WindBeliever (21 page)

“Why can’t you send ....?”

“I am telling you to do it!” her father snapped.

Catherine snapped her mouth shut, knowing further argument would be futile with her father.

She bobbed a curtsy to him and spun around to head for the break in the wall where a flagstone path led down to the spot where the odious Serenian was sitting.

Conar turned his back, knowing the bitch was on her way down to see him. He’d seen the anger on her father’s face, knew she’d been ordered to do something that damned sure hadn’t set well with her. A deep frown settled on his face as he wondered what maneuvers the royal busybody’s were setting into motion now.

He’d heard all about the Inner Kingdom bastard’s visit even before the man’s caravan had been sighted. What he heard had not only added to the anger he was already feeling at being denied passage back to Serenia, it had brought a red-hot haze to his vision and he was still feeling the effects of the rage.

“Prince Sajin Ben-Alkazar is coming here to ask for the Tzarevna’s hand,” Yuri explained.

“There will be a tourney where all those who have proposed alliances to the Steffensberg family may come and challenge one another. There will be jousting, hand to hand combat, archery contests ....”

A snort of disdain twisted Conar’s mouth. “There wasn’t a one among those mincing fops I’ve seen since coming here who could sit a horse long enough to take up a lance, much less wield it!”

“It is merely a courtesy, Conar,” Yuri answered. “Everyone knows Prince Sajin will win the tourney.” He almost smiled at Conar’s immediate scowl.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Prince Sajin is a great warrior. He has no equal in combat. He is much respected among the nomad tribes for his prowess. He will make our lady a grand husband.”

“And she’ll make him one of a dozen or so cunts to plunder!” Conar said vulgarly.

Yuri shook his head. “Prince Sajin is not in line to inherit the throne of Kensett. He has said many times he will take only one wife and she will be his love match.”

Conar snorted. “Well, he’d better look elsewhere than Mary Catherine Steffensberg! That woman has no concept of the word!”

Yuri bent close to his companion, lowered his voice. “I have heard tales of Prince Sajin’s sexual prowess. It is said he could charm the thorns from a rose.”

“He’ll get plenty of practice with Cat, then.”

If the nickname for the Tzarevna Catherine on Conar’s tongue surprised Yuri, the Shadow-warrior had covered it well. He looked down at his hands to keep the man beside him from seeing how pleased he was with the turn of the conversation. It wasn’t what was being said so much as the
way
it was being said. Conar McGregor sounded peeved and more than a little unhappy with Prince Sajin’s arrival.

“Prince Sajin will tame her, Conar. No one has any doubt of that. He will have her docile and WINDBELIEVER

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sweet, eating out of his hand in no time.”

“Docile and sweet, my fucking ass,” Conar snarled as Catherine came up behind him, clearing her throat to get his attention. “I know you’re there,” he told her in a gruff tone.

She wouldn’t look at him. Her attention was somewhere over his head, boring into the distance. “My father wishes you to attend the meeting he and my mother are to have with Prince Sajin Ben-Alkazar this evening after the meal.”

Conar slowly turned his head to look up at her. “Why?”

“How should I know?” she lied, looking down at him finally.

Conar looked away from her, stood up with his face still turned from her and said, “I’d think you had a vested interest in the outcome of such a meeting. Why do they want me there?”

“It’s of little concern to me,” she shrugged. “And I don’t care
why
they want you there.”

“This man may become your future husband,” he said quietly. “Aren’t you concerned about him?”

“One man is the same as another to me,” she scoffed.

Conar turned to look at her. “You’ve got a lot to learn about men and what they can do, little girl,” he told her, his gaze raking down her.

Catherine, blushing to the roots of her hair, knowing he was reminding her of what had happened that morning near the guard’s quarters, spun on her heel and stalked away, calling over her shoulder as she went.

“Are you coming?”

“I wasn’t even breathing hard,” he mumbled.

Catherine stopped, turned, not understanding what he said but knowing somehow he had insulted her, flung him a look of disdain. “Are you
coming
?” she asked again.

“No, lady, I am not,” he said, barely able to control his mirth.

Catherine stared at him, vastly annoyed at his snicker. “You are a churlish, ill-mannered bore.”

