Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (46 page)

Brother and sister stared at one another.

“No,” Kerm denied, shaking his head. “Can't be."

“Shouldn't we ask, though?” Sara asked with worry rife in her voice.

Kerm also turned and looked at the couple who were now quite a distance from them by then. “It ain't

her, Sara. Why would she be coming this way?"

“What better way?” Sara asked, pulling her mare to a stop. “If'n she didn't want nobody knowing she

was here. Wouldn't she be coming in the back way, so to speak.” She pointed at the archway of the

Carbondale Gate. “And this is the back way!"

“Ain't her,” Kerm insisted. The couple they'd been watching could no longer be seen because of the rise

of the land. He resolutely turned toward Serenia. “Leave it rest. It weren't her."

Sara kept her mount still even as her brother kicked his into a faster pace, leaving her behind. Gnawing

on her lower lip, she glanced once more at the place where she'd last seen the lady. “Maybe Kerm's

right,” she said and nudged her mare into motion.

* * * *

One minute Lin Su was seated astride his palfrey, the next he was lying in the middle of the roadway with

blood pouring from a wound in his side.

Kicking and screaming, raking her nails into the arms and necks of her attackers, Genny Sorn was on

the verge of kicking one bastard in the groin when a fist slammed into the side of her head and knocked

her unconscious. She did not feel her limp body being thrown over the back of her own mount nor the

vulgar squeeze of her breast Lyle Drake gave her as he tied her body to the horse.

“Hie you back to the cabin and tell His Grace we got the woman,” Drake told one of his fellow

ambushers.

“He won't know if'n we have a little taste of her,” one of the men suggested.

“She'd tell him,” Drake snapped. “Now, be off with ye."

“How's she to know if'n she ain't awake to know what we do?” another asked slyly.

“Aye,” the third and fourth said in unison.

Drake looked at the unconscious woman. His cock leapt against his britches front and he reached down

to rub it.

“Come on, Lyle. Who's ever gonna know?"

Drake hesitated a moment longer then grinned savagely. “Aye,” he replied. “Who's ever gonna know?"

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“Who the hell is this?” Trace Sorn bellowed, his eyes were wide and nearly popping from their sockets.

“This is a lady, you fool!"

Drake looked from the bruised and battered woman lying on the cot to his master, “You said to take

Saur's woman, Milord, and—"

“This is not Saur's woman, you imbecile!” Sorn shouted. “Who is she?"

“You said she'd be coming through the Carbondale Gate at ten of the clock and she was,” Drake

defended himself. “You said she would be with a hulking fella and she was."

Trace drew his arm over his shoulder and backhanded Drake, staggering the larger man, who crashed to

the floor. He bent over Drake. “It was Sara and Kerm Gill I wanted!” he seethed. “Weir Saur is the

Outlaw, you ass!"

“How was I to know, Your Grace?” Drake whimpered, fingering his jaw to see if it was broken. “You

didn't give me no names."

Sorn swore heatedly then stalked to the cot where the unconscious woman was trying to swim back to

reality. He stared at her, taking in the bruises, then slowly turned his head to Drake. “Did you touch her?”

he asked, his voice low and deadly.

Drake had killed seven men in his lifetime. He'd done his share of violating women and a few children as

well. He considered himself invincible, powerful, and he backed down to no man. But the only man he

had ever feared in his life was right there in the cabin with him, glaring at him with murderous rage. Drake

swallowed, a sour sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Did you touch her?” Sorn repeated.

“If'n she ain't the right one, Your Grace, what difference does it matter?” Drake whined.

Trace Sorn's hand went to the dagger at his side. Without another thought, he drew it, flipped it over in

his palm, and before Drake could scramble out of harm's way, sent the deadly missile straight into the

miscreant's heart.

Drake lowered his head to look at the dagger sticking from his chest. With a hopeless sigh, he looked up

at Sorn, then fell to his side, dead.

Sorn hurried to the door, snarling beneath his breath when he found he was alone. The four men who

had been hired by Drake were long gone. No doubt they had overheard him questioning Drake and had

high-tailed it. Before nightfall, they would be on a ship and out of Virago, never to return if he knew their

kind, and he did.

