WINDREAPER (37 page)

"It's going to be all right."

Brelan locked his arms around Conar's body. With Conar's head on his shoulder, Brelan gently rocked him, humming a tune from their childhood, speaking to him now and again, encouraging him.

Conar, who had a death-grip on Brelan's arms, likely wasn't listening, had probably heard nothing. He was obviously in too much pain for anything to truly register; certainly, the depth of his misery blotted out everything but his crippling agony.

Brelan felt Conar jerk. He had been thinking of when they were boys and at odds with one another over the least thing. Another jerk made Brelan sigh; another made him frown. He pulled back to look at the greasy mop of dirty blond hair on his shoulder.

"Is it happening again?"

But Brelan knew it was. His brother was about to go into another series of spasms that would leave him exhausted, incapable of controlling his whimpers of fear and frustration. Saur shook his head. He was powerless to do anything to help Conar and knew it.

"God!" came the wretched, pathetic groan from Conar's cracked lips. His body writhed against Brelan, and his legs shot out, his heels digging into the mattress. "Oh, God!"

"It'll be all right," Brelan said for what he guessed was the hundredth time. He whispered against Conar's hair. "Try to relax. Just ride it out, little brother. Just ride it out."

Lost in the horror of his ordeal, Conar jerked hard on Brelan's arms. "Let go."

"If I don't hold you, we'll have to tie you down, and you don't want that, do you?"

"No!"

"Tough it out a while longer. It'll be over in a few minutes and then maybe you can sleep. Just hold on."

A great well of pity rose up in Brelan, same as it always did when the pangs of withdrawal gripped Conar. It touched, twisted, hurt some vital spot inside him. He crooned to the struggling man. "I'm here with you."

"It hurts!" The words were low, full of force, and all the more wrenching for the agony lacing them.

"If there was something I could do, something I could give you to ease the pain, I would. It won't last long."

"It's killing me!"

"I know it must seem that way, but it isn't."

Conar began to cry, his tears coming in great gasps. He drew up his knees to his chest and buried his face in Brelan's arms, tucking down his head. Spittle oozed from his mouth and onto Brelan's bare forearm.

"It'll be all right."

* * *

The door opened. One look at the tableau on the mattress and Roget understood. A silent message of support passed from him to Brelan. "How's he doing?"

Brelan shrugged.

Roget sat on the mattress, laying a hand on Conar's hip. He wasn't surprised when Conar's head jerked up. "Remember me?" he asked as he had a dozen or so times—as everyone had asked repeatedly—hoping to get a reply.

"R…Roget?" The word was hesitant, unsure, but there was finally a hint of recognition in the tone.

Startled, Du Mer looked at Brelan and smiled. He felt a joy like nothing he had known in a long time. It had been two weeks since Conar had recognized any of them.

"Aye, it's me." Roget touched Conar's cheek, cupped the fevered flesh in his palm. "And who's that holding you?"

Conar craned back his head and looked into his brother's face. A tiny frown drew the brows together. "Brelan…Saur. What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Ciona?"

Roget winked at Brelan. "How about letting me hold you for a while so your brother can rest?" He held out his arms.

Conar went into Roget's waiting arms, settled against him, his arms tight around Roget's waist as though he were a lost child seeking warmth and comfort and security from a father.

"We're all here with you. Bre's been with you most of the night."

"I hurt, Roget."

Roget forced a smile he didn't feel. "I know, but it will get better. You've come a long way. It will only get better—I promise."

"Is my brother here?"

"Do you want to see Legion?" Brelan asked.

Conar nodded, then bit his lip to obviously keep from screaming. A sob came out of his depths and he buried his face in Roget's shoulder.

"It's starting again," Roget sighed and stroked Conar's dull hair.

* * *

It took Brelan nearly fifteen minutes to find Legion. When the two men made their way to Conar's room, Thom Loure met them at the door and put a finger to his lips. "He's sleeping."

"Thank God," Brelan mumbled. It had been more than thirty hours since Conar had slept.

"I'll be there when he wakes up," Legion said. He entered the room and saw Roget standing at the window, looking out. Du Mer motioned him over.

