WinterofThorns (17 page)

“Milady,” one of three men greeted her.

“Milord,” she said, keeping her eyes on the
floor.

She could feel them turning to look at her
as they passed and her entire body tensed waiting for them to bid her halt.
When they didn’t she let out a shaky breath. Walking faster, she prayed she
wasn’t headed in a direction that would take her where she shouldn’t venture.

For what seemed like hours, she trekked
down corridor after corridor. One led to the servants’ wing. Another ended in a
series of storage rooms with no access to the outside. Winding down still another,
she came to a dead end and wondered why that corridor had been added. Turning
from the solid stone wall she gasped.

“Where did you think you could go,
dearling?”

He was standing in the center of the
corridor, blocking her escape. Though his hands were shoved into the pockets of
his pants and he looked relaxed, she knew he was far from being so. There was
tension in his broad shoulders, in the way he was staring at her, in the tight
smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Did you think I was jesting about the
Joining ceremony?” he asked, tilting his head inquisitively to one side. “I
assure you I wasn’t. Everyone is assembled and waiting for you.”

“I will not marry you.”

“Aye, but you will, sweeting,” he said with
a smile. “And you know why you will?” He took a few casual steps toward her.

Jana backed away but there was nowhere for
her to go. The wall was behind her and she knew she’d not get past him. She put
a hand to her stomach for nausea was building there.

“You will, because if you don’t, Lady
Millicent will be taken to Galrath come morning and you will be in my bed—with
or without an official Joining seal.” He tilted his head in the opposition
direction. “Your choice.”

She had one last card to play and prayed it
would not be trumped. She raised her chin.

“I am pregnant.”

Automatically his eyes slid to her belly
where her hand was pressed then slowly traveled back to her face. “You’re
lying,” he accused.

“I do not lie,” she stated. “I am carrying
Seyzon’s child.”

The look he gave her brought terror to her
heart but then she watched his eyes change. The blue orbs darkened then turned
sly.

“The child is mine,” he said.

She shook her head. “No. It is my
husband’s.”

“You have no husband,” he said with a
growl. “The babe in your belly is mine.”

“I had a monthly flow between the night at
Riverglade and when I went home to my husband.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said, a muscle
clenching in his cheek.

“Ask Lady Millicent.”

He sprang at her and before she could react
shackled her wrist with his sword hand and jerked her toward him. “It is mine
else it will be labeled a bastard!” he shouted at her. He put his face close to
hers. “Do you want it labeled a bastard, Jana?”

That scared her for if the baby was
declared illegitimate the stigma would follow him all the days of his life and
doors that should open for him would not. Opportunities would be lost. Being
called a by-blow—and that would be how the cruelest people would mark him—was a
shame she could not place on her unborn child.

“You’d best think long and hard on it,
dearling,” Vindan said. The twist of his lips told her he knew his words were
hitting exactly where he was aiming them.

“Seyzon is the father of my child,” she
said and could no longer see him clearly for tears were blurring her vision.

“No, he isn’t,” he said, tugging on her
wrist. “I am and that is what you will tell any who ask.”

“Lady Millicent knows the truth.” She wiped
at her tears with her free hand. That was a lie and she hoped he wouldn’t know
that it was.

“Then you would be wise to have a talk with
her,” he told her. “She needs to understand the situation for what it is.
Our
unborn child’s future depends upon it!” He leaned in until his lips were
against her ear. “He will be the future king of Meiraman and no tongues will
wag about his right to take the throne when I die.” He tightened his grip.
“Now, come. The priest is waiting!”

As he pulled her along behind him, Vindan’s
mind was seething with the news she’d just thrown at him. Once more Seyzon had
something he did not but he intended to make sure the man never knew he was the
father of the child Jana was carrying. In order to do that, he had to see that
Seyzon stayed in Selwyn until the day he died.

Jana tried twice to snatch her wrist from
his hold but he kept tight possession of it. He would not give her a second
chance to run. Though it pained him to admit, he would need to post guards on
her at all times from now on. As soon as the Joining was over, he would send
Seyzon’s mother back to Lavenfeld under heavy guard as well. She and the man he
suspected was more than her Master-at-Arms would need to be placed under house
arrest for the foreseeable future. He could not risk them trying to raise the
money to pay the outrageous ransom the border lord was demanding for Seyzon’s
release.

