WINDREAPER (9 page)

* * *

Amber-lea's heart ached at the sight of Conar's ravaged face. He was warily gazing at her, waiting for her to explain.

"I did not come to hurt you, Lord Conar. I did not come to cause you pain. I came only to help." She edged closer to him, praying he would not bolt again. When he remained still, she took heart and crept closer until she could kneel at his feet. She went to her knees and looked up at him.

"Where did you get that thing?" he asked.

"From my mother, Lord Conar. She was in the square that day. When Lord Legion threw away the whip, she grabbed it and hid it."

"Why?"

She hesitantly touched his knee. He stiffened, but didn't move. "Prince Conar McGregor was loved by his people. They mourned his imprisonment. They mourned his punishment. That day will forever live in our minds and hearts as the day our champion bled for us, gave his flesh for us. You were innocent. There was not one of those gathered who did not know it."

His eyes shifted back and forth, as if searching for a reason for why she was reminding him of that day.

"It is a symbol, Your Grace. It had to be preserved."

His mouth turned ugly. "A symbol of what, mam'selle? My pain?"

"Your pain and your people's pain. It is a symbol, too, of the injustice of the Tribunal. It is a symbol of the agony a good man suffered for the love of his people. It was as much our fault that you were put to the lash as it was Kaileel Tohre's! Had you not been so loved, do you think the Tribunal would have cared?"

"What difference does it make now? That piece of vileness should have been destroyed long ago!"

"No, Milord." She flinched as his stormy face filled with malice.

"I will have that gods-be-damned thing burned!"

"They took you away from us with that whip, Milord. They punished you because we were weak. We allowed you to suffer for us. We need a visible symbol of our cowardice. The whip is that symbol."

"So why bring the damned thing to me? Why should I need to see it?"

"Take it and keep it, Milord. Keep it until the day you can use it on Kaileel Tohre!"

His face, filled with hatred, turned stark white. "Who do you think you are? By what right do you come here and torment me like this?"

"I came to offer comfort, but have caused you only greater pain." Amber-lea buried her face in her hands, tears spilling onto her fingers.

* * *

The pain that had eaten at him since his homecoming was now a cold, furious, dark entity intent on destroying him. Hatred, loneliness, anger, hostility, frustration, growing more violent and demanding with every passing day, forbidden desire for the woman who had once been his, the heavy consumption of liquor, had all combined to push him toward an abyss from which he likely would not escape. But in the shimmering tears of this girl, he saw salvation, and could do nothing but reach for it.

"How did you know who I was?" He kept his voice soft, and tried to smile as she raised her head.

"What other man carries such scars, Milord?"

"You have not seen my scars, save for the ones on this ugly face."

"No one would dare call you ugly, Milord." Her lips trembled into a gentle smile. "My mother was at the Toad. She heard you speak. She had been a chambermaid at Ivor Keep and, therefore, knew it was you."

"I suppose I should be grateful it was your mother who recognized me and not one of the Tribunal guards."

"She sent me to you."

He sighed. "For what reason?"

"To serve you." Her face turned beet red. "For whatever purpose."

He stared. This girl was offering herself, without restraint, without reservations. He dared not accept. "Go home, little one. I am not the man you should be with."

"Even if you are the one I am destined to be with? Let me be with you, Milord Conar. Let me be the one to ease your needs. With me, there will be no cause to find other women, ones who could be a true danger to you."

For a long time he said nothing, then cupped her cheek in his hand. He let out a sigh of defeat when she turned her face into his palm, her lips kissing his scarred flesh.

"Oh, mam'selle." With his other hand, he stroked her silken auburn tresses. "I pray to Alel you know what you're doing." He kissed the top of her head. "For I fear I have no fight left in me to argue with you."

She gazed at him with longing. "Teach me to be your woman."

"You may regret it, if I do. I am not an easy man, little girl."

"So I have heard, Milord," she said just before he reached for her.

