WindLegends Saga 9: WindRetriever (48 page)

All in all, there were fifteen children with the women: Five of Gezelle's; six of Elizabeth McGregor's; three sons of Conar McGregor and Conar's only daughter, Brianna. They ranged in age from sixteen years to thirteen months, from Tristan McGregor, Conar's heir, to the babe who had sprang from Conar and Catherine's union.

"I like winter," twelve year old Regan DeLyle put in self-consciously. He was always surprised when no one challenged his statements. Sometimes that part of him that was of Raja's inheritance, reared its ugly head to goad him, but those times were becoming few and far between.

Regan had switched the affection he had developed for Elizabeth to Catherine and was genuinely happy with the way the woman seemed to treat him no differently than she did her husband's other offspring. If anything, she seemed to go out of her way to make him a part of the group he had for so long shunned and been kept separate from.

"Winter's nice," Catherine agreed. "Especially the snow." She looked back at Regan. "In my homeland, we go sledding quite often. I always beat my brothers."

"That's because you weigh less than them," Cody said in his scholarly fashion. "Gravity naturally would ...."

"Leave off, Codian," Tristan, the elder and the one they all looked to for the appropriate way to behave, warned him. "No one needs a lesson in physics."

Cody sniffed, arching one thick golden brow at his sister, Jillian, in annoyance. He loved Tris, but sometimes the man acted as though he knew all there was to know when he damned well didn't!

"I wish Conar could be here," Catherine commented as she paused to look out over the footbridge that spanned the sparkling stream. She looked at her daughter as Gezelle stood the baby down on the even ground. "He's missing so much of Brianna's growing up." She set the picnic basket down. "He should be here."

Meggie pursed her lips. "Ought not to have left that dimwit little sot over there in the first place," she snapped. "Only mischief will come of it, I'm telling you now."

Catherine squinted into the bright light that bounced off the water. "I'll tell you something Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 214

else," she said, her mouth tight. "If he's come to care for that simpering little nomad twit, I will make him regret it!" She clutched her fists in the folds of her skirt. "I'll take her away from him just as his first wife was taken from him." She glared at the water. "I'll drown the bitch!"

Meggie and Gezelle exchanged a quick look, both having heard the sentiments before, but never with quite the same amount of venom with which it was spoken at that moment.

"You don't think he's fallen in love with that woman, do you?" Meggie couldn't help but ask.

"He'd better not have," was all Catherine dared allow herself to answer.

"Something's been eating at you all week, girl," Meggie said. "And it ain’t just learning that the girl over there is expecting his bairn. You had to have known that would happen sooner or later."

"With Conar," Gezelle said dryly, "conceiving seems to be a given for any woman who sleeps with him more than once."

"Once can do it," Regan quipped. At the look of warning from the old woman, Meggie, he lifted his chin. "'Twas all it took to conceive me, Mistress Ruck."

"We don't need to be discussing such things around the children," Meggie intervened.

"It's not as though we don't know what Uncle Conar's doing," Kells A'Lex, one of Legion's sons put in.

"Well," Meggie snapped, "you don't need to be discussing it!"

Catherine walked to the footbridge and stood there, looking down into the water. "I had a dream about him last night."

Gezelle eased her hand out of Brianna's and grinned as the fat little girl wobbled unsteadily on her feet then promptly flopped down on her well-cushioned rear. "Oh, stop it!" Gezelle laughed as the baby started to cry. "You're no more hurt than I am."

Brianna looked up at her, her big gray eyes wide in her pudgy face, then she smiled, chuckled, and reached for a sprig of clover to stuff in her wet little mouth.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Gezelle admonished her and squatted down beside the child to make her spit out the clover.

"He was riding this huge white horse," Catherine said. Her voice was soft, hollow, as she spoke. "I've never seen such a huge horse before."

"Can't see the lad riding no white horse," Meggie said. "He's partial to black ones."

