Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (17 page)

“Your kitchen?” Kaelan repeated.

“Aye!” The old woman turned around and pointed the knife in her hand toward him. “It sure ain't your

kitchen, now, is it?” She lifted her chin. “No more than is the rest of Holy Dale, I reckon!"

Seeing the absolute spite on the cook's face touched some vital chord in Kaelan's gut and he pushed

back from the table, his chair crashing to the floor behind him. “No, I suppose it isn't,” he snapped. He

pushed past Kymmie and left.

“Don't you do it!” the cook warned Kymmie as the girl snatched up the prince's gloves and ran after

him. “You get your arse back here, Kymmie Kullen, or I'll tell your pa!"

“Tell him, then!” Kymmie threw at her as she flew out the kitchen door.

Kaelan wasn't surprised to find Revenge still tethered where he'd left him. The stallion was standing at

the post, hungrily eyeing the oat bucket sitting beside the stable door. With five long, angry strides, he

reached the steed and vaulted onto the broad sleek back.

“YOUR GRACE! WAIT!"

He was drawing on Revenge's reins as the servant girl ran toward him. Her headlong rush made the big

stallion jittery and it moved back, tossing its thick tail in annoyance. Kaelan had to saw on the reins to

keep the animal from rearing up. As it was, the beast sidestepped away from the advancing girl and

jerked on the bit in its mouth.

“Has no one ever told you not to rush an animal like that, Mam'selle?” Kaelan scolded her. “It's a

dangerous thing to do."

Kymmie's face turned red as she thrust out the prince's gloves. “You left these behind, Your Grace. I

thought you might need them.” She looked up into his face and smiled.

The smile took Kaelan's breath away for Kymmie Kullen was a very lovely young woman. Her

reddish-gold hair hung in two long braids down her slender back and the dusting of golden freckles on

her sun-kissed face made her seem younger than her twenty-odd years. A pair of vivid green eyes

sparkled with warmth as she gazed up at him and he was reminded painfully of Gillian.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching down to take the brown leather gloves from her. As his fingers touched

hers, he felt a jolt of desire spear through his lower belly and he flinched, wanting nothing more than to

sweep her up behind him and gallop away with her.

“Any time, Your Grace” he heard her say and the invitation was there in her husky voice for anyone to

hear.

From the library window, Marie Hesar was watching the interplay between her virile young husband and

the whorish servant girl. She understood the looks that passed between them and was not appeased

when Kaelan jerked on his stallion's reins and left the girl standing before the stable, staring after him.

Only a fool would not know what that was all about, she thought with fury.

“So that is why you do not seek me out any more than you do, Kaelan,” she mumbled, her hand

tightening on the window latch. She turned her attention to the servant girl who was walking dejectedly

back to the kitchen door. “GIRL!” she yelled and wasn't surprised to see Jasper Kullen's daughter flinch

with guilt. “COME HERE!"

Kymmie bit her lip as she walked to the library window. “Aye, Your Grace?"

“Where is my husband going?” Marie snapped.

“I ... I don't know, Your Grace,” Kymmie responded.

“But I would wager I could tell you where he's been!” the Duchess of Windstorm snorted.

“Pardon?” Kymmie asked, suddenly very wary of the wild look in her mistress’ eye.

Marie flung a dismissive hand at her. “Be about your work! You do have other things with which to

occupy your time other than to ogle my husband, do you not?"

Kymmie dipped a quick curtsy. “Aye, Your Grace!” Her feet fairly flew to the kitchen door and she had

to force herself not to look back at the mistress as she ducked inside.

Had anyone seen the look that passed over Marie Sinclair Hesar's pretty face at that moment, they

would have known it boded ill for the guiltless man who had caused it.

* * * *

Jasper Kullen stood before his mistress and smiled sweetly at her. He'd known the woman all her life; in

fact, he'd personally fetched the midwife the night the bairn was born. If truth were told, he loved Little

Marie almost as much as he loved Big Marie, the young woman's sainted mother.

