Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (51 page)

get this business of clearing Quinn's name done fast enough.

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The rope made a shrill squeak along the crossbeam as Xavier Rahshobi's body dropped through the

trapdoor of the platform. There was silence in the Tribunal punishment yard at the Temple of the Winds

at Asaraba as those gathered watched the final death kicks of the man who had been hanged. The loud

pop that had accompanied the snapping of Rahshobi's neck had signaled the end to a man most of

Rysalia despised.

To Quinn Arbra, it had signaled the beginning of a new life.

“You will go back to Resuello, will you not, Quinton?” King Halim Ben-Alkazar had asked after

Rahshobi's sentencing.

“If you will allow it, Your Majesty,” Quinn had replied.

“It is your home,” Halim had pronounced. He had motioned for his Chancellor to come forward. “And

the monies which Xavier Rahshobi earned from the estate will be turned over to you. Make note of that,

Jaileel."

Tears had gathered in Quinn's eyes. “I am most grateful, Majesty."

Halim nodded. “Find a woman, Quinton, marry her and settle down.” He glanced at Kaelan. “Raise

horses for that brat there to sell to his infidel neighbors."

“Aye, Your Grace,” Quinn agreed, grinning. “That was our intention should you decide to restore

Resuello to me."

“Wise men,” the King stated. “But you need a wife."

“I'll keep an eye out for one, Sire,” Quinn assured him.

The King put a finger to his lips. “As a matter of fact, there is a young woman I would like Vashon to

introduce to you.” He looked at his Chancellor. “What is that little one's name, Jaileel?"

“The one who is here visiting your daughters?” came the query. At the king's nod, Jaileel replied: “The

Lady Cantara, Your Grace. Lady Cantara Jaborn."

Kaelan felt Quinn stiffen beside him, but to give the warrior his due, he did not let his surprise show on

his face, though his complexion had gone a shade or two lighter at the dropping of that particular name.

“I would be honored to meet her, Your Majesty,” Quinn managed to reply.

“Then it's settled,” the King proclaimed, waving a dismissive hand at his Chancellor, who knew his

sovereign well enough to know he was to see to the arrangements of the meeting posthaste.

The Rysalian monarch turned his attention then to Kaelan. “When will you be leaving, young sir?"

“As soon as I can pick out a few good brood mares and a colt or two, Your Grace,” Kaelan answered.

“I am anxious to get home."

“Ah, yes,” Halim sighed. “You have a new bride awaiting you.” He folded his hands across his ample

belly. “I remember it well.” He sighed again, wishing it was not Rysalian custom to have only one wife at

a time. Miriam was still a lovely woman, but variety was nice. He shook himself. “And you, young sir,” he

said, pointing at Thècion. “Do you have a bride awaiting you?"

Thècion grinned. “There is a sorceress awaiting me, Your Grace."

Halim winced. “A Daughter?"

“Aye,” Thècion answered, beaming.

“Poor man,” Halim commented, though his own lady-wife belonged to that infernal, tricky sect of

witches. Not that he had ever had reason to complain about Miriam's involvement with the Multitude.

After all, had she not assured him the throne instead of his hateful brother, Kahlid?

“I am content with her, Sire,” Thècion announced.

Yes, she will have seen to that, Halim thought, but did not voice his opinion. Instead, he turned his gaze

on Diarmuid. “And what of you, young one? Do you have a bride to warm your bed, as well?"

“By the gods, no, Sire!” Diarmuid gasped, his face draining of color. “Begging your pardon, Majesty,

but I am not of a mind to go that route!"

Halim frowned. “You prefer your own kind?"

Thècion made a strangled sound and had to slap his hand over his mouth to keep from sputtering with

laughter. As it was, he had to bury his face against Kaelan's shoulder.

“What?” Diarmuid questioned, misunderstanding the implications of what he had said. He thought about

it for a moment and saw nothing wrong. “I prefer the company of men, aye, Your Majesty."

Kaelan had to wrap his own hand around Thècion's mouth to stop the young man from hooting with

laughter. Quinn was studiously observing the marble floor, his tongue clamped between his teeth to keep

himself from bursting into laughter.