Catherine shook her head. "No, it was white. As white as snow." She put her hands on the guard rail of the footbridge, squatted down, sat, and dangled her legs over the planking, still holding onto the guard rail which was over her head. She peered intently into the water. "And he wasn't alone."

Gezelle glanced over at her. "Who was with him?"

Catherine shook her head again. "I couldn't tell who she was although I knew I was acquainted with her."

"How'd you know that?" Lenore, another of Gezelle's daughters, and a young woman who fancied herself in love with the man being discussed, asked.

"I really don't know, but I did."

"It was probably Papa's paramour," Tristan stated.

"No," Catherine disagreed. "It wasn't Rachel Asher."

"What was the dream about?" Cody asked. One of his favorite subjects was dream interpretation and he had spent many a pleasurable hour with Cayn, the Healer, learning about such things.

Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 215

Catherine laid her head against her left forearm. "He was riding along this mountain trail and there was a waterfall cascading in the background. There was a heavy scowl on his face, like he was very, very angry, and he was clutching the reins so tight, his knuckles were white."

"Maybe the trail was steep," Kells injected. "He could have been afraid of the incline."

"Papa isn't afraid of heights!" three year old Little Brelan exploded. "Papa isn't afraid of nothin'!"

"He's afraid of closed-in places," Tristan retorted. "Just like me."

"And with good reason," Cody added.

"The same reason," Tristan acknowledged, glancing at Cody, the second oldest child there.

"The ground was sloped steeply, but I had no sense of any great height," Catherine said.

"There was fear coming from your father, but it had nothing to do with where he was."

"Fear of what?" ten year old Lenore asked. She didn't really believe Conar McGregor could be afraid of anything. Even closed-in places like his son, Tristan, who she planned on marrying since she was more than aware that she couldn't have the father.

"Fear of himself," Catherine whispered, but only Meggie, who was standing the closest to her, heard her.

"Why do you say that, lass?" Meggie inquired, sitting down on the footbridge beside her.

Catherine shook herself. "It was just an impression I got."

"What happened in the dream, Aunt Cat?" Jarad, another of Legion's sons, asked.

For a moment Catherine didn't answer, then she hung her head, closed her eyes and told them what had brought her gasping from her slumber.

"I saw this black cloud coming at him. The wind started howling, keening, then it turned bitterly cold. Ice pellets fell from the sky and pierced the ground, shattered the rocks and froze the vegetation. Red flashes of light shot through the blackness and there was a horrible, horrible stench.

A smell of ...."

"Sulfur," Regan finished for her, glancing quickly at Tristan, then at Little Brelan who was nodding sagely.

"Yes," Catherine acknowledged, "sulfur." She shivered. "I saw him look up at the sky and smile."

"Smile?" Tristan queried, his brow furrowed. "You saw Papa smile at the black cloud?"

Catherine nodded. "I think he was happy to see it although in the short time I was with him, I never thought him to be excited by violent storms."

"Especially not that one," Regan mumbled.

"What happened then," Tristan asked. He was looking at Regan and their expression's were identical.

"He let go of the reins and held his arms out to the cloud," Catherine told them.

"He wouldn't have," Little Brelan cried out.

"But he did," Catherine said, unaware of the three little boys staring at her with horror and not seeing the intent way her own daughter was staring at her, her little fist jammed into her mouth.

"And although the woman with him tried to stop it from happening, Conar was drawn up into the cloud and disappeared."

Tristan winced, Regan groaned, Little Brelan shook his head angrily and stamped his foot in irritation. "Papa wouldn't have gone willingly with that bastard!" he shouted.

"Brelan!" Gezelle gasped. "You know better than to use such language!"

"Tell her, Tris!" Little Brelan yelled. "Tell her Papa wouldn't have gone with Raphian!"

"Hush!" Regan warned, glancing over at Meggie. The old woman was sitting there on the Charlotte Boyett-Compo WINDRETRIEVER 216

planks, her mouth a hard, surprised 'O'. He found her turning to look at him and knew she realized that the Outer Kingdom woman's dream was more prophesy than anything else.

