WINDKEEPER (40 page)

"I want you to…" He stopped, frowning. His tongue had suddenly gone numb and he knew instantly what the lady had done. Slowly he raised his gaze to her triumphant face and was angry with her. Once more he had been betrayed by a woman. Once more he had no say in his own life because of a woman. "Who’s bright idea was this?"

"Now, don’t you be getting your feathers all ruffled! It was mine and your brother’s. Nobody is doing you a hurt, especially not your Meggie. You need your rest and I aim to see you get it!" She took his hand and brought it to her lips. "I’d never do naught to bring you hurt, sweet Prince."

"I told you I didn’t want any drugs!"

"And I told you to get some rest! Now. Yourself to sleep!"

His head was beginning to get fuzzy and heavy. It was all he could do to focus on her face. "The promise?" he managed to get out.

Meggie sighed. "All right. What promise is that?"

"Go to bed, lady."

Meggie drew herself up. "I will not!"

He wedged open his eyelids and tried to glare at her. "I have asked you to go to bed, Madame Ruck." His words were beginning to slur, his tongue expand in his mouth. "I now command you to do so." His glare attempted to change into a regal scowl. "Else I’ll have you fined for not obeying a royal order."

Her spine stiffened and she meant to do battle, then and there, but his sweet face seemed to fill her very soul and she knew he meant what he said. She ducked her head and the mop-cap slid down over her quivering nose. Angrily she pushed it to the back of her head. "The hell you will!" she ground out and stomped furiously to the door, her heavy footsteps rattling the panes in the window. His slurred words brought her head around.

"Thank you, Dearling," he whispered and then burrowed into the pillow.

"You’re welcome, my bonny boy," she whispered as she heard his almost immediate light snore.

* * *

Sitting in front of the crackling fireplace in the common room, Teal and Thom drank hot mugs of steaming ale Harry Ruck had supplied. The wind howled around the eaves and sent blasts of snow crashing against the windows. Legion came down and joined them.

"You look like I feel," Teal mumbled as he sipped his ale.

"That bad, eh?" He laughed. "I just can’t seem to sleep," Legion said as he sat at their table and plowed his thick fingers through his graying hair. He glanced up as Dorrie placed a mug of ale before him. He watched her swaying hips as she walked away and winked as she turned at the kitchen door to send him an inviting look from beneath her long lashes.

"Yours for the taking," Thom joked.

"Anyone’s for the taking," Storm quipped from his place near the front door where he and Marsh and three other Elite sat playing cards.

Legion sat back in his chair and sipped the ale. "Maybe I can sleep, after all."

"This is Maud, Your Grace." Meggie introduced the middle-aged lady to her Prince. "She’ll be sitting with you while I’m about my chores."

Conar glanced up in puzzlement at the red-haired matron. The lady smiled warmly at him, dipping her knees in a quick curtsy before coming to sit beside him in the chair. She opened the sewing pouch she carried and pulled out knitting needles and yarn. He looked back at Meggie who stood in the doorway, her massive arms folded over her equally massive bosom.

"Maud is my best friend. She offered to take my place. Get her to tell you about her grandmother’s invention." Meggie turned to go, but Conar’s confused voice stopped her.

"Meggie?…"

"And get her to tell you about the time her piglet got stuck in the privy and nearly scared her old man to death. That’s a riot, it is!"

Before Conar could ask just why Meggie thought he needed a baby-sitter, the red-haired lady had begun her tale. He turned his startled gaze to her.

"It was when me granny saw a need for a new type of churn. She…"

* * *

Conar woke the next morning and looked at a white-haired old lady with only one tooth in her head. Her lips grinned, and she sat in the chair beside him and reached for his hand.

"I’m Sybie, Your Grace," she slushed through her almost toothless mouth. "Meggie says to tell you about my grandsons and the bear."

He gawked at the old woman, then turned confused eyes about the room as the lady began to speak, spitting flecks of spittle as she did, her cackling laugh filling the room. Where the hell was Meggie and what the hell was going on?

Despite his calling and protestations, no one came to see him until later that afternoon. The old woman lay snoozing in the chair, her white hair falling over her wrinkled forehead, her rubbery lips looking much like a snorting horse. When he looked up to see yet another strange woman peeking around the door to his room, he exploded. "Where is Meggie Ruck?"

