WINDREAPER (8 page)

"And is that price also
acceptable
to your husband, my Queen?"

"Liza has told me you want free access to the keep as part of your bargain," Legion answered. "If you can accept the danger to yourself, I suppose we can accept the danger to us." He felt a tremor go through Liza and pulled her closer.

* * *

Conar grinned beneath the mask.
You've lied to him, haven't you, you worthless whore? He has no idea what price you will be paying.
He let his stare roam down her stiff figure as she stood beside her husband. He saw the red-hot blush of shame suffuse her lovely face.

He laughed. "Then you will get back your precious offspring, Queen Liza!"

Before another word could be said, he left, a trembling, compliant, submissive Liza etched in his memory.

He wondered why the victory did not feel as satisfactory as he had anticipated.

She came to him out of the night. Her hair was the color of the autumn sun: rich with deep bronze highlights that haloed her small face as though she were an angel cast down from the heavens. Her eyes were neither blue nor green, nor were they the color men called "hazel." They were a color that defied description, and they sparkled with the zest of life; clear and honest, direct and lovely to behold. She was tall, willowy, graceful as a swan skimming the surface of Lake Myria. Her smile was filled with compassion and her voice was soft and soothing, a slight drawl that made men stop and listen to her words. She had a way with children and animals, and her gentle nature, compassionate and naive, endeared her to those she met.

She had been raised in the wild wind forest of Virago, but her birthplace had been the keep at Epstein; Ivor, it was named. Her mother, a maid at the old keep, had married late in life and had graced the world with only one child: a beautiful girl-child she named Amber-lea. Moving with her new husband, a sailor with the Viragon fleet, to the town of Heinsfeld in Virago, the woman raised her daughter in a small cottage by the turbulent coast, where mother and daughter kept watch for the vessels that put out to sea.

When her father died on the eve of her seventh birthday, Amber-lea and her mother left the windswept dunes of Virago and fled back to the calm of Serenia's shore. Her mother, Leah, took up a job as maid at the keep at Boreas, and Amber-lea was apprenticed to the innkeeper's wife.

While she worked and her mother visited late one eve, Leah gasped with sudden shock and fled the common room. Amber-lea found her mother cowering beside the back door of the kitchen, tears streaming down her aged face.

"What has caused you such distress, Mama?" She held her trembling mother close to her breast and smoothed the white shock of hair. She was taken aback when the beloved face of the woman who had given her life looked at her with a beatific smile of joy.

"He's alive!" she whispered urgently. "Our champion is alive!"

It was not until early morn that Amber-lea learned the whole of it and her gentle heart went out to the man her mother had recognized.

That next evening, as the tall, brown-haired man came into the Green Horned Toad tavern, Amber-lea looked toward the dark corner where her mother sat. The old woman nodded; this was one of the men they had been waiting for all evening.

Amber-lea met him at the door, her smile welcoming, her eyes filled with promise. "May I be of help to you, Milord?"

* * *

Sentian Heil stared at the lovely woman. He had heard how beautiful was the maid at the inn, but no human tongue had described her glory. He blinked, cleared his throat, and tried to smile. His lips felt frozen on his flushed face. "I have been looking for a certain woman, mam'selle," he said, humiliated to be talking about this particular business.

"A woman for the evening, Milord?" the girl asked, blushing.

Sentian winced. He wished himself as far away from this place as possible. He wanted nothing more than to be in bed with his wife. "Not for me, you understand."

She grinned. "For a good friend, perhaps?" She glanced nervously toward a corner where an old woman was intently watching them.

"Aye. For a friend." He looked away from the beauty who stood before him. She didn't seem like a lightskirt, but one never knew.

The girl took a deep breath. "I am available, Milord. Will I suit?"

Sentian shifted from foot to foot. "Ah, I guess so." He felt miserable. Why had Roget sent
him
to do this dirty work? Come to think of it, why didn't they let Conar get his
own
woman?

* * *

"Let me get my shawl, sir, and I will be right with you." Amber-lea could barely walk to her mother's table. Her legs felt weak and boneless. Blood pounded in her ears.

"Be good to him, Amber-lea," her mother whispered as the girl reached for the bundled shawl. "The boy needs a good woman, now."

"I will do my best, Mama." She stooped to kiss Leah's wrinkled cheek. Before she could think of what she was about to do, she fled the tavern with the brown-haired man.