The Rysalian King was frowning darkly-he had no respect for men of that ilk-but he realized from the

suffocating looks on the faces of his other guests that the young Chalean had no idea he had said anything

that could be misconstrued. He looked from Kaelan to Quinn to the young Serenian who was practically

shuddering with suppressed laughter and smiled slowly.

Perhaps the evening meal wasn't going to be so boring after all.

* * * *

Diarmuid wasn't talking to them. He had insisted on being dropped off at Odess where he could take a

ship home to Chale rather than spend another day with the likes of Thecion McGregor and Kaelan

Hesar, the Cousins from Hell.

“Ah, come on, Dear Mutt,” Thecion insisted. “It was just a joke."

“Leave him be, McGregor,” Kaelan ordered. “I don't think he found it very funny."

Thecion shrugged. Perhaps not, but he sure as hell had.

As did the rest of the Ben-Alkazar palace.

“It wasn't meant to insult you, Dear Mutt,” Thècion tried again, but his friend of many years just ignored

him.

“Leave off,” Kaelan repeated. He knew Diarmuid would come around before they made landfall in

Odess. At the moment, the young Chalean prince was in high dudgeon and it was best to let him stew in

his own juices for the time being. But he did have to admit, the joke King Halim had played on Diarmuid

Brell had been funny. Not as funny, perhaps, as the startled, stunned expression on Quinn's face when

the Lady Cantara Jaborn had entered the throne room to be introduced to Arbra, but funny just the

same.

“She was a beauty, wasn't she?” Thècion asked, referring to Cantara, but his words had an entirely

different meaning for Diarmuid.

“LEAVE ME ALONE, MCGREGOR!” Diarmuid bellowed, coming to stand nose to nose with his

friend. “T'WAS NOT FUNNY AND I WAS NOT AMUSED!"

“How many times have I told you to be careful what you say, Dear Mutt?” Thècion countered. “The

King but took you at your word!"

“YOU KNEW WHAT I MEANT!” Diarmuid threw at him.

“Aye,” his friend agreed, “but the King did not."

'THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD HIM!"

“It wasn't McGregor's place to tell him you don't always mean what you say, Brell,” Kaelan said quietly.

“If you are to make your way in this world without the benefit of royal interpreters to correct your

mistakes for you, you'd better start learning to do it now."

Diarmuid turned his anger on Kaelan, even though he knew the older man was right. “Stay out of this,

Hesar. You have enough problems without making me one of them!"

Kaelan's left eyebrow crooked up into the thatch of his dark brown hair that was blowing in the stiffening

sea breeze. He recognized true fury when he saw it, so he held up his hands, letting the young prince

know he would keep his council to himself from then on. Turning his back, he walked away, shutting out

the angry remarks being thrown between McGregor and Brell. He winced when the first blow landed,

but kept on walking, making his way to his cabin and the letter he wanted to write to Gilly.

“I wish I'd been there to see it,” Lum remarked as Kaelan reached the hatchway.

“It was hilarious, but I don't think you should mention you are privy to what happened, Lum,” Kaelan

advised.

“Wasn't gonna,” Lum insisted.

The cabin was stiflingly hot, but from experience Kaelan knew the closer they came to Odess, the colder

the weather was going to get. He had already laid out a heavy greatcape in expectation of the snow and

cold that was to come. Settling down at the writing desk, he lifted his quill and began his letter.

* * * *

By the time the Vengeance came into the bustling Outer Kingdom harbor at Odess, Diarmuid was in a

better frame of mind. If he hadn't exactly gotten over the incident, at least he could look back at it and

not shudder quite so terribly. The black eye Destin was sporting was satisfaction enough so long as no

one back at the Cay learned of what had transpired at the Court of Halim Ben-Alkazar.

“Prince Diarmuid, may I introduce you to Marid?” the King had inquired.

Black sultry eyes behind long, thick eyelashes darkened with kohl had gazed shyly up at Diarmuid. The

thick black hair lying in braids down a slender, elegant back had fairly gleamed in the oil lamplight. The

soft, smooth hand that had been placed in his had been cool to the touch and the nails tipped with

vermilion. Diarmuid had gaped at the beauty before him from pert, upturned nose to sensuous lips, to

swan-like neck, and—though not as buxom as Diarmuid preferred his bed partners to be—Marid had a

tiny waist and cute little toes that were also painted a bright, alluring red.

