Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (11 page)

“What is settled?” Duncan rose slowly.

“You shall issue a royal edict stating it is necessary to offer Kaelan's hand in Joining to satisfy the

depletion of the Depository funds. You'll show great remorse at having to do this, but it must be done if

the Keep is not to be bankrupted this winter."

“But how will I decide on the right bride for him?"

Elga grinned. “That's the easiest part, my love. We simply sell your brother to the highest bidder!"

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Chapter Fourteen: Holy Dale Manor

“Gillian, listen to me!"

“No!” she yelled. “Just leave me be, Hesar!” She snatched up her half-dry wool coat and ran out the

door.

“GET BACK HERE!” Nick shouted. He cast an apologetic look at Kaelan, then tore after his sister.

The sound of his heavy footfalls tripping down the stairs shook the walls.

Kaelan's shoulders slumped and he eased himself to the bed. He thrust out his right leg, massaged his

thigh where the pain always dwelt when the weather turned cold. Listening to the angry voices coming up

from below stairs, he knew Nick had caught Gillian before she could venture out into the blizzard. Lifting

his head, he stared at the window where snowflakes clung to the cracked glass. It was night-most likely

close to midnight-and beyond the portal was a darkness almost as deep as the agony in his soul.

“I took the bloody coat away from her!” Nick snarled as he came stomping back into the chamber. He

heaved the offending garment across the room. “But she refuses to come back upstairs!"

“Leave her be, Nick,” Kaelan sighed. “She'll come up when the cold gets to her."

“Stubborn little twit,” Nick proclaimed. He plopped down in the straight back chair. “Consider yourself

lucky you didn't....” He stopped as Kaelan turned an anguished face to him. Nick shook his head. “By

the gods, but you still love her, don't you?"

Kaelan turned away from the sympathy he saw in Nick's eyes. “With all my heart,” was the quiet reply.

Nicholas Cree sat there for a long moment, just watching the slumped posture of his companion. A part

of him warned him not to dredge up the past; that it would do no one any good if he did. But another part

of him was torn between a need to know what had really happened that summer night and the desire to

understand why it had happened at all.

“There's been no other, milord,” Nick said softly. “I doubt there ever will be."

Kaelan lowered his head. “Another sin for which I have to atone."

“When Elga came to me,” Nick said, “and told me what you had said to her, I wanted to come after

you."

A faint smile touched Kaelan's lips. “You should have."

Nick looked down at the floor. “Would it have changed anything?"

“No.” The one word was a heartbreak of a whisper.

Hurt passed over Nick's broad face. “Why, milord? Just tell me why."

Kaelan rubbed his thigh, kneading the bone-deep pain that plagued him. He stared across the room: past

the peeling wallpaper, the mildewed wood, the cracked plaster. Not seeing any of it, but rather the

magnificence of his brother, the Jarl's, bedchamber where pure gold and crystal fixtures vied with the

finest Chrystallusian silk and Chalean lace to adorn Duncan's sleeping quarters. If he but drew in a breath

deep enough, he thought he might could smell Frieda's perfume and the incense his brother's wife always

burned there.

“Duncan always hated me,” Kaelan said, remembering a childhood full of slights and cruel practical

jokes. “I would imagine he still does."

Nick looked up from his contemplation of the scuffed bare wood floor. “You're never mentioned at

Court, milord."

A soft, self-contemptuous laugh came from the Viragonian prince. “Out of sight; out of mind, eh,

Nicky?"

“There are those of us who remember you and still speak well of you."

Surprised, Kaelan looked around. “Who?"

“Gunter. Me. Our father.” He shrugged. “My brother, Ruan.” He raised his chin. “We might not have

understood why you did what you did, but we don't condemn you for it, either.

“Gillian does,” Kaelan reminded him with a hurt look.

Nick lifted his hands as though to ask: who can tell what a woman is likely to do?

Kaelan shook his head. “I did the one thing I swore I would never do.” He returned his gaze to the far

wall.

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Chapter Fifteen: Five years and nine months earlier: Tempest Keep

“No."

Duncan looked up from his writing desk. “I beg your pardon?"

“I said no."