She asked no questions of he walked briskly beside her. She did not even ask him to slow his long stride to accommodate her shorter one. She stumbled along, her eyes blinking rapidly to keep away the nerves gnawing at her innards. From all she had heard, this man, this wonderful man her mother had described, had been a gentle person; a knight of great courage and honor. Amber-lea hoped, and prayed, he was still so.

"We didn't discuss your, ah…price," the man choked out.

"I wish no money, Milord." She realized her mistake when he turned to gape at her. "What I meant," she stammered, "was I barter only in merchandise. Clothing and slippers are hard to come by, Milord. I have precious little left from before the hard times began. It is difficult for a woman alone to find decent clothing."

"I think we can find you a gown or two." He shrugged and pulled a black silk scarf from his shirt. "I'll have to blindfold you."

"Why?" Amber-lea felt a thrust of fear in her belly.

"Do you know who you are going to see, mam'selle?"

"No, Milord," she lied. "You said he was a good friend."

"A good friend to all of us, mam'selle. He is the one who will bring us back from the brink of destruction."

Amber-lea whispered, her voice appropriately shocked and excited. "The Dark Overlord of the Wind?"

"You can see why we must take precautions. He must not be compromised. No one must know where our camp is located."

"I would tell no one, Milord. You may use the scarf." She waited impatiently for him to tie it in place. She felt his strong hands on her waist as he lifted her to a pony.

"Have a care, mam'selle. The ride is long and the trail dangerous. Keep your hands on the pommel." She heard the leather of his saddle creak as he mounted his steed, the jingle of her horse's bridle as he took up the reins to lead her mount. She gripped the saddle horn as the little pony started forward.

They rode for what she reasoned must have been an hour. But when he lifted her down, she smelled the tang of the sea, heard the crashing waves, and guessed they must be near Boreas Keep. He led her through tangled bushes and a long, cool cavern, then through a door that squeaked a little as it closed behind them. They climbed a short ladder, entered a long, downward-sloping, uneven pathway, and went deep into a musty-smelling and damp place.

She heard men's voices and laughter, then complete silence as she and her escort neared what had to be a roaring fire.

"Where'd you find her, Falcon?" a deep, heavily-accented voice spoke.

"At the Toad." He put his hand in the center of her back and nudged her forward. "I can't remove the blindfold, mam'selle," he said gently, reassuring her. "You must not either."

Amber-lea nodded, her keen intelligence picking up the low whispers of admiration from those gathered. She clutched the shawl around her and smiled. "I shall do as you suggest, Milord."

"Will you look at that smile, Hawk?" someone whispered.

"A beauty if I've ever seen one," another answered. "He'll be pleased."

"By the gods, I hope so!" another said in exasperation, "even if her hair ain't black. Take her to him, Falcon."

With her heart beating so loudly she was sure the men could hear it, Amber-lea was led down a short hallway. She brushed against the wall and realized with some concern that the surface was wet. She wondered where they could be.

"Your guest, Milord," Falcon said.

Amber-lea heard a grunt.

Her escort put his mouth close to her ear. "He growls, but he don't bite." He patted her on her arm, then moved away.

"What's your name?" The voice had come from in front of her, near the floor.

"Amber-lea, Lord Darkwind."

There was silence, long and nerve-wracking.

"You will have to tell me what you wish, Milord." She clutched her shawl even tighter. "I am new to this."

"New to…? How old are you?" he snapped.

She could hear the frustration in his voice. "Seventeen, Milord." She turned her head as something skidded across the floor near her, but she didn't jump as he might have intended for her to do.

"And just how many men have you known?" he asked, his voice filled with scorn.

"None."

"What did you say?" His tone was unmistakably confused. She heard him get up from what must have been a cot, for the squeal of rusty springs shrieked through the room.

Amber-lea swallowed hard, her heart beating so fast, she thought it would burst. "I am a virgin."

"Goddamn it!" He hit or kicked something, then pushed roughly past her, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Hawk!"

"Milord, if you will only listen," she pleaded, putting out her hands to feel for his whereabouts. She bumped into something solid and realized, with dismay, it was a set of iron bars. Her heart sank. She was in a cell! "Milord, please!" When he ignored her, she reached for the blindfold.

"Hawk! Get your ass in here! Now!" He then mumbled dire consequences to the man stupid enough to bring him a virgin.

