WINDREAPER (31 page)

Raphaella sat back from her conjuring pool and stared into the distance. Her hand was on the slight mound at her belly, and she lovingly stroked the swelling.

"So many enemies, little one," she crooned to the child growing within her. "Your father has so many enemies."

Getting to her feet, the Weaver walked to a chair and sat, tired and achy from her conjuring. She laid back her head and let her random thoughts touch lightly on the father of her child.

"I would help you, Conar," she whispered to his image in her mind, "but you would not appreciate it."

She felt the babe within her leap at her touch, and smiled.

"Yes, little one. You will be a great warrior one day. Even more powerful than your father and brothers."

She sighed, feeling sleepy. When her lids closed, she drifted gently into a light doze, mumbling to herself as she did—

"Four sons, all from the same bold loins,

Four warriors, each sent to right a wrong.

Windswept, Windflawed, Windless, Windborne,

All brave and true and strong.

From their swords the blood will run."

Meggie touched his hand. "Maybe she'll change her mind, son."

Conar shook his head. "Not likely, since she practically ordered me to wed Amber-lea."

The old woman's mouth sagged open. "When was this?"

Conar sat on the bed and let out a heavy breath. "A few weeks ago. She told me I should make an honest woman of the girl." He looked at his hands. "Ambie's carrying my babe. She's a wonderful girl, Meg, but she's not Liza. She knows what we have is temporary. I made no promises to her."

"I see," Meggie replied, coming to sit beside him. "And did you tell that to Her Grace?"

"I tried, but all she kept saying was that I shouldn't be sleeping with Amber-lea if I didn't intend to do right by her." He sighed. "I
do
intend to do right by her, I just don't intend to marry her, or anyone else." His face hardened. "Ever."

"Because, as you see it, you're already married?" Meggie took his hand and stroked it.

"I took my vows seriously. For me, they were never severed, despite what the Tribunal did." A shaft of anger went through him. "To Liza, they were mere words. It wasn't hard for her to say them to two other men." He withdrew his hand and stood. "And it wasn't hard for her to tell me to marry someone else."

"Son, for a woman to tell the man she loves to marry another has got to be the hardest thing in the world."

"It wasn't for Liza." He picked up his great cape. Putting his hand in the pocket, he felt the reassuring bulk of what was left of the packet of powder Dorrie had brought to him. He looked at Meggie. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"My pleasure," she mumbled, standing. "I wish I could have done more."

"You took care of me. What more could you have done?"

"I wish I could have put your mind at ease, lad."

Conar held her look for a moment before putting his hand on the door handle. He smiled sadly and shrugged one broad shoulder. "No one seems to be able to do that, Meg."

Two weeks passed and Conar avoided the keep, not wanting to run into Liza, nor wanting to see Amber-lea, either. He studiously avoided being around his men, as well, preferring to take his meals at local taverns in back rooms where he could be alone with his food and the elixir he had obtained from Sern. The evenings found him in the arms of the nearest whore, his brain reeling from the drug, his sexual appetite seemingly unappeasable as he took the woman time and time again. When he wasn't in a stupor from the drug, he took long walks along the sea wall before settling down in the grotto instead of his dungeon room. Expressly forbidding Bent to follow him, he nevertheless felt the presence of the Outer Kingdom warriors near him as he stretched out on the cool white sands of the grotto's floor.

Late in November, after a night of roaming the beaches and drinking in the gloomy tavern near the men's barracks, Conar huddled into the warmth of his leather jacket and headed for the grotto. The air was heavy, electric with an approaching gale, as he walked by the spiraling stone steps leading up to the sea gate. Above, the sky flashed white, lit the stone wall beside him with an eerie incandescent glow. Blue-white shadows loomed out of the darkness, then retreated, leaving him alone on his solitary venture into the night. As he passed the wrought iron barrier, he spied a flare of light in the garden and stopped, curious, peering up the steps through the darkness. The light appeared to be cast from the reflection of the lightning upon some object. He watched, his eyes narrowing in the ripe wind, and once more the flash came with the lightning. Puzzled, he took the steps upward, careful not to make a sound when his booted feet crunched over the loose sand sprinkling the stone.

The bracken and thick matting of twisted bramble spreading along the steps was slick with an earlier rain and sparkled in the constant flash of lightning. As he approached the gate, he saw the wrought iron barrier standing ajar, just enough so a medium-sized man could slip through without disturbing the squealing hinges. More concerned than curious, he slipped silently through the opening and blended into the deeper shadows of the garden, scanning its depths for anything out of the ordinary.

"How long we got to wait?"

Conar stilled. The hushed, furtive words, spoken from close to the fountain, drew his immediate attention. He crouched with dagger in hand, seeking the speaker and looking for the one to whom the man had spoken. He saw nothing, no movement, so he gingerly made his way among the dying leaves and branches scattered about from the freshening breeze. Hiding in the ground fog, darting from tree to tree, he drew closer to the muffled sounds.

