WindSeeker (40 page)

immediate halt as his heart ceased to beat.

She spoke gently to her lover; he swooped her into his arms and held her as though she were a babe in

swaddling. His lips descended, claimed hers in a heady kiss that left nothing to the imagination concerning

how the man felt about her.

A low groan of agony came from Conar. He shook his head, as though in doing so he could erase what

he witnessed. He was about to run as fast as he could to the safety of the inn, when the man’s eyes lifted

and stared directly into his. A slow, triumphant smile spread over the man’s dark face and, with his gaze

on Conar, he returned his lips to the woman, tightening his arms around her.

"Bastard," Conar whispered, his breathing rapid, shallow. He backed away from the window and

stumbled, almost fell before righting himself. A throaty chuckle of challenge came from the stable, the

man’s taunting barb of victory, and Conar hurried away, weaving his way back to the tavern like a

drunkard.

He took the stairs two at a time, slammed the door to his room and tore the shirt from him, shredding it

in his anger, his teeth pulled back in a feral snarl of animal rage. "I’ll kill him!"

When nothing more than a few shreds were left of his shirt, he dropped it, stomped on it, then slammed

his body face onto the bed, drawing up his knees and clasping his pillow beneath his chest. He buried his

face into the down-filled softness. He tried to block out what he had seen, but the vision remained. Tears

built, and he moaned. Flipping onto his back, he flung away the pillow and crossed an arm over his eyes.

"What have you done?" he whispered. "What in the gods’ name have you done, Liza?"

Outside, he heard the soft clip-clop of horse’s hooves and knew the lovers were leaving. He wanted to

get up, to stop them, to run his broadsword through the son-of-a-bitch’s belly. But he did none of those

things. He listened until the sound of hooves could no longer be heard, and then he cried.

* * *

Morning found him haggard and moody. Surly when asked questions, rude when he answered. He sat

with men he considered one-step above moronic. He declined their polite invitation to a hardy breakfast

with the town’s officials with a brusque snobbishness and hateful sneer that stunned them.

"I’ve no time for such stupid shit!" he snarled.

He returned to the inn and snapped at his men to make ready for the return trip to Boreas.

"Aren’t we going to Seaflower, Your Grace?" one man asked, referring to the summer estate where it

was rumored the royal family of Oceania was spending the hot days.

"Hell, no!" Conar screamed. "Get my gods-be-damned nag saddled and shut your stupid mouth,

Matheny!"

"Do you want one of us to go after your lady, then?" one of the others had asked.

Conar pinned the man with a look as hot as the fires of hell. "If anyone goes after the bitch, it will be me,

Dixon!"

With a suddenness that had the men on their feet in terror, he jumped up, slamming his chair against the

wall and fled the room amidst shouts of his name and rank. He was in the stables long before his men

could follow.

He didn’t bother to saddle his mount. He simply grabbed a handful of the stallion’s black mane and

swung himself onto the broad back. He sent the steed flying over a fence just as one guard called out in

confusion.

"That’s the way to Oceania, Highness!"

"Pregnant," he hissed beneath as Seayearner tore up the road with pounding hooves.

His jaw tightened. He had gotten her pregnant before she left Boreas and none of her kin had bothered

to let him know.

Chapter 3

A curtain parted at one of the inn’s windows. The soft beige lace trembled then grew taut as a slim

pale hand touched the glass that separated it from the rider racing across the pastures.

"He saw us," the man said as he came up behind her and gathered her long black hair into a loose queue

behind her neck.

"I know," came the listless reply.

"It shouldn’t take him long to reach Seaflower from here. It’s not more than a day’s ride."

"If he goes there at all."

Turning her around, the man pulled her quivering body against his firm chest. "He took the bait,

Elizabeth." He felt her sobs. "Shush, little one. The Domination fights dirty and it will take every bit of

your power and courage to fight them."