“
You can tell your master I have no
intention of negotiating Lord Seyzon’s release. Montyne disobeyed a direct
order, tried to flee his guards, and has been stripped of his rank and
discharged from the Meiramanian Army. Mayhap his mother will pay to get him
back. I will not!
”

Going over his conversation with the border
lord’s emissary, he hoped his words had not signed Seyzon’s death warrant. He
doubted Bray would hang him but he didn’t know that for sure.

“You may force me to marry you but I will
never be a wife to you,” Jana said, drawing his attention.

“Don’t be so sure,” he told her. “You
didn’t exactly lie there like a rock when I took you at Riverglade.” He flexed
his fingers around her wrist. “You are a passionate woman and I am a determined
man.”

“You will regret forcing this,” she said.
“As the goddess is my witness you will.”

He stopped and snapped her to him, backing
her against the wall to pin her there with his body. When she tried to push him
away, he grabbed her other hand and dragged both her arms above her head.
Before she could turn her face away, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed
her with all the pent-up anger striving to break free of his chest. Wedging his
leg between her thighs, he pressed his lower body tightly to hers. Beneath his
mouth she made protesting sounds but he ignored them as his kiss became
punishment and a demand for capitulation. She was squirming in obvious outrage
under his assault that the friction was arousing him. He had a wild desire to
drag her to the floor and take her then and there.

And would have had she not bitten him,
drawing blood.

“Son of a bitch!” he gasped, stepping back.
She’d nailed him hard and he could taste the blood welling on his lip.

“Try that again and I’ll take a hunk of
your lip next time!” she hissed.

He wanted to slap her but knew he wouldn’t.
Gentlemen did not abuse women—no matter how angry they were at them. His
godmother had drilled that rule into him at an early age.

She was glaring defiantly at him and
breathing hard. Her beautiful eyes were narrowed and her jaw was set, lips
pressed tightly together.

“I have changed my mind,” he said,
releasing her hands and stepping well back from her. “I
will
pay the
border lord’s ransom and then you know what I’m going to do, Lady Jana?”

“I don’t give a warthog’s ass what you do!”
she snapped.

“I will have Seyzon taken to Utuk Xul. Do you
know what that is?”

He could tell from the look that passed
over her face that she did not.

“It is the most infamous maximum security
prison in the Megaverse, far worse than the Labyrinth. Once interned there,
prisoners never see the light of day again. The cells are a mile underground.
The men who are sent there are the worse criminals there are. For the most part
they are murderers, serial killers, terrorists but the prison has more than its
share of pedophiles and brutal sodomists—men who like raping and torturing
other men. As handsome as Seyzon is, he should be very popular with perverts of
that ilk, wouldn’t you agree?”

He saw the blood drain from her face.

“You wouldn’t do that to him.”

“The priest is waiting,” he said.

“You—”

“Make no mistake, Jana,” he interrupted.
“Lady Millicent will go to Galrath and Seyzon will go to Utuk Xul. That is a
certainty. This is the last time I’m going to caution you that I mean what I
say. No more threats. No more warnings. No more discussion on the matter. I’ll
simply issue the orders and see them carried out. As for you, you’ll have the
dubious distinction of being my concubine instead of my wife. My whore with all
that implies. So what’s it to be? Her in the convent and him in the prison or
your hand in mine before the priest?”

She stared into his eyes for a long time
then seemed to accept his words for she hung her head and nodded twice.

“Good,” he said then turned from her. He
would not force her to come with him. She had to do that of her own accord. He
started walking.

A moment passed and then she was at his
side, her fingers threaded together in front of her.

“And if you ever bite me again, I’ll turn
your ass over my knee. I promise you sitting will be out of the question for a
good long while,” he told her.