“You are lovely, little one,” Diarmuid had whispered, bringing Marid's hand to his lips in the typical

Chalean fashion of greeting.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Marid had responded and the voice that had come from that perfect, cupid's

bow mouth had been sultry and infinitely promising.

Had Diarmuid not been paying such close attention to Marid's every word as the evening wore on; had

he not been hand-feeding delicious morsels of food into that sensual little mouth, he might well have

noticed the sly looks aimed his way by nearly every male at the banqueting table. If he wondered why

there were no other women in attendance, he did not notice for he had eyes only for the sweet perfection

of flawless, tanned flesh that slid over Marid's delicate shoulders.

If truth be told—and Diarmuid prayed to the gods that it never was—he had lost a portion of his heart to

Marid that evening.

And would have inquired after taking his dining partner home to the Cay with him if Thècion hadn't let

the cat out of the bag.

“He's a boy, Dear Mutt!” Thècion had howled at the suggestion. “Didn't you know that?"

Thinking back on it now, Diarmuid could feel his face getting red again. He would never forgive Thècion

and he wasn't so sure he would ever forgive Kaelan, either, for not warning him.

“It was a harmless prank,” the Viragonian had responded to Brell's demand to know ‘just what the hell

were you men thinking?'

A prank, Diarmuid snorted as he plopped down in his bunk and nursed the bruised knuckles that had

repeatedly connected with Thècion's hard jaw.

Well, it was kinda funny, he thought, and found himself grinning. He immediately wiped the grin off his

face and returned his handsome features to the scowl he had been practicing all day. Best now to let

anyone know he wasn't all that upset. After all, he had learned a valuable lesson.

Turning over, he thought back to Quinn and the dumbfounded expression on that man's face when he'd

seen his future bride. Now, there was a sight to make a man smile!

Quinn had been telling a joke to Prince Vashon Ben-Alkazar when the King's Chancellor announced the

arrival of the Lady Cantara. Arbra had slowly swung his head toward the doorway and every bit of color

had drained from the poor warrior's face.

“She was a beauty, wasn't she?” Thècion had asked Kaelan earlier.

Aye, Diarmuid thought, that she was. He would never have said so to Kaelan, but the Lady Cantara

outshone even Gillian and that was extraordinary!

Tall and willowy, with a waist that could easily be spanned by a man's hands, the breathtaking beauty

who had walked into the throne room had taken Quinn Arbra's heart on sight. Her soft violet eyes had

gone straight to his and held, and the lips that had been so richly stained with the color of pomegranate

had eased into a welcoming smile that would put the goddesses in heaven to shame.

Quinn had risen slowly to his feet, his heart in his eyes, his soul reaching out to hers, and every man there

knew he was lost.

Or found, as Kaelan insisted later on that evening.

“She's what he needs,” the Viragonian had insisted.

Diarmuid sighed. Up until that evening, he had not thought to ever marry. He didn't want to have to cater

to a woman's whims and moods and tempers. He wanted to go where he wanted to go, when he wanted

to go, and not have to answer to anyone.

But now?

He sighed again. Thècion had D'Lyn; Kaelan had Gilly; Quinn had Cantara. What did he have?

A cold, lonely bunk that felt even colder and lonelier than usual.

Well, he thought as he turned over and tucked his pillow more comfortably under his head, there were

plenty of women at the Cay. Maybe one of them had a cold, lonely bed, too.

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D'Lyn sat down heavily on the rock beside Gilly and turned her attention to the sea.

“An hour?” Gilly asked.

“Give or take,” D'Lyn responded.

“Nervous?"

“Aye."

Brownie shifted her head from one Her to the other, trying to decide why they didn't seem all that happy

about the imminent return of the Him. Were they angry at Him for some reason.

“He's gonna be annoyed,” D'Lyn stated.

“Aye."

The big brown mutt laid her big head down on her outstretched paws and let her eyes move back and

forth instead of her head. The two Hers were giving her a headache and their jitters were beginning to