"I don’t like deceiving him." She lifted her tear-drenched face to his concerned one. "He thinks we

were…"

He put a hand on her lips. "He saw what we wanted him to see. Nothing more. The conclusion he

reached was his own doing. Let him deal with his demons, Elizabeth." He let her move out of his arms

and watched as she sat on his bed, a bed she had not shared with him the night before, or at any other

time.

"He will think me a whore." She bowed her head. "He already believes that."

"No, he doesn’t."

"He called me—"

"He’s hard-headed, Sweeting. He always has been. He knows perfectly well you had nothing to do with

Galen’s scheme. More than likely he sent you away because he couldn’t deal with what had happened to

him at the Abbey."

"I tried to understand that."

"Understanding Conar is difficult at best," he quipped.

Liza looked into his twinkling brown eyes and couldn’t help but smile. He was the kind of man who had

that effect on every woman with whom he came into contact. In that regard he was a lot like Teal du

Mer. "Do you understand him?"

He shrugged. "I don’t try. His actions are often incomprehensible to intelligent beings."

She had known this man all her life it seemed. He was her brother Grice’s best friend. The two men

were so close she had often envied their male bonding. It was hard to tell where one of their personalities

left off and the other began.

"Is that why you don’t tell people you are his brother?" she asked. "Because you don’t understand the

things he does?" She saw his smile, easy and carefree.

"Mostly because I don’t want them to pity me for being kin to the fool." He frowned, but she could tell it

was pretend. "Conar and I don’t get along. Never have."

Brelan Saur had wandered into and out of the Oceanian palace at Seadrift, and into and out of her life,

many times during her engagement to Conar. Never once in all that time did either her parents or Grice

tell her he was Conar’s half-brother.

"He’s a snooty little bastard," Brelan had explained when she found out. "Who would claim such a

bore?"

She had turned her head to one side and finally saw the slight resemblance between the two men. It was

in the way they frowned. "Why don’t you two get along?"

"He hates me even more than he hates Galen," Brelan assured her with a wicked gleam.

"And why does he dislike you?" She couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Brelan Saur. With his long, thick,

wavy brown hair and warm brown eyes, his somewhat rough voice and gentle smile, his personality could

melt even the coldest of female hearts. With his keen wit and superb intelligence, his skill with sword,

bow, and horse, his dogged determination to be anyone’s friend, he could gain the respect and

admiration of any male.

His roguish features were definitely McGregor. Deeply cleft chin, dimples, heavy brows, and full, sensual

lips. He was the same height and weight of his younger brother, Conar, and they had the same athletic

build. Unfortunately for him, as Brelan would often lament, he developed a mass of dark hair on his

broad chest whereas Conar had a light patch in the center of his.

"I didn’t say the man disliked me, Elizabeth," he had finally answered her. "I said the man hated me!"

Brelan tweaked her nose and then flung himself beside her on the beach. "He envies my looks."

The two men had an identical ego, too, she thought with despair at the time. She tried to make her face

stern but his little boy grin made her giggle.

"All right, then," she admonished, "why does he
hate
you?"

"Who knows?" Brelan shook his head. "We never hit it off as boys. I played a few dirty tricks on him.

He’d run and tell Papa. I’d get my ass whipped; he’d gloat. He’s good at that, have you noticed? And

then I’d do something else rotten to the little bastard and he’d again snitch on me; I’d get whipped. I’d

usually find a way to get even with him, get my backside burned still again." He chuckled. "Once I hung

him from his ankles from a tree deep in the forest. He couldn’t scream because I’d gagged him. When

Hern went looking for him and brought him back, he told Papa I tried to kill him. I’ve often thought the

man has no sense of humor." Brelan frowned mightily and then gazed at her from under his thick lashes.

Liza laughed. "He has the same wicked sense of humor you do, Brelan Saur!" she accused.

"You think so?" He feigned surprise. "I’ve found him to be a stick-in-the-mud. Maybe you’ve seen a

different side to him." His smile drifted away. "Maybe you
bring out
a different side to him."

Now, looking at him as he sat beside her on the bed, Liza couldn’t help but admire Brelan Saur. Grice

had often said his friend was an enigma to many a seasoned lass. He couldn’t be understood unless he

was willing to be.