He was fading in and out. At some point he
screamed but he didn’t know why. There were people standing over him—hurting
him—and he didn’t know why they were doing that. In between bouts of total
numbness, he was in agony. Unable to move his left arm and leg, all he could do
was stare at the ceiling until someone came to put him out into the darkness
again. Faces were blurred but he knew two of those staring down at him were
male and at least one was a female. Sounds were muted but he could swear he
heard the skirl of a fiddle, the thump of a bodhrán and the plink of a banjo somewhere
close by. Now and again, he heard men laughing and women shrieking but he knew
the female sounds were ones of merriment and not terror. There were smells as
well and they made him sick to his stomach. Somewhere near him was a kitchen in
which greasy food was being cooked.

“He’s awake again,” a woman said.

“Put him back out.” It was a man’s deep
voice.

“When is Robbie gonna get here?” the same
woman asked with a snort. “I’m tired of cleaning up after this one.”

“Today if all goes as planned,” the man
replied.

“Won’t be soon enough for me,” the woman
stated.

“Don’t worry. With any luck you’ll be
sprawled on your back and earning your keep again before the day ends,” the man
told her.

I am in a whorehouse,
he thought. But why? He hadn’t entered one of the seedy
establishments since he was a youth of ten and five and then only on a dare
from Vindan. Was Vindan here as well?

“Turn your head, blue eyes,” the woman
said.

He shifted his eyes to her face and tried
to focus. “Where?” he croaked and tried to lick his parched lips but there was
no moisture on his tongue.

She sighed heavily. “I’ve told you too many
times to count where you are. Now, turn you head. I ain’t got all day to fuck
with you.”

He didn’t understand why she was ordering
him to look away from her. It wasn’t as though he could see her clearly. Her
head was blocking the overhead light and all he saw was a halo of impossibly
red hair sticking straight up in a circle around her face.

“Just give him the tenerse and be done with
it!” the male snapped.

“Get that shit away from him.”

It was another voice—one he was fairly sure
he hadn’t heard before. The brogue sounded Chalean.

“You been shooting him up this entire time?
What the fuck’s the matter with you, Driskoll?”

Yet another voice that had not been
previously heard.

“He’s been in pain, milord,” the man with
the deep voice said. His tone suggested to Seyzon he was afraid of the man to
whom he spoke. “We had to re-set his leg ’cause he fell out of the bed and—”

“He just
fell
out of the bed?” the man
with the Chalean accent demanded.

“On my sainted mother’s grave, he did,
milord.”

The woman came to her companion’s defense.
“He was trying to get up to take a piss. We thought he was asleep.”

“As soon as we heard him hit the floor
and—”

“He screamed like a banshee when he did,”
the woman put in.

“You’d better pray no permanent damage was
done to him or before the gods I’ll take it out on your hide!”

Seyzon strained to see the speaker but he
could not make his eyes focus. His vision kept skipping, rolling way, dropping
out of frame.

“Saur, fetch a couple of the men and let’s
get this boy out of here while he’s still breathing,” the Chalean ordered.

What happened next plunged Seyzon into a
nightmare that he’d just as soon never visited. Though the hands were gentle on
him, as soon as his back left the bed, he screeched like a little girl down
whose bodice a spider had dropped. Pain shot through his left shoulder and left
leg.

“See what I mean?” deep voice asked. “That
leg is broken in three places, Lord Robbie. He needs to be in a TAOS.”

“And he will be. As much as I hate doing
it, give me the vac-syringe so I can knock him out.”

There was a cool, gentle touch on his cheek
as his head was turned to one side then fiery agony entered his neck and spread
so quickly he barely had time to flinch. He whimpered from the pain of the
injection.

“That’ll be the last time, son,” the
Chalean said, stroking hair from Seyzon’s forehead.

Sinking down under the warm, mellow waves
of the drug, Seyzon looked up into man’s face that was hidden behind a black
mask. The only part of the man’s face he could see clearly were a pair of
compassionate blue eyes.

“Sleep now,” the man said and straightened
up.

Tall. Broad of shoulder. Wide of chest and
narrow of hip. That was the impression of his savior that Seyzon took into
dreamland with him.