With another flash of lightning, he caught sight of a huddled figure, also holding a dagger, crouched behind the fountain. One moment Conar was hidden among the shrubs, keeping the strange man in sight, the next he was only a few feet away, able to hear the man's heavy, nervous breathing.

"Somebody's coming!" came a voice further back in the garden.

Conar tensed, thinking they had spied him. But the door to the library opened with muted protest. A grunt of dismay nearly pushed from Conar's lips when Liza walked into the garden.

Alone—unguarded.

"That's her."

His breath caught in his throat. His hand clutched the dagger so tight, he could feel the handle's imprint in his scarred palm. He opened his mouth, wanting to warn Liza of the danger.

A quarrel sailed through the air. "It's him!" came the nearly hysterical cry.

Conar barely had time to jump back. The missile struck the tree beside his head. He rolled, came up to his knees in a crouch, and flung his dagger in the direction from which the deadly quarrel had flown. Satisfied when he heard a strangled cry bubbling lethally from his target, he dove for cover under a hydrangeas shrub, rolled to the other side, and came up on his knees, peering over the bush.

"I'll slit her throat!" the dead man's accomplice spat. He had Liza in front of him, his blade at her exposed throat.

"Are you all right?" Conar asked, his heart hammering.

"Conar, be careful—"

The man holding Liza jerked her closer to his powerful frame, choking off her words.

Conar took a step toward them.

"Back off!" the man yelled, dragging Liza toward the sea gate. "I'll kill her!"

"Take your hands off her or you'll be dead before you hit the ground."

"Don't you be threatening me!" The man backed steadily away. "You don't want to risk this bitch getting hurt."

Conar skirted the fountain and blocked the man's escape.

"Get out of the way!" the man screeched.

"You aren't going anywhere, dead man," Conar whispered, taking another step forward.

"Conar, no!" Liza pleaded.

"You better listen to her!" the man snarled, sidestepping to the left, trying to circle around Conar.

Liza twisted in the man's arms, fell to the left, as if hoping to either pull free or distract him enough that Conar would have a chance to attack. She screamed. A line of blood appeared on her throat.

Conar's eyes flared, his gaze going to the blood blossoming on Liza's pale yellow shawl. With a fierce roar of hatred, he snatched his other dagger and threw himself forward, flinging himself between the would-be assassin and Liza.

"You'll have to go through me to get to her," Conar growled, "and if you value your life, you will realize I will kill any man who tries!"

The man, his face drained of color, was sweating profusely. He backed away, as if seeing his termination stamped on Conar's features. He glanced down at Liza and turned whiter still. "Milady," he whimpered, putting out a hand to her. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He turned back to Conar. "I wasn't supposed to hurt her!"

Conar's eyes narrowed. "Who sent you?"

The man whimpered in fear as he tried to make his getaway. Conar leapt at him, brought him down, and straddled him. He flipped the terrified assailant onto his back. Grabbing his hair, he jerked back the man's head and put his dagger to the exposed throat.

"Who sent you?" Conar shouted in fury.

"They'll kill me!"

"I'm going to kill you, anyway!" Conar dug his blade into the tender column of the man's throat.

"The Prince! He sent me for the woman!"

"What Prince?"

"Jaleel Jaborn!"

"The Hasdu chieftain?" Conar spat the words as though they created a bad taste in his mouth.

The man blubbered, tears running down his face. "Aye, Milord. He's always wanted her."

"Why?"

"To have as a mate—"

Conar drew his knife across the man's throat with ease, poise, cleanly severing the jugular, allowing no gurgling, no bubbling, no sound. Blood flooded from the man's throat, saturating the damp loam of the garden. After Conar continued to work his blade, the stranger's head came free of his torso. He held it up the head like an obscene trophy.

Liza gagged, turning away from the sight.

Conar let go of the hair—the head falling, rolling away in the dark—and slowly stood. A hard feral gleam shot across the distance between him and Liza. She looked at his hand. He, too, looked down at the blade. Blood dripped from his fingertips and dagger, plopping silently to the ground. With casual contempt, he stooped and wiped the blood on the dead man's shirt, then resheathed the dagger in the top of his boot.

"Come here," he demanded, filled with murderous rage.

"I know I shouldn't have been out here alone," she muttered, backing away from him. "I was looking for…"

Conar's gaze impaled her with the savagery of his anger. He took a step toward her. His nerve endings tingled with the exhilaration of the kills he had made, of the superiority of the male animal within him having protected his territory and mate from interlopers. He felt adrenaline pumping through him from his brush with death and his ultimate victory over it. The raw power of the drug he had taken two hours before now engulfed his system as it mixed with the adrenaline, bringing about a renewed, invigorated rush throughout his entire body. It took over the logical part of his brain and made the naturally aggressive male animal housed within him come alive when his nostrils detected the scent of an available, quivering female.

* * *

Liza stepped back, putting the fountain between her and Conar. Gone was the facade of humanity, of civilization. Gone, too, was the centuries of genteel breeding. In their place she viewed the consummate barbarian, the conqueror, the victor for whom the spoils was an enticing female body to satiate the lust glowing in his eyes and straining his breeches.