The Jarl leaned back in his chair. “Did you hear me give you a choice, Kaelan?"

Kaelan Hesar stared his brother down, knowing Duncan was not of the bent to keep eye contact with

someone he knew he was misusing. When the Jarl looked away, Kaelan nodded. “Who put you up to

this, Duncan? De Viennes?"

Angry that he could not maintain the posture of authority, Duncan threw his pen down and pushed back

from the desk. “No one runs the Court, but me!” He got up and strode heavily to the mantle to retrieve

his pipe.

“You couldn't possibly have come up with so grand a scheme on your own, Duncan,” Kaelan scoffed.

“You're not that intelligent."

Duncan had been about to light his pipe from a blazing piece of fat lighter, but stilled, jerking his head

around to glare at his brother. He straightened and pointed the stem of his pipe at Kaelan. “Insult me

once more and I'll have them take the hide of your back piece by bloody piece!” He slammed the pipe

back into its rack. “I am tired of your disrespect, boy!"

“Boy?” Kaelan hooted. “I am two years your junior, Duncan!"

“And I am also your Lord and Master or do you still, after nearly three years, conveniently forget I am

Jarl?” Duncan roared.

“I've not forgotten,” Kaelan snarled. “Nor are you likely to ever let me do so!"

Duncan's eyes narrowed. “Be careful how you speak to me, Kaelan Hesar. I grow tired of your

insolence."

The younger man flung his head back, the dark sweep of his raven hair flying away from his forehead.

He stared at his brother. “Insolence?” he questioned with disbelief. “Insolence, my arse!” he snapped.

Lady Frieda Hesar glanced at Kaelan. A tremulous smile hovered on her pale lips. “Good eve, Kaelan,”

she said. She cast a look at her husband's stiff back, then left.

“By the gods, but I hate that woman!” Duncan sneered from between clenched teeth.

“And yet you'd have me shackled to one I detested, as well?” Kaelan growled. “At least Frieda is

good-natured."

Duncan turned and fixed his brother with a look that brooked no misunderstanding. “My Jarl chose

Frieda Reghur for me to wed. I did not love the drudge; I did not even like the bitch; and I cannot abide

her to this very day, but I did as the Jarl ordered and Joined with her.” He moved away from the

fireplace and jabbed an angry thumb at his chest. “It was my duty, my obligation to my Jarl, that shackled

me to Frieda Reghur. I had no say in the matter and even had I dared to voice an objection, Father

would have laughed it away!"

“You are not Father,” Kaelan reminded him.

“NO, BUT I AM JARL!” Duncan thundered. He strode to his brother and grabbed Kaelan's arm.

“AND YOU, JUST LIKE ME BEFORE YOU, WILL DO AS YOUR JARL DEMANDS!"

“You'll see me as unhappy as you, is that it?” Kaelan asked, shrugging off Duncan's hand.

“I,” Duncan said in a low, deadly voice, “will see you do your duty to Virago, Prince Kaelan."

Kaelan's eyes flashed dangerously. “There are other ways to restore the monies to the Depository,

Duncan, and you know that! Binding me to a woman I neither want nor desire should be the last choice."

“You will do as you are told,” Duncan stressed, his own eyes as cold as the snow on the Serenian Alps.

The two men stood there-nose to nose-staring at one another. The clock ticked on the mantle; the fire

snapped in the hearth; the old Keep's timbers settled now and again with a pop and groan. Outside, a

wind had risen and was skirting along the eaves, pressing leaves against the window panes.

“You will do as you are told,” the Jarl repeated, his gaze shifting among the golden flecks in his brother's

dark orbs.

Kaelan's jaw clenched tightly as did his fists. “Don't count your money before it's paid into the coffers,

Duncan,” was all he said before spinning around and stalking to the door.

“What does that mean?” Duncan sneered. When his brother did not answer, but jerked the door open

instead and flung it back with enough force to crack the plaster upon which it hit, Duncan's long stride

took him to the gaping doorway. “WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN, KAELAN?” he shouted

after his brother's retreating back.

* * * *

“But I don't understand,” Gillian said. She followed behind Kaelan, her arm tight in his grip.

