Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (38 page)

gypsy senses lifted to the hawk and, through its eyes, she saw the men and their mounts winding their

way past the pond and onto the lane which swept in front of Holy Dale manor. She counted seven men,

bundled in fur and carrying crossbow, sword, and pike.

“CAAA!” the hawk cried out again, then lifted its wings straight out beside its body, flexed its talons on

the branch, then shot up into the air.

D'Lyn watched her familiar as it arched back toward their little cottage to the east, flapping eager wings

in anticipation of the fire that would warm it. For a moment, she stood where she was, then sighed tiredly.

Ulia did not sense danger to the manor lord from these men who struggled through the snow to reach

Holy Dale. If the hawk did not sense danger, there was none to be found. With one last look at the stone

chimney of the manor house, the witch woman shrugged her shoulders and turned back toward her

home. Whoever had come calling on Kaelan Hesar meant him no harm and would save him from the fate

Jasper Kullen had intended.

* * * *

Thècion was shivering badly despite the warmth of his wool great cape. He cast a glance at Diarmuid and

knew his boyhood friend was just as cold as he. Beside Diarmuid, Raine Jale could barely been seen for

the layer upon layer of clothing he had donned for the trip.

“In Ventura,” the Hasdu had explained when Thècion had teased about the confinement of so many

garments, “we do not need to burden ourselves with such. Our djeelaba is sufficient."

“How much further, Raine?” Thècion called out and had to laugh as Jale turned a muffled face toward

him and struggled to pull down a woolen scarf just to be able to see the young Serenian prince.

“The gods curse you, McGregor,” the Hasdu spat, put out by the obvious amusement. “I should have let

you two blunder about Wixenstead Forest on your own!"

“How much f ... further?” Diarmuid stammered through numb lips.

Jale lifted a bulky arm and pointed straight ahead. “There is Holy Dale, but from the looks of the

chimney, we've no fire to welcome us!"

Thècion turned and looked in the direction Jale pointed. He saw no fire, either, but he did see the flash

of metal just beyond the house and reined in. “We're not alone,” he said, though not loudly.

Diarmuid had also seen the flash of light and stilled his horses as well, putting out a hand to touch Jale's

shoulder.

“HURRY!” the trio heard a man yell and glanced at one another. Obviously, something had upset the

riders for there was the sound of leather slapped against horseflesh and the collective clucking of

impatient tongues urging on mounts that were already knee-deep in the fresh snow.

“IS HE ALIVE?” someone else called out.

Thècion didn't need to hear any more. There could be only one subject of which such a statement could

be asked. He put his heels to his stallion's flanks, Diarmuid and Jale close on his mount's hooves as they

hurried forward.

Lumley Tarnes barely glimpsed up at the three strangers who rode into the courtyard of Holy Dale

Manor behind them. His old legs might be arthritic and thin, but they did him justice as he dogged Nick

Cree's long stride as the young Chalean nobleman ran pell mell toward his objective. Traer Saur had

been the first to ride into the courtyard and it had been his cry as he flung himself from his mount that had

made Cree ask if the man they had come to rescue was still alive.

Thècion's horse had barely had time to dig its hind legs into the snow to stop before the young prince

was off its back and running as fast as he could.

“Who the hell are you?” Riordan A'Lex asked as Raine Sale raced beside him.

“Ask me when we've seen to Prince Kaelan,” Jale mumbled.

Nick Cree caught Kaelan under the arms as Traer Saur cut the unconscious man down from the branch

upon which he'd been lashed. The intense coldness of Kaelan's naked chest sent a wild spurt of despair

through Nick. “By the gods, the man is near-frozen!” he cried out.

Thècion shoved Taylor Dixon out of his way, elbowed past Taylor's twin, Tyler. “Is he breathing?"

Nick didn't have time to answer. He had shifted Kaelan's weight and was trying to lift him up in his arms,

when Riordan stepped in and took his burden from him.

“You!” Lumley snapped, catching hold of Diarmuid's arm, “get in the house and start up a fire, boy!”

When Diarmuid just stared at the old man, unused to being given orders from peasants, Lumley shoved

him and kicked him in the seat of his breeches all in one motion.