Conar smiled sweetly. “And you are a class act bitch.”

“Go to hell!” she seethed.

“I’ll see you there!” he called after her as she all but ran up the knoll away from him.

Tzar Thomas smiled as he stood watching the two young people. “Go get her, son,” he whispered. “She’s yours for the asking!”

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Peter looked across the table at his brother. A faint smile was hovering over Mikel’s tanned face. As he glanced up to see his brother watching him, Mikel lifted one thick dark gold brow.

Peter lifted his own in answer. He pursed his lips and looked back down at his plate, afraid if he continued to look at Mikel, the two of them would burst out laughing.

Sybelle could not take her scrutiny from the tawny-haired man who sat across and down the table from her. His thick mane of golden hair was slightly rumpled, his uniform tunic, the pale gray wool rather in need of pressing, was unbuttoned. The white shirt beneath the tunic was unbuttoned half-way down the man’s wide chest. His manners, or lack thereof, were no better than his dress, and she stared at his single-minded attention to the food on his plate. He neither conversed with the people sitting with him at the table, nor did he look up from his meal as he shoveled the food into his mouth. At least, now and again, he lifted his napkin to wipe his mouth, but he did not look at anyone there. Instead, he continued to ignore the conversation around him as well as those speaking.

Lifting her napkin to daintily wipe at her own lips, Sybelle saw him shake his head to the wine offered him by the steward. She had not seen him consume wine or spirits of any kind. Nor had he looked up as the beverage was offered.

“You have a problem with spirits, don’t you?” she thought to herself as she watched him guzzle down a large glass of water, and she filed the knowledge away.

Conar McGregor had been introduced to her and Sajin as they made their way into the dining room. He smiled in a detached, I-don’t-give-a-damn-who-you-are way at being presented to her, and positively glowered at Sajin, who seemed to have been expecting the man’s boorish manners for neither he, nor McGregor, had offered to shake hands.

“I’ve heard of you,” Sajin said, his stare locked with McGregor’s.

“Well, I’ve never heard of you,” was the waspish reply from the Serenian.

Sybelle’s brows jerked upward in surprise when Sajin simply smiled. Her brother was not known for accepting insults easily. And there was an intended insult in the tone McGregor used.

“You will,” Sajin answered in a quiet voice.

Conar McGregor’s next words left no doubt in her mind as to the man’s intention. “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a shit who you are.”

Sybelle stepped back, expecting Sajin to call the man out, but instead, he laughed softly and swung his arm around Peter Steffensberg’s neck, speaking in a low voice to the Outer Kingdom royal son, leaving McGregor with egg on his face.

Every sound in the room stopped at that remark and breaths were held, but as Sajin began walking into the dining room with the young Outer Kingdom warrior, ignoring the insult, heads turned to McGregor, expecting trouble, but the man just stood there, scowling, his eyes on Catherine Steffensberg who was grinning sweetly at him.

Sajin glanced up from his steak to see his sister studying Conar McGregor. He chuckled softly to himself. Unless he missed his guess, Sybelle was planning one of her magic-sayings to try to turn the poor man into a frog. Anyone who dared to insult him usually wound up as fodder for Sybelle’s ridiculous attempts at wrecking havoc with that person’s life. He shook his head.

Sybelle’s belief in her magic was sacrosanct to her even if it never worked.

Or so Sajin believed.

And that was the way Sybelle wanted it.

Sybelle was studying Conar McGregor’s face. It wasn’t as handsome as Sajin’s face for the WINDBELIEVER

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horrible scars which bisected his left cheek marred the manly beauty she knew had once been there. She had to know more about this man who, she sensed, was not as he appeared.

Squinting, she let her power flow freely, weaving its way to Conar McGregor. She watched as the pale blue tint settled over the man, willing it to enter him, to gather the information she wanted to know about this man.

Conar’s head came up and he slowly turned to look at those gathered at the table. His eyes locked with Sybelle’s and he saw the woman’s face pale. A slow, malicious smile settled on his mouth as he stared at her.

“A sorcerer,” Sybelle breathed, drawing little Nadia Steffenovitch’s attention.

