Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (15 page)

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Pain was something Kaelan Hesar had grown accustomed to feeling. From the moment his brother had

condemned him to a loveless marriage, the young prince had begun to experience an agony of the soul

from which he had seen no escape. He had learned to endure; to put aside his dreams and needs and

desires; to hide his unhappiness as best he could; to try to make the best of what he had.

But pain is a constant reminder and, although broken bones will eventually heal, a broken heart will not.

You can not splint a broken heart. You can not expect the pieces to knit together again. Once broken, a

man's heart remains that way and the pain is a never-ending torment that plagues with ‘what could have

beens'.

Kaelan sat on the servants’ stairs and gazed out the window at the falling snow. He was shivering, and

the wracking cough that had now sprang up was a misery unto itself. He could feel the congestion in his

lungs, hear the rattling his breath caused, and knew he was going to have one hell of a chest cold by

morning.

“That's what comes of going out in this kind of weather, fool,” he grumbled.

Sitting hunched over the pain in his thigh, he continued to watch the pristine flakes tumbling down

beyond the window and wondered briefly if he and Nick might not have to dig out come morning.

Already the snow was up to the window ledge. He coughed wetly, feeling the rattling in his chest getting

worse, and sighed. Why was he punishing himself by sitting there getting sicker by the moment? There

was a roaring fire in his chambers by which he could warm his chilled body, if not his cold heart.

“Stubborn man,” he labeled himself. Sighing tiredly, he pushed up from the stair, grunting as a sharp,

unrelenting pain drove through his leg. He stood there for a moment, letting the pain dissolve, squeezing

his eyes shut against the bone-deep agony, then resolutely turned to pull himself wearily up the stairs.

How he loved her still, he thought, as he climbed, wincing with the effort. It wasn't the warmth of the fire

he sought; it was Gillian's beloved face. Even to fight with her, to hear her scorn him, was better than the

solitude with which he'd lived these last five years. He'd gladly suffer her waspish tongue if for no other

reason than to hear her speak.

To hear anyone speak to him.

He had to pause now and again, to suck in the agony in his thigh, to endure it, to go on. The pain was

worse than usual and he couldn't help but wonder if the cold had not invaded even his bones.

“Do you need help, Kaelan?"

Startled, the prince looked up. Nick was at the top of the stairs; his face was filled with concern. Kaelan

shook his head. “I can make it."

“Why didn't you tell me you had hurt your leg in the fall this morning?” Nick grumbled. He wanted to go

to the prince's aid, but knew the man wouldn't appreciate it.

Kaelan shrugged as he continued to make his way slowly up the stairs. “It wasn't important.” He gained

the last two steps, tightened his grip on the banister as his leg threatened to give out under him. He

managed to grin at Nick Cree. “I'm used to it."

“Stubborn man,” Nick unknowingly echoed with admiration. Only a blind man couldn't see the effort it

had taken for Kaelan to climb the stairs. He matched his pace alongside Kaelan's as they walked to the

prince's chamber. Hesar's limp was very pronounced and it worried him.

“How bad did you hurt it?"

Pretending he hadn't heard Nick's question, Kaelan opened his chamber door and went inside. His

attention went straight to Gillian's cot and he frowned. “We've got to bring in one of the trundle beds

from down the hall, Nick. She can't sleep on the gods-be-damned floor like that."

“She could sleep in the bed with us ’til tomorrow,” Nick snorted. “If she wasn't as gods-be-damned

stubborn as you are."

Gillian lifted her head, unaware of the tear tracks which stained her cheeks and the red puffy eyes. “I'm

fine where I am,” she told them.

The sight of her swollen eyes and still-damp cheeks hurt Kaelan. He wished with all his being he had the

courage to go to her, take her in his arms, make her see how much he still loved her; but he doubted

she'd allow such contact. Instead, he sat down heavily on the bed-only a few feet from her-and fused his

gaze with hers. “This thing needs changing, Mam'selle” he said, shrugging his shoulders around the sticky

discomfort of the camphor-soaked flannel poultice she had had Nick plaster on his chest. “It's cold."

