WINDREAPER (17 page)

* * *

Brelan couldn't believe what he was seeing. All of their lives, Legion had come out on top of every fight he and Conar had been in. The squabbles and petty fighting of childhood had sometimes changed to brawling rage as they grew older, but neither had ever tried to seriously hurt the other. They were too much alike, knowing how the other felt, and their love for one another had always tempered the blows, kept them from killing each other.

Now, the love was gone. In its place was jealousy, blinding and all-consuming. No punches would be pulled this time and both men obviously knew it. The two of them were out for blood.

Brelan looked away. One of them was going to get hurt, perhaps badly, but there wasn't a man there, Brelan included, who would have tried to stop what was coming. He turned and walked out the door, refusing to watch.

* * *

They circled one another, looking for an opening. Conar was barely aware of the number of men and women who had gathered in the main hall, who were spilling down the stairs.

Conar saw the opening he needed. With one quick jolt of his arm, he sent a bruising punch into Legion's face, staggering the man, breaking his nose and splitting his lip. His left fist buried itself in Legion's taut belly, knocking the wind out of him with a loud
whoosh.
Two lightning jabs with his right hit Legion in the left eye with enough force to make it start to swell immediately. Pivoting on his left foot, he spun and sent a kick to Legion's head.

* * *

Legion felt himself falling. The foot to his head had made him see stars, hurt like hell. He landed hard on the edge of the stairs and slid down. He brought up a shaking hand to his jaw, trying to keep from wincing, hoping the damned thing wasn't broken. His gut was on fire from the jab Conar had given him; his right eye was already closed shut; his nose was streaming blood. With his tongue, he touched one of his front teeth; it wobbled in the socket.

"Get up."

Legion looked at the man standing above him. Seeing the flare of victory, hot and uncompromising, on Conar's face, he was stunned to the roots of his soul. The man straddling him had a rock-solid fist that meant business, and the viciousness to let it loose. The kick had been professional, his blows well-timed, exact, aimed to do the most damage. And they had.

Conar dragged Legion to his feet and snared into his face. "I don't want your whore! I only wanted to see how far you were willing to go to keep her." He shook Legion hard. "You can have everything in this fucking keep. As for your
wife,
I wouldn't take her back if you put her on a silver platter, brought her naked ass to me, and held her down while I fucked her!"

He let Legion drop and headed toward the front door.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Legion called.

Conar never broke stride. "Cross me again, A'Lex, and you'll find out how much!"

Legion shook off the hands that reached down to help him. He got painfully to his feet and stood there wavering.

"Are you all right?" someone asked.

Legion shook his head.

No, he thought. He'd never be all right again.

That night, he sat in his father's study—he would always think of it that way. The books with their musty bindings brought back pleasant childhood memories of his father and Hern, and the many times the two men had sat in their chairs, either reading or arguing over him.

They never would again, he thought with pain.

He lifted the glass of brandy to his lips and drank. A rueful grimace stretched over his lips as he thought of how Brelan and Shalu had gone through the keep, hiding the liquor from him. They hadn't, however, counted on the servants' loyalty.

"So you beat them, did you, lad?" The old woman had grinned at him as she limped her way into the study. "They thought to bring you down, but you beat them, didn't you?"

Conar smiled at the old cook, even hugged her. "I'd have bet a gold sovereign you were in your grave by now, Sadie," he teased.

Sadie MacCorkingdale chuckled. "I'm too mean to die, Your Grace." She pulled a dusty bottle of brandy from her long apron. "Look what I got for you!"

He smiled, taking the bottle from her. "Where'd you have this hidden?"

"It's been around since before you left. One of them special brands you liked so well. Thought you needed it, I did. What's in that bottle will put you right back where you were before you left, son."

Now, he snorted, thinking of Sadie's parting shot when she had left.

He wished there was indeed a bottle of brew that could erase the last nine years. He leaned his head on the chair, peered at the shadows on the ceiling cast from the fire. A sound at the door made him raise his head.

The door opened and she entered. Her stocking feet padded across the floor as she came to stand before him.

"What do you want?" he asked, annoyed his voice was already slurring.

"I want to speak with you."

He shrugged. "Then. by all means. let's talk!" He took a hard pull on the bottle. "Light a lamp and we'll discuss whatever you want!"

He sat the bottle on the floor beside him and watched her light the lamp on the desk. She cupped her hand around the flame until it was well-established, then set it on the table beside his chair. As she straightened, she gasped.

"Pretty ugly, huh?" he quipped. He had shaved off his beard, and had shorn his waist-length blond hair to just below his shoulders. "Come now, Queen Liza! Surely I don't look
that
bad!"

Liza shook her head. "You look tired, Milord."

He threw back his head and laughed, her answer actually amusing him. "Tired? Aye, you could say that." He motioned for her to sit. When she didn't, he shrugged. "What is it you want?" he asked, one brow lifting in query.

