Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (34 page)

about my daughter's purity. Her mother's a whore and so is she. I don't care one whit about either of

them, but I wanted Holy Dale and I didn't particularly care how I went about getting it. Despite wanting

the land as much as I still do, I am not willing to pay the price to have it. I do not want you for a

son-in-law so I will allow you to beg off the Joining if you will submit yourself to my anger.” He trailed the

quirt's handle down Syn-Jern's leg to his knee. “And it will be a steadfast anger, I can assure you."

Syn-Jern looked at the quirt resting on his knee. Then lifted his eyes to Montyne. He saw infinite

savagery in the man's beady gaze.

“If you think walking behind the carriage will be the easiest route,” Montyne said pleasantly as he leaned

back in the seat, “you might wish to reconsider. I have known Ferris to be a wild and reckless driver on

occasion and I would imagine it would be hard to run very fast in your bare feet."

Syn-Jern turned his gaze to his father, but there was no help there. What he saw made his blood run

cold for he knew his father had realized, as he had, just what other choice Montyne would give him.

“You would let him do this?” he asked.

Sorn shrugged. “You jilted his daughter at the altar. You deserve whatever retribution he desires to mete

out.” He relaxed; knowing Holy Dale would stay in the Sorn family. The price—whatever it would

be—to keep the land would be paid by Syn-Jern.

“If you think to try and run, boy, think again,” the Duke of Delinshire warned. “Should you make that

choice, I will bring you down and hamstring you so you will never run again, then I'll drag your naked ass

through the town anyway."

Absolute terror flitted across Syn-Jern's spine and he knew he was doomed no matter what choice he

made. He had no doubt he would be caught handily if he tried to run. He also knew he'd be dragged,

screaming and bleeding, behind the carriage if he made that stupid choice. Having his back stripped by

the quirt was certainly the lesser of the evils.

Sensing his opponent's defeat, Montyne took the leather gloves from his coat pocket and drew them on.

“Get out of the carriage, go to the wheel and wait there,” he ordered, fusing his eyes with Syn-Jern's.

Syn-Jern tired once more to garner his father's help. “Don't allow this, Father,” he begged, tears forming

in his eyes.

“You are asking the wrong person,” Sorn snorted.

Knowing there was no help for him, Syn-Jern lifted his chin. “I hope you rot in hell,” he told his father.

“I've no doubt he will,” Montyne chuckled.

“He beat you with the quirt?” Genny whispered.

“No,” her husband replied. “I told him if he wanted to whip my ass he'd have to drag me out of the

carriage, but I warned him if he tried, I'd do my damnedest to break his jaw."

Genny smiled. “What did he say to that?"

Syn-Jern shrugged. “He said..."

“Well, Sorn. It's looks as though the boy might have a backbone after all."

“Apologize to His Grace this minute, Syn-Jern!” his father demanded. “Of all the gall! Telling him you

would try to..."

“Leave off, Giles,” Montyne snapped. “Your son and I understand one another, don't we, boy?"

Syn-Jern's eyes narrowed with hate. “I am not a boy, Duke Gerard."

Montyne's grin was mean. “No, just a cuckolded man, I'd have to say.” He turned away. “Ferris! Drive

on!"

“I dreaded our arrival at Fairworth. I thought people would point at me and whisper behind my back

how I had left Rosa-Lynn waiting at the altar while I whored in Wixenstead.” Syn-Jern sighed. “But I

was in for the surprise of my life."

“Even more than finding out the woman you loved was betraying you?” Genny asked.

“Aye,” her husband stated. “It seems while I was in Wixenstead, Rosa-Lynn and my brother eloped.

They crossed the border into Serenia and were married by a Tribunal priest. There they were in the

courtyard at Fairworth being congratulated by the same royals who had gathered to celebrate her

wedding to me."

“Oh, my,” Genny said. “How did that make you feel?"

“I can't say I was overly concerned considering I was sitting in the midst of a large crowd with nothing

between me and them but the carriage door. I half expected Montyne to make me get out of the carriage

and walk into the lodge."

