WindSeeker (44 page)

relinquished all claims her and that puzzled Brelan, yet he certainly didn’t think overlong on his brother’s

stupidity. As far as Brelan was concerned, Conar wasn’t too bright at the best of times. Giving up such a

woman had to be the stupidest thing any man could do, and now, Brelan faced a dilemma both enticing

and just a tad more than frightening.

He had made the decision that she was his to protect, and he would as long as there was breath in his

body and she allowed his love to claim her. The hounds had been sent after him following Ciona, just as

he knew they would be, but soon even that token attempt at revenge had been laid to rest. He was at a

loss to explain why Conar and the King had given up this woman. He was sure he, himself, never could.

And another thing came to him with astonishing certainty—it would be wicked vengeance to have

Conar’s woman as his own. To make her totally his and pleasure her in ways Conar had never dreamed.

To spoil Conar for her for the rest of their lives. To take her away from his brother.

"Brelan?" she asked softly.

"Aye, love?" He lifted her chin and looked into her face. As though the very earth had stopped moving,

he felt the breath catch in his throat. It pained him to the very core of his existence to see her hurting.

Her voice was that of a wounded, lost child seeking reassurance. "I will belong to you one day, Milord."

His willpower dissolved in the face of her hurt. It was almost like a length of chain falling away from his

treacherous heart. "Is that what you want, Sweeting?" he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. If she

told him she wanted his brother, he would move heaven and earth to bring Conar to her and keep him

with her.

"It is what the gods have decreed."

"But is it what you want?"

"Do you love me, Milord?"

He gave himself up to the ache. Slowly, his lips descended, and he gently put his mouth on the sweetness

of hers. With infinite care, his lips played against the velvet smoothness—asking, answering, begging, and

demanding. He pulled away at last and locked his gaze on hers. "With all my heart and soul and being,

Elizabeth, and I always shall."

She laid her head against his shoulder. "I would be honored to be yours, Milord," she whispered into his

shirt.

He was aware that she hadn’t answered his question, but her words had set him free. He was free!

Freed by her words and her soft, willing mouth. He let go of his self-control and his arms tightened

around her. He shut out the silent sobs still torturing them both.

"I will care for you, Elizabeth. I will protect you with my dying breath and provide for you."

"And my babe?" she asked, raising her head. "Will you take my babe as your own?"

He stroked her belly. "As the gods are my witnesses, Elizabeth: I wish to Them that the babe was mine.

I will guard it with my life as I will guard its mother; and I will love it as freely and with as much strength

as I love the mother who carries it!" He kissed the top of her head. "You will never, ever want for

anything."

A salty tear fell against her lips; she flicked out her tongue to taste it. Bitter. As bitter as the pain in her

heart. The only thing she wanted in life, Brelan couldn’t give.

No one could.

It took only one look for King Gerren to turn scarlet red with rage.

His hushed, angry order made Legion jump to do his bidding. The door was quickly, silently closed to

block any unwanted eyes from viewing the scene that made King Gerren unfit for human companionship.

"
Get the hell out of that bed
!" he bellowed. His fingers clenched so hard that half-moon indentions

where his nails had dug scored the confines of his palms.

Legion backed away from his father, awed at the way the man’s body seemed to grow bigger. His ears

rang mightily, for his father’s unexpected bellow had been loud enough to shake the very timbers of the

keep’s foundations.

"
Stay where you are, mam’selle
!" the King ordered.

Conar slowly got up. He was all too aware of his nakedness, for the King’s gaze swept down him with

insulting distaste. He ached to cover himself, but he knew that would only make matters worse. So he

stood still, aware Legion was looking back at him with shock and disappointment.

Gerren ground his teeth. He tried to curb the wild panic flooding him with enough adrenaline to move a

mountain. His breathing came shallow and fast; his heart raced inside his ribcage. He had not counted on

any of this. He had simply come to speak with his lazy, sullen son and, finding the door unlocked, had

barged in—in a fine state of pique—for Conar had not been seen about the keep in three days. What the

King had encountered had nearly given him a heart attack. His angry shout had brought Legion running

out of his room and sent him colliding into his father’s broad back.

"Papa, I can explain…" Conar began.

"
Shut up
!" Gerren took a step closer to the bed, turning to the crying woman who hovered under the

protection of the silken coverlet drawn up to her chin.

Gezelle’s shoulders shook with fear. Her hair was tumbled wildly about her shoulders in a froth of black

foam; her lips were swollen and bruised from Conar’s kisses; and her eyes, locked on Conar, were

round in her white face. But it was her pitiful whimpers that brought the King’s rage under control.

Gerren took a calming, steadying breath, and used every ounce of his skill to speak in a voice that

resembled normalcy. "Mam’selle? You will look at me, Mam’selle."

She brought her head around to her King. She thought she saw death in those stern globes and moaned

in abject terror.

"You have nothing to fear from me," the King said softly. "Not if you tell the truth."

"She’s scared to death, Papa. Let me…" Conar felt his father’s fury wash over him like a drowning

wave of ice water.

"
You, sir, have done more than enough already
!" He took a step toward Conar, stopped, and let out

a harsh breath. "
More than enough
!"

"Papa," Legion said. "She thinks she’ll be put to death."

Gerren looked at the girl. "You are not at fault here, so nothing is going to happen to you. Tell me the

truth."

Gezelle nodded in understanding. Her heart went out to the young prince, forced to stand stiffly beside

the bed, his face filled with shame.

"Look at me, Gezelle!" the King commanded. "Did this man force you to his bed?"

"Papa…" Conar reeled as the back of his father’s hand caught him fully across the mouth. He stumbled

into the nightstand and scattered lamp and water pitcher to the floor.