The new lady, younger by far than the other two, shyly walked into the room. Once her body had cleared the doorway, it would have been obvious to the most near-sighted that the lady was far gone with child. She waddled close to the bed and shook Sybie, who came awake with a splutter of half-phrases.

"Time to go home, Granny," the young woman said. "The carriage is here."

Sybie let the woman help her to her feet. She turned a bright smile to Conar, winked at him. "You’re a bonny boy, you are," she told him then trundled out of the room on sliding feet.

"My name is Suzie, Your Grace," the younger woman said as she settled in the vacated chair. "Perhaps you know my cousin, Roy Matheny? He’s one of your Elite. He…"

* * *

For nine days Conar did not see Meggie Ruck, nor Legion, nor Thom, nor Teal, nor Storm, nor Marsh, nor any of his Elite. Despite his angry retorts, especially about urinating in front of these strange women, he was reminded sternly that they each had a husband, father, son, grandson, brother, or nephew who had managed well enough with their care. What they might see, they told him, had been seen before.

What he encountered was a succession of strange women, each different from the next in appearance and temperament and age, but alike in the same perfect way. They were each kind, considerate and loving, apparently without a duplicative bone in their bodies. It became obvious to him after the third day what Meggie and Legion, no doubt, were doing.

"Good morn, Milord," still another woman spoke as she dipped him a clumsy curtsy. "I’m Greta." Her merry blue eyes twinkled and she switched her long, thick blond braid from one shoulder to the next. "I’m Sybie’s great-granddaughter. She says you wanted to hear about the windmill falling down last year?"

Throwing his hands into the air, Conar scrunched down in the bed and smiled evilly at the girl as she began her tale. By far, she was the prettiest of the lot, her voice sweet and melodic, but he really didn’t care. Enough was enough.

"Mam’selle," he interrupted her humorous tale of a wildly careening windmill, "just where is Meggie?"

"Why, in the kitchen, Milord." She smiled. "Do you need her?"

His grin grew even more evil. "Aye, sweet girl. Would you get the lady for me?"

Greta stood and dipped him another clumsy curtsy. "Right away, Milord!" She beamed, eager to do his command.

Conar locked his fingers together in his lap and began to twiddle his thumbs. He couldn’t wait to get Meggie in the room.

He waited for what seemed like an hour before he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. His grin went hard, his eyes hot with combat. As the door opened, he was about to singe Meggie Ruck with a tongue on fire with fury, but he blinked.

Standing in the doorway was a woman twice—if that was possible—as big as Sadie, the cook at Boreas. Her huge, round face was red with the exertion from her climb up the stairs and her quadruple chins wagged as she chortled, her gargantuan bosom heaving up and down as she laughed. "Meg says to tell you she’s busy just now, Your Grace. My name is Tandie. I’ll sit with you since Greta had to leave."

She wobbled her massive bulk to the chair, frowned down at it, no doubt realizing she couldn’t squeeze her huge frame into the thing, shrugged and then sat on the bed beside him, dipping the mattress nearly to the floor.

Conar was so astounded, he couldn’t make but a squeak of protest as he rolled toward her, bumping his hip into her big thigh. He could only gawk as she brought up one giant, swollen paw to push hair off his forehead.

"Such pretty hair you have, Your Grace." She fingered the golden lock between her pudgy fingers. "My Mort had hair like that when he was a babe." She laughed and the entire bed trembled. "You should see him now. Not a single shaft on his pate!" Her laugh was like the cawing of a buzzard. "Let me tell you about when he…"

* * *

"Meggie!"

There was no answer.

"
Meggie Ruck
!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. His sharp gaze pierced the pleasant face of the elderly lady sitting in the chair by him, grinning. "Meggggie!"

"What’s that you’re saying, Your Grace?" the nearly deaf woman inquired.

"Meggggieeeee!"

"You’ll have to speak up, Your Grace," the old woman said, pointing to her ear. "I don’t hear so well no more."

"Meggieeeeeeee!"

The door opened. "What is it, Milord?" some chit of a girl asked.

"Get me Meggie Ruck!"

