Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (30 page)

muffled grunts, pants, and curses beneath the constriction of her brother's hand gave him some indication

of what might be done. He reached into his pocket and drew out his handkerchief, snapped it into a roll,

then stepped behind Nick and draped it over Gillian's head.

Her glower sparking threat of disembowelment if he did such a thing, Gillian tried to kick back at

Tarnes. She was already bruised by Nick's hard hands and his bony hip bones poking into her own. She

sucked in a deep breath through her nose and was prepared to scream as loudly as the heavens when he

unclasped his hand from her mouth. What she hadn't counted on was her brother's elbow digging very

painfully into her right breast. Her breath came out in a high-pitched squeak of pain and before she could

draw another breath, his hand was gone to be replaced by Tarnes’ none-to clean rag.

“Sorry,” Nick mumbled, hoping he'd done no lasting damage to his sister's bosom. He likened it to being

kicked in the balls and winced, thinking of the suffering he'd been forced to inflict upon her. “But Kaelan,

himself, would have ordered me to shut you up any way I could."

Gillian doubted very much her husband would have approved of Nick crippling her. Tears were flooding

her eyes and she was madder than ever as she felt Tarnes’ hands on her wrists, replacing the hard hold

Nick's big left hand had had on them.

“Ain't trying to provoke you, now, lass,” the old salt said as he made quick work of tying her hands

together. “But I reckon His Grace would rather have you safe and all trussed up like a feast goose than in

the hands of the real Demon Duke of Virago."

Brother Herbert's face had been as pale as hers was red when Nick flung himself onto his horse and

accepted her struggling body from Tarnes, who tossed her up to her brother with more strength than the

others would have thought the old man had.

“You try toting around fifty pound of hemp,” Tarnes sniffed, climbing with caution onto his own nag.

“Ain't an easy thing to do."

Kaelan had told Nick where to find the hidden entrance to Mount Wixen. He'd also told him how to get

to the Serenian border. The tunnel's entrance was pointing directly to the east; they were to head due

west.

“I'll come back for him,” Nick told his sister as he dug his heels into his gelding's flanks. “I swear to you

I will!"

Gillian's last look at Holy Dale was the slender thread of smoke coming out of the upstairs chimney

where she had known the only real joy in her young life.

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Duncan Hesar was livid with rage as he stomped down the cellar steps.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?” the king yelled. He came off the

stairs, took one step toward Borden, lifted his arm and gave the tracker a backhand hit that broke

Borden's jaw. The tracker plummeted sideways and slammed against the wall. He slide down to the

floor, unconscious before his ass ever touched wood.

Utley stood up from his place on the floor beside the younger Viragonian prince. Shocked by the

physicality of his king's reaction, he was equally shocked by the burst of foul language that followed; it

fair turned the air blue with its ferocity and descriptive nature.

“For the love of Alel, Duncan,” Utley heard young Kaelan say, “the man wasn't torturing me.” The

young prince sneezed, then wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve. “He was only carrying out orders."

“Kaelan?” the king asked in a near-whisper, turning his eyes to his brother, “keep out of this!"

“It was my gods-be-damned leg, Duncan, he..."

“Shut up, Kaelan,” Duncan sighed with exasperation. He waited until his brother shrugged away his

objection, then ordered Utley and Landers to take Borden out to the stables and tie him up.

“The man could freeze out there,” Kaelan protested.

The king of Virago ground his teeth together. “Down here as well, but I don't hear you complaining

about the cold!” He narrowed his eyes. “You sound funny. Do you have a cold?"

“You ordered me down here, Duncan, and what difference does it make if I have a gods-be-damned

cold?” Kaelan reminded him. He put his hands on the wall behind him and tried to push himself up. He

was in so much pain, he doubted he could stand, but if he was forced to sit where he was much longer,

he'd go insane from the agony of it.

“Do you need help getting up, Your Grace?” Utley asked, feeling the inquisitive look of his monarch,

then quickly gathering enough courage to look the king in the eyes “He is crippled, Majesty."