He was determined that her initiation into the realm of womanhood would be done with infinite care and slow manipulation—arts nearly lost to him over the passage of time but reawakened by the beauty lying so trustingly beside him.

When he claimed her, he wanted to make sure his hands would be gentle on her delicate flesh, that his kiss be soft and teasing and not the demanding bruising he visited upon those who had come before her. He would take her with tenderness, restraint, and respect. He would give her no reason to regret her decision to give herself to him.

Amber-lea stroked his bearded face. "You are afraid you will hurt me."

He kissed her palm, then lowered her hand to his naked chest. "It
will
hurt you, Sweeting. I can't help that."

"I know," she whispered.

"But I will be as gentle as I can." He threaded his fingers through hers and tightly held her hand.

She smiled. "I know you will, Milord."

He was lying on his side, his head propped on his fist. She was stretched out beside him, her ivory bosom rising and falling faster with each passing minute, and he thought of a sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter.

"You make my shaft ache with want of you, Amber-lea. Do you know that?" His words were meant to soothe her, prepare her for his entry.

She blushed and lowered her gaze. The hollow at the base of her throat pulsed wildly. "I want nothing more than to please you, Milord."

He placed the backs of his fingers against her heated cheek. "So young," he said with a sigh, rubbing her jaw line. "So young and so beautiful." He cupped her chin, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her lightly, at each corner of her lips, in the center, then moved away. "And your mouth tastes of strawberry wine."

She tucked her lower lip between her teeth and bit down, as if to keep from groaning at the sensations rippling through her body.

He ran his thumb over her lips. "Don't do that." He pulled her lips apart, grazed the pad of his thumb over her white teeth.

She groaned, her body quivering. Her breath came in quick little pants.

He smiled, knowing full well what his touch was doing to her, but in no hurry to consummate their agreement. He would not rush this pretty flower nor submit her to the baser side of his nature.

"I could lie here all night and look at you," he said, his eyes roaming over her flesh. "You are one of the most beautiful women I've ever known."

Amber-lea shivered, his words obviously thrilling her yet making her more nervous.

"And one my body is dying to know better," he said huskily.

He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, each eye before slanting his mouth firmly across hers. His tongue slipped possessively between her lips.

She moaned, her breath coming fast and furious as his tongue probed deeper. She fanned her fingers through his thick hair and gripped him. Her hold was so tight it hurt him.

With a grunt of passion, he slid his hard body atop hers. With his knees, he pushed her legs apart until he was settled between them, his shaft pressing along her thigh.

When she groaned, he released her mouth and looked into her eyes. His muscles strained, quivered as he denied himself the ultimate release of his passion. His gentle ministrations had worked him to a fever pitch and he was nearly exploding with want of fulfillment.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Relax," he whispered, grinding his hips across hers. "Just feel me touching you."

Amber-lea looked as if she wanted nothing more than to have him thrust quickly into her and be done with the pain so the pleasuring could begin.

Conar grinned. "You are a horny little imp, ain't ya, Milady?"

Her face turned bright red. He threw his head back and laughed, the joy of the moment almost as wonderful as the sweetness of her pliant flesh beneath him.

"I want you," she managed to say, her lips trembling. "Sweet Merciful Alel, I want you, Milord!"

He smiled. "And you shall have me, but not quite yet." Her groan of disappointment was nearly his undoing; it was all he could do not to ram into her and be done with it. His body trembled with need, his shaft thick and throbbing painfully. A fine sheen of sweat had popped out on both their bodies, and where their moist flesh touched, the sensation was delicious.

"Please," she begged and clutched eagerly at his shoulders.

He shook his head, then took each of her hands in his and placed her arms by her head. "Not quite yet," he repeated and flicked his tongue over the soft fullness of her lower lip—tasting, demanding.

She wiggled beneath him, her thighs pressing against his hips.

He tightened his grip on her hands, entwining their fingers. He shifted against her, placing the tip of his manhood gently inside her.

"Oh!" she gasped, her body stiffening.

"Relax," he cautioned again. "I don't want to hurt you anymore than I have to."

