Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (48 page)

Temple. He can read minds so we have to be real careful that we don't think nothing he might hear. You

understand?"

Genny's eyes focused sharply on the servant. “A sorcerer?” she whispered.

“One of them Brothers from the Abbey in Serenian,” Sara informed her, “and he's here looking for your

man. He's after arresting him."

Syn-Jern Sorn's wife was a credit to him at that moment for she did not give away by gasp of breath or

blink of eye that she knew who the serving woman meant. For all she knew, this could be a trap.

“My husband?” Genny stated in a flat voice. “I have no idea who you mean, Mam'selle."

Sara nodded, understanding. “He's in the cave down under the hidden cellar,” she continued, turning her

head to look at the closed door before she drew even closer to the bed and her voice lowered to a mere

breath of sound. “And so's that monkey man what was traveling with you."

At the vulgar term Viragonians had long ago given Chrystallusians, Genny's jaw clenched, but then she

realized what the woman had said and widened her eyes. “My traveling companion?” she queried. “He is

alive?"

“He's got himself a mighty dent in his side and lost him a whole heap of blood, but he's alive and sleepin’

right about now,” Sara explained. “That monkey man wrote down how many varmints attacked you.

Soon's The Outlaw heard what had happened to you, he just about busted a gut and we had to seebate

him."

Genny blinked. “Sea bait him?” she repeated.

“Knock him out, Milady!” Sara insisted. “Seebate him with tenerse."

“Ah,” Genny sighed. “Sedate,” she said, understanding. Against her better judgment, she trusted this girl.

She sat up. “You're telling me Lin Su is under the manor house and he's been drugged to keep him quiet.

Is that it?"

Sara shook her head. “No, Milady. Your husband was the one we had to knock out. The monkey man

is sleeping, none the worse for wear, I suppose. He'll be right as rain, although who would really know

the way he waves his arms about like the monkeys do!” She mimicked Lin Su's signing. “What is all that,

Milady?"

The abyss into which Genny had sunk was falling away behind her as she swung her legs over the side of

the bed. Her own misery laid aside, her thoughts at that moment were entirely on Syn-Jern. “Take me to

him,” she said.

Sara's mouth dropped open. “I can't do that, Milady!” She scrambled to her feet. “I can't take you to

him."

“Aye, you can,” Genny said. Syn-Jern needed her and she would do what she had to do to keep him

safe. “You can take me to Syni and you will, Mam'selle."

Sara shook her head. “Can't or they'll find out and if'n they find out, they'll find him and I ain't gonna

allow that to happen,” she said, her mouth set in a militant line. “So don't you be thinking you can make

me ‘cause the McGregor told me what I was to do and that is what I'm gonna do!"

The two women glared at one another for a moment, and then Genny let out a long, aggravated sigh. “I

appreciate what you are trying to do, but—"

“Sara Gill!” The strident female voice came from the hallway.

Sara cursed beneath her breath. “That's the viper back early!” she hissed.

“Sara!"

“I'm coming!” Sara yelled back. She turned, heading for the door, but found her sore arm in a brutal

grip. “Lords help me, don't tug on me thatta way!"

“Is that her?” Genny asked in a low, insistent voice. “Is that Rosa-Lynn Sorn?"

“Let go!” Sara whimpered, jerking her arm from Genny's grip. “Don't you royals got no other way of

getting’ a person's attention other than breaking their limbs?” She massaged her arm.

“Is that the bitch?” Genny ground out, her eyes flashing.

“Aye,” Sara mumbled. She flexed her arm, wincing at the tenderness.

“Sara!"

“Tell her you're in here,” Genny ordered. Her hands were clenched into fists and when Sara hesitated,

she took a threatening step toward the servant. “Tell her!"

Sara knew better than to argue. The look on Syn-Jern Sorn's wife's face would have scared the

staunchest warrior. “In here, Your Grace!” she called.

The door to the room was flung open and Rosa-Lynn Sorn barged in, her face ugly with displeasure.

“When I call you, you have better come, girl!” she spat. “You are one step from being dis..."

Genny found herself staring into the eyes of a woman she would have given her right teat to kill. The

bitch who had hurt Syn-Jern so deeply, who was partly responsible for having sent him to prison, was

standing only a few feet away, a haughty look on her face.

