Rapture's Etesian (7 page)

Kynthia stared at him. Her expression left little doubt that she thought the man standing above her was a lunatic. She reached up to pry his fingers from her shoulder but she might as well have tried to pry a rock from cliff beyond.

“Callista took matters into her own hands and slit the throat of the bastard who brutalized her,” Cree continued. “Instead of a dagger, you used a rock on Minos Daedalun. You had your revenge but that hasn’t given you any satisfaction, has it?”

“Hell, no, it hasn’t!” she threw at him. “If I could, I would go after every pervert I could find and rid the world of them! That would bring me great satisfaction!”

Cree shook his head. “No, Sweeting, it wouldn’t, but it would go a long way in easing the pain you feel. Only finding your soul-mate will give you the true satisfaction you crave.”

Kynthia struck at his hand with her fist but the hits had no effect on the man. He stood where he was and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I…don’t…want…a…gods-be-damned…man!” she shouted.

“Perhaps not at this moment in time, but time has a way of moving on, Kynni, and loneliness is a terrible road to walk,” he said quietly.

The softness of his words, the gentle look in his eyes brought the tears from Kynthia’s eyes and she covered her face with her hands and sobbed violently, her shoulders shaking, her moans of grief pitiful to hear. She leaned into his hard chest when he hunkered down before her and pulled her into his brawny arms.

“Let it out, Sweeting,” he whispered. “Let it all out and the wound will begin to heal.”

Kynthia had shed no tears when Minos had savaged her. Nor had one teardrop fallen when she had begged and pleaded with her father not to bring her to the Isle of Uaigneas and sell her to the stranger who lived there. Now, the tears flowed like a river overflowing its banks and she clung to the man holding her as though he were a life raft.

“I know what it is like to be at the mercy of those who would rule your life, Kynni,” he crooned to her. “I, too, know the frustration of not being in control of my own destiny, but I am offering you the means to live your life the way you see fit and be beholden to no one.”

“N-no man will e-ever want m-me,” she cried. “And I w-want n-no m-man!”

“Perhaps not at this moment in time,” he repeated as he stroked the damp hair back from her forehead, “but you are young and beautiful and—”

She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy, and her nose running. “You think I am beautiful?” she asked.

He put his hands on her cheeks and stared into her swollen eyes. “You are as lovely as a spring morning,” he replied.

When he released her, she ran the back of her hand under her nose. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

For the first time, she really looked at Cainer Cree. So frightened had she been—and angry with her father and brother—she had paid no attention to the man who had bought her. Now, her face was only ten or so inches from his and she was staring into eyes the color of freshly drawn honey.

He was as handsome a man as any she had ever seen. Truth be told, his male beauty might well rival even the gods for he was tall with a flat belly and well-muscled arms. His hair was thick and curly, and as brown and as dark as a sparrow’s wing. A soft, deep voice that commanded attention yet was very pleasant on the ear came from lips that were finely chiseled—pleasingly full, as her Aunt Galatea would say—and through teeth as white as the snow on the highest alpine mountain.

“You find me attractive, Kynthia?” he asked.

She nodded, her cheeks stained bright red, and tore her gaze from him.

“What would you say if I told you the man to whom you will one day give your heart would put my poor features to shame?” he inquired.

“Huh,” Kynthia grunted. “You read the future, too, milord?”

“No, but someone who visited me not long ago can and she told me all about him.”

Kynthia looked up. “Who is he? What is his name?”

Cree grinned. “Now, that wouldn’t be fair, now, would it, if I told you?” When she started to protest, he held up his hand. “Besides, if I told you his name, you would seek him out and that is not what the Fates have in mind.”

“The Fates don’t always play fair either,” she grated.

“They do what they feel is best for us, Kynthia.”

“They wanted me to be raped by that bastard, Minos?” she challenged.

“No,” he said, the smile slipping from his lips. “Sometimes evil slips into our lives. It is how we handle the adversity and sorrow that prompt the Fates to either reward or punish us.”

“What was your evil’s name?” she asked, sensing a tale in the sad depths of his golden eyes.

“Zenia,” he replied. “But I will speak no more of that witch.”

“Did you love or hate her?”

He scowled at her, and she caught a glimpse of the powerful man she understood he could be. “I despised her for she took me from the woman I loved. Ask me no more about that bitch for the mere thought of her drives me this close to Transition,” he said, holding his thumb and index finger a hairsbreadth apart.

“Transition?” she asked with a sigh. “You speak in riddles, milord.”

“You’ll understand it all in good time, but for now, let’s take a walk. There is something I would like to show you.” He got to his feet and held his hand out to her.

Though she had vowed to hate every man who drew breath between then and Doomsday, she took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once more, she marveled at the strength in his fingers and when he threaded his fingers through hers, she knew it would be senseless to try to pull free.

“I have no designs on you save to help you be the woman you want to be,” he said as they started walking up a steady incline. His hut was off to one side and she asked him why the door was closed for it was a stifling hot day.

“I spend most of my time outside,” he answered. “I find I no longer care to be cooped up.”

They walked through a thick stand of trees with low-hanging branches until they came to what must have been the highest point on the island. Ahead and to her left, she could hear waves crashing and a soft, fine mist struck her face gently.

“I love the sea,” she said, feeling the need to break the silence between them.

“I used to,” he said. “And I still like to watch the tide coming in.”

“You don’t swim?” she asked.

A muscle ground in his lean jaw. “Not anymore.”

It was to a tall cliff overlooking the ocean that he took her. The rocky prominence had a natural railing made of rock that rose up to waist height on Kynthia. When he released his grip on her hand, she strode forward and braced her hands on the top of the railing, and looked down.