"The gods-be-damned hell with that, Conar McGregor! Take me, man, and do it now!"

He chuckled, then covered her mouth with his. With a single plunge, he impaled her and thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth.

Amber-lea tensed as though she'd been starched, her fingers gripped his, her long nails scoring the backs of his hands. He moaned deep in his throat as he kissed her. Soon, her rigidity slipped away.

He moved against her, slowly, expertly, and could feel the blood of her virginity slippery around him. She was tight, holding him to her as though never to let him go, and a sudden overwhelming protectiveness filled him.

He released her lips. "Never again will I hurt you, Sweeting." He placed feather-soft kisses on her eyes and nose. "Never will I let anyone hurt you."

* * *

Something was building inside her. She felt a warmth, an itching sensation deep within her, and marveled at it. Was this what the act of love was? She squirmed beneath him, gasped as a little wave of pain shot through her, sensed his immediate stillness and concern. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she was all right, but something odd happened to her. Something rushed up out of the darkness of her soul and spilled forth in a brilliant burst of unforgettable pleasure.

Never in her life could she have imagined there could be such delight. Never would she have thought the mere coupling of two bodies could bring about such soul-searing pleasure. She knew an absolute joy she was sure no other man could ever give her and she fell heedlessly, totally, irrevocably in love with this glorious golden warrior.

* * *

He had watched her closely as her passion came full-blown. Her body tightened around him, pulsed, quivered, and she arched her back as her soaring climax gripped her in a feverish pitch of wanton glee. He could not have stopped his own pleasure if he had tried. He felt himself pulled deeply inside her welcoming body and he released his seed with a groan of animalistic pleasure.

Long ago he had begged the gods to harden his heart, to take away the last vestiges of love inside him, to make him hollow and immune to passion. That had not happened. He still loved Elizabeth; he still felt tremendous passions lurking inside him; he was not the empty man he had wanted to be. If he could still feel, and he knew now that he could, then perhaps this lovely woman beneath him would replace his love for the woman who had scorned him.

He hoped so.

With all his heart, he hoped so.

* * *

Brelan woke him early the next morning. The sky was still only a black curtain of mist across the heavens. The air was chill, the stars clear and sparkling, with a hint of snow coming, teasing the riders who mounted their steeds.

"Do you want me to pay the girl?" Brelan asked as Conar pulled on his black leather gloves.

Conar's dark gaze flickered with annoyance. "She will be staying with us from now on."

"That's a mistake, Conar."

"It's
my
mistake," Conar snapped. The two brothers had been arguing ever since Conar had gently eased the sleeping girl from his arms and followed Brelan from the cell.

"A mistake that could get us all killed," Brelan snapped back. He didn't like the girl. For some reason, she made him uneasy.

Conar fixed his brother with a hostile stab of displeasure. "Let me worry about her." He crossed his hands over the saddle horn. "Just make sure she's right where I left her when I get back with the brat."

Brelan shivered.
Things might well be very different when you return with Elizabeth's son.

"Do you hear me, Brelan?"

Brelan glanced at his brother. "I hear you."

"Good!" Conar tugged on his steed's reins. He dug his heels into the horse's flanks and headed toward Lake Myria.

"Take care of him, Hawk," Brelan told Roget du Mer.

"I'll guard the fool with my life." Roget laughed, winking. He, too, set his horse on the pathway into the forest, closely followed by Belvoir.

Brelan watched them go. He was worried. Conar was heading for the monastery of the Domination, that evil sect of sorcerers who controlled the whole of five kingdoms. Never did he doubt that Conar would return with the boy. Occultus had seen to the Raven's invincibility and powers. But what worried Brelan now was the outcome of the rescue. One look at the boy Prince and Conar would know the truth.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, Brelan turned to go. A glimmer of light shot across the heavens as a falling star plunged earthward. Not a good omen, Brelan thought. Not a good omen at all.