“Who the hell are you?” Rosa-Lynn demanded, advancing into the room.

“She be a guest of His Grace,” Sara explained, casting Genny a warning look. “Thieves set on her and

her man outside the Carbondale Gate and—"

“Why is she here?” Rosa-Lynn queried Sara although her full attention was centered on the strikingly

beautiful woman standing before her. Her gaze swept over Genny, the expression on her face leaving no

doubt she found the other woman lacking in some way.

“His Grace was kind enough to provide me a safe haven until I can be on my way,” Genny said, barely

feeling her fingernails sticking into the palms of her hands.

Rosa-Lynn lifted her chin in a belligerent way. “And pray tell when will that be, Madame?"

Genny shrugged indifferently. “When I feel strong enough, I suppose."

Despite the fact that Rosa-Lynn had fallen out of love with Trace Edward Sorn and was not in the least

enamored of his person—though she still enjoyed their occasional romp in bed—the green eyed monster

of jealousy made her lip lift with scorn. “I suggest,” she told the stranger, “you start feeling stronger this

very moment for I'll not have you intruding in my home!"

Genny arched her left eyebrow. “I'll go when I am feeling up to it, Madame and not a gods-be-damned

moment sooner!"

A gasp of outrage exploded from Rosa-Lynn and she would have leapt upon her tormentor had Trace

not entered the room to grab her arm to keep her from doing so.

“What are you doing in here?” Trace snapped. When his wife tried to yank her arm from his grip, he

pulled her against him. “I asked you what you were doing, Rosa-Lynn?"

“Get that whore out of my home, Sorn!” Rosa-Lynn spat; her eyes were flared in fury. “Get her out

before I slit her slutty throat!"

“Be still!” Sorn warned her and when she still struggled to free herself, raking at his hands with her long

nails, he backhanded her and sent her reeling across the room. Rosa-Lynn collided heavily with the

armoire and slid to the floor.

Despite her hatred of the woman, Genny almost felt sorry for Sorn's wife. Her husband's heavy signet

ring had torn open Rosa-Lynn's lip and blood ran from the injury. There would be a livid bruise on the

milk-white complexion of the woman's right cheek to attest to her husband's proclivity for violence.

“I am sorry, Milady,” Sorn said, his voice filled with contrition, “but oftentimes, that is the only way she

can be made to listen."

Sara had witnessed many such attacks on the person of the Duchess and could not have cared any the

less what happened to the woman; but she carried a great deal about the safety of The Outlaw's woman

and moved closer to Genny Sorn, her own body half-shielding Syn-Jern's wife.

“You'll be sorry you did that, Trace,” Rosa-Lynn whispered as she came clumsily to her feet. She wiped

the back of her hand across her torn mouth. “I promise you that you will."

“Get the hell to your room, woman,” Trace snapped, narrowing his eyes. “And stay there!"

Rosa-Lynn straightened her shoulders. “You will be sorry,” she repeated. She gave Genny a murderous

look then—head high—she walked regally from the room.

Trace drew in a long, calming breath, then turned to Genny, an apologetic smile on his lean face. “I am

sorry you had to witness that, Milady, but my wife often exhibits uncontrollable fits of violence that can

only be quelled by the use of force. Please accept my sincerest apologies for my barbaric conduct."

Sara rolled her eyes.

Genny, all too aware of whom this man was and his connection to Syn-Jern dug her nails even deeper

into her palms as she forced a smile to her lips. “I quite understand, Milord,” she said. She flinched as he

hurried toward her, reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.

“You are recovered from your ordeal, I pray?” he asked, placing a soft kiss on Genny's hand.

A wild desire to snatch her hand from his and wipe it on her skirt stiffened Genny's body, but she

managed to hold onto her tight smile. “I am ... better,” she said, lowering her eyes, grinding her teeth to

keep from hissing.

“I have sent word to the magistrate and he is on his way here,” Trace informed her. “He must be told

about the attack and my punishment of your defiler."

