Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (28 page)

“That, too,” Lumley had grinned. “Most do, you know!"

There had been a moment of companionable silence, then Nick had put forth the proposition he'd been

waiting all the past evening to make:

“Would you be of a mind to go a'pirating with me, Master Tarnes?"

Lumley Tarnes had drawn deeply on his pipe as he considered the young man. He liked the cut of

Nicholas Cree's jib, he did, and the lad was more knowledgeable about the ways of a sailing man than

most of the members of Captain Nyberg's crew.

And the lad knew his ships.

“Why The Revenant?” Lumley had inquired of Nick's choice of names for the vessel.

There had been no hesitation: “My great grandfather sailed with the Outlaw, himself!"

Lumley had smiled as though he had already known. “A relation of mine was First Mate on the

Windlass."

Respect and awe had washed over the young Chalean's square-jawed face and his emerald eyes had lit

up. “Norbert Tarnes was a relation of yours?” the young man had asked with something akin to

adoration.

“Aye, lad, that he was.” Lumley grinned. “Just as Caere Cree was your relation."

“I'll be gods-be-damned!” the young man had whispered. “We're practically related, Lumley!"

For another few moments, Lumley studied his companion then made up his mind. Through a noxious

billow of smoke, he'd nodded. “A man could do worse than to go aspirating with the likes of you, Lord

Cree. I'd be honored to take to sea with you."

Over the long hours, the two men had planned. Neither noticed their tiredness nor the stiffness in their

bones as they hovered close to the fire to keep warm during the cold night; there were more important

things in life to consider.

Just as the false dawn lifted her head in the east and began to shake her crimson hair, Nick stood up,

stretched mightily, and groaned as his backbone snapped and popped with the movement. He was

anxious to be on his way to Serenia.

“That be where the best clippers be built,” Lumley had echoed something Nick already knew.

Tarnes, too, got to his feet—although not nearly as quickly or as painlessly as did his

captain-to-be—and stood there wavering for a moment as his old bones adjusted.

“I think I'll see to the horses,” Nick said, pointing to the stove. “How about making us up something to

eat on the way?” He clapped his hands. “Come on, Brownie! Let's go out, girl!"

The big dog woofed once then trotted eagerly to the door beside her new friend. Brownie's tail thumped

rapidly against one of the cabinets.

Lumley nodded. “Sandwiches is about all I know how to make, Cap'n,” he said and watched as pride

spread quickly over the young man's face.

“Then sandwiches it will have to be, Master Tarnes!” Nick said, and there was more spring in his step as

he swiped his great cape from the hanger and swung it around his shoulders. Not even the slight drift that

had piled up at the kitchen door overnight had the power to dampen his mood. He just plowed through it

like The Revenant through a swell and waded his way to the stables, Brownie leaping the drift at his

heels.

“What kind of captain will the lad make, Master Tarnes?” Brother Herbert inquired.

“A right good Ones if'n I'm any judge,” Lumley replied as he sliced his dagger into what was left of a

juicy baked ham Nick had procured from Titus Neils’ inn.

“Although,” the cleric remarked as he straightened his robe and looked eagerly at the meat on Lumley's

platter, “I don't believe in thieving of any kind.” He took a chunk of red, stringy meat and began to munch

happily upon its salty texture. “The Diabolusians are a heathenish bunch of demon-worshipers and are

not opposed to stealing, themselves."

Lumley grinned around his pipe stem as he slathered butter on a slice of thick bread. “They be

cutthroats, that's a fact."

“The question is, I suppose,” Brother Herbert commented as he snitched a prepared sandwich,

“whether or not the lad can make a decent living on the seas."

A snort of humor puffed from the side of Lumley Tarnes’ mouth. “More money than he can being a

politician like his pa wants him to be!” the old salt sneered.

“I don't know,” the clergyman denied, shaking his head. “Most politicians I know are worse thieves than

the Diabolusians!"

Laughter met Nick as he burst into the warm kitchen. The laughter stopped abruptly when the two men

saw the paleness of their young friend's face and the wild glaze in his stare.

