WindSeeker (43 page)

meal before rain washed them to dryer places. Their shrieks and calls echoed across the black sand and

over the moving, heaving waves. Efflorescent foam flowed over the sand as seaweed gathered in clumps

along the breakwater. A lone crab scuttled into the retreating wave, its forelegs waving as though in

farewell to the lone inhabitant of the beach.

Liza McGregor didn’t hear the gulls flying, nor was her mind on the tide as it swept gently toward her

bare toes. She did not see the crab as it made its way past her and into the water. Her thoughts were on

Boreas. On the man who had abandoned her. The man to whom, soon, she would no longer be

attached.

She had never felt such an overwhelming loneliness or uncertainty. It had now been five and a half

months since he had sent her away. Another two weeks and the marriage would be set aside.

She lovingly placed a hand on the protrusion of her swollen belly. A gentle, weak smile flitted over her

lips and she took a nervous breath. The babe would come in the fall and already she knew it was a

boy-child. Sometime near what should have been her fourth wedding anniversary, he would come into

this world. Her main fear was of Conar coming to take her son away. He might not want the mother, but

he would want the child. The Tribunal would insist he come to claim his heir.

Her eyes hardened. There was no way she would allow that. He would not get her son without taking

her. No other woman would raise her child. The thought of Conar with another woman put a chill in her

heart. She had tried, unsuccessfully, many times to probe his mind, but he had blocked her at every turn.

She had tried to use her scrying mirror to see him; but again he had easily clouded her vision. Once, she

had thought to make the trek to Serenia, but had been counseled against such a dangerous maneuver.

The Oracle, Herself, had forbidden it.

Her small hand wiped away a tear. Would she never see him again? Would she spend the rest of her life

without him? She looked out over the ocean and squinted with the old fear. No one knew of it, not even

her beloved Conar. Her face screwed up with pain and she forced away the terror. It would happen, just

as surely as she stood on this beach, no way to alter what was to be. She had to live with that fear. And

die with it. A morbid fear of the water was something a woman of the Daughterhood of the Multitude

could ill afford. She was One with the Sea. But, as she well knew, the Sea always claimed Its own. One

day, It would claim her.

* * *

on his friend’s shoulder and smiled as Brelan Saur looked up.

"I haven’t spoken to her today." Brelan ran a tired hand over his face, grimacing at the stubble he had

forgotten to shave this morning. He must look like a serf, he thought sourly. He had ridden most of the

night and had only arrived an hour or so before dawn.

"How was Chrystallus?" Grice sat on the sand and toyed with a sea oat.

"As beautiful as ever." He didn’t take his eyes from Liza.

"And your aunt, the Empress?" Grice leaned back and put the sea oat stem in his mouth, working it with

his teeth. He crossed his ankles and his weight dug his elbows into the loose sand.

Brelan shrugged. "She’s fine. She sends her love to your mother."

"Does she think we’re doing the right thing?"

"Oddly enough, she does. I thought she’d balk, but she didn’t. She says it just might work."

"Did you have any trouble eluding Legion’s patrols?"

Brelan snorted; Grice grinned. He punched Brelan’s shoulder. "Heard they were all over Ciona and

Seaflower looking for your scrawny ass."

"Did Conar send his men here?"

A frown crossed Grice’s handsome face. "Not a one. They were scouring the countryside near here, but

no one came knocking at the keep’s door to inquire about you or Elizabeth." He threw away the sea oat

with a hard snap. "He means to let the annulment go through. I can not for the life of me understand why

he’s doing this. By all that’s holy, Brelan, the woman is carrying his child! His heir! Does he mean to deny

the child? To question the paternity?"

"From his point of view, it may not be."

"Are you defending him, now?" Grice was aghast. His black brows drew together in a fierce scowl; his

face turned nasty.

Brelan shook his head. "I’m just saying that may be what he’s thinking. It makes as much sense as

anything else the fool has done of late."

"You heard about the war games in Century, then?" Grice hissed.

"War games?" Brelan chuckled. "More like torture games for Conar’s ego. When I came through

Dundenon, I heard eight of his men were sent to the medical hut on the very first day. He broke the arms

of three and several ribs on the others." He narrowed his eyes. "I don’t know why Hern allowed him to

go along, anyway."

"To keep his ass out of Boreas Keep, if the rumors I hear of him are true."

"That may well be the case. If Papa can’t handle him, Hern can."

"It doesn’t seem that way, from what I’ve been hearing. Why the hell do you think he’s turned so vicious

of late? He’s always been hot-tempered, but he’s never hurt anyone just for the hell of it."

Brelan nodded. "But he is beyond understanding at times. Who knows why he does what he does?

Maybe he’s out to prove something."

"Like what?"

Brelan shook his head. "Maybe he feels inadequate for having let Galen get near enough to Elizabeth to

kidnap her. Who knows?"

Grice got hurriedly to his feet, his anger snapping like fire in a grate. "When this marriage is voided, will

you be taking Elizabeth to wife?"

Brelan’s head snapped up and he stared at Grice. "What?"

Wynth made an ugly snort. "You heard me! I know full well how you feel about my sister. My parents

know, too. Even that silly twit of a brother of mine knows." He scowled at Brelan’s astonished face.

"Even Elizabeth knows how you feel, man!"

"He won’t let the marriage be voided. Conar will come after her; mark my words."

An angry growl came from the eldest Oceanian prince. "It’ll never happen! Do you think that even if he

did this late in the game our people would allow their beloved princess to be treated as an afterthought?

Do you think I would allow it?" He bent over Brelan. "My parents can give her hand to whomever they

please and it pleases them to give her to you."