“Would you have?” his wife asked.

“At that point, I think I would have done so and enjoyed the hell out of seeing the shock on the faces of

the royals.” He chuckled. “But I think Montyne was afraid I might just do it, so he had his men stand in

front of the doors while Ferris went into the lodge to find my clothes."

“And your father?"

“Got out of the carriage, went up to his son, hugged him, patted him on the back, then welcomed

Rosa-Lynn into the family."

“You must have been so hurt, Milord,” she whispered, stroking his face.

“I was beginning to hate Rosa-Lynn and Trace with a blinding fury,” he admitted. “As I dressed, I heard

Trace telling one of the royals—some Chalean Prince—that he and his new bride would be in residence

at Holy Dale if the Prince would care to call. I think it was then I realized they meant to see me ousted

from my home.” He closed his eyes. “I never got out of the carriage that day. I think if I had, I would

have killed them both. Father must have thought so, too, for by the time I was dressed, Ferris was driving

me back to Holy Dale. All the way there, I thought about how I'd been used. How stupid I had been in

believing she loved me as I loved her.” He locked eyes with his wife. “As much as I had loved her, then,

I despise her now. My real hatred of her began when Trace brought her to live at Holy Dale."

“That must have been horrible for you,” his wife said, pushing a lock of stray hair from his forehead.

“It was not pleasant, but then again my life at Holy Dale had never been pleasant. I kept out of their

way, taking my meals in my room for the next two days, spending as much time as I wanted on the

outside balcony. I learned Father was taking Alicia on a holiday to Oceania and I would be alone with

the newlyweds. Then when father and Alicia left, I overheard one of the servants telling another that

Duke Sorn had paid someone a goodly amount to push me from the balcony. He said the Duke did not

want to return to find me still alive."

“Oh, Syn-Jern,” Genny whispered. “How awful!"

“I went into my room and the anger got the best of me. All I could think about was my father and how

much he hated me; all the pain and humiliation I'd suffered over the years; all the loneliness, the hate. At

some point, I wished him and his evil wife dead.” His voice became a mere breath of sound. “I had no

way of knowing I was capable of dealing death from hundreds of miles away, but that is what I did. I

willed them dead and they died."

“It was an accident, my love,” she consoled.

“No,” he said, getting up from the settee. “It was murder."

It had to be asked.

“What happened to the baby?” Genny asked.

Syn-Jern lowered his head. “When news of the Lady Diedre's sinking was sent to Holy Dale, the

servants began whispering that I had caused the tragedy. Rosa-Lynn became convinced I would do the

same thing to her and Trace.” He looked up, his gaze bleak. “She had a miscarriage."

“She blamed you,” Genny said.

“Aye,” he replied. “And so did everyone else."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Patrick Kasella was alone in the temple, sitting with his hands clutched between his legs. He sat staring at

the statue of the golden-haired woman whose arms were stretched wide in invitation to those whose

souls were troubled.

“Here I am again,” he said to the statue. His blue eyes roamed the serene features of the alabaster

statue, taking in the gentle smile and kind eyes; the expression of empathy the sculptor had incorporated

into the beautiful face.

Since coming to these exotic shores, Paddy felt like a fish out of water. He was in his element with the

rough and tumble members of Weir's crew, but here—in this lap of luxury and lushness—he was like a

bull in a china shop. The only place in which he had found peace was in this little shrine the Empress

Rowena had built to one of the ancient deities of their mutual homeland.

“Bless me, Mother,” Paddy whispered, “for I can not rid my heart of Syn-Jern Sorn."

He hung his head, tears welling in the azure depths. His entire being ached with love for the forbidden

and he was finding life more and more unbearable of late. No one ever treated him any differently than

they did the other members of the crew, yet he was keenly aware of the yawning gulf that separated him

from the rest of the men. His loneliness at times was a crippling pain and on the rare occasion he found

solace in the arms of another like him, the experience was less than rewarding. What he

sought—someone to call his and his alone—he was beginning to think he would never find.

