WINDKEEPER Read online

  Galen was transfixed by the woman’s beauty as he walked toward her. Long black hair hung loose around her creamy shoulders, cascaded down her slender back to her shapely hips. One thick tress hung over her bodice and was braided with pale peach ribbon. Soft peach-colored blossoms nestled at her right ear, bringing out the rose blush on her high cheekbones.

  The gown she wore was pale green, cut low in the bodice to reveal the budding cleavage of her high breasts. Gathered in the center beneath those upturned mounds of perfection, the gown fell in gentle folds and ended in deep, lace-edged scallops as it swept the floor. Peeking out from under the gold lace scallops, were mint green satin slippers studded with golden sparkles.

  There was a hint of peach at her eyelids and her mouth had been darkened to a deep coral. Around the upper part of her left arm, a thin gold ribbon of serpentine chain banded the tender flesh. Tiny coral studs sat in the flesh of her earlobes. The only other jewelry she wore was a black rune stone on a thin silver chain around her slender neck.

  Struck mute by the elegance and ethereal grace before them, neither man could think. They had both lost their hearts and souls. They had given them to the Lady Liza.

  "Am I late?" she asked and her voice was a whisper of soft, throaty laughter.

  "Never," Galen said courteously, reaching his brother’s side, taking the hand Conar did not hold. "You could never be anything but perfection." He smiled the first genuine, true smile he had ever bestowed upon a female. He brought her wrist to his lips and planted a gentle kiss on the upturned flesh.

  Liza felt a shock of revulsion run through her at his touch and she shivered. She tried to smile, but her flesh felt as though maggots were crawling over it. She had to stamp down the urge to wipe her wrist on her skirt when he released her hand.

  "I am Galen."

  Conar noticed the look on his twin’s face and could not mistake the sexual arousal. If he hadn’t known better, known in which direction his brother’s interests lay, he would have been angrier still. As it was, he had the strongest urge he had ever had to slap Galen’s face. An intense prick of jealousy raced through the Prince Regent. "My brother, Mam’selle," he explained to her in a clipped voice shot full of wintry chill. He stared at Galen’s inquisitive eyes. "Her name is Liza."

  "Liza." Galen made the name sound like the soughing of a soft breeze in the forest. He murmured the name again, silently, to himself, and his face took on warmth rarely seen. "It suits you, Lady Liza. It is a very sensual name."

  "We’re so glad you approve since it is the only name she has!" Conar snarled. Reaching for Liza’s arm, he pulled her away from Galen. "I know you’re hungry!" He pushed her to the table.

  Stunned by Conar’s proprietary manner, Galen could only gape at his twin as Conar seated the lady beside him, well away from the place where Galen had been seated.

  "Aren’t you finished with your meal, Conar?" Galen ground out from between tightly held teeth.

  "No, I am not."

  "I thought you were," Galen hissed, sitting down and laying his napkin in his lap with a snap.

  "You thought wrong."

  "You had pushed your plate away."

  "I…am…not…finished…Galen!" the young Prince Regent growled.

  "The table is…" Liza looked around her. "Lovely. The food smells delicious." She looked from one man to the other as they sat staring daggers at one another.

  "To your beauty, Milady," Galen said, raising his goblet.

  From his place beside his brother, Conar scowled, but he held his goblet aloft in salute. He was about to speak, but Galen began to compliment Liza; telling her extravagant stories of their homeland; uncomplimentary tales of Conar’s exploits, and unbelievable lies of his own.

  As Galen droned on and on with his effusive speech, Conar brooded. It was obvious the man was attempting to woo the girl. He was flirting outrageously. Never had Galen bothered to court a woman, any woman, for Conar had known for quite some time that his brother’s interests did not include women as sexual partners. The fact that Galen leaned toward his own sex had never bothered Conar. Galen was Galen. Now, he found himself looking at his brother with loathing.

  Whether it was to annoy him or was a budding recognition of his own true male nature, Conar didn’t care. Galen’s sudden interest in a female, and this particular female, was irritating the hell out of him. He clutched his wineglass and took a large swallow.