A low groan from the cot drew Trace Sorn's attention and he shut the door. He kicked Drake's lifeless

body to its back, stooped down, jerked his dagger from the dead man's chest and with every intention of

running the blade across the unknown woman's throat, walked to the cot.

But the woman's eyes were open and she was staring up at him. “Help me,” she whispered. “Please help

me."

Realizing the woman did not know the identity of her attackers and could not connect him in any way to

her kidnapping, Trace relaxed and sat on the cot beside her.

“You are safe, Milady,” he said, running his hand over her pale face. “You have nothing to worry about."

“Where am I?’ Genny asked. “How did I get here?” She tried to sit up, but gasped, the myriad pains

dotting her savaged body bringing instant memory. “Oh, god!” she gasped.

“Hush, Lady,” Trace said, a smidgen of chivalry surfacing. He gathered her to him, cradling her against

his chest. “You are under my protection now and I shall let no one harm you.” He smoothed her hair.

“Your attacker is dead and can not harm you again."

Genny could see the body lying on the floor. “You k ... killed him?” she asked, shivering.

“I saw them bringing you into the cabin,” he replied. “Since I own this land and do not know the men, I

hastened to see what they were about. Luckily for me I happened along before they could...” He

stopped, a part of him sickened by what had already happened to the woman. She was trembling and

that part of him that still held to the teachings of the warrior caste gave rise to an overwhelming desire to

make things right for her.

“They...” Genny whispered, her voice breaking. “They—"

“I understand” Trace said, “but no one need know but the two of us."

Tears falling down her cheeks, Genny clung to the man she thought her savior. “Who are you, Milord?”

she asked and was totally unprepared for his answer.

“Duke Sorn, Milady,” Trace said with pride. “Duke Trace Edward Sorn."

Genny drew back from him, her lips parted in shock.

“At your service, Mam'selle,” he said, thinking her stunned look was one of awe.

“Sorn?” she echoed and a shudder of sheer terror running down her body.

“Aye,” he replied and smiled. “And what is your name, Sweeting?"

His hand was stroking her hair, his breath warm against her cheek. She could feel the hardness of his

chest against her and feel the strength of his arms around her. This man was her husband's mortal enemy:

a man who had sent her beloved to a living hell. He was a man capable of murder and deeds even more

vile.

“Sweeting?” Sorn pressed. “What is your name?"

Genny swallowed. “Rowena,” she said, giving the only name she could think of at that moment.

“Rowena ... Su.” A sob caught in her throat. “Lin Su!” she gasped. “Where is he?"

Sorn surmised she was calling for the man who had been killed on the roadway. “I don't know of whom

you speak, but we will find him, Milady."

Memory of the attack washed over Genny. “He's dead,” she wailed, covering her face with her hands.

“They killed him!"

Trace continued to hold her, never realizing the cause for the sudden stiffness of the woman's body. “I'll

take care of you, Mam'selle,” he told her. “You have nothing to fear."

Tearing from the loathsome bastard's embrace, Genny buried her head in her arms and cried.

For Lin Su.

For the vile attack on her person.

And for Fate that had dropped her into the lap of Syn-Jern's diabolical brother.

* * * *

Lin Su sat up, his head throbbing horribly. He put a hand to his side and was not surprised to find it red

with his own blood. Though the sword that had skewered him had missed a vital organ, the loss of blood

had weakened him greatly. It took most of his energy to gain his feet. Wavering, he looked around him.

His horse was gone and so was his lady.

It was his bellow of rage as he dropped to his knees in the dirt that Kerm and Sara heard as they

cleared the rise.

“Merciful Alel, what the hell was that?” Sara shrieked.

Kerm pointed. “Look yonder!” He kicked his horse in the ribs. “Geddup!"

Sara was close on her brother's heels for once. Even from the distance at that she was viewing him, she

recognized the huge warrior who had been escorting the lady. Fear made her throat close and her heart

beat faster than a Chalean drum.

Kerm did not give his mount time to stop before he vaulted from the saddle. He ran to the injured man.

“Easy there. Easy!” he insisted.

“I have to find her,” Lin Su signed weakly. “I have to find her!"