Sara's heart began to pound as heavily in her chest as she was sure the heart of The Outlaw's wife was

pounding in hers. The two women exchanged a wary look and Sara's head dipped in acknowledgment of

the silent request. She curtsied, mumbled something about a cup of strong tea for the lady and left.

“Please, Milady,” Trace asked, “rest yourself.” He led her to the bed and insisted she sit down. “My

servant will bring you refreshment."

“You should not put yourself out for me,” Genny told him, easing her hand from his grasp.

“Lady, I would move mountains if it would bring the color back to your lovely cheeks and a smile to

your gentle mouth,” Trace declared. “Tell me what I can do to help."

Genny put her hands in her lap and entwined the fingers. She stared at them so she would not have to

look at Sorn. “I am tired, Milord,” she whispered. “It is hard to think."

“Your pardon, Milady!” he was quick to say, coming to his feet. “Where are my manners?” He bowed

to her. “Rest and when the magistrate comes, I will handle the situation myself so you will not have to be

subjected to his boorish questions."

Before she could stop him, Sorn reached for her hand and caressed it.

“Until then?” he inquired. His handsome face was hopeful.

Not trusting herself to speak, Genny merely nodded.

“Feel free to make use of my servants, Milady,” he told her as he walked to the door. “They will be at

your command.” With that said, he left.

“Son of a bitch!” Genny seethed. Her eyes gleamed hotly with loathing as she scrambled from the bed

and hurried to the window. Easing aside the drapery, she surveyed the countryside beyond the

oyster-shell driveway. Seeing no one loitering below, she went to the door, cracked it, and poked her

head cautiously into the empty corridor. Relieved there was no one in sight, she squeezed through the

opening and padded quietly toward the stairs.

* * * *

Having made a trip to Ciona to look for his sister and not finding her, Weir Saur was as angry as he was

afraid. Upon seeing Kerm standing on the pier as the Revenge's lines were being tied to the dock, sour

sweat began popping out on Weir's face. Even from the distance that separated them, Saur could see the

anxiety puckering the Viragonian's face. Instant unease crept down Weir's back and left a wide band of

icy flesh in its wake.

“What's he doing here?” Neevens queried.

“Something's wrong,” Weir stated. He shuddered. “Something is bad wrong."

“You reckon the lad's been caught?” Stevens put in.

“By the gods, I hope not,” Weir whispered. He swallowed. His imagination put a heavy coil of hemp

around his neck and he reached up to stroke his throat.

Thankful Patrick was on the Revenant and that good ship was twenty miles away, Weir ran the back of

his hand over his mouth, felt the sweat come away on his flesh, and told his men to stay on board.

“What you planning?” Neevens growled.

“I'm going to talk to Gill and find out what's got him looking like he's got a corncob up his arse,” Weir

answered.

“You ain't going alone,” Neevens snorted.

Weir ignored the remark. “If it looks like there's going to be trouble, cast off those lines and get the hell

out of here as fast as the Wind will carry you.” He turned to Neevens. “Do you hear me?"

Neevens nodded, turned his head, and spat a stream of tobacco juice over the railing. “I hear you,” he

said, but had no intention of allowing harm to befall his captain.

Weir appreciated the loyalty he saw gleaming militantly on Neevens’ face, but he couldn't allow the man

to disobey orders for one very important reason.

“If Syni's been taken and if something happens to me, it will be up to you to find my sister and get her to

safety. Do you understand?” His gaze bored into Neevens. “She's all I've got left in this world and I'll see

her safe.” He put a firm hand on Neevens’ shoulder. “Will you see to that for me?"

Put in that light, Neevens nodded. “Consider it done, Cap'n,” he replied.

“Good. Now if I'm not back within half an hour, I want you to shove off. Rendezvous with the Revenant

and make for Ciona."

Neevens’ lips pursed. “I ain't leavin’ you here!"

“When you get to Ciona,” Weir said as though he hadn't heard Neevens’ denial, “disembark and get

every manjack you can together. Ride hell bent through the Gate and head straight for Holy Dale. If

Syn-Jern's been taken, we'll take the eel and his venomous whore and trade them for Syn-Jern."

“Pardon me for saying my mind, Cap'n,” Stevens drawled, “but who'd give a rat's arse about Trace

Sorn and that bitch-wife of his'n?"