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An Excerpt From: WYNDRAIDER
 Copyright CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2007.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave
“What manner of woman is your daughter?” Kell asked.
“She is a worthy woman, Milord. An honest and straightforward woman,” he stated. “Lillian has made our people a good Queen. She is compassionate but can be firm when she needs to be. Our people love her even if her husband does not.” The last sentence was spoken from between clenched teeth.
“So it would not be a great loss to him if she is not returned to him.”
“Had you asked me that an hour ago, I would have hotly denied it but now, I am not so sure,” Lord Keithton replied. “When His Majesty believed his lady would not be molested, he was quick to want her back. Learning Laird Meilich may have laid hands to her…”
“There is no may have to it, Keithton,” Kell interrupted. “He has as surely as night follows day.”
“Where do you wish me to bring her?” he asked.
“I have an estate near Karsgill. Anyone can direct you to it.” He reached into the robe of his office and took out a medallion on a long chain.
“I will treat your daughter with the utmost respect, Keithton,” Kell said reading the Chancellor’s mind.
“I am sure you will, Milord,” Lord Keithton responded.
“Because she is your daughter,” Kell stressed. “Not because she is Grayham’s woman.”
Lord Keithton’s footstep faltered. “May I ask why that makes a difference to you?” he asked.
“Zaphnia,” Kell said.
A frown shifted over the old man’s face. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you remember a warrior with a slashing scar from his left shoulder down to his waist at the camp?”
The Lord High Chancellor thought back to his long incarceration on the dust planet. “Beithir,” he answered. “Baron Collin Beithir. I remember him well.”
“You saved his life.”
“As I remember, he saved mine first.”
“That you remember it that way will please him,” Kell told him.
“He escaped that hell-hole?” Lord Keithton gasped. “I had heard he perished there!”
Kell’s lips twitched. “The Zaphnians did everything they could to see that happened but they were denied their revenge. I personally went after him.” He shot Lord Keithton a steady look. “Beithir is my blood-sire.”
Lord Keithton drew in a quick breath. “I thought Portland Kell, the Duke of Baldemahr, was your father.”
“He was my mother’s husband,” Kell corrected in a hard voice, “but he did not sire me. He is merely the bastard who purchased my mother even as she carried me within her.” His teeth clenched. “For a rather goodly amount I was told when he learned she would bear a male child.”
Lord Keithton understood the females of the Cuideag race were thought of as nothing more than property by their menfolk, assets to be bought and sold and traded, bartered and discarded at will. He thought of Beithir--the only other Cuideag he had known--and remembered the warrior’s words as they lay chained together one miserable night...
“I once had a woman who was as dear to me as the air I breathe but they took her from me and gave her to another man simply because I bore love for her and did not consider her material goods.” The Cuideag had grinned mercilessly, vengeance turning his copper eyes a dark ginger color. “But I left a little surprise for them.”
That surprise, no doubt, had been the man walking beside Lord Keithton.
“Since Portland Kell could not father children of his own, I inherited the bastard’s title and position. On his death bed he cursed me for what it was worth.”
“The man must have been very bitter,” Lord Keithton commented.
“He was pissed that I survived childhood but that’s neither here nor there. How will I know your daughter?” Kell asked as they arrived at the stairway that led down to the inner bailey.
“Come with me and I will show you her portrait,” the Lord High Chancellor suggested.
Kell nodded politely though he was anxious to be gone. The King’s palace made him jumpy and he longed to be out in the elements though he detested the cold--as did all his kind. He followed in the older man’s wake as he led the Cuideag along the balcony and to a section of wall containing portraits of the royal family.
“This is our Queen,” Lord Keithton said with pride, pointing to a large painting that hung to the left of that of King Grayham’s. “This is my Lillian.”
A glance was all that was needed for Kell to imprint the woman’s image in his quick mind for all time and he looked up at the somber colors, past the skirt of the dark purple gown to graceful hands clutched together lightly, pass an ample bosom with lush cleavage, to a slender neck, a softly-rounded chin, and there his passing look stopped--fastened upon sultry red lips that bore just a hint of a smile.
His gaze lifted slowly, reluctantly from those sensuous lips, past a pert little upturned nose until he found himself lost in an unfathomable green gaze that kept him rooted where he stood. He was unaware his lips had parted and that he was staring at soft, beautifully put together features that awakened a raging hunger deep inside him he had not known he possessed. His heart thumped hard against his ribcage, his blood raced unchecked through his veins, and he leaned closer to the painting, putting up a palm to touch the linked hands drawn there. A surge of energy moved from his fingertips to his shoulder and he pulled his hand back, stunned by the reaction.
“She does not love him,” Lord Keithton heard the Cuideag whisper. “She fears him.”
“Aye,” the Lord High Chancellor said, knowing the warrior was referring to the King. “He has raised his hand to her many a time.”
Kell turned his head and the deadly glower he sent the old man’s way made Lord Keithton take a step back. “He’ll not do so ever again!” he swore and returned his attention to the painting. “No man will ever lay a hand to her as long as I draw breath.”
The old man saw rage sparking through the strange eyes of Saxxon Kell a moment before the warlord turned on his heel and stalked to the stairs. He had to practically run to catch up with Kell’s long-legged stride that took the stairs at a skipping stretch, the warrior’s spurs hitting the stone risers.
“I will send word to you when I have my lady safe,” Kell told the Lord High Chancellor and Lord Keithton stumbled to a halt midway down the stairs, grabbing for the banister to keep from plunging headlong to the bottom.
“Your lady?” Lord Keithton gasped, his face stark white.
“Mine,” the Cuideag stated emphatically and never broke stride as the two guards at the entryway doors jumped to open them for his exit. He was out in the violently swirling snow, his dark form swallowed up in the white out conditions, before Lord Keithton could begin shivering with the terror that had snaked up a hand to clutch his heart.
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