Duncan's brows shot up into his hairline. “Crippled?” he repeated. He looked at his brother. “Crippled

how, Kaelan?"

Kaelan shoved away Utley's offer of help and got clumsily to his feet. He put pressure on his left leg,

then winced with the pain. “I think the bastard re-broke my leg,” he grunted.

The king's face turned a most unbecoming shade of purple and he was about to explode with another

eruption of vile language when his brother laid a hand on his arm.

“It was just a figure of speech, big brother. The leg isn't broken.” Kaelan forced himself to smile—in

actuality amused by Duncan's seeming concern for his well being—and managed to hobble over to an old

stuffed chair that would be more comfortable than the hard floor. He sat down, sneezed again, then

sighed heavily.

Confusion puckered Duncan's forehead as he watched his brother settle uneasily into the dirty-looking

old chair. He glanced up at Utley's worried face, then strode purposefully over to where Kaelan sat.

“What happened to your leg, Kaelan?” he demanded in his most imperious tone of voice.

Kneeding the throbbing in his thigh, Kaelan sighed. “I broke it in the fall."

“What fall?” Duncan snapped.

Kaelan looked up with surprise. Surely his brother knew the story of what had happened that night!

Justus Sinclair would have no doubt delighted in telling the tale at Court.

“Well?” the king bellowed. “What fall are you referring to?"

The younger prince leaned back in the chair, his mouth a perfect ‘o’ of astonishment. “Sinclair didn't tell

you?"

Duncan's gaze narrowed to a pinpoint stare that he reserved for the intimidation of lesser men. “I haven't

spoken to that treacherous bastard since he informed me you had a hand in his daughter's death!” he

snapped.

From everything Gillian had told him about the night Duncan had stopped their elopement, Kaelan wasn't

inclined to believe anything his brother said. He wasn't entirely sure if Duncan knew the entire story of

Marie's death, but he'd relate it to him on the chance he really didn't.

When his brother finished his tale, Duncan slumped against the wall beside him and just stared at Kaelan.

For a long moment, he didn't speak, then shook his head furiously as though to rid it of unpleasant

thoughts. He held up his hands. “I swear on our father and mother's graves, I knew nothing of what you

just told me!” He angrily pushed himself away from the wall and began to pace. “Nothing at all of that

version of it!"

Kaelan watched Duncan striding from one end of the cellar to the other and was fascinated by the play

of emotions playing across his brother's face.

“What exactly did Justus Sinclair tell you, Duncan?” Kaelan inquired.

Duncan stopped pacing and turned to face Kaelan. “He said you and Marie were having a fight and, in

your anger, you pushed her away from you. He said she tripped on her gown, stumbled and fell down the

stairs and broke her neck."

“I pushed her.” Kaelan said in a flat voice. Well, he thought as Duncan began pacing again, that was why

the village thought he had killed his wife. Even though there were several Sinclair servants in the manor

house the night of the accident, no doubt they'd been coached to tell Justus Sinclair's version of the

matter.

“It seemed to me to be purely accidental” he heard Duncan say, “and Sinclair agreed, although he bears

you a great deal of hatred, little brother. To stay an official inquiry by the Tribunal, it was decided

between the two of us that we would tell the Court you were overcome with grief over what had

happened and had left for Rysalia to stay with your friend, Ben-Alkazar."

“To breed horses,” Kaelan said dryly.

“Aye,” Duncan replied, absentmindedly. He waved a negligent hand. “I even invented a few Hasdu

wives for you so none of the ninnies at Court would think you still on the marriage market."

“That was thoughtful of you,” Kaelan drawled.

Duncan did not hear the scorn in the words. “The least I could do,” he mumbled. Plowing his hand

through the thick dark curls atop his head, he stopped—his hand buried in his hair—and looked at his

brother. “But now, with what you have told me, everything has been turned upside down!"

Kaelan went back to rubbing his injured thigh. “In what way, Duncan?"

It was his king-not his brother-who strode back to him and stood hovering over him with a stern face.

“How long was she here, Kaelan?” Duncan demanded.

Silence.