"
I was not speaking to you, sir
!" He turned back to Gezelle. "Do not lie to me, Mam’selle. Do not

think to protect him. Answer me truthfully and no harm will come to you. Did he force you to his bed?"

Gezelle was torn between her sense of duty to her King, her promise to her grandmother never to lie,

and her desire to protect the only man she had ever loved. Her eyes darted to Conar as he wiped a

smear of blood from his torn lip. She burst into tears. What could she say that would not hurt him?

As though he had read her mind, the King made the decision for her. "You will not protect him,

Mam’selle. He will be punished either way; but I will know the truth of your involvement. Did this man

force you against your will?"

"Tell him, Gezelle," Conar said.

King Gerren turned to glare at his son, but kept his hands to himself. His angry look flitted down his son

as though he found him loathsome to behold.

"I love him, Majesty!" she wailed. "I would do anything he asked of me!"

Conar closed his eyes to the pain in her voice. He had known all along how she felt. He had used that

love, had made it dirty with his insatiable appetite. He could hear his father’s long inhalation of disbelief

and his longer exhalation of shame. What Legion was thinking he could only guess, for he was too

ashamed to glance at his big brother.

"You have not answered my question," the King warned. "I will know the truth of it."

She brought up her hand, unaware that the cover had slipped from her bosom so that all three men were

rewarded with the glorious sight of her naked breasts.

"Majesty, please. I came to him willingly enough," she said, trying to protect him. "He did not force me."

She pulled the coverlet across her breasts.

"But he seduced you and not the other way around, is that not so?"

"I made her come to my bed," Conar said in a dull voice, knowing she would never admit it.

"Your Grace, do not!"

"I gave her no choice in the matter."

Gerren faced his son. "Are you that anxious to have the Tribunal flay the flesh from your worthless hide?"

"I’ll stand whatever punishment you wish to mete out, Highness, but I would appreciate it if you would

send her back to her room. She should not be held accountable for my actions." He raised his chin. "Only

I am responsible for those."

Gerren looked back at the girl. "Knowing you as I do, Mam’selle, I am sure you will not mention this

episode to anyone. You may go back to your room and everything will be as it was. I hold no anger at

you, Dearling."

"Majesty, he—"

"There is nothing you can say that will alter my low opinion of this man. Be quiet now. That is my order."

He turned his back on her to pierce his son with a steely-eyed glint. "Go to your brother’s room and wait

there for me." Conar started to pick up his breeches, but his father’s angry growl stopped him. "You

seem to enjoy taking off your clothing. Leave it off!"

He glanced up at his father, a red flush of shame covering his already stricken face. But he straightened

up, dropping the breeches, and with his spine straight, walked to the door. Legion opened it, and Conar

stepped down the hall to Legion’s room with all the dignity he could muster.

A’Lex couldn’t trust himself to speak. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. He was horrified

for Conar, embarrassed for Gezelle. He could only surmise what his angry father would do to Conar; but

in all fairness to the King, Conar well-deserved whatever it was going to be. He was sure it wouldn’t be

anywhere near the severity of the Tribunal’s wrath if they got wind of today’s happenings. He ushered his

brother into his room, standing silently with him until their father joined them.

"Stand at the head of the stairs, Legion," the King told him.

"Perhaps I should stay, Papa."

"And perhaps you should not! This is between your brother and me!" He pointed to the door. "Make

sure no one,
no one
, comes up those stairs until I am finished!"

Legion took a last look at his younger brother and left, his head filled with the look of utter hopelessness

on Conar’s face.

Gerren began to unbuckle his wide leather belt. He saw stark incredulity on Conar’s face.

"You mean to whip me?"

Gerren lifted a finger to point at Legion’s writing desk. "Bend over it."

"Papa, you can’t mean to…"

Gerren took three steps and came nose to nose with his son, impaling him. "Do as you are told, sir!

Don’t make me tell you again, or so help me, Conar, I
will
turn you over to the Tribunal!"

"Papa—"

His father slapped him. Conar’s head snapped to the side, his already torn lip splitting further. He turned

hurt eyes back to Gerren. "I am not a child to be whipped, Highness."

"And you will not be whipped like one, either!" The King spun him around and forced him across the

desk. He put one heavy hand in the center of his son’s back and drew the belt over his shoulder. "Don’t

open your mouth until I give you permission to do so. Is that clear?"

Conar resigned himself to the whipping. He gripped the far edge of the writing desk. His nod was all the

King needed before the punishment began.

His father had never spanked him. The royal sons were never punished, never whipped. Someone else

was whipped in their stead. Among the royal sons, Conar was the only one to have ever experienced a

whipping, and he thought he knew what to expect, but what his father doled out was not what Conar

remembered from his childhood at the Abbey.

When the belt came down on his bare flanks, a stinging agony ripped across his flesh. He gasped,

shocked at the heaviness of his father’s hand. As stroke after stroke landed on his rear, Conar ground his

teeth to keep from crying out. His father had been right, he wasn’t being whipped like a child. No child

could withstand this pain. His flesh was soon on fire. He felt something drip down his thighs and knew it

was blood. One final hit made him grunt and the belt was stilled.

"Turn and look at me!" Gerren trembled from head to toe, amazed he had it in him to hit Conar so hard.

The young man’s buttocks were criss-crossed with fiery red lines, some bleeding.

There was now an accusing expression on Conar’s face. Just looking at the closed, set face nearly drove

Gerren to the brink of murder. "Wipe that look off your face or I’ll turn your ass over that desk again!"

Conar turned his head away from his father’s intense glare. Again, he was acutely aware of his

nakedness, even more aware of the shame flooding over his flesh, of the pain on his rump and the trickle

of blood on his legs.

"
Look at me, Conar Aleksandro
!
Don’t you dare take your eyes off me
!
If you do, I’ll beat you until