"Milord!" Amber-lea managed to untie the blindfold. "If you would just listen—"

When he felt her hand on his shoulder, he spun around, a growl on his lips. When he saw her uncovered face, he stilled, his mouth dropping open.

"I mean you no harm," she said softly. "I had to see you." She tried to smile at him, but the look on his face was disheartening. He was staring at her with a mixture of awe and shock. "I am yours."

He blinked, his face hardening with anger. "And what if I don't want you?"

She put out her hand, not at all surprised when he backed away. She took a calming breath. "Every time you lie with a new woman, Milord, every strange woman's flesh you touch, you run the risk of becoming ill with some vile disease that could kill you, destroy you. I am clean. I have never been touched by a man. I can be everything you want me to be. I can do everything you want me to do. Show me what pleases you and I will learn. There is nothing I would not do for you."

* * *

Conar was uncertain if it was because the girl was seeing him without his mask, whether it was her magnificent beauty, or just the surprise of having her look at him in the way she was that made him lose his voice and motion. He simply stared, unable to move.

Her face was even more beautiful than Liza's, but he was terrified of her. He backed further away from her until his back was against the width of the prison cell's open door. How the hell could he use a virgin, a decent woman, like he used his whores? He couldn't. He wouldn't.

"I'm not interested," he spat as he pushed past her, flinging himself onto his cot. "Get out while you're still intact. I can't vouch for my men."

As if disbelieving him, she didn't move. He'd slay any man who dared to touch her, and he sensed she knew the truth.

She stood in the torchlight. Her hair glowed as though it were on fire. Her shapely body was soft and alluring, and he felt a tightening in his breeches that brought him even more anger. "I said I don't want you, woman. Get lost!" He turned away his face.

"Milord?" she whispered, gaining his attention with her throaty, sensual drawl.

He snapped his head around, feeling hostile and sullen, then stilled as he saw what she held in her hands.

Amber-lea let her shawl drop to the stone floor. Clutched tightly in her fingers was a lethal-looking rawhide whip.

He went livid with loathing. His lip curled with distaste. He was amazed a woman with such beauty could want this vile thing done to her. "You've got the wrong man, Sweeting. If pain is what you want, you'd better find one of the Tribunal guards to play with you."

Amber-lea took a step closer. He could smell the faint tang of her perfume—a mixture of wild herbs and lemon. "Look at it, Milord. Tell me what you see."

He flicked his gaze over the horrible thing, willing himself not to quiver. "I see metal barbs, glass, and leather! What the hell do
you
see?"

She let the whip unravel until it lay curled at her feet. "Do you see the dried blood on it, Milord? The pieces of flesh that still cling to its barbs?"

He shuddered, unable to keep his hands from shaking. "What kind of woman are you?" he breathed, shocked to the roots of his soul at her depravity.

"Look, Your Grace! Do you not see
your
flesh and blood attached to this repulsive instrument?"

He stared at her with sheer terror. The woman knew who he was! He pushed his back up against the clammy wall, moving as far from her as he could. He couldn't stand looking at the odious whip. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"Nothing, Milord." She reached out to touch his leg, but he jerked away, bringing his legs onto the cot and circling them with his trembling arms. "I did not come here to hurt you, Milord. I came to offer you my help."

"What's going on?" Brelan snapped as he entered the cell.

"Please, Lord Brelan," she pleaded. "Don't be angry. I was sent here to help His Grace. I—"

"Who the hell are you, woman?" he snarled.

"Nobody, Lord Brelan. I am no one." Her tears flowed copiously; her mouth trembled. "Let me help him, Lord Brelan. Please!"

"Let her go, Brelan," Conar said.

"She knows who you are!"

"Aye." Conar put his feet on the floor. He pointed to the whip. "Get that damned thing out of here."

Brelan looked at the whip, obviously recognizing it, for he blanched as white as a sheet. He shoved past the girl, then stooped, grabbing up the whip in a flash of movement that belied his height and weight.

He pivoted on his heel and fixed the girl with a stony, malevolent glare. "Where did this come from?"

"Leave us, Brelan," Conar whispered.

"You don't know who she is! She could be an enemy! Where could she have come by this whip if not from the Tribunal?" He glowered at her, his mouth set in mulish rage.

"It doesn't matter where she came by it, just get it out of here!"

"If you so much as touch him," Brelan growled at her, "I'll slit your throat!" Spinning on his heels, he stormed from the cell, mumbling dire curses.