Legion cast a quick look at Conar, who was lying on his side, his knees drawn up, his hands tucked under his chin. Legion breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's endured a lot in these last few weeks," Roget said. "I thought at one time it would drive him mad, that it would be more than he could bear." He plowed thick fingers through his dark gold hair. "It would have a lesser man. But I don't think he's been crippled by it."

"Not in any way we can see," Legion remarked. "He'll always have a problem with liquor and drugs. I only hope he'll understand that."

"We just have to make sure he does."

"He's going to be madder than hell when he comes to and realizes we've been keeping him here against his will."

"It doesn't matter. It was something that had to be done."

"Aye, and I'd do it again."

* * *

The lone horseman sat on the hill above Ivor Keep, staring down at the massive rose-stone structure where the Dark Overlord of the Wind was being kept.

The horse strained at the bit, anxious to gallop, but the man kept a tight rein on the lively beast. He uttered a few sharp words of reprimand and the beast stilled, although his hooves pawed viciously at the ground in denial of his master's control.

The horseman's attention locked on the tower room. In his mind, he could see his weakened, vulnerable enemy sleeping, his body curled tightly into a ball. He could almost smell the sweat and odor of the unwashed body as it lay in its own filth.

A grin stretched over the man's lips when he heard, in some distant part of him, a quiet whimper of pain come from the man on the bare mattress. He nodded with satisfaction.

He chuckled. "You brought it on yourself this time, McGregor."

The horse nickered, sidestepped, jerked on the hold of his reins. The rider pressed his knees into the heaving steed's ribs, stilling him.

Looking at the storm clouds building overhead, the stranger's face filled with anticipation. He returned to his contemplation of Ivor Keep's tower.

"We will meet one day, McGregor. I promise, you motherless infidel. And when we do, I will take you down." A vicious smile stretched his face. "Down into the Abyss!"

He cast a final look at Ivor Keep and pulled on his horse's reins. They disappeared down the other side of the hill, bronze trappings tinkling in the settling sun as the horse cantered south.

Liza listened to her oldest son's pleas as they sat together in the garden. He had been speaking for more than an hour, trying to convince her of something she wasn't sure needed to be done. She knew her son, hers and Conar's, spoke from his heart, and she was thankful he was still capable of feeling tenderness, that Kaileel Tohre had not ripped that gentleness from him. It was unusual for a boy his age to understand the things he did, but she knew he had a lot of his father in him, and Conar McGregor had felt things very deeply, too.

Once.

"Mama, please! It's important to me." Corbin put his hand in hers.

She smiled at him. There was the same gentle teasing, the same light of challenge, the same stubborn tilt to the round chin that she knew were permanent legacies Conar had unknowingly bestowed upon him. She shook her head, vividly reminded of the same look in his father's eyes when he had wanted something she wasn't sure should be given. "Your uncles thought it best he remain with the guards, Corbi. He has caused no trouble so far, but that may be because he's watched so carefully."

"That's exactly it, Mama! He has caused no trouble. He's as much Conar's son as I am. It isn't right that he not be allowed to be with us. That's cruel." The pout on Corbin's full lips was strikingly like that of his father's.

"I'm not sure it would be wise to disobey Conar's edict. Your father had his reasons for keeping the boy apart from us."

Liza was as confused as Corbin regarding Conar's attitude toward the boy named Regan. Conar seemed to want no more to do with that son than he did with Corbin. The gentle, womanly part of her soul felt sorry for the child, despite who his mother was and how he had been conceived.

"He's so lonely, Mama," Corbin told her.

"How do you know?"

He winced. "I've spoken to him."

Liza knew he had. She inquired after Regan every day, making sure all was done for him that was done for her own children. But she was acutely aware Regan was shunned by nearly everyone in the keep. Corbin seemed to be the only child who would speak to him.

"Papa told me it was because Conar hates Regan's mother that he keeps him away from us," Corbin said, "Papa" referring to Legion, the man he called "father." "But he doesn't hate you, now, does he, Mama?"

"I don't know how he truly feels about me, Corbi."

Liza stroked his bright gold hair. It was always "Conar" whenever Corbin referred to his true father. The distinction bothered her greatly and her feelings must have shown, for Corbin amended what he had said.

"My
father,"
he stressed, "claimed Regan, but he has yet to claim me. That hurts, Mama. I know how Regan feels being kept apart from him."

