Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (36 page)

“Aye, I thought as much,” Thècion ground out. “The stench seemed familiar."

Diarmuid grinned at his companion's dislike of the Viragonians. “Wonder what they're doing in a little

pissant town like this on the morn of the Solstice?"

The Serenian prince glanced behind him where the Boreas Wind lay at anchor in the harbor. Near her

was a private schooner. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Taking a little trip, I suppose. Back to

Tempest Keep for their own festival?"

“They aren't going anywhere in this muck,” Diarmuid reminded him. “Had it not been for the storm, we

wouldn't have made it here before tomorrow, either. They're closing the port."

Thècion shivered, thinking of the icy gale that had blown the Boreas Wind far off course and brought her

a day early into Wixenstead Harbor. “Lucky for us, though,” McGregor commented.

“And unlucky for the Boreal Queen,” Diarmuid chuckled. “Aye, she'll be restricted wherever she is, as

well."

“Let's hope she made landfall before the storm hit,” Thècion replied with a slight crinkling of his brow.

He thought of the priest on board and was concerned for that man's safety, though he couldn't have

explained why, had someone asked him.

“So,” Diarmuid said, rubbing his gloved hands together. “What now, milord?"

Thècion looked about them. The snow was high and still piling up along the sides of the main street. The

blizzard that had swept across Wixenstead had brought almost everything in the coastal town to a

standstill. Everywhere, men were digging out around the buildings, and sleighs jangled as they sped

across the stretches of cleared snow on the roads.

“How far did the harbor master say it was to Kaelan's place?"

“Four miles, I think,” Diarmuid sniffed, drawing out his handkerchief and blowing his nose.

“Well, it's almost a sure thing we won't get to Holy Dale before tomorrow,” he snapped. He looked

toward the local livery. “Let's reserve our horses and plan to set out first thing in the morning. They

should have the roads cleared by then."

“I'll be a gods-be-damned Diabolusian jackass!” Diarmuid suddenly exclaimed, grabbing his friend's

arm. “That's Duncan Hesar, himself, coming out of the shipping office!"

Thècion held up his hand to ward off the glare of the snow and looked to the man just stepping off the

shipping office plankway. “You're right, Dear Mutt,” he acknowledged. He slowly lowered his arm.

“Why the hell do you suppose he's here?"

Diarmuid cast him a quick look. “Maybe he heard Kaelan was going to be arrested by the Tribunal."

A deep scowl of concern brought Thècion's golden brows together over his nose. “Why come here,

though? So he could make sure the man didn't run away?"

“That's possible,” Diarmuid said, nodding. “Entirely possible given the nature of Virago's new king!"

Thècion's scowl became a fierce narrowing of eyes and tightening of mouth at the grand title Duncan had

taken for himself. “Let's just go see, then, all right?"

The Chalean prince opened his mouth to protest such a move, but was left standing where he was for

McGregor had set off at a deliberate pace that denied any resistance to his plan.

“The gods help us!” Diarmuid muttered as he stomped after his friend. McGregor was setting a true

course right for the king and his party.

“King Duncan, is it?” Diarmuid heard Thècion call out in a harsh, somewhat disrespectful tone of voice,

gaining the older man's attention.

Duncan briefly turned toward the sound of his name being called, then dismissed the speaker as no one

of importance, one not to encourage with even a nod of acknowledgment. He started to jam his foot into

his stirrup when he felt a hand on his waist.

“That's the McGregor's youngest whelp,” Rolf whispered. “Prince Thècion!"

The Viragonian king's foot slid roughly from the stirrup and he turned to face the advancing young man

again, scowling with distaste. He drew himself up and fixed the advancing man with a stony glower.

“McGregor,” Duncan stated as though the word had caused a bad taste in his mouth and he wished to

expunge it from his tongue as quickly as possible.

“Aye, Your Grace,” Thècion replied. He made a sketchy bow that was not quite proper, but adequate.

Without looking toward Diarmuid, he swept an arm behind him in his friend's direction. “I believe you

know Prince Diarmuid Brell."

Dakin Cree glanced up from his morbid contemplation of the packed snow beneath his horse's hooves

and started. Prince Diarmuid? Here? Why?

