Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (38 page)

Tiernan McGregor crooked his finger at his aide and when the man bent over, McGregor whispered

instructions to him. The aide nodded politely, doubled his fist, struck his chest in salute, then hurried

away.

“How long has Sorn been imprisoned?” McGregor asked politely although his mind was on an entirely

different subject.

“This does not concern you, Serenian!” Innis Hesar snapped. “Pray mind your own business!"

Tiernan bristled at the rebuke. “The man you are discussing was born in my country. Therefore,

according to our Tribunal laws, he is a Serenian.” He narrowed his blue eyes dangerously. “That makes it

my business."

“Our laws state he is Viragonian, McGregor,” one of the minister's said, “since citizenship is counted

through the maternal line."

“We should debate this,” an older minister mumbled. “I propose we put it to—"

“Silence!” Hesar shouted. If there was anything he hated worse than riddles, it was debates of any kind.

McGregor hid a smile behind his hand. If there was anything he liked better than slipping gently between

the thighs of a willing maid, it was aggravating Innis Hesar.

“Might I suggest a troop of Tribunal guards be dispatched to Holy Dale Manor, Your Highness?” Taeli

inquired, wanting to get the matter settled.

“For what purpose?” the king demanded.

Taeli dug his nails into the palms of his hands. It was all he could do to maintain a façade of respect while

dealing with the foolish Viragonian king. “To re-arrest him, your Highness,” the warrior said in as polite a

tone as he could muster.

“Correct me if I am wrong in this,” McGregor injected, “but wasn't his time up two years prior to this?”

He snapped his fingers and another aide hurried to him, placing a document in his outstretched hand.

Innis Hesar's forehead wrinkled. “What have you got, McGregor?"

The Serenian unfolded the paper. “The court ruling on one Syn-Jern Sorn, Duke of Winterset,” he

responded, pretending to read the document he already knew by heart. “Ah, here it is!” He was silent so

long the king let out a snort of disgust.

“Well, read it aloud, fool! What does it say?” Hesar demanded. Truth told he had forgotten what the

writ of imprisonment had decreed. He wasn't even sure he had ever signed the second writ that was

intended to keep Syn-Jern Sorn locked away for the remainder of his life.

“It says,” McGregor drawled, “the sentence was completed two years ago.” He re-rolled the parchment

and laid it in his lap. “Unless there is a second writ, the man is free."

“I think not,” the king grated.

McGregor turned to the group of ministers hovering nearby. “Were any of you gentlemen privy to a

second writ of imprisonment?” He looked from one to the other of them. When they shook their heads in

denial, he arched both brows. “None of you witnessed such a writ?"

Again the ministers shook their heads.

The Serenian turned his full scrutiny on the Viragonian king. “Surely you would not have given a verbal

order to keep a man in prison long after he had served his rightful sentence, would you, Your Majesty? Is

that not against Tribunal policy and Viragonian law?"

Innis saw the ministers watching him. Although they could do nothing to him if he had bent the law in

such a way, now was not the time to get on the men's bad side. There were things he wanted to do and

he needed their approval. “Of course not,” he answered, hating McGregor with every fiber of his being.

“Then we are agreed he is a free man, are we not?” Tiernan pressed.

“Free?” Innis echoed. “I can not agree if he escaped the Labyrinth. As such, he will have to serve

additional time for that.” His slow mind wrestled with the problem, trying to find a way he could

prolong—indefinitely—Syn-Jern's committal.

“You can not fault a man for escaping if he has served his time,” the Ambassador from Chale spoke up.

“What man among us would not do so?” He looked about him and was pleased as those among the

assembly nodded their agreement. “Right is right, Sire."

“He has to be punished for his crime!” Innis objected, unable to come up with one good reason for

having Sorn returned to the Labyrinth.

“His lands were forfeited; his title revoked,” McGregor stated. “What more punishment is needed?"

“If he has committed no additional crime, then he is a free man,” the Chalean ambassador proclaimed.

“So it is written in the Tribunal tomes."

“Aye,” the other ministers and ambassadors confirmed.

“You must declare him free, Your Grace,” Tiernan prodded Innis.