"But I am not—"

"Royalty!" Grice spat. "It makes no difference. You’ll take her from here anyway. Her child needs a

father and I know you will be a good one." He crossed his bare arms over his chest. "Conar McGregor

will never take her child away from her."

"Is that what she fears?" Brelan asked, worried.

"That is what she knows he will try to do. But he won’t be allowed to take one without the other."

"It could mean war, Grice."

Prince Grice Wynth stared hard at his friend. "We would have the might of Oceania and Diabolusia

behind us if it comes to that. Rysalia, too."

Brelan whistled. "You’ve formed an alliance with them?"

"Aye, and they are no friends of Serenia’s."

"Does Elizabeth know about what you and your parents are offering me?" When Grice nodded, he

looked back at the woman standing in the softly breaking waves. "How does she feel about it?" His heart

suddenly pounded, for the answer meant more than he could possibly say.

"She said she would abide by their decision. All we ask is that you protect her as she should have been

protected."

"You know I will."

"And love her child as you love her."

"I swear it by the gods."

"Then you will accept her to wife?"

There was no hesitation. "Gladly."

* * *

top of her sweaty body.

"What?" he mumbled.

"I asked if you consider yourself honorable?"

"Aye." He pushed himself up to look into her face. "Do you dare to question if I am or not?"

Gezelle shook her head. "I asked only because I heard it said that you keep your promises and that you

never go back on your word." She let her gaze drift down his chin and then back to his absorbing eyes. "I

have heard that you never betray your code of honor."

His voice was soft and deadly. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"I have heard that you make it a point to never bed again any woman you get with child."

Conar went perfectly still, his breath caught in his throat. Nothing could have hurt, or angered him more,

than what the little bitch just said. He braced himself on arms quivering with fury. "Are you pregnant?"

Gezelle’s lids fluttered, but she held his gaze. She could see his mounting rage and felt his body trembling

with violence. "Aye, Milord. You have me with child."

He stared at her, hating her with every fiber of his being. His first thought was to beat her, to slam his

fists into her belly until she bled the babe from her womb. But some inner reasoning took hold and he

silenced the fury aching to burst forth, to destroy the lovely face gazing back at him with supreme

confidence that he would not harm her.

"You let yourself get with child."

"I tried hard not to, but there were times you did not give warning, and I was not prepared…"

His furious outburst stopped her. "You thought if you got pregnant, you could be rid of me, is that it?"

His snarl was vicious.

"That isn’t true."

"Aye, it is!" He tangled his hand in her hair and fiercely gripped the ebony strands, ignoring her yelp.

"Nay, Milord." Her eyes watered with agony. His hand twisted harder on her scalp and she couldn’t

stop the groan. "I did not plan it!"

"Planned or not, it will not keep you from me!" He released her hair and took her face between his

palms. With a calm, steady glare, he growled down at her. "You will not abandon me, Mam’selle. I’ll not

allow it."

"Milord, please—"

"Get rid of it."

Gezelle gasped. "I will not!" She tried to jerk her face free of his hold.

His hands tightened on her cheeks. "Either get rid of it yourself or I will have it taken!"

"You can’t ask me to do such a thing! It’s murder, Milord. An innocent babe—"

"You should have thought of that! Either do as I say or I will beat the babe out of you!"

She fought him, scratching, pummeling, biting, tearing at his flesh, but in the end he won, as he always

did, and she lay beneath his towering strength and fury, submissive to his wants and needs. Agonizing

tears dripped down her cheeks as she, at last, nodded dumbly to his demands.

Two days later, her son was thrown down the cistern of an old woman’s privy. A week later, she was in

his bed once more.

* * *

She was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, in profile to him. Her long, wet hair cascaded over one

creamy shoulder as she brushed the tangles from it. The firelight gave her an unreal quality as it

shimmered behind her, setting red highlights in the long black tresses, shining around her head like a halo.

She leaned back, her neck arching to let her hair hang behind her. Her beauty took his breath away. She

was so unlike any other woman he had ever known, and he sensed he would never know another to

equal her.

She was everything his fevered, erotic dreams conjured for him at night as he lay in his lonely bed. Her

movements mesmerized him. Her grace and beauty numbed his mind to everything else. His thoughts

were ones he had never before entertained—wife, family, total commitment. She had changed him, his

thoughts, his way of both looking at, and dealing with, things in his life. Never had he let a woman invade

his every waking thought, his serenity and security. Never had one instilled jealousy in him, but Elizabeth

McGregor did.

His eyes softened as she looked back at him and smiled. "Come." She motioned to a chair. "Sit with me

a while, Milord Brelan."

Seating himself, he was content to keep the silence between them. She moved closer to his chair and

leaned her head against his knee, her right hand closing around the tight muscle of his calf. He wanted to

pull her onto his lap, put his hands on her, hold her, pour out his newfound feelings. The intensity of those

feelings, the urges toward his brother’s wife, alarmed him. He mentally chastised himself. She was acutely

vulnerable and he wouldn’t take advantage. She was being offered to him, but as yet, she, herself, had

said nothing concerning her parents’ wishes.

He took the brush from her and began to slowly draw it through the silk of her midnight hair. He

marveled at its texture, and thought
, This is right. This is where she belongs. Here with you. Not with

Conar.

He let out a long breath. The physical want of her was more than he could handle. He knew he had no

right to claim her, knew her heart was taken, but his own wayward heart had already laid claim to her. In

seven days, the marriage would be annulled and he would dare to seek her hand. When she began to

sob, he lifted her onto his lap, his strong arms trembling as they closed around her. He drew her close

and absorbed the wracking sobs with his own body.

When her mother had asked his help in trying to salvage her daughter’s marriage, he had readily agreed;

eager to needle his brother and cause the man problems. But now, it was more than obvious Conar had