And the young McGregor lad, as well?! What the hell was going on? Quickly the Chalean ambassador

dismounted and hurried toward the young princes.

Duncan nodded a curt greeting to Diarmuid, then turned his full gaze on Drayton McGregor's insolent

little brat. “May I ask why you two boys are traipsing about in the middle of the worst storm to hit Virago

in twenty years?” he growled in way of greeting.

“We were on our way to the Winter Solstice festival in Serenia,” Diarmuid lied as he joined them, hoping

to keep Thècion from asking any too-direct questions of the king until a polite, respectful opening had

been made.

“Thought maybe we'd see if Kaelan would like to go along with us this year,” Thècion quipped, ignoring

Diarmuid's small groan of dismay.

There was a general rumble of voices as the townsfolk, who had stopped what they were doing to

eavesdrop on the peerage, expressed their shock over such a statement.

“Kaelan?” Duncan asked, his brows knitting; shocked although he tried not to show it.

“Aye, Sire,” Diarmuid hurried to say. He inclined his head toward Dakin in greeting, then stepped a little

between his friend and the Viragonian king. “Kaelan and I are old acquaintances. I heard he was home

from Rysalia."

Duncan recovered his composure and schooled his face into a mask of polite inquiry. “What made you

think of my brother?” he questioned. He looked around him at the inquisitive faces of the townspeople

and was irritated. “Have you people business with the Court?” he called out in a stern voice. “If not, be

about your business else I'll have reason to think you are waiting to volunteer for my army!"

There was an instant gasp, then the people ducked their heads and scattered, mumbling to themselves in

low tones and casting one another worried looks.

Duncan returned his attention to Thècion. “Why did you come looking for Kaelan? Hadn't you heard

he's been living like a hermit all these years since his wife's untimely demise?"

Thècion heard the sneer beneath the civil question and smiled nastily. “We thought it time he rejoined the

living,” the young prince answered. “Don't you, Majesty?"

“Why are you here, Duke Dakin?” Diarmuid interrupted for he had seen the insult make a direct hit on

the king.

“My daughter...” Dakin began, but the king cut him off.

“My brother will no doubt welcome your visit, young McGregor."

If Thècion was surprised at the offer, he didn't show it. He politely declined with a shake of his golden

head. “Thank you, Sire, but we don't wish to put you out in any way."

Rather you don't want to be beholding to the bastard in any way, eh, young McGregor? Dakin thought

with a smile. He had never met the youngest son of King Drayton, but already liked the lad a thousand

times better than he did the eldest.

“We will be leaving almost as soon as we can gather up Kaelan,” McGregor was saying. “The festival

has been touted as being one of the very best entertainments this season."

The Viragonian king's face had tightened at the refusal of his help, but he managed a set smile. “When

you leave, then,” he inquired, “will it be by yon ship?” He pointed toward the Boreas Wind. “Providing

Kaelan will want to go with you?"

“Aye,” Thècion replied, his forehead puckering. “Why do you ask, Sire?” He sensed something not

quite right in the way the Viragonian king was looking at him and in the tenseness that had suddenly

stiffened the Chalean ambassador's shoulders.

Duncan smiled genially. “We have booked passage back to Tempest Keep on the Aubaine, Duke

Antoine du Mer's private ship, but she does not sail ’til the end of the week. As much as there is to do in

Wixenstead,” he drawled, sweeping a hand about the small village, “my men would rather return home as

quickly as possible. If we could impose upon you to have your ship drop us off at Ciona, we would be

most grateful."

“Why not just order the ship to be at your disposal, Sire?” Thècion asked, knowing no ship of the line

would dare refuse a royal edict. “After all, you are a king while du Mer is a mere Duke."

A wry grin pulled at Duncan's mouth. “Perhaps that is the way the McGregors would handle such an

inconvenience, but the Hesars take into consideration-owned ship would cause its owners in time and

revenue."

Thècion squinted at the deliberate insult. His head came up and he matched Duncan's wry smile. “Were

you here visiting Kaelan, Majesty, or just out and about inspecting your holdings? I have heard your

treasury was almost depleted by the floods again this year."

