Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (47 page)

Taylor are planning on staying, aren't you, men?"

Tyler bobbed his head. Not given much to talking, he let his twin do it for him, but Taylor was shy

around Gilly and merely nodded his head, too, at the question.

“And Riordan would like to stay, as well,” Traer went on. “I heard Raine say he'd come out later, once

he sold his stable. He wants to go back and ship the few horses he has out here."

“Especially Revenge,” Gilly replied.

Traer grinned. “I think that would please His Grace."

“Well, Lumley's staying and Ned wants to.” She frowned. “I guess Ned will go back for his lady."

Traer had been told the tale of how His Grace had been helped by both Ned and his wife, but he knew

nothing of how Kymmie, Ned's wife, had helped Kaelan. He wondered why the thought of Ned bringing

his lady out to Montyne Cay seemed to bother Her Ladyship so much.

“He's not going to be pleased that we found no priest on the island,” Gilly stated.

“Why can't His Worship perform the Joining?” Traer asked.

Gilly shook her head. “He will not. We have asked him. I believe it has something to do with him not

wanting the Tribunal to know he sanctioned our Joining.” She looked out over the waves. “It would not

be safe for him."

“Well, don't worry about it, milady. They'll fetch one to you as soon as they can,” Traer replied.

“I hate to wait,” Gilly said dejectedly. “Anything could happen."

“Why don't you just get the Cap'n to marry you?” Taylor spoke up.

Traer's face lit up. “Of course!” He slapped his leg. “Why didn't any of us think of that before?"

“Nick?” Gilly questioned. “How can he marry us?"

“Maritime Law!” Traer replied. “On the High Seas, a captain is like a magistrate. He can marry the two

of you and it's as legal as a Joining by a priest."

“And when we bring you back a priest from over Oceania way,” Taylor put in, “the Joining can be

re-done and there ain't a blasted thing the Tribunal of any country can do about it!"

Gilly's eyes filled with tears. She had thought herself Joined to Kaelan Hesar from that very first night,

having no way of knowing that the Viragonian King had married her by proxy in absentia to the dreadful

Rolf de Viennes. Once she found that out, she had been terrified the pompous libertine would come for

her some day, to make good on their Joining. Occultus had assured her no such thing would ever

happen, but Gilly hadn't wanted to take any chances. She had been counting on there being a priest on

Montyne Cay, and when she had found out that the priesthood had been banned from the colony back in

the time of the Outlaw, she had been sorely disappointed. The thought of losing Kaelan because of a lack

of a Joining Seal had worried her greatly. But if Nick could marry them....

“We'll have a grand party of it,” Traer was saying. “Won't we, men?"

Tyler and Taylor bobbed their heads in unison.

“Joined,” Gilly said wistfully. “I'm going to be Joined.” Her face took on a defiant light. “And this time, it

will be gods-be-damned legal!"

* * * *

This time around, it was Nick who performed the Joining ceremony. Thècion was the best man and,

much to his chagrin, poor Diarmuid had been commandeered as the maid of honor.

* * * *

Quinn could barely tolerate the noise coming from above deck as he lay perspiring in Nick's bunk. The

tropical weather was especially humid this eve and with all the commotion going on above him, he was

unable to slip into sleep to relieve the heat on his face and the pain on his back. He turned his head so he

could blot the sweat on his forehead on the damp pillow. He laid like that for a moment, staring at the

sheet beneath him.

The shrill of a pipe and the bang of a drum served to irritate him further, but when the stamping feet

began right over his head, jarring the cabin wall, he wished he had the ability to pull the pillow over his

head and blot out the merry sounds.