“And a very powerful one at that,” came a bold whisper through the Kensett Princess’ being.

Sybelle shuddered. “No!” she whispered back.

“Did you say something Princess Sybelle?” Nadia was looking up at the beautiful, exotic woman who sat beside her.

Sybelle shivered again, feeling the force of those gleaming sapphire eyes scanning her. She swallowed, shaking her head in answer to Nadia’s question. Jerking her gaze from McGregor’s, she looked down at the table, her mind racing. She could feel his own probing, swirling around her, trying to gain entrance and then pulling back as swiftly as it had come. Daring to glance up at him, she found him once more intent on the meal in front of him.

“You’ve been warned,” her inner voice whispered. “Don’t try that with this man ever again.”

Conar cut a chunk of steak, speared it with his fork, and popped it into his mouth. He ground the meat between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully, as the surprise of finding a sorceress here in the room with him settled in.

He had thought his powers were gone, yet twice now, in three months, he’d felt the resurgence of that power flowing through him. He wasn’t sure he liked the fact that it was back.

He swallowed the meat, scooped a spoonful of peas into his mouth and swallowed them without chewing. His anger deepened, congealed, and he viciously tore his bread in half and stuffed one piece in his mouth.

“Uncouth bumpkin,” Catherine grumbled as she saw the Serenian stuffing his mouth full.

She swung her attention to the elegant manners of the Inner Kingdom Sheik beside her and she smiled gently at him as his own smile touched her.

“A most enjoyable meal, milady,” he said to her in his deep, seductive voice.

“I am glad you like it, Prince Sajin,” she answered, feeling the heat of his smile on her face.

She ducked her head to hide the furious blush which was creeping up her neck.

“Sajin,” he whispered to her.

Catherine looked up at him and his look took her breath away. His coal-dark look was probing hers, caressing her face, his expressive mouth liking what his senses were taking in. Not once, she thought, not once, did his gaze wander below her neck to ogle her. Not once did his polite conversation wander from the appropriate. Not once did the man beside her make her feel like a piece of meat. He treated her with respect, with a gentleness she found intoxicating.

“Sajin,” she echoed, her gaze warm on his handsome face. “Please call me Cat.”

“Cat?” One thick brow elevated.

“My friends call me that.” Her eyes lowered. “My brother says my eyes are like cat’s eyes.”

“They are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen,” Sajin swore.

“Shit.”

Surprised glances moved quickly down the table to Conar. As the Serenian looked up, aware that his expression of disbelief had actually been heard, he glowered at first one diner then WINDBELIEVER

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another until heads lowered or the diners looked away.

All but Sajin Ben-Alkazar’s. Those orbs, black as the pit of hell, were contemplating him with cool assessment. Was that a smile hovering on the bastard’s lips? By Alel, it had better not be! Conar thought.

“You like looking at me, Alkazar?” he asked, wincing at the stupidity and ridiculousness of his question. If he could have snatched the words back before they exploded from his mouth, he would have. Now, all he could do was watch the reaction they caused on the people at the table with him.

The Tzar and Tzarina were staring at one another in dismay. Peter and Mikel pursed their lips together tightly to keep from laughing. The three younger Steffensberg girls were staring at Prince Sajin. Catherine’s mouth was prim with irritation.

Sajin took up his napkin from his lap, delicately wiped his lips and smiled genially at Conar.

“If I was the kind of man who found other males interesting, I would venture to say I’d find you attractive, Prince Conar, but since my interests lie with the opposite sex, I can only apologize for my lack of manners.”

Conar scowled at the man, a perverse demon inside him refusing to let it go. “I’ve heard tales that there are men in the nomad tribes who prefer young boys to women.”

Thomas Steffensberg groaned. His wife shook her head with dismay. Peter and Mikel eyed one another with worry. The younger daughters switched their open-mouthed wonder to Conar.

Catherine nearly choked on her wine, afraid of what the Kensetti Prince would answer.

Sajin only nodded gravely, his expression shuttered. “I have heard of such things myself.”

His eyes locked with Conar’s. “But I would imagine there are men in your own country who are of such a bent. Perhaps you, yourself, have encountered them?”