“Ain't nothing going on twixt them, Your Grace,” he explained. “I'd know it if there was.” He shook his

head of carrot-cropped hair. “Kymmie ain't exactly the brightest star a'twinkling in the heavens, but she

ain't the dullest, either. She wouldn't dare to do nothing immoral with the prince."

“You're sure?” Marie said, almost disappointed.

“I'd put a wager on it,” Jasper stated.

Marie's shoulders slumped. “I was hoping she was the one.” She sighed. “If it's not Kymmie, then it's

another girl."

Jasper's back stiffened. “You think he's up to no good with one of the girls, Milady?"

“As you say, Jasper,” Marie said dryly, “I'd put a wager on it."

Jasper wagged his head. “No, Milady. I'd of heard of it.” He twisted his wool cap between two

massive, callused paws. “I been a'watching him like you asked me to do."

“He's fornicating with one of my girls, Jasper!” Marie shouted at him. “If you haven't caught him, yet, it's

simply because the man has been too careful!"

The woodcutter didn't want to argue with the mistress He knew for a fact that if His Grace was playing

pass the meat with one of Holy Dale's servants, he'd have heard of it. As for the girls from the village,

none would come near the prince for they'd been warned what would happen if they did. But he wanted

to soothe the worry lines from his precious Little Marie's face.

“I'll find out who it is, Milady,” Jasper assured her.

“When you do,” Marie snarled, “don't confront her with it and don't let the prince know you are on to

him."

“Then what should I do?” Jasper asked, scowling. “Just give me the name,” she snapped. “I'll see she is

punished!"

Jasper clutched the cap tighter. “And the girl? What would you do with her, Your Grace?"

Marie's smile was chilling. “Make her wish she'd never put hands on Kaelan Hesar!"

* * * *

It was after sunset when Kaelan returned to the manor house. He had been riding the hills behind Holy

Dale and had spent several hours just staring blindly out across the silvery-green waters of the pond. He

hadn't wanted to come back to the manor house, but there was nowhere else for him to go. Duncan had

seen to that.

“You shall not be coming back to Tempest Keep,” the Jarl had warned him. “So take what you want

now. Whatever you leave behind will be disposed of."

After almost a year, Kaelan still marveled at how easy it had been for his brother to disown him. How

quickly the Jarl had seized his assets and confiscated the remaining money from their mother's estate that

had gone to Kaelan, leaving Kaelan virtually penniless. And to know Duncan could do all that without a

moment's hesitation had been a stunning blow. To know he could do nothing about the Jarl's perfidy, had

been crippling.

Now, for all practical purposes homeless and bankrupt, Kaelan was at the mercy of his wife for his

food, his lodging, and the very clothes on his back, which she had bought to replace the ‘rags’ he'd worn

at the Keep.

“We have a certain standard by which we live,” her father had said, looking down his nose at the

cambric shirt his son-in-law was wearing. “Such dress will not suit."

When he'd gone to his room-furious with the interfering old bastard-he had found his old clothes gone.

The silks and brocades and velour hanging in his armoire had made him groan with desperation. But with

no money of his own, he had had no way to have other clothes made. He'd had no choice but to wear

the foppish clothes his wife had ordered made for him.

Climbing the stairs to his chamber, Kaelan passed Hildy Jamerson, Marie's personal maid. The woman

looked right through him as though he were a beggar on the streets of Hellstrom Town. Her upturned

nose and the way she swept the skirts of her gown away from contact with his dusty breeches, made him

want to push her over the railing to the marble floor below. As though she'd read his mind, she stopped

on the next to the last stair and stared up at him with a murderous glint in her frosty sherry-brown eyes.

He paused on the balcony, looking down at her, until she flounced her skirts and continued on.

“Snooty bitch,” he named her. As he passed his wife's door, he saw her primping before the mirror and

shook his head. For a woman as lovely as she was, her soul was as ugly as a pit viper's.

“Where have you been?” she asked, not bothering to face him. Her hands were plumping up the fat

sausage curls at her ears.

“Do you really care?” he countered.