Paddy lifted his gaze to the statue. “Help me, Lady,” he pleaded. “Help me to make sense of this

solitude I have been given."

Weir Saur turned from the doorway of the temple. He had come looking for Paddy, needing to make

sure his second in command was on ship before the crew started boarding. The Revenge would be

sailing on the evening tide; the good-byes were already being said. Obviously, now was not the time to

interrupt Paddy.

“Weir!"

Weir looked to his left and saw Syn-Jern loping toward him. He smiled. “I see you must have found a

locksmith."

Syn-Jern's brows drew together as he reached his brother-in-law. “I didn't know I was looking for one,”

he responded.

“You weren't trying to find someone to remove that leg iron named Genny?” Weir teased and watched

the instant embarrassment stain Syn-Jern's cheeks.

“Don't start,” Syn-Jern sighed. For the past two days, he and Genny had been at odds since she was

determined to make him let her and Dermot sail with him as far as Ciona.

“The only way you're going to be sure she stays behind is if you slip a dollop or two of tenerse in her

ale,” Weir chuckled. “Else, she's liable to stow away."

“The hell she will,” Syn-Jern grunted. “She knows I won't have time to worry about her safety.” He

clucked his tongue with irritation. “And she knows gods-be-damned well I won't allow her to bring our

child along on this voyage even if I was stupid enough to let her tag along!"

“What women know and what women accept are two entirely different propositions, Syni,” Weir

reminded him. “When are you going to learn that, my friend?"

“She's not going,” Syn-Jern stated firmly.

“I know she ain't,” Weir said with equal determination.

“Where's Paddy?” Syn-Jern asked. “I was told he was with you."

Weir jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the temple, praying."

Syn-Jern looked past Weir and nodded. “Ionarians spend a lot of time on their knees, don't they?” he

said in a respectful tone.

Weir shrugged. “I suppose so.” He turned to look at the temple. “Probably wouldn't hurt either of us to

ask for a little divine intervention for our endeavor. Whatcha think?"

“We're going to need all the help we can get,” Syn-Jern agreed, slapping his brother-in-law on the back.

“Let's go visit Paddy's Lady."

Patrick sensed movement behind him and turned, saw who had entered the temple, then looked away

again. He heard Weir and Syn-Jern settling onto one of the benches then heard the creak of the kneeler

being lowered. He smiled to himself. Neither of his friends was particularly religious, but then again

neither knew what lay ahead for the men of the Revenge.

“Pray for us, Mother,” Paddy said, his eyes once more on the gleaming white statue. “Intercede with the

Blessed One to make sure Syn-Jern returns safely to his family here."

He closed his eyes. “And if one of our band must join you in the Heavens, I beg you to let his end be

swift and painless."

Patrick had no illusions about the dangerousness of what he and the other men were setting out to do.

They were going up against the Viragonian Tribunal and the evil sect that controlled it: the Brotherhood of

the Domination.

* * * *

At the same time her husband was kneeling in the Temple of María, Genny Sorn was sitting in the Temple

of Tethys, listening to the Empress Rowena make entreaties to The Majesty of the Multitude. Among the

women gathered were those who had connections to the crew of the Revenge: lovers, and in some cases,

new wives. Each woman sat quietly, face worried, heart breaking. For each knew they might never see

their man again.

“Lead them, Oh, Fruitful Mother of us all, safely to their destination,” the Empress chanted, her arms

lifted to the heavens as incense wafted around her dark purple robe. The scent of lavender was thick in

the smoky air.

“Lead them,” the women gathered repeated.

“Teach them the pathways to peaceful solutions to their endeavor so they will not be placed in harm's

way."

“Teach them."

“Grant them success with what they are trying to accomplish."

“Grant them."

“Protect them so they may return to us in good health and sound of limb."

“Protect them."

“Help us to accept whatever You feel must be the outcome of this venture."

“Help us,” Genny whispered, her throat clogging with emotion.

Rowena lowered her arms and looked at the women gathered before her. “We who are left behind will