Liza sighed. "He has claimed you in his heart, Corbi. Give him time. He will claim you before the entire world. You are his child and heir to the throne of your homeland."

"But
when,
Mama?"

Liza had no answer. She took him into her arms, kissing the top of his flaxen hair, something becoming hard to do, since Corbin was growing in leaps and bounds. "Soon, I hope, my son. Soon."

* * *

From his place beside the tangled thorn bush near the sea gate, Regan watched the exchange between mother and son. He hated any show of affection she showed his half-brother, almost as much as he hated Corbin.

A curl rose on his lips. He spat into the dirt. His own mother had never coddled him like that. It simply wasn't a thing that was relevant. Others had held him, held him close, but not in the way this woman was holding Corbin.

"Bitch!" he whispered. "Faithless bitch!"

His own mother had planned an exacting revenge on his sire, and in order to carry out the plan, it was important that Regan play out the part Kaileel Tohre and his mother had written for him. Having this bitch on his side would make things much easier.

His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he screwed up his face, made himself cry. Tiny, sinister hiccups of tears came from his throat as he pretended to muffle them.

* * *

Liza heard a sound and turned to look. She scanned the garden until she saw the little boy crouched in the mass of thorns. "Regan?"

He lifted his head. "I…know…I…shouldn't…be…here…"

"Nonsense." With pity, Liza went to him. Kneeling, she smiled. "This is your home, too."

"I…don't…have…a…home…Majesty."

A warning went off in Liza's head, but the wretched look on the boy's tearful face struck a responsive chord within her maternal instincts and she took him into her arms. "For as long as you care to make this place your home, it will be."

A hitching sob tore from him as he buried himself in the hollow of her shoulder.

Liza marveled at how painfully thin and bony his small frame was compared to her children. She felt his shoulder blades sticking out and her fingers closed around spindly ribs along his sides.

"My mama gave me away!" Regan wailed, looking up through wet lashes.

"She sent you to your father."

"He doesn't want me, either!"

Liza heard the self-pity, yet felt he was far more complex and worldly than his little-boy words.

"Papa hates me!"

Liza cradled the quivering body. "Your papa doesn't hate you. He's just been ill, that's all. He'll see you when he returns."

"He never did when he was here!'

"But he wasn't well, then. When he comes home, he'll be himself again." Liza wasn't sure that would be the case.

"You're going to see him, aren't you?" Regan wailed, lifting his face. "Corbin said so. He's going, too. Why can't I go? If Papa doesn't hate me, why doesn't he want me to go to Ivor Keep?"

Liza hesitated. She heard Regan's cries and saw the look of pleading on Corbin's face, but something shadowed in her mind. It was on her tongue to tell Regan he just couldn't go because no one at Ivor knew she was coming.

She felt uneasy, torn. A part of her feared the little boy, yet she didn't know why. He had a bit of his father's powers, and probably quite a lot of his mother's, but Liza sincerely doubted he knew how to use them to any effect at this early age. Still, she hesitated.

* * *

Regan could feel her confusion and laughed to himself at her ignorance. Why she could not fathom the depth of his powers, his true nature, astounded him, for he had been told she was good at her craft. Obviously, she had lost most of her faculties. Regan knew himself to be capable of more than anyone, even his mother and Kaileel Tohre knew. Housed within his young body was the essence of an evil so malignant, so rampant, that it was a wonder the entire world did not see it.

Letting his tousled head fall back, he gazed up with a piteous smile. "I'll understand if you don't take me, Majesty. You have no reason to love me, either."

It had been a phrase designed to catch, and hold, her attention, and it did. With a look of hurt on her beautiful face, she smiled. "I care for you, Regan. You are his son."

He had her. "May I go with you, then? I won't be any trouble."

Her face crinkled; her eyes narrowed with uncertainty. "Well, I don't—"

"Please, Mama?" Corbin begged.

"Well, all right. You can go, but you must behave, understand?"

Regan hugged her, wondering why her arms felt so nice around him. Why the steady beat of her heart against his cheek felt safe and loving. Why he felt protected and wanted. Why he wanted to cry with real tears instead of the false ones that had set his plan in motion. He shuddered as the unaccustomed feelings stole over his heart.

He drew his body close to hers. "Please, just hold me, Lady."

"You're safe here, Regan," she told him. "You're safe with us."