* * * * *

There was heavy gunfire in the distance.
Beneath his ass, the earth shook and the air was filled with the stench of
acrid smoke. He shifted on the cold ground and tried to get comfortable but his
leg was throbbing and his shoulder ached unmercifully. Since he’d awakened,
he’d done nothing but try to hide the pain he was in from his captors. The
young man who was caring for him spoke just enough Meiramanian for Seyzon to
understand the men in whose hands he’d fallen were under siege from the
Venturian militia. The ones who had rescued him from the whorehouse were
engaged in a pitched battle.

He remembered coming to as a wagon raced
pell-mell across the bumpiest road he’d ever had the displeasure of
experiencing. Despite the numbing drug flowing through his system, he felt
every jostle, every bump and every rut the wheels rolled into. By the time he
was lifted from the wagon and carried into what he later realized was a cave,
the drug had worn off sufficiently enough the pain was raising its head. Now he
half reclined with his back against the stone wall of the cave and wished he
could pass out again. His broken leg was stretched out in front of him. The
other was crooked at the knee. His injured arm lay limply in his lap. He was
alone—where was he to go and how was he to get there?—listening to his stomach
growl.

There was one huge explosion that rattled
the ground beneath him and caused dust and small rocks to rain down on his head
and then a muted cheer. He could only hope it was the Venturians who had won
the battle and that someone would come looking for him. Otherwise, he was going
to starve to death in the hellishly cold cave.

Idly he wondered if the Chalean had
survived the encounter with his people. He hoped so. Though he hadn’t spoken to
him since leaving the whorehouse, he was curious about the Reiver he suspected
was the border lord himself.

Time passed slowly so that by the time he
heard the crunch of rocks outside the cave entrance, Seyzon’s nerves were
stretched paper thin. Unable to move, he had a brutal headache for he was
dehydrated and so hungry he was tempted to eat the mold growing on the side of
the cave wall.

The entrance darkened and a man came into
the cave. It was the Chale and his face was still concealed behind the mask. In
the glow from the phosphor light his young caretaker had turn on before he
left, the tall man’s eyes gleamed blue fire.

“We chased the Vents back to Rosemon.
They’ll think twice before attacking us again.” The Chalean hunkered down a few
feet from Seyzon. “How you feeling?”

“Thirsty as hell,” Seyzon said. “That boy
went to fetch a canteen of water and never came back.”

“Nor will he,” the man said gravely. “Hold
on.” He got to his feet, turned and ducked out of the cave. He returned with a
canteen.

“The boy is dead?” Seyzon asked, taking the
canteen.

“Aye. A sniper blew his head off.” He
sighed deeply. “As far as I know, he was the only casualty on our side. I don’t
know about the Vents. Gods-be-damned, lad. I told him to stay put.” His blue
eyes bored into Seyzon. “He died with the full canteen still clutched in his
hand.”

Remorse shot through Seyzon and his hand
stilled before his lips touched the rim of the canteen. He lowered it. “I am
sorry.”

“Not your fault. I shouldn’t have told
you.” The Chalean motioned with his hand. “Drink. You look entirely too pale
for my liking.”

He felt lower than pond scum for being the
cause of the young man’s death but he put the canteen to his mouth and began
guzzling the water despite the fact it tasted heavily of sulfur.

“Not too much,” the man said as he sat down
in front of Seyzon, drew up his knees and circled them with his arms.

Reluctantly, Seyzon lowered the canteen and
swiped his forearm under his chin where the water had dribbled. He started to
hand it back but the Chalean shook his head.

“Just go easy on it. Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” Seyzon admitted.

“I’ve jerky and a chunk of sourdough bread
in my saddlebags. We don’t dare stay here long enough to catch a hare or two
and roast it.” He cocked a shoulder. “There are Meiramanian troops all over
these hills. You’ll have to make do until we get to Newcomb. There’s a
transport ship waiting for us there.”

“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

“Beyond the reach of your very powerful
enemy.”

“Don’t do that,” Seyzon asked. “My mother
will pay to get me back.”

“Lady Millicent doesn’t have anywhere near
the amount I’m asking, boy.”

“She can get it,” he said, knowing for a
certainty the man to whom he was speaking was the border lord Robin Bray.

“From whom?” Bray inquired.

“Friends.”