"Conar, no," she whispered, seeing the flame of desire burning bright. She backed further away, circling the fountain, until her back was to the sea gate.

He stalked her much as a tawny lion would its intended mate—his teeth bared in a low growl of sexual alertness. His erotic strut, hips suggestively thrust forward, head back, was sensual in effect. Hypnotizing. Confident.

"If you won't come to me, I'll come get you!"

Something in the way his body tensed told Liza he would no longer be denied, meant to make good on their bargain. She was suddenly terrified of this man who had once been her mate. She pulled her shawl tightly around her, as if by doing so she could protect herself from imminent assault. "Not here," she tried to reason, glancing at the flashing heavens. "Not now."

Overhead, lightning snapped in the boiling sky, its light playing over the garden as a soft cascade of rain began to fall. Conar's eyes widened in challenge as Liza tried to gain access to the keep. An evil smile formed on his lips when he neatly blocked her path. He looked up as the rain increased, dividing them by a silver curtain of cold.

"Conar, let me go in," she pleaded, her gown becoming soaked. She flinched as thunder cracked, then dodged to the opposite side of the fountain, only to have him step in front of her once more. "Let me pass!"

His gaze wandered to the opened library door. "Go ahead. Make a run for it." He lunged at her.

As a clap of lightning hit along the beach, Liza screamed in terror. She darted behind the willow and dug her bare feet into the loam as she ran.

She heard his mocking laughter as she flew toward the sea gate. Her feet slapped against the wet ground, then plopped with splattering water when she hit the flagstone path. She pulled the gate shut behind her, fumbling with the bolt. Conar's fingers closed over hers. She gasped, snatching away her hand, hardly believing he had reached the gate so quickly. Spinning around, nearly falling, she flew down the spiraling stone terrace toward the beach, skipping every other riser in her headlong rush to evade him. The rusty peal of the sea gate opening hastened her steps.

Another stab of thunder shook the night. Rain became a torrent of pelting ice. Lightning zig-zagged across the firmament, lighting the earth in an eerie blue-white glare that made the trees and shrubs seem to jump out at Liza as she fled. Waves pounded the shore as the sea tumbled about in the whipping wind. The air smelled heavily of ozone and damp sand, and the gusts of sea breeze along the crenellated walls of Boreas Keep howled like the piercing cries of the dead.

As Liza's feet squelched in the wet muck of beach sand, she hesitated and turned, looking up the steps. In a bright flash of light, she saw him at the top, outlined against the bubbling gray sky. His legs were braced wide apart, his hands on his lean hips. He stared down at her for a long moment.

"You can't hide from me, woman!" he yelled. "There is nowhere safe from me!" He slowly began to descend.

Liza's breath caught in her throat. She turned her head wildly about, trying to find an escape. At this hour, she knew the drawbridge would be secured, the weather making it a necessity. The guards would be hovering in the guardhouse, drinking warmed ale and playing cards. In the violent sweep of the howling wind, Conar would catch her before they ever heard her cries. Her only chance was to hide among the outcropping of rocks to the north of the keep. She hoped against hope she could elude him until Legion realized she was missing and sent men to find her. Reaching up a hand to push aside her soaking hair, she ran for the rocks.

"You can't escape, you know!" he yelled, his voice flinging away in the stiff wind. "I'll catch you sooner or later!"

* * *

Conar took the steps to the beach at a leisurely stroll, keeping Liza in sight as she ran. He knew there was no where for her to hide that he could not find her. His senses, those finely attuned powers he had developed in Chrystallus, now hummed, zeroing in on her. He also knew exactly where she would hide as surely as he knew every inch of his aroused body, so there was no hurry in his purposeful stride.

Lightning zinged overhead and he saw her emblazoned on the night, long enough to pinpoint her with his keen vision. He watched her intently as she made for the rocks, smiled when he saw her glance at him and lose her footing in the sand, falling to the ground. A sinister laugh left him as she struggled to get up. An incoming wave thwarted her attempt. The hungry water lapped over her feet, drenching the hem of her nightgown as she struggled to push herself up.

His body growing tired of the game and more than ready for satisfaction, he began to hurry.

* * *

Liza groaned as the greedy wave sucked her feet out from under her a second time. She pushed up and fell again, her bodice splattered by the saltwater. Sucking in her breath, she felt the fringe of her shawl pulling away from her as the wave retreated. Her fingers clawed at the knot tied beneath her breasts. The shawl, now soaked with sea water, weighted her down, and she had to be free of its clutches. She snapped her head around. Her heart nearly stopped when she spotted Conar less than four feet away. Whimpering, she picked furiously at the knot, but one of his hands came down on her shoulder.

"
No!"
she cried, her scream lost in a thick boom of thunder.

Scrambling away from his outstretched hand like a crab, she felt the shawl leave her shoulders as he grabbed it. She crawled forward until she could push herself erect. She stumbled, landed on her hands, her breath gushing out in a muffled roar.