Quinn Arbra was a very intelligent man. He had been born of royalty and had married into royalty. He

had attended the Wind Warrior's school on Ionary, where he had been raised, although born at Holy

Dale as all his mother's people had been since the Outlaw's time, and had graduated at the top of his

class. He had taken his vows to the Wind Temple at the appropriate age, but had not gone away to the

Temple in Corinth, in Serenia, for the special training those young men who would one day become the

rulers of their kingdoms had had to do. He was well-versed in poetry and the celebrated books of the

world. He had a keen, analytical mind and was especially good at trading. His father had sent him to

Rysalia, to the Court of Halim Ben-Alkazar, to purchase a fine Rysalian stallion, and it was there he had

met Nialah, a cousin of the Rysalian King, and fallen deeply in love.

Having no objection to the match, both Quinn's father and Nailah's had sanctioned the Joining and given

the young couple their blessings.

But Nailah's brother, Xavier, had been another situation altogether.

Xavier Rahshobi had been vehemently against Quinn's marriage. If truth were told, the Rysalian knight

would have preferred to make the beautiful eighteen year old beauty his own wife. That there was

something unnatural about the way Xavier looked at his sister, even a blind man could see; you could feel

the perverted vibrations quivering on the air whenever he spoke to the girl. But no one in the family

thought too much of it. After all, Xavier loved Nailah and wanted only the best for her.

From the moment Quinn had been introduced to the petite woman, he had known he would have to

have her or never marry at all. She had looked at him with doe-like brown eyes and he was lost.

“You have done well for yourself, Quinton,” his grandmother had stated, giving her own blessing. She

had honored the union by making the trek to Rysalia, herself.

Quinn could not believe his good fortune. The entire family loved Nailah from the very start and as he

waltzed with his intended at their engagement supper, his feet had barely touched the mahogany

floorboards. He had been deliriously happy until the moment Xavier had broken in to take Nailah away

from him.

“It is not proper to look upon a young girl of the royal house of Ben-Alkazar with such vile purpose”

Xavier had hissed as he took his sister tightly in his arms.

“He is my betrothed, Xavier,” Nailah had protested.

“I have not agreed to that!” the Rysalian knight has snarled. “He is a Ionarian. You should be betrothed

to your own kind."

Quinn's fury had come at him like molten lava and he would have snatched Nailah out of her brother's

arms had it not caused a scene. “I have her father's permission,” he grated, “as well as her King's. We do

not need yours!"

Xavier had turned venomous eyes to Quinn. There had been the promise of retaliation in that searing

look and Quinn wondered if the man would call him out. He had almost hoped he would, for Quinn

justifiably knew there was no greater swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms than he, himself.

But Xavier, too, had known that and the man was not a fool. He had merely grunted away Quinn's

words and swung his sister out onto the floor, monopolizing her for three dances before their own father

butted in and returned Nailah to Quinn.

Mercifully, Xavier had taken himself away from court that night and had not come to the Joining two

months later. Quinn, unbelievably happy with his bride, had hoped the knight would stay away forever

from Resuello, the manor house given to Nailah and Quinn upon their Joining; but once news had been

sent to the Court at Asaraba that Nailah was with child, Xavier had shown up in a drunken stupor,

enraged that his beloved Nailah had been violated.

“She is my wife!” Quinn had thundered at the accusation that he had forced himself upon a defenseless

woman.

“You are an infidel!” Xavier had thrown at him. “Not fit to wipe the mud from her slippers! And now

you have soiled her for all time!"

The man's words were insane, mindboggling, and Quinn had ordered Xavier Rahshobi from his home.

They had fought brutally, but a lucky punch had spun Quinn around so hard he had collided with a

marble column. The impact had bounced him back and before he could react, Xavier had hit him over

the head with an iron sculpture, sending Quinn to the floor unconscious. When he came to, Nailah was

lying beside him in a pool of blood, her skull caved in from a fall from the balcony above him.

Quinn had roared with desperation and had lifted his wife into his arms, stumbled out into the storm. He

had carried her all the way to the village, kicking savagely at the Healer's door; until the man's wife had

opened the portal to him. There was nothing to be done for the dead woman so the Healer had sent for

the casket maker to come to the house. Quinn had gone berserk with his grief and would not let the

undertaker near his beloved wife. It had finally taken the constable and two of his deputies to pull Quinn

away so the body could be taken care of.