“What's he waving his hands like that for?” Sara asked breathlessly as she slid from her horse.

“Help me!” Lin Su signed. “What way did they go?"

“I don't know what he wants,” Kerm said. “What are you trying to tell us, fella?"

“My lady,” Lin Su signed. He grimaced then toppled backward, out cold.

“We gotta get him to a Healer,” Sara suggested.

“Where's the lady?” Kerm asked.

“Bandits,” Sara replied, shuddering. “They'll be holding her for ransom."

Kerm knew better, but he didn't correct her. He cocked his chin toward her horse. “Get the steed and

bring it over. I'll get him up on her somehow and we can take him to Holy Dale. Hurry now!"

* * * *

When Syn-Jern arrived back at the cave, he was surprised to see Tiernan waiting for him there.

“Before you ask, there's no one home up there,” Tiernan explained. “I have no idea where your brother

is, but the woman went into town to meet with her dressmaker."

Syn-Jern's disgust came out in the form of a vulgar word.

“Thanks for the invitation, but not at the moment,” Tiernan replied dryly. At Syn-Jern's look, the

McGregor grinned.

“I am in no mood, McGregor,” Syn-Jern snapped.

“Neither am I, but perhaps later on tonight...” He stopped when Sorn took a step toward him, murder

glinting in his pale eyes. “All right! I'm only trying to get your mind off Demonicus."

Syn-Jern's head snapped up. “How did you know he was here?"

“Dano. The priest is on his way here,” Tiernan said on a sober note. “That's why I came to warn you. I

don't think old Fiels and Dano have ever ridden that fast in their entire lives.” He shrugged. “And they

weren't all that happy when I sent them away again to get word to Weir and Patrick."

Syn-Jern slumped on his pallet. “At least with that evil son-of-a-bitching cur here, there won't be a

chance of him running into Genny."

“I heard about the ship's delay,” Tiernan replied. “Would you like me to send someone to be there when

she arrives."

“I will be there,” Syn-Jern snapped. “She is my responsibility."

Both men tensed as the signal whistle echoed through the corridor to them.

“That's Kerm,” Syn-Jern said, relaxing. He intended to rest for an hour or so then head back to

Wixenstead.

Sara came running into the cave. “Kerm needs help. We've a wounded man!"

“Who?” Syn-Jern demanded, coming to his feet.

“Don't know him, but he was stabbed,” Sara responded.

Between them, the three men were able to drag the big warrior through the corridor and lay him on

Syn-Jern's cot.

“We was going to take him to the stables and go after the Healer, but he won't hear of it,” Sara said.

“He keeps waving his hands around and shaking his head. Seems he don't want nobody but me to sew

him up."

“Fugitive,” Tiernan commented.

“He was with a lady,” Sara stated. She looked at Syn-Jern. “He's from that there country, ain't he,

Milord?"

Syn-Jern had already made note of the man's race. He was staring at the semi-conscious warrior with

his heart slamming painfully in his chest. “Where is the lady?” he whispered, his breathing coming in short,

shallow gasps.

“She weren't with him when we found him,” Kerm answered. “Neither was their horses. We figured it

was bandits."

“Hasdu, no doubt,” Tiernan said with clenched teeth.

“Ain't no Hasdu ‘round these parts,” Kerm told him.

“That you know of,” Tiernan insisted.

“How do you know there was a lady with him?” Syn-Jern asked softly.

“We saw her,” Sara said, and she knew. Knew it as sure as the sun rose in the morning. It didn't take

the stricken look on the nobleman's face to stamp true to her suspicions.

Lin Su opened his eyes and grunted, tried to get up, but Kerm put a restraining hand on his breastbone

and pushed him down gently.

“My sister's gonna sew you so don't be stirring around ’til she can,” Kerm warned. “You're with

friends."

Syn-Jern locked stares with the shamed eyes of the Chrystallusian.

“I am Sorn,” Syn-Jern said. “Her husband."

Lin Su sighed deeply and tears gathered in his chocolate brown eyes. He looked away, his gaze filled

with remorse and humiliation.

“How many were there?” Syn-Jern asked.