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Answer me."

Complete, stony silence.

A long, tired sigh drew down the king's squared shoulders, taking away some of the stiffness and

outrage of his posture. He shook his head as though ashamed of a wayward child. “Ah, Kaelan,” he

breathed with exasperation. “You know I know she was here."

The silence drew out.

Faint lines of annoyance begin to spread over Duncan's lean face. “I demand to know how long she

stayed here, Kaelan."

With the quirk of one dark brow, Kaelan smiled. “What you are really asking,” he snorted, “is if I

bedded the lady."

Duncan smiled, too: A spider's grin at its prey. “I believe under the circumstances, little brother, that's a

given, don't you?” The king shrugged. “I would have expected nothing less from you and her."

Kaelan's smile became a wicked grin.

“The thing of it is, Kaelan,” Duncan remarked, “The lady in question is Rolf's wife. If you have soiled her

for him, he will, naturally enough, be obliged to seek satisfaction from you."

Kaelan's lips twitched. “'T'would be the gentlemanly thing to do, I suppose."

“Of course,” his brother, the king, agreed as though there had been no question of that.

The younger Viragonian prince stretched out his long legs to relieve the tension in his left thigh—the pain

now a minor irritation—and crossed his ankles, quite relaxed. “And, quite naturally enough, I'll oblige

him."

Duncan frowned. “I would venture to say you are in no condition to challenge anyone with your leg the

way it is, Kaelan,” he snapped. He was staring intently at the worn-down heels and patched soles of his

brother's boots. If he had had any doubt of the truth of Kaelan's side of that night, he did no longer. The

shabby condition of Kaelan's clothing and boots stamped truth to the tale. He shook himself and looked

up, annoyed to find Kaelan smiling at him with interest.

“If I had known you were coming,” the younger man cooed, “I'd have dressed in my finest for you, King

Duncan. The thing of it is: This is my finest!"

“'Tis not funny, Kaelan!” Duncan spat. He flung a hand at the scuffed boots. “It shames me to see you

like this."

The humor left Kaelan's face. “You caused it."

Duncan flinched. The weight of his guilt in the thing was already weighing on his shoulders. How had he

let Elga talk him into practically disowning his only brother? Of destroying what little happiness Kaelan

might have found with the little Cree chit? “It was unseemly you chasing that little girl,” he defended

himself, his eyes stormy, though somewhat confused. “You were old enough to be her...” He shrugged.

“Husband?” Kaelan finished for him. He chuckled nastily. “How old do you remember me to be,

Duncan?"

“You are four years my junior!” the king snapped with irritation. “That makes you thirty-two!"

Kaelan's eyes widened and his voice took on a hushed tone of awe. “He walks; he talks; he wields the

power of a mighty kingdom in his right hand and can figure complicated mathematical problems in his

mind!!” The wicked, vicious grin came back. “Is there no end to your talents, Duncan?"

“Stop baiting me!” Duncan thundered. He stomped over to where his brother sat and pointed a

trembling finger in Kaelan's face. “She was just a child, Kaelan! A mere babe when you began courting

her!” He threw up his hands. “By the gods! What did you expect me to do when the Court was all

atwitter about that little Chalean brat traipsing after you like a lovesick puppy. What was she? All of

twelve?"

Once more the humor left Kaelan's face. “She was sixteen before I ever kissed her cheek, Duncan,” he

said stonily. “Seventeen before I ever put my lips to hers. Our own mother was fifteen when she married

our father and seventeen when you were born.” His voice became softer. “Gillian is twenty-two;

well-past the age of Joining and..."

“That is why I Joined her By Proxy in Absentia to Rolf de Viennes!” Duncan interrupted him. “It is

well-past the time she be married and with brats of her own!"

“She does not love de Viennes,” Kaelan replied, shocked numb by the news that Duncan had forced

marriage upon Gillian without her consent. He dared not dwell long on the fact that he, himself, was not

Joined legally with her for fear he'd lose his sanity.

“What does it matter whether she loves him or not?” Duncan shouted at him. “I do not love Freida nor