“You must send him back to Tyber's Isle. He has sworn to kill his enemies!” Taeli Masarawa seethed.

“And his king! That is treason!"

“That is hearsay and nothing more,” McGregor said, passing off such remarks as irrelevant. He nodded

as the aide he had dispatched for information came back, whispered what he had learned in his prince's

ear, then took up a position beside Tiernan's chair once more.

“He is on his way here to carry out his death threats,” Taeli insisted. “Will you let him murder your king

in his bed?"

Innis flinched. He certainly would need to increase security to his person.

Taeli sneered at Tiernan. “Or is that what you would like to see happen, Prince McGregor?"

“Who are you?” Tiernan snapped. His gaze bored into Taeli. “And why are you here spewing this wild

tale of murder and mayhem? What is in this for you?"

“He's a gods-be-damned Chrystallusian,” the Ambassador from Diabolusia grunted. “And I'd like to

hear why he's tale-telling myself!"

Taeli drew himself up to his full height, that was impressive. “I am the Captain of the..."

“Was,” Tiernan corrected. “Was the captain of the Imperial Guard, but you were sent to prison for

assaulting Syn-Jern Sorn."

There was a chorus of in-drawn breaths throughout the throne room. Narrowed gazes fell on Taeli

Masarawa.

“Assaulting him where?” Innis questioned. “Here in Virago?"

“In Chrystallus where the man is living at the moment,” Tiernan replied. He cocked his head toward his

aide. “We are in contact with the Imperial house as you know, Your Grace, and as such, we are privy to

what occurs there. When His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Shimota, learned of Syn-Jern Sorn's arrival in

his homeland, he sent this man to escort him to the palace to be welcomed. Instead, Masarawa attacked

Sorn, nearly killing him."

Taeli's face flamed. “You do not understand what transpired. You—"

“You,” Tiernan emphasized, “rendered Syn-Jern Sorn unconscious, attacking him from behind, as it

were, and sending him to bed with a severe concussion. For your—"

“You do not understand!” Taeli interrupted. “I had been given orders to—"

“For your crime,” Tiernan shouted over Taeli's objection, “you were lashed and sent to prison, from

which you escaped!"

The narrowed eyes of the court widened, then became flint hard as the stares became glowers of

outrage.

“An escaped prisoner, you say?” Lord Diego Estevez barked. He had as much love for Chrystallusians

as the McGregors had for the Hesars. He pointed a crooked finger at Taeli. “Arrest that man!"

“No!” Taeli shouted and turned to run. His escape was met with two Tribunal guards, swords drawn.

Tiernan McGregor stretched out his long legs, braced his elbows on the arms of his chair, pressed his

fingertips together and rested his chin on them as he watched the Tribunal guards wrestling Masarawa to

the floor. Amid the vicious Chrystallusian curses being brought down on the heads of every man in the

room and the grunts of pain as meaty fists plowed into the ex-captain of the Imperial Guards’ body,

Tiernan was enjoying himself immensely. The clanking of heavy chains being clamped around the

warrior's wrists drowned out the low chuckles of amusement coming from Tier's twitching lips. He shifted

his eyes to Innis Hesar and saw that man slumped on his throne, his face worried.

“You've got plenty to worry about, you bastard,” Tiernan thought to himself as a well-aimed fist

knocked the light out of Taeli Masarawa's world and the Chrystallusian was dragged away. “Your

troubles are just beginning."

“McGregor,” the king said in a flat tone.

“Aye, Your Highness,” Tiernan replied.

Innis Hesar turned his concerned gaze on the young Serenian Prince. “You say you are bored."

Tiernan nodded.

“Would a trip to Holy Dale liven things up for you?"

McGregor cautioned himself not to smile. “I would not mind the trip, Your Grace."

Innis lifted a tired hand. “Then go and report back to me the climate of Trace Sorn's village. See if there

is anything to the rumor of his half-brother returning to Holy Dale to cause trouble for the crown."

Tiernan inclined his head respectfully. “As you wish, Majesty. Consider it done.” He smiled slyly. “May I

take one of the Tribunal ships since I will be there in an official capacity?"