It was later the next morning that the Tribunal Guard had come for Quinn with a warrant for his arrest.

“What did he do?” the constable inquired having sat with the grieving man all night as he sobbed out his

sorrow. “It was an accident. The mistress fell."

“She was pushed!” the Tribunal Sergeant declared. “We have a sworn statement to that effect by an

eyewitness to the deed."

Quinn had not cared what happened to him. He had not resisted the manacles that had been snapped

into place around his wrists. Inside, he was as dead and as cold as his lost wife. He had uttered no word

in his own defense at his trial. He had listened to Xavier's accusations and lies and had calmly accepted

the verdict that was handed down. None of his family—grandmother or sister—had come to the trial so

no one who knew him well had been there to tell the court that his silence was unnatural. That the blank

look in his eyes was a quiet insanity that had him fiercely in its grip.

It was not until he came to himself on the prison ship Vortex that he began to fight the injustice that had

been done him. By then, it was too late.

But he had escaped.

And he had been caught; taken back to Ionary where Xavier, himself, had watched as Quinn was strung

up in the Tribunal Square and whipped until his back was a tattered ruin.

“You will rue the day you ever put hands to my sain'ted Nailah” Xavier had sworn.

A loud crash overhead brought Quinn back to the here and now. He squeezed his eyes shut as feminine

laughter rang out. There was only one woman on board the Revenant and tonight was her Joining night.

“Why?” he asked the gods who had long ago abandoned him. “Why did she have to belong to another

man?"

When he had been told that Gilly would be Joining with Kaelan Hesar that evening, Quinn had been

inconsolable. It was almost like losing Nailah all over again. Not that the two women looked anything

alike, but there was the same glow, the same demure fire, the same wondrous quality. He wondered idly

if Gilly were a Daughter of the Multitude and decided she probably was since most women of the noble

classes were.

Lying there, the pain in his back nowhere near the stubborn pain in his heart. Quinn felt the wicked

betrayal of tears easing down his cheeks.

“I fought a man who wanted to take my woman away from me,” Hesar had told him.

Aye, Quinn thought, she was worth fighting over. He, himself, would gladly lay hand to sword to have

her. She had saved his life and his life was hers to do with as she pleased. Whatever she asked of him, he

would move heaven and hell to do. Whatever he had was hers. It was the custom of the Chrystallusian

that a life saved was a life owed. She might belong to another man, but Quinn Arbra made a solemn vow

that night to be her sworn protector for as long as he lived and, if he could, to provide for her even after

his death.

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Diarmuid Brell was duly impressed. As he lazed in his hammock, coconut shell filled with mango wine in

his hand, he watched the sword lesson taking place on the beach and

mentally applauded the teacher.

Quinn Arbra was a swordsman of the first rank. The man was lightning quick, deadly accurate, and his

footwork was dizzying. Even barefoot in the dense sand, the man was a marvel to behold as he lunged

and parried. His riposte was a thing of beauty.

“Touché!” Diarmuid called out, slapping his free hand against the coconut shell in applause. “I couldn't

have done it better, Arbra!"

“You can't touch his expertise, Dear Mutt,” Thècion drawled. The Serenian prince was leaning back

against the base of a swaying palm, his legs crossed.

“I am a swordsman of note, Thècion,” Diarmuid snapped.

“Aye, but you are not in Quinn's league,” Thècion reminded his friend.

Diarmuid sniffed, but he knew Thècion was right. Few men were as good as Quinn and from the looks

of Arbra's opponent, Kaelan Hesar had just discovered it as well.

“You're not bad,” Quinn commented, “though you still aren't quick enough."

“I'm out of practice,” Kaelan grated out through clenched teeth.

“So am I,” Quinn chuckled. He flexed his blade, then walked over to take up its scabbard.

“Who taught you to fight?” Kaelan asked. He, too, was re-sheathing his weapon.

“My fencing master was an exiled Hasdu sheik. His name was...."