“Riders,” the Chalean man spat out as he and the big mongrel hurried into the room.

“How many?” Tarnes asked, dropping the sandwich he'd just made and picking up his serviceable

dagger.

“Three,” Nick answered. “Brownie smelled them, I guess. While I was taking a piss, I saw her hackles

up.” He ran the back of his hand under his dripping nose. “She led me about half a mile upwind of

us—near the pond—and I saw three men digging a passage through the drifts. I ran back here and hid

the horses at the mouth of the tunnel, but if those men are heading here..."

“Where else would they be going Cap'n?” Lumley snapped.

“They'll see where the horses have been,” Nick continued. “You can't hide the signs of five horses in the

stable out there.” He looked up quickly at the ceiling. “I've got to tell him.” He turned and took the

servant stairs two at a time.

“I'll see to the two of us!” Lumley called after him.

Not long before midnight—and the Joining that had made Kaelan and Gillian one—the Viragonian

prince had shown the others the false cellar where the Outlaw had hidden while he raided the Tribunal

coffers.

“This is the way out,” Kaelan had explained as he'd shown them the bolt hole, a cleverly-concealed false

panel behind the cellar door. “There are three steep steps before you reach the ground. A short tunnel

opens up into a cave then there's another tunnel beyond. By the time you reach the end, you're about

eighty yards out into the woods.” He pushed on the wall and the panel slid upward with only a slight

squeak.

“Kept it well-oiled, he did,” Tarnes had marveled.

“So have I,” Kaelan had replied. His grin was nasty. “Just in case they ever came to burn me out again."

He'd shown them bundles of rushes jabbed into the shored-up walls of the tunnel: “Every twenty feet or

so.” And where the Lucifers were kept so that when the panel slid back into place, the hidey-hole would

not be plunged into total darkness for very long.

Now—sweeping most of the provisions into burlap bags—Lumley ordered the priest to follow him to

the cellar stairs.

Grabbing up his bundle of belongings, Brother Herbert waddled after the sailing man, puffing as his short

legs pumped. He was already worrying about getting himself down through the trap door which led to the

false cellar. The first trip down had been both embarrassing and painful as he had squeezed his

considerable mass through the hole. He had not been able to make his way back up through the trapdoor

hole and had to walk the length of the cave and tunnels with Lord Cree and traipse through the snow all

the way back to the warmth of the kitchen. Luckily, the bright moonlight had lit their way and they had

not had to rely on the faggots Lord Cree had stamped out as they left the tunnel.

Now, moaning as he watched Lumley reach under the dusty, moth-eaten rug which covered the

trapdoor's position and lift the stapled rug and hatch, the priest exhaled a long sigh of self-pity. He

actually winced as the much-smaller—although many years older—man made his way lithely down the

steps into the false cellar.

“Stay close to the steps, Brother Herbert,” Lumley warned from the seven-foot depth where he stood.

He had already opened the bolt hole panel and was lighting the first bundle of rushes. “I'll light the others

for us."

Brother Herbert sucked in his gut as Lumley disappeared into the bolt hole. With one final look to the

heavens for help and comfort, he put his foot carefully on the first step and descended with less

constriction than he thought possible.

* * * *

Kaelan's eyelids opened at the first urgent calling of his name. He heard the light scratch at the door and

heard Nick call again: louder and with more immediacy.

Gently removing his arm from beneath his wife's head, Kaelan eased back the covers and swung his legs

from the bed, wincing only slightly at the immediate pain in his left thigh. With as little noise as possible, he

drew on his breeches and grabbed up his shirt as he stood and hobbled to the door, drawing back the

bolt Gillian had insisted he shoot the evening before. Nick's anxious face met him as he opened the door.

“Trackers,” Nick said immediately. “One of them is Duncan's best man, Utley. They're at the pond."

Kaelan cast a quick look at his sleeping lady then slid soundlessly out of the room, easing the door shut

behind him. “How many are there?” His voice was calm and his eyes steady.