“I don't care what you take,” Innis snarled. “Just see to it!” With that he thrust from the chair and stalked

away, his massive shoulders hunched like those of a bull.

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Trace Edward Sorn's upper lip was lifted in scorn as he watched the Tribunal's Serenian emissary

slurping soup into his mouth. With contempt, Trace lifted his napkin and blotted at his lips. “And just how

long will you be staying with us, Prince...” He arched a thin brow.

“McGregor,” Tiernan supplied the name. He swung his attention to the woman sitting at the far end of

the table. “You set a goodly table, Your Grace,” he complimented the sullen bitch. “Captain Saur and I

certainly appreciate you providing us such a glorious repast, do we not, Captain?"

“Most certainly, Your Grace,” Weir agreed.

Rosa-Lynn Sorn rolled her eyes and dug into the steak on her plate with a vengeance. After voicing her

protest of the intrusion to her home by the Serenians, she had set about to ignore her visitors.

“As you can well imagine, Milord,” Trace drawled, “we were not expecting company and my lady-wife

is—"

“They are not guests, Trace Edward,” Rosa-Lynn spat, grabbing her wineglass. “They have

commandeered our home!” She lifted the glass and took a long, hard pull on the dark red claret.

“I believe this is a Tribunal residence,” Tiernan said, fusing glares with the woman. “It belongs to the

Brotherhood, not to you."

Rosa-Lynn sputtered, her eyes flashing pale fire at the man down the table from her. “How dare you?”

she snarled, her lips drawn back from her teeth.

“I dare,” Tiernan said in a haughty, lethal tone, “because I have, should the occasion arise, the authority

to put you out on your shapely rear, Milady, if that is my desire.” He smiled nastily. “Perhaps I should

ask if you care to remain here or would prefer to retire to one of the convents while I am in residence.”

The smile vanished from his lips. “The Court of the Storms would certainly uphold any decision I make

regarding the disposition of Tribunal owned property."

Trace's eyes widened. “By the gods, no!” he gasped. He knew if Rosa-Lynn was threatened with

imprisonment in a convent—and that was surely what McGregor was implying—she'd tell everything she

knew about the death of Otis Playe.

Rosa-Lynn's face had drained of color at the threat. The hand holding her glass of wine trembling, she

returned the goblet to the table and put her hands in her lap, clutching the fingers together to keep them

still. “I ... I meant no insult to you, Highness,” she whispered, then turned her best engaging and seductive

smile on the man. “I beg your pardon."

Before Tiernan had even met the bitch, he had hated her. Knowing what she had put Syn-Jern through

was enough to put the very demon in his dry tone when he said,” You do not want to make an enemy of

me, woman.” When her suddenly worried eyes locked with his, his own narrowed into thin slits of dislike.

“The last thing you want to do is make an enemy of a McGregor clansman. Do I make myself clear?"

“I...” she began, but Tiernan cut her off.

“Shut up. You are an annoying piece of tail, are you not?"

Trace blinked. No one had ever said such a thing to Rosa-Lynn and he shifted his startled gaze from his

wife to the Prince then back again. Rosa-Lynn was sitting in her seat as stiff as a board. Her face was

pale, her lips trembling, but she was holding her temper—a formidable task for one such as she. When

her head lowered, Trace nearly hooted with laughter for he'd never thought to see the day any man

humbled Rosa-Lynn Sorn.

“You have to know how to put a woman in her place and keep her there,” Tiernan snapped, skewering

a piece of steak and popping it into his mouth. He spoke around the gob of meat. “Obviously, you have

let this one get away with murder."

Rosa-Lynn's head came up and she turned toward Trace. The venom in her stare made her husband

nervous, but he knew it would be unwise to come to her defense with the prince. So instead, he kept his

mouth shut, and returned to the food on his plate.

“Tell me about the bastard I was sent here to investigate,” Tiernan mumbled as he stuffed bread into his

mouth.

Trace's brows came together over his aquiline nose. “Beg pardon?” he asked, not having been apprised

of the situation that had brought McGregor to Holy Dale's doors.

“This Sorn fella,” Weir stated, looking from husband to wife, gauging the reaction. “The one sent to

Tyber's Isle."