Tit for tat, lad! Dakin chuckled to himself. A pity it wouldn't be this boy who would sit the Serenian

throne.

A muscle jerked in the king's jaw and his gaze hardened. “We are very solvent, young sir, I can assure

you! The treasury has never been more so. We were here looking for Dakin's runaway daughter!” His

mouth twisted into a sneer. “As if that were any of your business!"

“Why would you...?” Thècion began but Diarmuid elbowed his friend sharply in the ribs.

“With your permission, we need to find lodging for the night, Your Grace,” the Chalean prince told the

king. He grabbed Thècion's arm and starting pulling him toward the opposite side of the street. “It was a

pleasure seeing you again.” He nodded at his father's ambassador. “And you, Duke Dakin. May the

Wind be at your backs!"

“Will you allow us to travel with you or not, McGregor?” Duncan called out.

“Tell him you will!” Diarmuid growled.

“I most certainly will not!” Thècion shot back.

“McGregor?” the king repeated, losing his temper as the two young men hurried away.

“We'll be most happy to have you travel with us, Sire!” Diarmuid assured him over his shoulder as he

yanked hard on Thècion's suddenly stiff body.

“What the hell are you about, Dear Mutt?” Thècion was grumbling as he was being yanked away from

his target, but his companion was making low, urgent shushing sounds. “I will not be quiet! Why are

we...?"

“We'll take an extra horse with us to Kaelan's place just in case and go by land to Ciona,” Diarmuid

suggested. “The king is far too anxious for us to take him there by ship."

“Then let me go tell the captain of the Boreas...."

“We can't deny the man passage, lumphead!” Diarmuid spat. “He'll know something's wrong for sure,

then! The Wind won't sail ’til sunset tomorrow and by then we'll be in Ciona and on Serenian soil."

“But if Duncan knows about what the Tribunal's planning, we should....” Thècion began, but Diarmuid's

grip tightened.

“I know why they're here, idiot!” Diarmuid hissed again. He smiled tightly as he dragged Thècion along

in his wake. “And it ain't got nothing to do with the Tribunal!"

* * * *

Jasper and Royce Kullen had been among the townsfolk loitering within hearing range of the king and the

foreign princes. The two woodcutters had exchanged a knowing look and Jasper had been quick to

admonish his son into silence.

“We know what them two will find when they get to Unholy Dale, boy. All hell's gonna break loose

soon's they find Hesar! Best we don't say nothing to nobody, now; not let a living soul know we was out

there or making plans to go!"

Royce didn't hide his disappointment, but he understood his father's concern: murder had been done, no

matter how you looked at it.

“Can't nobody place us at the manor house, Pa,” Royce whispered. “And the snow last night covered

our tracks."

Jasper chewed on his lip, tried to remember if the man had ever opened his eyes at all while they were

stringing him up. “He weren't awake, was he, Pa?” he asked worriedly.

Jasper turned a gaping mouth to his son. “Why do you ask?"

Kullen's son shivered. “'Cause if he saw us and he somehow managed to get free....” He let the words

hang in the frigid air like a pendulum poised over its victim's belly.

Jasper flung his grizzled head from side to side. “Nay, boy. Nay! He weren't awake.” But the old man

wasn't sure. “Couldn't have been. He just couldn't have been!"

Royce wasn't so sure, either. He had a vague recollection of one swollen amber eye peering up

helplessly at him as he'd stripped off Hesar's torn shirt.

“Besides,” his father was stating with something less than true assurance, “he couldn't have gotten free

even if he did see us. I made them knots tight as a virgin's legs, I did! He couldn't have worked his hands

out of them."

Royce shuddered, a thought coming to him that made his testicles shrivel and cold sweat form at the

base of his spine. “But what if he had been awake, Pa?"

“He weren't!?” Jasper spat at him, beginning to feel the hangman's noose around his own neck and

running a dirty finger under his collar to relieve the tightness.

Royce lowered his voice and said his piece in a whisper: “What if someone came along and helped

him?"

Jasper gaped at his son. “Like who? Don't one soul in the whole of the village like the man! None who