Marie laughed and said no more. She bent toward the glass and dabbed at a smudge of lipstick on her

pouting lips. She turned her head to see her profile from first one side to the other, then straightened her

gown, smoothing down the front. She turned, walked to her chamber door, then slammed it in her

husband's face.

Kaelan heard the lock engage and snorted. The last thing on his mind that evening was making an assault

on Marie Keep, but the insult had been hurled at him and it was all he could do not to kick the

gods-be-damned door down and take her like the bitch she was. Maybe if he were to do just that, he

might stoke a fire in her frigid body.

“Not fucking likely,” he scoffed. The only thing he'd stoke by raping Marie Hesar was the fire her father

would light under the faggots that would burn Kaelan Hesar alive.

* * * *

The moon was a sliver of gold high in the southern sky when Kaelan felt the bed dip beside him. He

came instantly awake, out of a deep, troubled slumber, as a hand crawled over his bare arm and slid

unerringly to his belly before soft, cool fingers threaded themselves upward through his chest hair.

“Marie?” he questioned, unable to believe his wife would dare venture into his chamber.

“Shush,” came the answer.

The soothing fingers plucked at the furring on his chest, then smoothed over his nipples, bringing them

instantly erect. A nail grazed the left pap and sent a shiver of urgent desire racing through Kaelan's body.

“What are you doing?” he asked, knowing whoever this was in his bed was not his wife. The only touch

he'd ever received from Marie had been one attached to a stinging slap that had made his ears ring.

“Quiet.” The command was firm.

The woman's hands moved over his chest: touching, caressing, stroking. Her fingers glided silkily over

his shoulders and up his neck, played across his lips, silencing him once more, then splayed themselves

through his thick, dark hair, tugging playfully at the scalp before descending once more to his belly.

He was being seduced, he thought, and didn't care. He was as randy as a teenage boy and twice as

hard. What she was doing to him felt good-wonderfully good-and it had been a long time since he had

known the sheer pleasure of a gentle touch.

“Turn over,” she ordered him and he obeyed. She straddled his naked hips and he could feel the

coarseness of her nether hair grazing his backside; her nakedness made him harder still.

Kaelan closed his eyes as she leaned her weight on his back. Her fingers were strong and sure as she

massaged the tight muscles, working out the soreness, easing the tension. She worked on his neck,

massaged his scalp, gently squeezed his biceps. Her legs gripped his thighs as she pressed into him,

kneading the recalcitrant muscles, making him hard and wet with her ministrations.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he asked, but became silent as she bent over him and placed her

finger to his lips once more.

What she was going to do to him would be done in silence, he thought as he gave himself up totally to

her gentle hands and warm body. The feel of her on his back, riding him, her sex pressed against the cleft

of his rump, was so delicious, he groaned with the pleasure of it. He was lost the moment she slid further

down him and her hands found the sharp upturn of his buttocks. His low growl seemed to amuse her and

she laughed: a low throaty laugh that made the hair stir on his arms. Her fingers dug almost painfully into

the firm flesh of his rump.

Kaelan jerked as her fingers slipped between the cleft of his ass. He tensed, tightening the muscles there,

and she hit him hard enough on his naked flesh to make him grunt.

“Don't,” she warned and hit him again, this time more gently, but her demand was met and he relaxed the

muscles of his rump and allowed her fingers to slide downward again.

The tip of one nail grazed his opening and Kaelan nearly shot out of the bed. He wanted nothing more

than to twist over, grab his tormentress and impale her on the hard length of him. It was all he could do to

keep himself perfectly still, although by then he was panting and beginning to feel droplets of sweat

forming on his upper lip.

She slid her hand beneath him and cupped his shaft, holding him in that way only an experienced woman

can. Her thumb raked over his testicles and he squirmed, so hard he thought he well might burst if she but

squeezed him one more time.

“Ready?” she whispered and her hand traveled to the tip of him and one blunt nail drove delicately down

into the opening.

“God, yes!” he groaned.

Before she could deny him, he flipped over and reached for her, grabbing her under her armpits and