"You're of the Craft," Tristan said, drawing the three women's attention to him. "Don't you understand what it is you dreamed, Lady?"

Catherine stared at him for a moment. So much like his father, she thought. Too much like his father. She buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

"He's in danger," she sobbed. "Mortal danger!"

Tristan caught Regan's attention and cocked his head away from the group. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked a little ways back up the path and stood there, his back to the group at the footbridge and waited for Regan and Little Brelan to join him.

"What do we do?" Regan asked.

"Go see Wyn," Tristan answered. "Someone will have to go after Papa."

"He won't like it," Little Brelan reminded them.

"She dreamed of the Domination," Regan snapped. "They are after him again. What choice do we have?"

"Who could the woman with him be?" Tristan thought out loud. He looked down at Regan.

"Raja?"

Regan shook his head. "She's not on this plane of existence or I would have sensed her before now."

"Even way over there?" Little Brelan scoffed.

"Aye," Regan growled. "To the ends of the earth, fledgling!"

"What about Raphaella?" Little Brelan asked. "Aunt Cat met her in Odess."

"I don't think so," Tristan disagreed. "I don't know who she is, but obviously she tried to protect Papa in the dream."

"There is precious little protection from Raphian," Regan snarled. "You know that well enough, Tristan."

Tristan flinched. "Aye," he said quietly. "That I do, little brother."

"So what do we do?" Little Brelan asked. His small face was screwed up much as his father's would have been when in deep thought that boded ill for whomever he was thinking of.

"Let's go find Wyn and tell him what we suspect. He can get the men of the Wind Force together and they can go back over there." Tristan turned and looked at the footbridge where the women and the rest of his siblings and the children he had grown up alongside were standing. "He won't let us go with them, but I think Meggie just might decide to take a vacation as she did last time."

As though she had felt the touch of his thoughts, Meggie Ruck turned and looked at Tristan.

Her smile was evil and her quick, almost imperceptible nod, told Conar's sons she had no intention of being left behind when the men of the Wind Force went after their father.

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"Stop brooding," Nate warned Nick.

"I ain’t broodin'!" Nick snarled.

"He's not in any trouble," Nate reminded his brother.

Nick's vulgar snort left no doubt as to his interpretation of their brother's peril. "Being married to that whorish bitch ain’t trouble enough for him, Newkern?" he exploded.

Nate sighed. They'd been through this at least a dozen times since Nate's spies had come back to camp to tell them the bad news.

"He married her over two months ago, Cap'n," the man had reported. "Legal-like. With a holy man. The prince took the vows without protest, they say."

"You're sure?" Nate had pressed. "Of his own accord?"

The spy had nodded quickly. "That's what I'm told. He's wearin' a weddin' ring and all."

The man pulled his right eye with a grimy index finger. "Looks to me like if'n he weren't happy

'bout the arrangements, he wouldn't be wearin' the ring. Don't it to you, Cap'n?"

"I suppose," Nate had conceded, wondering how on earth he was going to explain this to Nick. When he had, the explosion had been as bad as he had feared it would be.

"He couldn't have, damn it!" Nick had ranted. "The bitch had to have been holding a dagger to his throat!"

"Apparently not," Nate had said wryly. "If everything our men gathered is true, he's quite content where he is."

After a long moment of reflection, Nick had sworn hatefully then spat out his view on the matter. "Well that explains why he didn't want the nomad to know he was there, then, don't it?"

Nate had not understood the point. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Newkern!" Nick had hissed. "The brat up and marries Ben-Alkazar's sister without telling the man. He's got her preggies! Don't you
see
that?"

The thought had not crossed Nate's mind and when it did he turned a suffused dark red.

"Oh, shit!" he mumbled.

"Oh, shit is right!" Nick had thundered. "The slut's knocked up and I'll wager it might not even be Conar's!"

He had kicked sand onto his pallet. "It could be any swinging cock's within a thousand mile radius!"

"Not the best of situations, I agree," Nate had admitted, "but one that explains why Conar's staying hidden from Sajin."