“Aye, she has friends but they won’t help
her. She is the mother of a traitor, a warrior who has been given a
dishonorable discharge from the Meiramanian Army. Anyone who comes to her aide
will have their lands confiscated by the prince, rotten little shit that he
is.”

News of having been thrown out of the army
didn’t surprise Seyzon but hearing that Vindan was responsible for seeing that
his godmother had nowhere to turn to get help for her son rankled like a sore
tooth.

“Vindan Brell has a lot for which to
answer,” he said through clenched teeth.

“That he does,” the border lord agreed.
“Like father, like son.”

“He has my woman and I intend to get her
back or die trying.”

“At the moment, you are in no condition to
do anything.” He reached up to scratch his shoulder. “Besides which, you forget
you are my prisoner.”

“No, I’m not apt to forget it,” Seyzon said
bitterly.

“Well, if you’re worried about me hanging
you or tossing you into a rat-infested cell, I’ll disabuse you of that notion.
If I was going to do either of those things I wouldn’t be having a TAOS unit
flown to my transport. Why bother healing you?”

“Why do little boys torment ants with a
magnifying glass?” Seyzon countered.

Deep laughter came from behind the mask and
the blue eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Do you plan on selling me to the highest
bidder?”

“Not sure there’s a market for used,
discarded friends of Vindan Brell even if they are one of a kind,” Bray said.
“No wonder you were his only mate.”

“Then why keep me if I’m useless?”

“Because when the time comes, I intend to
help you get your woman out of Brell’s greedy hands,” was the answer.

“Why would you do that?”

“
Ceart an chéad oíche.
Brell took your
woman under that ages-old right.”

Seyzon stared at him. “How did you know
that?”

“It’s not a secret, son,” Bray told him. “I
have spies in Meiraman.”

“But it isn’t common knowledge.”

“Mayhap not but I learned of it. The right
hadn’t been exercised in nearly forty years until Brell took it in his mind to
use it to hurt you. It is a vile right that needs to be outlawed and any man
who practices it needs to be punished. The last time a royal claimed the right
of first lord, the girl he raped perished.”

“I didn’t think it had been used is this
century,” Seyzon said.

Bray snorted, his eyes turned ice cold.
“Duke Eduard Llewellyn of Athendale took dozens of young girls on their Joining
nights—and before in some cases—until I stopped him. If I have anything to say
about it, it will never be used again. No man will ever have his woman taken
from him at the whim of a royal.”

“And the woman who died?” he asked quietly.

“Girl,” Bray corrected. “She was sixteen
but she looked much younger.” He lowered his head. “She was as tiny as a
butterfly, as sweet as a newborn kitten and—”

“She was yours.”

The border lord raised his head. “Nay, not
mine but my best friend’s wife-to-be. The duke’s men took her as she was on her
way to the chapel. My mate and I stood there waiting for her, the priest and
the families giving him sympathetic looks that didn’t register at the time. They
knew.” He paused. “They
knew
why she was late coming to the Joining, but
he and I were oblivious. It wasn’t until one of Duke Eduard’s men came to fetch
us that we suspected something was wrong.”

Seyzon watched the sharp blue eyes become
tearful.

“The guard had a shred of decency in him.
After the duke was finished with Sofia, he ordered the man to get rid of her.
The bastard knew he’d hurt her badly for she was sprawled on his bed in a pool
of blood—not moving, with her eyes open but seeing nothing beyond the horror
he’d put her through. The guard picked her up and brought her to the servants’
quarters before running to find me.” Bray’s voice broke. “When we got to her,
it was too late for anyone to help her. She died in my friend’s arms.” He put
up his hand and pinched his eyes with his thumb and middle fingers. “My friend
hanged himself just before dawn that next day.”

“And you went after the duke.”

“It took me a month to catch him alone and
when I did, I knocked him out and took him to the room where Sofia had died.
The servants saw me but not a one would have lifted a hand to stop what was
coming. They hated the bastard as much as I did. They kept the guards occupied
elsewhere while I beat the fucking shite out of Llewellyn. When I tired of
hitting him, I took out my dagger and castrated him. I shoved his cock into his
mouth and held it there until he choked on his own blood.”