* * *

Elizabeth A'Lex sat in the window seat of her sleeping chambers and saw the star arcing across the firmament. A strong foreboding of evil invaded her soul. She shivered, drawing her shawl closely around her body.

Would he be going after Corbin this morn? Would he be able to bring her child back to her after all these years?

A sob hitched from her aching throat. Would he keep the boy with him until she had fulfilled her debt to him?

She turned and looked at her sleeping husband. Legion lay on his side, his back to her. He was gently snoring, as always, and she smiled. Sometimes his snoring was not so gentle. Sometimes she slept in the room she had once shared with Conar.

She angrily shook her head, forcing away the memory. Would she never be free of this terrible ache in her soul whenever she thought of her dead mate? Would she ever know the same love with Legion that she had known with his brother?

"No, sweet lady," a voice seemed to say. "There will be only one such love in your lifetime."

Elizabeth loved Legion. Her love for him was a sharing love, a common love for each other and the children they had created. She lovingly put her hand on the mound of her belly. Aye, such a love was lasting, for there was a materialization to it that was visible. Having a child gave one a link to a particular man forever.

She had such a link to Brelan, as well. Their one passion-filled night long ago during the height of a terrible storm had produced a daughter. But her love for Brelan was one of friendship, deep and abiding. Their common bond had been forged at a time when she had needed the comfort of strong arms around her. At the height of the storm that had precipitated that eventful night, she had run into Brelan's arms, never dreaming of the consequences her actions might bring about. Though she did not regret her liaison with him, it was something she knew she would never willingly allow to happen again. Her love for Lord Saur was not the love of a woman for a man, but a friend for a friend.

And then there was the love she still bore the man who would always hold her heart: Conar, her one true love. She had bore children to Conar, too, and that was a link that would be there for as long as time. Two of those precious children had died, but one, Corbin, had lived. Conar had never known she was carrying their child when he was sent to the Tribunal punishment yard that day. To protect that babe, Liza had been forced to wed Conar's twin, Galen. But though she had borne a son to Galen during that short, ill-starred marriage, she had never felt love for him. She had felt compassion, sadness, for he bore the taint of having been the cause of his twin's death on his tortured soul. The link between them had been one of necessity on her part and triumph on his, but had never been one of love. Most people had said Galen McGregor had not been capable of that emotion.

But they were wrong.

Galen had loved her and he had loved their son.

And Galen McGregor had loved his twin. Liza knew that. He had told her so during a rare moment of personal insight and confession. He had been stricken with a great remorse concerning Conar's death and, with tearful eyes and trembling lips, would often stare into the courtyard where his brother had died, lashed to death at the hands of Kaileel Tohre. Often was the time Galen would sit, head in hands, and beg for forgiveness for what he had done. Liza had never understood his words, though. But they came back to her as she sat in the window seat this chill December morn.

"I could have stopped them from carrying him away," he told her as tears slid down his cheeks. "He would be here if I had only pleaded with Tohre."

"There was nothing you could have done, Galen," she had soothed him, stroking his golden hair. "He was not meant to die. Kaileel did not intend for the beating to kill him."

"He is suffering, Elizabeth. My brother is suffering horribly because of me." He gripped her hand, bringing it to his lips. "I can feel his pain." His voice was filled with a lost and tragic pain of his own. Long into the night, he had slept fitfully, calling out Conar's name, tears of pain flooding his face.

She had never understood him, Elizabeth realized. He spoke of Conar as though he were still alive. Perhaps, in his tortured, guilt-ridden soul, he saw his brother that way. What a horrible way to spend your last days on this world, she thought sadly. Galen had died, at the hands of Kaileel Tohre, she knew, thinking his brother alive and in great agony.

And what of that evil bastard, Tohre? Elizabeth's lip curled with disgust. He had once told her how much he loved Conar. A vulgar, sickening love that had raped and tortured a young boy; raped and tortured a young man; scarred and killed the heir to the throne of Serenia; the cause of Conar's father, King Gerren's death. A love that had brought about Conar's total destruction. What kind of love was that?