  "I haven’t asked from where you come, Milady," Galen said. "I know you are not a native of our land; no woman in Serenia could rival such beauty as you possess, or give birth to it."

  Conar groaned and rolled his eyes to the heavens. By the gods, but Galen had gone around the bend.

  "I have not seen you at court, either. I would have remembered such loveliness."

  "You wouldn’t have noticed her since your attention wanders elsewhere," Conar snarled beneath his breath.

  Galen threw his brother a hard glower of warning, then turned his attention to Liza. "You are not one of the Ladies-in-Waiting, are you?"

  Conar toyed with his wineglass, glaring sullenly at Galen, and only half-listening to Liza’s evasions as to her origins. He tuned out Galen’s spouted garbage. The goblet twirled in his tanned fingers, the wine swirling up the sides in red waves. As Liza’s laugh rang out, a tight frown marred his handsome face and the sensual lips turned into thin, straight lines of disapproval. He drained the goblet and refilled it.

  Everything Galen and Liza were saying and doing was rubbing him the wrong way. He found himself fighting the urge to jump up and throttle his twin then and there. From some inner resource, he drew on his resolve to sit still; but for a reason totally beyond his comprehension, his irritation soared by the moment. He mentally shook himself and paid closer attention to the conversation to take his mind away from his seething rage.

  "But from where do you come? You still haven’t told me."

  "She’s from Oceania," Conar snapped and could have bitten his tongue. He turned to Liza to warn her to go along with his outrageous remark.

  "Oceania?" Galen pounced on the answer. One golden brow shot up in unconscious imitation of the way Conar’s often did. "Isn’t that the homeland of the Princess Anya, dear brother?"

  "You know full well it is, Galen," Conar hissed, emphasizing his brother’s name with a warning of his own.

  Galen smiled at Conar. "You did know this fellow is betrothed, didn’t you, Milady?"

  "She knows!"

  "And do you know the Princess Anya Wynth?" Galen asked Liza, but his eyes were still on Conar.

  "I can’t say she and I have ever been introduced, Milord. I have heard the lady is crippled and not so pretty to look upon, though. Or so Prince Conar tells me."

  Conar nearly choked on the wine in his mouth. He glared at Liza’s innocent expression. Swallowing with effort, he frowned at her. "I didn’t say she was a cripple, Mam’selle. I said she had a limp."

  Liza pretended to think. "Ah, so you did. But I do remember you saying she was as ugly as a toad."

  "Liza!" Conar shouted. He would have taken her to task for revealing such a thing in Galen’s presence, but his twin’s uproarious laughter stilled his angry retort.

  "By all that’s holy, Conar, but I find this entire conversation enlightening! I can see now why you aren’t keen on marrying the poor little bitchlet. I can’t see you, of all men, shackled to an ugly lass, although I must admit I find it deliciously funny considering the bawds I have known you to tumble in your day."

  "I’ll not have you speaking like that in front of this lady!" Conar snarled, half-rising from his chair.

  "I’m sure the Lady Liza understands you, Conar. Your reputation has proceeded you throughout the Seven Kingdoms and even into Diabolusia!" He winked at Liza. "Don’t you agree that it is dreadful Conar is being forced to marry this ogress?"

  He came to his feet, roaring, "You aren’t the one marrying the stupid bitch, Galen, so I don’t think your opinion matters! It is late, M
am’selle. If you ride with me on the morrow, I suggest you bid this jackass a good eve!" He turned and stalked away, his footsteps ringing.

  "Milord! Wait!" Liza called. She scraped her chair away from the table, hastily getting up and moving from Galen before he could assist her. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Please, don’t trouble yourself, Prince Galen. A pleasant good eve to you, Milord." Her slipper-clad feet made hardly any noise as she ran after Conar.

  The Prince Regent had stopped as she called to him, but had not turned around from where he stood in the doorway. "If you are coming, I would prefer it be sometime before dawn, Mam’selle!"

  "Such an ass, Liza-love," Galen called after them. "You would find me far better company."

