hands and her face was as pale as the apron she wore.

“I take it the lady in question is not his wife,” Demonicus chuckled, turning to the fire. “Will that cause

problems this eve?"

Sara glanced at the Arch-Prelate, but did not understand the danger of the man being able to read her

thoughts. She started to speak again, but Tiernan cut her off.

“For the love of Alel, woman, why are you bothering me with this shit?” he snapped, storming to her and

grabbing her arm in a vicious pinch that made Sara yelp with pain.

“Your Grace, you are hurting me!” Sara cried out, trying to free her arm. With her mind on the pain, she

was not thinking of Genny Sorn and that was exactly what Tiernan intended.

He dragged her behind him, his own mind intent on blocking out any thought.

“Your Grace!” Sara whimpered.

“Shut up!” he growled. “Shut the hell up! I am sick to death of your insolence, wench!"

Out into the cold, away from the house, out of sight of Demonicus and anyone else who might see, and

into the chill of the barn, he took her. “Scream,” he hissed. “Scream as hard as you can."

“What?” Sara asked, his request temporarily obliterating the pain in her arm.

“Scream, damn you!” Tiernan insisted, jerking on her arm. “Scream!"

The cruel twist of her arm made Sara do just that. She shrieked like a banshee riding the Chalean moors.

And brought Kerm running from the cave and Jobe from the kitchen as well as Drae, the Gill's younger

brother, from the potting shed.

As the men burst through the stable doors, Sara let out another terrible scream, then managed to jerk

her arm from Tiernan's steely grasp.

“What the demon are you doing, Your Grace?” Kerm barked, going to his sister's aid.

“There is a man in that manse who can read minds as easily as you can piss,” Tiernan said.

Sara clamped a hand over her mouth, realizing how close she had come to giving Genny Sorn's presence

away.

“What has that got to do with you manhandling our sister?” Drae seethed, taking a step toward Tiernan.

Prince of the royal house or not, no one mauled his sister and got away with it.

“Think, man!” Tiernan said. “If he can glean Syn-Jern's whereabouts from you, he'll hang our friend and

you along with him. Do you not ken?"

Kerm paled. “Sweet Merciful Alel!” he whispered. “Didn't think on that, I reckon."

“'Tis not all,” Sara also whispered. “The eel brought the lady here!"

“What lady?” Drae inquired, not having been privy to what had been said in the cave.

“His lady!” Sara said.

“The Outlaw's lady?” Kerm queried, stunned.

“The one and the same,” Tiernan agreed. “Now do you know why I had to hurt Sara?” He looked at

her. “My apologies, Mam'selle. It was nothing personal."

“What do we do?” Jobe asked, his ancient eyes flitting back and forth.

“Get word to the lady,” Tiernan replied. “Let her know her man is safe, but she is not to be thinking of

him. Warn her about Demonicus."

“And let her know her escort is alive,” Sara said. “She'll believe him dead, I'll wager!"

“Get back to the house and favor that arm,” Tiernan advised. “Let them think I punished you for

interrupting us. Act like I hurt you worse out here."

“Won't be no playacting on that part,” Sara muttered. She'd be favoring her arm for a day or two by her

reckoning. She gave the nobleman a look that Tiernan interpreted as mean and vengeful and he made a

mental note to be extra careful what he ate and drank for the next few days.

“Get back to the house, Sara,” Tiernan told her, then dismissed her as he turned to her brothers. “Kerm,

get down to the cave and make sure Syni is still sleeping. All we need is for him to wake up, hear his

wife's voice, and come storming upstairs like an enraged crocodile! Tell her man she's safe for now else

he'll be after coming up here, too. Caution him about his thoughts!"

“That's gonna be a hard thing, I'm thinkin',” Jobe said worriedly. “Ain't never had to think a'fore I

thought."

“I doubt Demonicus will be delving into the minds of the servants, but we have to be careful. He'll

gods-be-damned sure be trying to plumb mine and Trace's,” Tiernan told them.

“And the Viper's,” Sara reminded him.

“The only thought in that bitch's head is of herself,” Kerm sniffed.

“Not lately, it ain't,” Jobe put in. “Heard her up there on the balcony a'callin’ out the lad's name and

carryin’ on like she was a widow woman a'missing her old man!"

“Oh, my sweet lord, the magistrate!” Sara gasped. “Weir be bringing him again tonight to listen through

the walls!"

“We have to keep Weir from coming here at all,” Tiernan said urgently. “Demonicus will find out who

Weir is and Weir's connection to Syni's woman and we'll all be hanging from Derry Byrne side by bloody

side! I don't know about you folks, but I've of a mind to live to a ripe, stinking old age!"

“I'll ride into town and try to stop ’em,” Drae said. “Karl will be at the alehouse this time of the

afternoon. The Revenge will be docking around five of the clock. Saur won't be getting off the ship right

away so's we got a mite of time."

“Make sure you don't let on to Karl Krueger why he ain't to come out here as planned,” Kerm

cautioned. “I don't trust that bastard none at all."

“By now he'll know Demonicus Voire is here,” Tiernan insisted, “and won't be in a hurry to come here,

anyway!"

Sara grabbed Tiernan's arm. “Can we take this priest through the corridors to hear their confessions

instead of Karl?"

Tiernan rolled his eyes. “He doesn't give a rat's arse if Syn-Jern's name is cleared or not, woman. Don't

you think Demonicus knows who killed Otis Playe?"

Sara released the prince's arm. “I suppose you're right."

“Well it be a moot point now, don't it?” Jobe asked.

“How so?” Kerm replied.

“Seems to me that priest knows it's the lad what's leading the ‘Winds. That being the case, the lad is

done for I'm thinkin'.” Jobe shook his head. “They'll be after catchin’ him and bringing’ him to justice no

matter what. Old murder or not, the boy's done for."

Tiernan had to agree. Demonicus’ appearance had changed everything. It was imperative to get

Syn-Jern, Weir, Patrick, and Genny out of Virago as quickly as possible.

“Sara!"

Damn,” Sara grated. “That's the eel a'callin’ me."

“Go!” Tiernan hissed.

Drae and Sara left the stables together. The McGregor watched through a crack in the door as Trace

Sorn grabbed Sara's already bruised arm and yanked her up the steps of Holy Dale.

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Genny Sorn lay curled into a fetal position, her pillow damp from the tears she'd shed. Trembling, unable

to catch a decent breath for the horrid lump lodged in her throat, she stared unseeingly across the room,

grieving for Lin Su. The experience of her own defilement had been pushed firmly aside for, to her way of

thinking, there were more important matters at hand. With her thoughts on finding Syn-Jern, she paid no

heed to the door when it opened; did not acknowledge the servant who came to squat beside the bed.

“Milady, are you up to listening to me?” Sara asked urgently. When the still woman did not reply, Sara's

face filled with pity. “Milady, it will be all right."

Very slowly, Genny's eyes shifted to the strange woman kneeling beside her. There was kindness in the

plain little face, but there was understanding, as well. Instinctively, Genny knew the woman had endured

the same horrific situation she, herself, had, and had found a way to overcome the shame of it.

Sara smiled encouragingly. “Are you listening, Milady?” she repeated.

Genny nodded, but her eyes were wary.

“Then pay close heed to what I've gotta say because it's important,” Sara told her quietly. She lowered

her voice even more. “There is a man what's come to Holy Dale and he's one of them warlocks from the