“Just change your clothes,” he ordered as he continued on down the corridor toward her room. He

looked around them, then lowered his voice. “Don't tell anyone what we're about, Gillian.” He shook her.

“Do you understand me? No one!"

“But, Kaelan...” Gillian gasped as she was jerked up to him and his mouth swooped down to claim hers

in a heady kiss that made her toes curl. When he released her, he set her from him and gave her a

warning look.

“Meet me at the Farthane Bridge at eight o'clock and make sure no one sees you leaving the Keep."

“Farthane Bridge,” she repeated. “Aye, but..."

“Tell no one, Gillian,” he stressed, then spun around, heading for his own chamber.

“Kaelan?” she called after him, but he'd already entered his chambers. She stood where she was,

worried. He had seemed so cold, so furious when he'd found her in the stables. She rubbed her arm

where he had taken hold.

“We're leaving,” he'd said. “Go put on your riding clothes."

He'd dragged her out of the stable and up the servants’ stairs, cautioning her not to speak as they went.

She doubted anyone had seen them anyway.

“Kaelan, you're frightening me!” she'd whimpered as she had looked up into his stony face.

“I'll not let anyone tear us apart, Gillian,” he'd said, cryptically. “No one!"

“Who do you mean?” she'd asked as they climbed the stairs.

He'd stopped and turned her toward him, gripping her shoulders in a hold that was almost painful. “I'll

never hurt you, Gillian,” he said. “Nor will I ever allow anyone else to hurt you!"

Before she could question his strange statement, he had continued on up the stairs, propelling her along

in his wake.

“What is happening?” Gillian asked. She slouched against the wall, her heart hammering in her chest.

Had some man asked the Jarl for her hand? The mere thought of something like that having happened

jerked her away from the wall to rigid attention.

Surely that had not happened! Fear gripped her very soul. She would not allow herself to be parted

from Kaelan.

There was only one person in the entire Keep who knew everything that went on there. If a betrothal

request had been made, that person would know. In the absence of her father-who was at that very

moment making the crossing to Chale—there was only one other who could help; who could stop the

betrothal from being acted upon.

Without another thought to the warning Kaelan had given her, Gillian snatched up her skirts and ran for

the stairs.

She had to find Elga!

* * * *

Elga Cree opened the door and blinked. “My dear! What's wrong?” She ushered her stepdaughter into

the chamber. “You are as pale as a ghost."

“You have to tell me!” Gillian pleaded with her, taking Elga's slender hands in her own. “I have to

know!"

“Know what, Gillian?” Elga helped her husband's daughter into a chair and felt the girl's forehead. “Are

you ill?"

Gillian shook her head furiously and grabbed both Elga's hands. “I am fine!” She was gripping her

stepmother's hands so tightly the older woman was wincing with the discomfort and lowered herself

gracefully to the floor beside Gillian's chair to loosen the pull. “You have to tell me!"

Dakin's wife's thoughts were flying. Surely the girl didn't know about the planned betrothal yet. Kaelan

would not have been so foolish as to mention it and Duncan was certainly not likely to. “Gillian,” she said

sternly “you must calm down and tell me what is troubling you!"

Gillian's eyes were bleak. “Has someone asked for my hand?"

Taken aback by the unexpected question, Elga could do no more than stare. She opened her mouth to

speak, then snapped it shut. She shook her head to clear away the confusion.

“Are you sure?” Gillian pleaded for denial.

“Aye, I am sure,” Elga managed to say. “I would certainly know had someone sought the Jarl out for

such a request."

Gillian's shoulders fell beneath the weight of her own confusion; she searched her lap for answers. “Then

what is this all about?"

Elga stood up, eased her hands from Gillian's forceful grip then pulled a chair up beside the girl's. “Tell

me,” she ordered.

The young woman's bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she sat there. There were two bright

spots of color on her otherwise ashen face and the pulse in her slender neck was drumming against the

porcelain skin. Elga put a comforting hand on her stepdaughter's shoulder.

“You must tell me what has upset you so."

Gillian looked up, guilt blazing now in her green gaze. She studied her stepmother's kindly face for a

moment, then dropped her eyes. “It concerns Prince Kaelan."