* * *

Liza stared at the floor. It was hard looking into that beloved face, seeing the anger, the hurt, the wounded pride. She wanted to put her arms around him, to ease away his pain. When she looked into his eyes, she caught a glimpse of misery in the dark depths before his lids closed.

"If you must take your anger out on someone, Milord, I would prefer it be me. I ask that you not blame your brother for my sins."

"Did he send you here to run interference for him?"

"You know he didn't. He didn't want me to come."

"So, why did you?" He scooped up the bottle and took a gulp.

She frowned, wishing he wouldn't drink so much. "There are things we need to discuss."

He wiped the back of his hand across his wet lips. "I can't imagine anything we have to say to one another. There's only one thing I want from you."

Liza blushed. "There are things I need—"

"I need you to fulfill your bargain. What
you
need is of no concern to me." His words became difficult to understand, and the odd accent had crept back into his speech.

"If I give you what you want," she shot back, "will you listen to me?"

His smile was deadly. "It depends on how well you serve
my
need." He emptied the bottle and flung it across the room where it landed with a thud against the paneling.

Liza jumped. "What is it you want from me?"

A smile overspread his face, stretching the scars on his left cheek. He put his hands behind his head and laced the fingers together. As Conar continued to stare at her, she knew he could see the effect his silence was having on her nerves. His tawny brow arched in innocence, but the demonic blue gleam in his dark eyes spoke vengeance.

"You mean to humiliate me, is that it?" she asked, her heart hammering.

"I mean to do something else to you." The hard, cold, calculating look returned. "You bargained with the wrong man this time, Queen Liza." His voice went as soft as a whisper. "Lock the door."

She couldn't believe she had heard correctly. "What?"

"I want no interruptions while you make good on your bargain."

"Here?"

His harsh chuckle made her blanch. "I remember many times when the water, the ground, or grotto sand would have sufficed. I wasn't aware whores made distinctions in where they fornicated."

"I am no whore!"

"You will be when I am finished tonight!"

Enraged, she turned toward the door, intending to flee.

"If you don't fulfill your bargain, here and now, I'll take you under your husband's nose! And I'll make him watch. If you don't think I will, try me!"

She spun around and stared at him, trembling with fury. She sensed he would do exactly as he threatened.

"Lock it!" he spat.

She savagely twisted the lock in its hasp.

"Come here, Liza."

Straightening her shoulders, she crept back toward his chair.

He leaned back his head. One side of his mouth twisted upward. "Strip for me, Queen Liza. Let me see if that beautiful body has changed."

For a long time she stood looking at him, watching the speculation glowing in his eyes. His face was carefully blank, his attitude, bored. When she made no move to do as he asked, he smiled.

"I'm waiting." Again that wicked slash of golden brow arched. "Or would you rather I strip you myself."

With her face burning, she reached behind her and began unbuttoning the pearl clasps that held her gown together, refusing to meet his look. When she finished, she let the gown fall, pooling at her feet. She stood shivering in her chemise.

"Go on." His voice was a soft caress.

Taking a deep breath, she tugged down the chemise over her hips and kicked it away. Only her garter belt and stockings remained. She felt his cool assessment running over her naked breasts and yearned to cover herself.

"Come here."

When she hesitated, he started to get up. Liza hurried to him, not knowing what he might do otherwise. She stood before him, staring at the floor.

"Put your foot up here." He patted the chair cushion between his legs.

When she did as he asked, he unhooked her stocking and rolled it down her leg. At his silent command, she placed her other foot on the cushion, and he removed that stocking as well. As she returned her foot to the floor, he tugged down the garter belt. She strove hard not to feel his callused hands on her flesh.

He sat back and stared at her. "You are still beautiful. At first, I remembered every inch of your body. I knew every mole, every freckle, every birthmark." His voice was barely audible. "I knew what pleased it, what didn't." The look on his face was one of misery. "But over the years, I let those memories go. It hurt too much to think of them, knowing I might never touch you, never make love to that body again."

She backed away when he stood. He walked around her, taking in every detail of her nudity. He came up behind her, his body barely touching hers.

"After a while," he said, his breath fanning the hair at her nape, "even if I'd had you with me, I couldn't have made love to you."

She drew in a harsh breath when his hands cupped her shoulders. He pulled her back against him. She felt the silk of his black shirt, the coolness of the leather breeches against her. He kissed her shoulder. His lips trailed along the column of her neck; his tongue briefly touched her earlobe.

Liza moaned deep in her throat. "Conar," she whispered, then flinched when his mocking laughter tickled her ear.

His hands tightened on her arms. "Put your clothes on. I have no desire for other men's leavings. I can smell them on you." He let go of her and returned to his chair.

Her heart had skipped a beat at his insult, spoken so softly, like a lover's sigh against her ear. She wanted to fling herself at him, rip out his eyes. Instead, she gathered her clothing, dressed, then moved to the door.