“Do as he says, Diarmuid!” Thècion ordered. The Serenian prince was right behind Riordan as that man

carried Kaelan inside the manor house.

The fire was still smoldering in the kitchen grate and it didn't take Diarmuid long to get it blazing away

again as, between them, Thècion and Nick stripped off Kaelan's snow-drenched breeches.

“Raine!” Thècion demanded as he looked around for something to dry the Viragonian's wet chest, “look

upstairs and bring him some clothing."

“What little he's got ain't worth putting on,” Nick interrupted. He turned to Tyler Dixon. “Get the clothes

we brought for him.” He looked over at Thècion. “Who are you?"

“McGregor,” came the answer. “Who are you?"

“Cree,” Nick answered, then became aware for the first time that one of the three men who had ridden

into the courtyard right after them was staring at him. He was about to tell the man to mind his manners

when he realized he was looking into the confused face of one of his homeland's young princes. He

blinked. “Prince Diarmuid?” Nick questioned with disbelief.

“I saw your father in Wixenstead,” Diarmuid said.

Nick Cree's face became infused with a deep red heat. “My father was a part of this?” he asked.

Diarmuid shrugged. “I don't know, but Hesar was in a big hurry to get to Ciona. He wanted us to take

him with us on the Boreal Wind."

Lumley Tarnes spat into the hearth. “Gods-be-damned bastards. They must have hung the young one

out there in the freezing cold to get him to tell where the gal went to!"

Tyler Dixon ran in with fresh clothing and kneeling down beside Nick, began to help the man dress

Kaelan. “Look at his face,” Dixon remarked, flinching at the livid bruises and blood which adorned

Hesar's battered flesh.

“Tried to beat the truth outta him,” Tarnes scoffed.

Diarmuid put a hand on Thècion's shoulder and leaned down. “Did you see de Viennes’ knuckles?"

Thècion craned his head around and frowned up at his friend. “Why the hell would I have been looking

at the fool's knuckles, Brell? And why the hell did you feel the need to?"

Diarmuid straightened up. “They were bruised.” He sniffed. “The first thing a Chalean warrior does is

look to a man's hands to gauge his ability to wield a sword.” he sniffed again. “Thus, I looked to his

hands."

“You think de Viennes did this?” Nick demanded. At Diarmuid's nod, Nick's jaw clenched. “Just one

more reason I have to hate that bastard!"

“Not as much as I do,” Traer Saur grunted.

Raine Jale hunkered down beside the men already clustered around Kaelan. He took in the high color

on the unconscious man's cheeks and laid a hand to the Viragonian's forehead. A quick frown crossed

his dark face. “We had best get this man a Healer or we'll be turning him over to the Gatherer before

night fall."

“There's a bed upstairs,” Nick told him. “Let's get him up to his room and then I'll ride back to Ciona for

a Healer."

“And run the risk of getting caught by one of Hesar's men?” Traer Saur asked. He shook his head.

“Jess, how about riding back into Wixenstead and..."

“You need no Healer,” came a soft voice from the kitchen door and all the men turned as one.

The most beautiful woman any of the men had ever seen stood poised in the kitchen doorway. Her hair

was the color of midnight and hung down nearly to her ankles. Her eyes were bright and were the color

of amethysts. Her complexion was almost as dark as Jale's and when she smiled shyly at the men, deep

dimples shown in her rosy cheeks. The girl was a Rom half-breed if they'd ever seen one.

“I would have returned to my home, but I was bid turn and come back,” she explained. Her gaze fell

sorrowfully to the man lying on the floor. “He needs my help."

Jale, no stranger to the magi of his homeland, took a step back as the beautiful woman ventured further

into the kitchen. He made a strange sign, flinched as her attention slipped slowly to him, and then lowered

his eyes for fear she would cast a spell upon him.

“You have no reason to fear me, nomad,” she told him.

“I do not fear you,” Jale said, but refused to look at her.

Thècion's brows drew together for he had no idea why their guide would have reason to be uneasy with

the woman. He stepped over to her, intent on helping her if he could when her gaze fell unerringly upon

him and he fell hopelessly in love with her.

“I knew you would come one day, milord,” the men heard her say and watched as her face became

infused with a dreamy light.