“No one told you to go traipsing down the gods-be-damned stairs to get it cold, Hesar,” she grated,

flinging aside the covers.

“Berate him tomorrow,” Nick warned her. “The man's wheezing as badly as a distempered dog."

“Worse,” Kaelan mumbled. He sneezed hard, then sneezed again, reaching up to run the sleeve of his

tattered shirt under his nose.

“Oh, stop that!” Gillian commanded and threw him a rag to wipe his nose. “That's so disgusting, Hesar!”

She went to the fireplace, bent over, and poured more camphor into a small pot. Holding the pot over

the flames to warm it, she glanced over at Kaelan. “Well, take the gods-be-damned rag off, Hesar, and

give it to me lest you want me to pour this brew on you.” She looked away from him. “Which I'll gladly

do if you so desire it."

A slight grin tickled the corners of Kaelan's mouth as he reached up under his shirt and pulled out the

offending flannel square. He handed it to her. “I'd prefer you re-wet it over there, Lady."

She took the rag and dipped it in the pot. “By the way,” she said, her teeth clenched tightly together, “I

am sorry."

“For what?” he inquired.

She cast him an exasperated look. “For not having had more faith in you, Hesar."

“I am sorry, as well,” he replied, letting his gaze drift over her lovely profile.

Gillian wrung out the flannel and stood up. “What have you got to be sorry about?” she muttered.

“'Twas not you who lost faith in me, was it?"

He looked up at her as she came to him, motioning for him to lift his shirt. “No, I never lost faith in you,”

he answered, pulling up his shirt. “I lost faith in myself."

Nick stood by the door—his arms folded over his massive chest-and watched the sparring. He

wondered if either of these two knew what it was they were doing. There was wonder on Kaelan's face

as Gillian dropped to her knees to paste the flannel rag to the prince's chest; there was intense guilt and

hope on Gillian's as she lifted her head from her work, her hands plastered on the flannel she had placed

against the sick man's chest, and looked up into his eyes.

“How did you lose faith in yourself, Milord?” she questioned softly.

Nick's left brow eased up beneath the sweep of his tousled hair as Kaelan put out a hand to cup Gillian's

face. The prince's hand was trembling.

“For not having had the courage to come after you when Marie died,” the prince told her. “I should

have. I wanted to."

Gillian lowered her gaze. “And risk the Jarl's punishment? That would have been foolhardy, I think.” Still

looking at the floor, her next words were nearly inaudible. “Why did you not get word to me, milord? I

would have come to you."

“I feared for you, dearling,” Kaelan replied gently. “For what Duncan might do to you should you try; for

what he might force you to do. I had no fear for my own well-being.” He caressed her chin. “Inside, I

was already dead. Seeing the Windlass tack southward to Chale, watching it disappear on the horizon,

taking you from me, was like having a dagger driven into my heart that day."

Gillian looked up, her face filled with hurt. “I did not want to stay at the Keep and watch you take your

vows to another woman."

“And I did not want you there to see it,” he replied. He moved his hand to the mussed braid over her left

shoulder, lifted it, enjoying the silky feel of her hair through his fingers. “It was bad enough I had to be

there to endure it. I was with the wrong woman on my Joining night. Pretending she was you didn't

work."

She blushed, took her hands from his chest, and stood up. The thought of him making love to Marie

Sinclair still had the ability to make Gillian furious and it caused her great hurt. “Did she care for you?”

That was a question she had always wanted answered.

“About as much as she cared for a toothache,” he replied and met her gaze squarely. “Marie despised

me."

“Then why did she marry you?” Gillian asked.

“What choice did she have?” he countered. “Her father wanted his house allied to the Jarl's. It was a

match made in heaven for Sinclair. He gave as much care to Marie's objections as Duncan gave to mine."

“I heard she went kicking and screaming to the altar,” Nick commented. He shrugged at Gillian's look of

surprise when she turned to stare at him. “We thought it best you didn't know."

“What else did you and Papa keep from me, Nicholas?” she snapped.