  Spinning on his heel, Conar took a step toward his brother, but Liza ran to him, blocking his path, her face pleading for peace between the two men. Her presence and actions did not stop the fury pouring from his lips.

  "She has no need of another companion when she has me, brother! I suggest you look elsewhere for your own brand of entertainment." He gripped Liza’s hand and jerked her after him up the stairs.

  Taking the steps to their sleeping chambers at a brisk clip, Conar could feel Liza stumbling behind him, but his rage was towering and he was hard-pressed not to slap the girl for being the direct cause of it. He had always prided himself in not taking Galen’s barbs to heart, ignoring the insinuations and cheap retorts Galen aimed his way. Letting the bastard see that he had gotten beneath his skin infuriated Conar even more. A vein throbbed in his temple and his lips were pressed so tightly together to keep from bellowing his anger, there was a white line around his mouth.

  When they reached Liza’s door, he spun around and took both of her upper arms in his hard hands, gripping them with enough force to bruise her. He soundly shook her. "I did not appreciate your remarks concerning my wife-to-be, Mam’selle! The lady may not be to my liking, but I will not hear insults directed toward her. She will be the next Queen of this land! Do I make myself clear?" Fury flashed in his icy blue eyes.

  "I repeated only what you said to me."

  "Aye! You women are good at repeating things, aren’t you?"

  "If you don’t want people to know how you feel about the woman, don’t tell them!" she protested, trying to free herself from his punishing grip, but he held her fast, dragging her up hard against his body.

  His upper lip curled with distaste. "I thought you were different, but I can see I was wrong. You’re just like every other female I’ve ever known. You open your mouth and nothing but shit comes out!"

  Liza’s eyes went wide. "I’m like no woman you have ever known and that’s what you’re so gods-be-damned angry about!" she shouted, incensed with the way he was manhandling her.

  "All women are alike! They take and they take and they take until a man has nothing left to give and then they leave him for another man who can provide more! They lie and they cheat and they steal and they spread vicious gossip about like so much manure." He pushed her against the wall, holding her prisoner with his body and ground himself suggestively against her. "And they spread their legs for any man with the price or the title!"

  "Let go." Her voice was low and deceptively soft; her tone was calm.

  He snaked out his hand and gripped her chin. "I haven’t decided what it is you want from me, woman, but when I do, you may be sorry you ever laid eyes on me."

  "I said let go," she warned, green eyes glaring at his icy blue smirk.

  "When I’m good and gods-be-damned ready."

  One moment he was holding her against the wall, his lower body thrust hard against hers; the next, he was kneeling on the floor, his manhood cupped protectively in his shaking hands. He stared up at her, disbelief running rampant in his shocked eyes. He could only stare at her as she snarled down, "Are you ready now, Milord?"

  She stalked to her room, slamming the door behind her and threw the bolt with a loud clunk.

  Having a door slammed in his face was bad enough. Being kneed in his privates was worse; but being treated so by a woman was something entirely different. He knelt there, gasping for breath, squeezing his eyes shut to the ghastly pain in his groin, and could have strangled the bitch.

  "Bitch," he mumbled as he painfully pushed himself from the floor.

  He was so furious that nothing mattered to him but the slamming of his door with enough force to put a crack in the lintel. Hearing the wood split, he grimly smiled and stumbled to his bed, crawling into its soft protection much as a child would. He snatched a pillow and buried his angry face in the plump thickness.

  Chapter 7

  * * *

  Conar jumped, sitting upright with a jolt in the bed. His mouth was dry, his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Sweat oozed from his pores and ran down his temples, from under his arms, down the center of his chest. He ran a trembling hand over his face and sighed.

  It was the old dream; the nightmare; that godawful memory lodged in the back of his subconscious. It came periodically to turn his nerves to mush and to remind him that something lay in wait for him just beyond his peripheral vision. It lurked there, ready to consume him if he ever once let down his guard. He could feel it hovering about him even now.