“I ... am ... here,” Thècion managed to answer.

Diarmuid rolled his eyes. “That is a matter of opinion, McGregor."

Nick looked from Serenian prince to peasant girl and thought: ‘Oh, hell! Here's another pair of

star-crossed lovers to deal with!'

“Please,” D'Lyn said, her gaze now on Riordan, “take him upstairs. I've a potion to brew if we are to

keep him with us."

Riordan nodded and scooped the thin man up as easily as though Kaelan had been a child. He turned,

Tarnes leading the way, and headed for the stairs.

“What are you called?” Saur asked the girl. That she was a gypsy, he had no doubt. That she was also a

witch was a foregone conclusion.

“D'Lyn,” she answered and she went to the fire, pulled a small leather bag from inside her voluminous

cape and opened it.

“How can I help?” Thècion asked quietly, kneeling down beside her.

Diarmuid sighed heavily. There would be hell to pay when King Drayton, not to mention the future King

Blasdin, learned of this. Thècion was not one to go getting himself involved with strange women and

certainly had never dared to let himself fall in love with a commoner he knew he'd never be able to Join

with. But knowing him as well as he did, Diarmuid knew Thècion had fallen hard.

“When will the ship sail?"

Diarmuid turned to find Nick speaking to him. He shook his head. “Ain't nothing getting out of port for a

few days at least. The storm rather effectively shut everything down and there are floes already scattered

across the North Boreal.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I'd say maybe the day after tomorrow. Maybe

even longer."

Nick nodded. “That should give us time to get back to Ciona and get Gilly."

“His lady will not be pleased to see you,” D'Lyn remarked, a slight smile on her face. “Her cell is

unpleasant though the Constable's wife has tried to make your sister as comfortable as possible.” She

looked up at him. “She will never forgive you."

“I don't care,” Nick snapped. He refused to allow himself to wonder how the woman kneeling in front of

the fire, filling a goblet of hot water with strange-looking herbs, could know where Gillian was at that

moment.

“Witch,” Diarmuid mumbled and moved as far away from her, as had Jale.

“They fear you,” Thècion whispered, then chuckled.

“They should,” D'Lyn replied seriously, but gave lie to her words with a titter of laughter.

“Can't find Brownie,” Tarnes said as he came heavily down the stairs. “I've looked everywhere for her,

but I can't find her."

“Try the cellar,” Nick offered.

D'Lyn turned to look at him. “Do you look for his dog?"

“Aye,” Nick replied. “Have you seen her?"

The witch woman nodded and went back to her brewing. “She was hurt, but will be fine. She is at my

cottage and when she is mended, I will send her to him."

“We'll be getting him out of this gods-be-damned place, Mam'selle,” Nick swore through clenched

teeth. “I'll not let him stay another day where Duncan Hesar and that murderous father of mine can get

their hands on him!"

D'Lyn frowned as she stood up, the potion ready. She locked her attention on Nicholas Cree. “Your

father did not do this to His Grace."

Nick squinted. “Are you telling me it wasn't Rolf de Viennes who beat my brother-in-law nearly

senseless?"

“Brother-in-law?” Diarmuid questioned.

“No,” D'Lyn replied, shaking her head. “'Twas he who fought with the prince, although not fairly as it

should have been. It was the woodcutter and his son who tried to murder His Grace."

“Kullen!” Tarnes hissed as though the mere word was a curse unto itself. “By the gods, I will skewer

that old varmint!"

“It has been taken care of, Master Tarnes,” D'Lyn assured him and her eyes lit upon the old man with

tenderness. “They shall atone for what they did."

* * * *

Jasper Kullen had not been able to get the thought of someone finding Kaelan Hesar alive and nursing the

Demon Duke back to health out of his mind. He had nearly paced a hole in the floor of his favorite tavern

as his son sat swilling down ale after ale and muttering to himself that he had been cast with the evil eye.

“He saw us, Pa,” the younger Kullen had sworn. “I knowed he saw us. He will tell and they'll come for

us to hang us! He saw us, I tell you!"

“Did not,” Jasper had barked, but, the more he thought on it, the less sure he was. As the sun began to