The young girl bobbed him a quick curtsy then quietly closed the door. It was a good ten minutes before Meggie threw open the door and stood frowning at her patient.

"What are you yelling about?" Meggie asked.

Conar glared at her as she shooed the other women from the room. His lips were a thin line of fury. When she shut the door, folded her arms and stood at the foot of his bed glaring back at him, daring him to start anything with her, he opened his mouth, then clamped his lips shut.

"So! What was so all important you had to drag me from my baking?" she prompted, tapping one foot. "There are other folks in this world besides you, you know!"

He sighed, letting out his anger with his breath. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I’ve had enough, Meggie," he whimpered.

"And have you now?"

"I understand."

Meggie glowered at him for a moment and then came to plop down in the chair where dozens of women had sat in a nine-day period. "And just what is it you think you understand?"

Conar sighed. "Every woman has a different personality. They are caring, even of strangers, and cheerful and they can make you laugh." He pursed his lips. "Even when you don’t feel like it and don’t want to." He shrugged. "And some of them won’t be bullied even if the man doing the bullying is their Overlord."

"You figured that one out all by yourself, did you?"

He shook his head and smiled at her, but Meggie’s face was devoid of good humor or encouragement. "I think the ladies helped me see that."

Meggie nodded. "And so now, you think you know all there is to know about women on the good side of a disposition, eh?"

"I didn’t say that."

"It’s good that you didn’t, because every women is different, Your Grace. There ain’t no two of us alike nowhere in the world." She sniffed disdainfully. "No more than there are any two men alike."

He sighed again. "I can see that, Meggie."

"Good that you do," she snorted and stood. "I got baking to do." She started to walk away but he caught her hand, wincing only a little as he did. She glared down at him.

"Sit with me awhile?"

"I can’t. I’ve got work to do!"

"You’d make a fine Master-at-Arms, Meggie Ruck." He grinned.

After squeezing his fingers for a second, she snatched away her hand and made a humpfing noise as she waddled out his door.

Conar lifted himself in the bed, crossing his hands behind his head and smiled. Meggie was a dear, sweet woman, and she had meant well. He knew she loved him and he returned that love. It was a special bond he had never before had with a woman. She treated him, not as a Prince or future King, but almost as though he were one of her sons. His grin grew wider. Much as his own mother would have treated him.

The door squeaked open and he glanced at it, still smiling. "Did you decided to sit with me after all, Lady?"

His smile disappeared.

"Hello, Your Grace," the girl said. "My name is Henrietta."

* * *

"We’ll be leaving at first light," Conar told his brother as they sat eating their evening meal of fried chicken and creamed peas in the common room. "If I stay here much longer, I’ll be as wide as Meggie Ruck."

"I heard that!" Meggie yelled from the kitchen.

Conar spooned a mouthful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and grinned, his lips pursed tight around the buttery gob as he chewed.

"I know well what you mean," Teal spoke up. "I’ve gained ten pounds since we’ve been here." He pushed back his plate and rubbed his aching shoulder. "I figure that’s about a pound every other day."

Thom snorted. "You’ve eaten more than a pound of food a day, du Mer!" He shoveled a large amount of peas into his huge mouth and spoke around the mushed-up mess, making the others look away with disgust. "You’ve eaten that in bread alone!"

"You feel up to traveling, then?" Legion asked as he wiped his mouth on his napkin. "No pain?"

"A twinge, nothing more." Conar glanced at him, then pulled up his shirt. Since it wasn’t tucked in his breeches, but hanging free, he brought it all the way up to his neck. "See? Want me to shuck my breeches, too, so you can have a look at my…"

"No!" Legion examined the wound he could see. It had healed nicely. There was no chance it would come undone again. "It looks all right to me." He leaned back in the chair until the front legs were off the floor. "But if you look the least bit ragged, I will have your horse taken away from you for your own good."

Conar fixed him with a stony stare. "Aye, and if I slap your fat ass in the dungeon at Boreas, it will be for your own good!"

Legion shrugged. "As if you could." He stretched his arms over his head. "Or would."

"I might fool you one day, A’Lex," Conar snapped and stood, tossing his napkin on the table.

"You going up to bed?" Legion asked. "Want Meggie to send up some tea?" His eyes twinkled.