"Don’t worry, Elizabeth," he told her as he held her against the cool of his muslin shirt. "I’ll see to it you

and that idiot brother of mine get together again."

* * *

"Then where the hell is she?" Conar snapped at his brother-in-law, Prince Grice Wynth.

Wynth folded his arms over his chest and glared at Conar. "Anya Elizabeth is a grown woman. She’s

with a family friend in Ciona."

Hearing the man admit that Liza was in Ciona came as a shock. Although Grice didn’t say who she was

with, the implication was clear. Conar turned sharply on his heel and stomped away. Bringing up that

bastard’s name would not be wise. There were spies about the keep at Seaflower; his father’s, as well as

the Tribunal’s. Causing a scene was sure to be reported. Accusing his wife of adultery would have been

tantamount to having a death proclamation posted for her; in order to keep the bloodlines pure, the laws

of the Serenian Tribunal were explicit where royal dalliances were concerned. Grice Wynth knew that,

and he wouldn’t chance giving Conar the name of the
family friend
Liza was with.

Galloping across the dunes with their thick growth of sea oats, Conar cursed the entire Wynth family. He

cursed that foul-looking brother of his, too.

A grim smile touched Conar’s lips. There were ways of dealing with Brelan Saur without Liza having to

suffer alongside him.

* * *

Captain Holm Van de Lar waved at the tall blond youth as the boy galloped at breakneck speed along

the harbor road. He smiled, laughing at the dust swirling behind the hooves of the big black gelding.

"I bet His Grace looked like that when he was Lord Wyn’s age!" he told his first mate. "Sits his pony

quite well, he does."

The first mate turned a jaundiced eye to the youth who raced by on the warhorse-in-the-making. "Shit,

Cap’n! That ain’t no pony. That be a mighty beastie if ever I seen one." He coiled a length of hemp

around his bulging forearm and spat a dark brown stream of tobacco juice over the ship’s rail. He

nodded at the even bigger stallion that followed the gelding. "His Grace’s mount be as big as the longboat

on this here ship. You call him a pony, too?"

"I call him a magnificent steed, Mister Tarnes," the captain answered, waving at the Crown prince as the

man called a greeting in passing. "Care to come on board, Highness?" Holm yelled across the quay, not

sure if Prince Conar could hear him from where he sat his black horse.

Conar shook his head. "Not today, Holm. Got business with the King!" he yelled, putting his heels to

Seayearner’s flanks and urging the horse after the blond youth who was calling back to him in challenge.

"They be a pair, they do." Mister Tarnes laughed. "He be the prince’s oldest, eh?"

"Myra Luz’s boy, aye." Holm nodded. "One of many the bonny prince has. Mostly boys, I hear tell. His

Grace is much a man when it comes to breeding fine, strapping lads." He pulled his cap from his head

and ran it over the sweat on his beefy face, and then over the sparsely covered high forehead. "I heard

from a shipper in Oceania that the little princess be carrying one for him."

Tarnes glanced up at his captain. "Hope she be coming home from that place soon enough." He followed

the dash of streaking black horseflesh disappearing up the curved road leading to the keep. "I hear he’s

been in a rare mood since she left him."

The captain chuckled. "So I’ve heard tell, Mister Tarnes." He heard a noise and turned. "You drop that

cargo, boy, and I’ll keelhaul your skinny ass from one side of the Boreal Sea to the other! Look lively

there!"

As he drew rein before galloping across the drawbridge into the keep, Conar could hear Holm’s bellow.

He snorted. Holm Van de Lar was a man to be reckoned with when he was mad. His gruff voice and

hulking build made many a man hesitate before taking him on. Those who had, very much regretted it;

Holm gave no quarter.

Glancing back at the tall ship sitting anchor in the moon-shaped crescent of harbor beyond the keep,

Conar felt at peace, despite the bad news he had to give his father concerning Liza and Brelan Saur. On

the sea voyage back from Seaflower Keep on board the Serenian Star, he had worked out what he was