"I didn't give you permission to leave," he snarled.

"I don't need your bloody permission in my home!"

Horribly aware he was lunging out of the chair, she clawed at the door, but he slammed it shut just as she opened it. Swinging around, she tried to get past him, but his hard body blocked her way.

"I wasn't aware this keep belonged to you, bitch!" He stepped in front of her as she tried to move around him. "I was under the impression this keep and everything in it belonged to the rightful heir to the throne of Serenia. That means every stone, every board, every nail—and every whore!"

She drew back her hand to strike him, but he caught it in one steely fist. He brought it down behind her, jerking her violently against him in the process.

"If you ever raise a hand to hit me, woman, I'll make you wish you hadn't!"

"Bastard," she gasped as he tightened his grip. "Let go of me, Conar!"

He released her so suddenly she stumbled. "Call me that name again, and I won't be held accountable for what I do to you."

"Why don't you want to be called by your given name?" she shouted, her bravery making her incautious. "Is it because you've defiled it so badly you're ashamed to hear it?"

He sprang at her, dragging her against him. "The only shame I have is that I can't get you out of my mind!" he yelled into her face. "Do you know how much it infuriates me to see my wife with another man? How much it makes my blood boil to know that man is one I had trusted? I lost so much, including that damned name you spoke, but I had no idea
how
much until I came back from that hell-hole and discovered you'd been knocked up with Galen's bastard before I had even left!"

"That's not—" Her teeth rattled as he shook her.

"I thought I could win it all back, or take it back, buy it back, and much of it I have, although much of it doesn't matter. But the thing I wanted most, the thing that kept me alive all those years when they stripped the hide off my back, starved me, worked me until I dropped, turned out to be something any man could have for the thrust of his cock!"

"You don't know what you're—"

"You are now one of those things that doesn't matter anymore. Just like that name doesn't matter. That man is gone—he's dead—and you helped kill him! But
I'm
alive, and I realized that you were not worth having if you could let any man fuck you for the price of the Serenian throne!" He let go of her, shoving her against the door.

"Corbin is not Galen's child!" she yelled, forgetting everything but her desire to hurt him as he had just hurt her.

He viciously wiped his palms down the front of his shirt, as though trying to wipe the feel of her from his flesh. He shook his head like a terrier wet from its bath, then snarled. "Whose pond scum is he, then?"

She slapped him as hard as she could, jerking his head sideways. Before she knew it, he struck back, knocking her to the floor. He straddled her prone body and grabbed a handful of her long hair.

"Whose?"

"Go to hell," she spat, her hair twisted in his grip.

The corners of his sensual mouth lifted in hot challenge. She felt the heat rush to her face. She couldn't back down—not now—and realized he knew it. He bent over and locked his gaze to hers, tightened his grip in her hair.

"Not Galen's bastard? Tell me who you spread your whoring legs for that time! That boy has too much McGregor in him! Was it Coron? Dyllon? Whose bastard is he?"

"Corbin McGregor is no bastard!"

"
Whose?"

"Whose do you think?" she cried, tears of pain spilling down her cheeks.

"By all that's holy, bitch, if you tell me you slept with my father, I will slit your throat!" He slapped her across the mouth.

She became hysterical with terror. That he could imagine her sleeping with his father tore into her with steel claws. She struggled wildly. "Not your father's child, you fool! Corbin is
your
son!"

* * *

Conar released her as though she were a hot rock. Coming to his feet, he could only stare down at her as she sobbed on the floor between his spread legs. Burning with fury, he clenched and unclenched his fists. His gaze pinned her to the floor like a captured butterfly.

"You're
lying
!" he snarled.

"I was carrying him when they took you away. He was conceived that night in the grotto." She drew her knees up to her chest as she cried.

"And you let Tohre take him?" he whispered, absolutely stunned.

She buried her face in the rug. "I married Galen to keep him safe. I wanted Galen to think Corbin was his, that's why I married him so soon after you left. I thought if Tohre believed the babe was Galen's, he'd leave Corbin alone. I knew he'd try to take your child from me."

He turned away from the pain in her voice. He looked about, not seeing the furnishings of the study, but the dark and evil appliances in the Crypt of Learning at the Wind Temple at Corinth—things he now knew his child had seen firsthand. Had felt and endured.

"I tried to keep him safe, Conar. I would have done anything to keep him safe. He was all I had left of you!"

He heard pitiful screams coming from the darker shadows of the room; he could smell blood and urine and vomitous and spent semen. He shuddered and covered his face with his hands.

Not my son! Sweet Alel! Not my son!

"Galen tried to protect him, Conar. He tried to make everyone think Corbin was his. He doted on the child. He loved him. He was as good a father for our son as you would have wanted!"

Conar felt the flames, the scorch of the birch rods, the stinging astringent applied to broken and bleeding flesh. He felt the ungodly pain of the vile things men did to helpless children who couldn't fight back.