  He flung away the bed covers and swung his legs over the edge, sitting there, his head in his hands, trying to calm his heart and nerves. He sucked in a wavering breath and slowly let it out. He could still see that horrible face glaring at him; feel the cold flesh of the man’s fingers on him. Feel the pain; the helplessness.

  Mentally shaking himself, he stood, closing out the picture, forcing it away.

  He started to reach for the bedside tumbler of water, but a sudden heavy knocking at his door spun him around and flattened him against the four-poster of the bed.

  "Your Grace!" a woman’s voice cut through the night silence. "Your Grace! Hurry!"

  He reached for his sword, a purely instinctive act, and jerked the door wide.

  Gezelle flinched. With a will all their own, her green eyes traveled down Conar’s naked chest, flicked quickly, all the way down to his bare toes. "Oh," was all she said.

  "What?" he shouted. When she did not answer, he took her arm, his body fairly quivering with rage. "What the hell is it, woman?"

  Her head bobbed back and forth as he shook her, but she couldn’t find her voice. Only a squeak of mild protest forced its way from her gaping mouth.

  Afraid the girl had been struck with some horror, his first inclination was to shout at her to come to her senses. But remembering Liza’s stern reprimand, he knew harsh words and violence would only drive her deeper into her terrified shell. With great effort, he lowered his voice and shook her again, but more gently.

  "Is it the lady?" he asked and got no answer. He started to go around the servant, but the girl found her voice.

  "Milord! Your clothes!"

  Glancing down at himself, he realized he wore nothing save the night air. His mouth snapped shut and he snarled in embarrassment. Spinning around, he stomped into the room, closing the door just long enough to drag on his breeches.

  In the hallway, Gezelle couldn’t move. Her mind was filled with the naked splendor of a man she had fantasized about so many times. Seeing the young Prince standing in the doorway, sword raised, face filled with fire and combat, had etched itself into her fertile imagination forever; seeing him without a stitch of clothing was etched into her very soul. She looked up as he flung open the door, buttoning his breeches as he strode forward, sword tucked under his bare arm.

  "Is it the lady?" he asked again, more annoyed than ever at the beet-red flush on the girl’s face.

  Gezelle felt like fainting. She would have if he had not taken hold of her arm once more.

  "Mam’selle!" he said with exasperation.

  She blinked, feeling the warmth of his hand all over her trembling body. She could only nod.

  "Show me!"

  Gezelle found her voice and pointed a finger to Liza’s door.
"She’s having a nightmare, Your Grace. She called out your name. I couldn’t wake her."

  Conar had nightmares of his own from which his family could not awaken him, so before Gezelle could say another word, he had the door to Liza’s room open and was at her bed, flinging his sword to the floor, reaching down for her.

  "The water!" she cried. "Conar, the water!"

  He took her in his arms before his knee ever bent the mattress. "Liza!" he commanded in a soft, stern voice. "Wake up. ’Tis but a dream, Sweeting."

  She clung to him in her sleep, her body pressed tightly to his. Her hands clawed frantically at his shoulders and she gasped for air as though she were drowning.

  "Conar! Help us! He can’t hold me much longer! We will fall!"

  "I am here, Sweeting. Here beside you." Conar crooned to her, stroking her gleaming black hair, sweat-drenched along her temples from the horror in which she had been thrust.

  "Conar! The ledge! The ledge is breaking away! Help us, Conar! Please, help us! I don’t want to leave you!" Her hands griped him as though she were being torn from his embrace.

  "Liza!" his said, his voice raising. He pulled her face away from his chest and planted a soft, insistent kiss on her forehead. "I am here, Beloved. You are safe, now!"

  Her eyelids fluttered open and her green eyes focused on him. "Conar?" she questioned, unsure, her voice wavering.

  "Aye, I am here, Sweeting." He touched his lips to hers in a soft caress of protection.

  Galen’s voice intruded, harsh, strident as he rushed into the room.

  "What’s happening here?" He gripped his own sword, his knuckles white as he advanced toward the bed. "Has someone done hurt to Liza?" He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but Conar knocked it away.

  "Don’t you dare lay your filthy hands on this woman!" Conar snarled.