Far below, the white-sand beach curled in a crescent shape around the base of the rugged cliff. Huge, jagged rocks were being assaulted by powerful waves and spray flew upward in a salty mist that looked almost like fog. Overhead, seagulls called to one another and rode the high currents, sailing past with graceful maneuvers that drew Cree’s gaze.

“I miss that most of all,” he said quietly.

Kynthia looked at him, remembering his boast that he could fly. “You weren’t serious,” she said, sensing a great sadness in the man beside her.

“Aye, I was very serious, Sweeting. Look there.”

He pointed to an island just off the coast and Kynthia stared at the massive black bird that perched upon the spit of land.

“What is it?” she whispered, her words little more than puffs of breath.

“
The Levant
,” he replied. “My ship.”

Kynthia slowly turned her eyes to him. “Your ship?” she said, letting the words drop like heavy stones.

“My flying ship,” he told her. “It is a machine from my world, from my time.” His gaze grew wistful.

“Once I flew her to worlds far beyond my own. I soared higher than any eagle of this world has ever flown. In her, I had a freedom unlike anything you could ever imagine.”

“What happened?” Kynthia asked.

Cainer was quiet for a moment. His gaze was dark and his wide shoulders slumped. He appeared to be weighing his words carefully before he spoke. When at last he did, his voice was low and devoid of emotion.

“On my world, a female who kills a male—no matter the reason—has no recourse under the law. She cannot plead self-defense if that was her motivation. She will not be afforded the use of a lawyer to argue her case. Her sentence will have been decided before she ever steps before the Tribunal and for her crime, her life is forfeit.”

“That is a terrible system of justice,” Kynthia commented.

Her companion snorted softly. “Justice? There is no Justice under Tribunal Law for a female. Her lot—be she peasant or princess—is that of chattel to be sold to the highest bidder. Depending upon her station in life, her value is the deciding factor in such matters.”

“Your sister,” Kynthia said. “She was executed?”

Cainer nodded. “While I was flying maneuvers near Oceania.” He closed his eyes for a second or two and when he opened them, there was moisture rimming the golden orbs. “By the time I returned, she had been in her grave for nearly a week.”

“Did no one tell you what was happening?” she asked, shock in her tone.

“My father would not allow me to be informed of Callista’s fate.” He smiled sadly. “She was my little sister and I loved her dearly. He knew I would have tried to save her if I had been told she was to be hanged.”

Kynthia winced and put a hand to her throat. “And he couldn’t save her?”

“He didn’t want to,” her companion answered. “To him, she was nothing more than a nuisance, a female to be auctioned off when the time came. Had she not killed the man who had raped her, she would not have received a decent bride price, for she was damaged goods.”

“Like me,” Kynthia mumbled.

“On Ghaoithe, such women are handed over to the brothels so in a way, it was best Callista met her fate at the executioner’s hands. Had my father turned her over to such a place, I would have gone berserk and he knew it.”

“But couldn’t he have gone to your King and—”

“He
was
the King,” Cainer stated.

“Oh.”

“I came home to find my mother and father on holiday in the mountains. They had taken my younger brother with them. My older brother—the Prince Regent—stayed behind as token head of the State. It was he who told me about Callista.”

“How did he feel about her death?”

Cainer shrugged. “No one loved her save me and…” He smiled sadly. “…and Aisling.”

“Your sister?”

“Nay. The woman with whom I intended to Join.” He turned and looked at her. “And the niece of the man who had raped my twelve-year-old sister.”

Kynthia’s eyes grew wide. “Twelve?” she echoed.

“A mere child,” he repeated. “A babe, really, but old enough to procure a dagger and slip into Korsun Lalor’s room and cut his throat from ear to ear.”

“I am so sorry,” she whispered.

“My only delight after that was in Aisling and the love we shared for one another. Not even my flying gave me the kind of joy it once did for whenever I left Ghaoithe, I could not help but remember what had happened when I had been gone. I worried that something would happen to Aisling.”

“Did it?”

He shook his head. “No. I imagine she lived to be an old woman with dozens of grandchildren clamoring around her knee.” He laughed. “She was a
Sha
nachie, a storyteller who could spin yarns with the best of the bards. There would have been stories flying fast and furious from those pretty lips and her grandchildren would be sitting there mesmerized.”

“
Sha
nachie,” Kynthia said. “What a beautiful word.”

“She was a beautiful woman.”

“You never Joined with her, then.”

“No.”

“Because of the woman whose name you don’t wish to repeat?”

He nodded. “I learned that witch was going to harm Aisling, and I thought to lure her out into space and rid myself of her once and for all.”

“I take it she was bothering you.”

“Everywhere I went she showed up. Every event found her there in attendance. No matter where I turned, she was there. The very sight of her caused my stomach to churn. I loathed her and I feared what she might do if given the chance. I could not endanger Aisling’s life so I climbed aboard
The Levant
and led that crone out to the very limits of our galaxy.”

“You came here.”

“Not by choice, I didn’t,” he replied. “Fate drew us here and when we landed, I wound up a prisoner on this island and she wound up dead at the hand of my warden.”

“You are a prisoner here?”

He turned to look at her, fusing his gaze with hers. “Do you not know what this place is?” he asked. “Have you not heard the tales?”

“I know it is called the Isle of Uaigneas and I had heard a strange, wild man lived there, but beyond that, I don’t recall hearing anything else.”

“A strange, wild man,” he repeated and grinned. “Aye, that describes me well enough.”