“Three, but I'll wager de Viennes can't be far behind and with him? Who knows?” There was great

strain on Nick's face and in his voice as he waited for Kaelan to speak.

Kaelan held his brother-in-law's gaze for a second or two more, then clenched his jaw. “I won't let them

take her, Nicholas,” he said through his teeth.

“Then we'd better get going!” Nick stressed. “I've got the horses at the tunnel, already."

Kaelan didn't answer. Instead, he shut the door, limped to the bed, bent over and shook Gillian gently,

but firmly. When she opened her eyes to find him hovering over her, she began to lift her arms up to him.

“Good morn, milord,” she whispered. “Have you..."

“They're here,” Kaelan interrupted her and watched instant fear replace the drowsy passion of a

split-second before. “Get up and get dressed. We don't have long."

Gillian threw the covers back and lunged from the bed. Even as her new husband stuffed what few

belongings she and Nick had brought with them into an old canvas tote, she was drawing on a pair of his

worn breeches.

“Is Rolf with them?” was all she asked as she hastily drew on an oversized shirt that fell almost to her

knees.

“More than likely.” Kaelan was scanning the room for any sign that she and her brother had been there.

Satisfied there was nothing left, he told her to hurry with her boots and waited impatiently for her to drag

them on.

Nick was waiting at the door as his sister and the prince came out.

“Get her to the cave as quickly as you can,” Kaelan ordered, gently pressing his wife into her brother's

arms.

“What about you?” Nick asked, shushing Gillian as she would have protested.

“I'll join you as soon as I get rid of them."

“The hell you will!” Gillian exploded, twisting out of her brother's hold. “You'll come with us now,

Kaelan Hesar!"

Kaelan was already shaking his head. “They'll see there's been someone living here, Gilly.” He held up

his hand to forestall another outburst. “If they come in and find no one here, they'll spread out and start

searching the rooms. Chances are they won't find the trapdoor, but if Sinclair has told them where it is or

is with them, you'll stand less of a chance.” He reached out and took her upper arms and shook her as

she began to

protest once more.

“And,” he said with force, “if they find no one in the manor house, they'll damned sure start looking

outside as quickly as they can. What kind of chance would you have, then, Milady Hesar?"

At the sound of her new name, Gillian stilled. She studied her husband's steady eyes and calm face—not

knowing he was even more frightened than she—and made her voice as matter of fact as his had been.

“Rolf hates you, Kaelan,” she said. “He could do you a harm if he suspects I have been here or that you

helped Nick and me in any way."

A crooked smile lifted one corner of Kaelan's mouth. “He hates me no less than I hate him, Gillian.” He

looked up from her worried face to her brother's. “Take her down to the tunnel."

“Kaelan....” she protested, but already Nick was pulling her toward the servant's stairs.

“Don't worry,” Kaelan told her, limping a little toward her as her brother continued to drag her with him.

“I'll be all right."

“I love you!” she said.

“I love you, too,” he responded as sister and brother began to descend the stairs.

For a long moment he stood there, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He could taste the sour bile of

fear flooding his mouth as he drew in ragged shallow breaths. His fists clenched and unclenched at his

side and his left thigh stabbed with ungodly pain.

He was unarmed and outnumbered, but before he would let Rolf de Viennes take what now belonged to

Kaelan Hesar-and Kaelan alone-Lars Utley and his men would have to kill him.

* * * *

Gillian had mouthed her dissension all the way down the cellar steps and into the false cellar until her

brother had hushed her with a hastily-raised arm.

“Shut up or by-the-gods, Gillian, I'll hit you!” Nick spat at her. He marveled that his sister did not flinch

at his threat until he realized she knew gods-be-damned well he wouldn't belt her. He lowered his arm

with a snort of disgust. “One day I might surprise you,” he complained, pushing her toward the opened

bolt hole panel.

The new Duchess of Winterstorm clamped her lips together and glared at her brother, but she had

enough presence of mind, despite her near-lethal worry for her husband's safety, to understand Nick was