“Only that,” Nick groused. “Papa thought if you knew the match wasn't gladly met, you'd have found a

way to find Kaelan.” He cast the prince an apologetic look. “That wouldn't have been a very wise thing."

“No,” Kaelan agreed. “It wouldn't have."

Gillian drew in a long, calming breath. “I suppose."

“Would you have?” Kaelan asked. He eased his leg out in front of him, striving not to show the pain the

action caused.

“Come after you?” she inquired. At his nod, a rueful smile touched her mobile mouth. “I might have.”

Her gaze slid over his fever-glistening face like a potent caress. “I loved you enough to have done so,

Milord."

“Loved?” he asked, his face mirroring his hurt.

“Stop baiting her,” Nick chuckled. “My little sister still loves you, Kaelan. Just as you still love her."

Gillian blushed again and went back to her cot. Sitting down with her legs bent to one side beneath her,

she nodded her chin toward Kaelan. “Best see to his leg, Nick."

“There's no need,” Kaelan said too quickly It was the guilty look on his face that brought an instant

scowl to Nick's.

“You didn't just hurt it this morning, did you?"

Kaelan gave a careless wave of his hand. “No, but having a swim in that frigid pond did nothing to make

the gods-be-damned thing feel better.” He gave up his pretense and rubbed vigorously at the pain in his

thigh. “Sometimes it hurts worse than others."

“What happened?” Nick asked.

Kaelan sighed. “I broke it."

“When?” Gillian demanded.

The prince looked away from her lovely face. “Awhile ago, dearling. What difference does it make?"

“When?” Nick stressed.

Kaelan continued to knead the ache in his leg. He couldn't look at either of them as he answered: “Five

years ago.” His voice fell to a whisper. “The day I killed Marie."

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Chapter Twenty: Five years earlier: Holy Dale Manor House

Marie Hesar stamped her foot angrily. Her china-blue eyes were snapping with fury as she regarded her

husband. “I wish you were dead, Kaelan Hesar!” she flung at him.

“Aye, I bet you do,” Kaelan agreed. He stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the door jamb of

their bedchamber, watching her. “You'll forgive me if I don't accommodate you, won't you, my love?"

“The demons take you to the Abyss!” she shouted. “You and that Chalean whore you mumble about in

your sleep!"

Kaelan's eyes narrowed. “Be careful what you say, Marie,” he warned her. He could forgive his wife

anything, save the vile epitaphs she aimed at Gillian Cree.

“If you were a real man,” Marie sneered, “you'd be with your precious Gilly this very moment.” She

dropped her contemptuous gaze down his lean frame. “But a man is not something you will ever be,

Kaelan."

“Why, Marie-love,” he replied silkily, “you've seen to that, haven't you?” One corner of his mouth lifted

in taunt. “I believe the term they use to describe males like me is ’emasculated', and don't they call

females like you ‘ball-breakers'?” His grin widened at her snort of disgust.

“As though you had balls before we married!” she threw at him.

“I had no complaints,” he chuckled, pushing away from the door.

“Some women will mate with mongrel dogs when they're in heat,” she insulted him, enjoying the instant

frown her vulgar words brought to her husband's handsome face. It annoyed her that she found him so

beautiful of countenance.

“Is that why you slept with Rolf de Viennes?” he challenged. Finding out his wife had not been a virgin

on their wedding night was just one more reason he hated this woman so much.

Marie lifted her chin. “It was either give my maidenhead to a man I respected and admired or let you

break it with your bumbling,” she sniffed. “At least he knew what to do with a real woman! He took care

when he relieved me of my maidenhead!"

“He should have;” Kaelan scoffed. “He's broken enough of them in his bed."

Her blue stare enveloped him with seething hate. “Just as he will eventually break that of the Chalean

whore?"

Kaelan went still as death. His gaze narrowed to pinpoint flames of fury. “Don't,” he told her. They'd had

this self-same conversation before, for Marie knew he despised de Viennes, and the mere thought of his

precious Gillian in that knight's arms—not to mention his sin-stained bed—was more than Kaelan could

tolerate.

“He'll have her one way or another,” Marie laughed, thoroughly enjoying the look of hurt she saw on