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trained at Havensword also. Graduate work. My first degree is from the Sacred
Heart of Davera Medical College in Shaurone. My third is from..."
Sheradyn's eyes widened as Toniqua rattled off six different accreditations.
Belgair glanced from Sheradyn to Toniqua.  Is that necessary? We hang our
criminals up to rot in the square."
Toniqua favored him with a grin.  Don't worry, I'll stitch him closed when I
finish. Then you can hang him up."
Claw growled.  You're lucky I don't tack your hide to the wall, Belgair ...
for letting this happen."
Belgair stood his ground.  You'll regret bringing in outsiders, Claw."
"Shut up!"
Belgair flinched at the anger in his chieftain's voice, bowed himself out, and
headed for the stairs.
"Fetch Brock, Pandeena. Claw sounded weary.  I need him now. Right now."
Belgair caught Brock's name, turned around, and drifted back toward the cell
to listen.  That goatsucking, cockwhore rapes his own sister ... and Claw
sends for the arsehole to be regent."
"You ought to be more careful what you say."
Belgair's head jerked up and he turned to find Malthus standing beside him.
 Like hell!"
"Oh, but you should. Claw's very unhappy with you. Brock's his brother. You're
walking on thin ice, Malthus said smoothly with a trace of concern.
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"You're going to tell him?"
"Me? Of course not. I consider you a friend. That's why I'm warning you."
* * * *
Kynyr smelled bread and cookies baking as he stepped through the front door
into his home. A rush of welcome pervaded this house that he bought for Kady
as a wedding gift. The house had seventy-three rooms and Kady sometimes
complained that she had no idea what to do with it all. They had one hundred
acres of orchards and twice that of grazing land and forest.
He found the bitches of his household in the kitchen chatting and cooking.
Aghavie Newell sat peeling potatoes. She was a waif-like twelve-year-old,
nearly seven months pregnant as a result of being gang-raped last spring.
Iollen Newell married her to give her child a father and save her family from
the disgrace of having an unwed mother as their daughter.
She had arrived in their household frightened and nervous; and blossomed into
a perpetually smiling young bitch under the sheltering kindness of Kady and
Mary.
Kynyr's Aunt Mary Sinclair, a pretty, auburn haired bitch, stood at the stove,
stirring apples cooking in honey that would be canned for the winter. The
final harvest had to be either cooked or dried and the kitchen smelled with
wondrous things. Dried herbs hung in bundles from the ceiling beams.
Kady sat at the table drinking tea and talking to her sister Larena. She
turned around at the sound of Kynyr's voice and rushed to him. She kissed him.
 I'm so glad you're home."
"Me too."
Kynyr's gaze slid to Larena.  What's she doing here?"
Larena flinched at the tone in Kynyr's voice.
Kady drew Kynyr out of the kitchen.  Hereward threw her out."
"Why?"
"Larena wasn't ... as careful as I was with Cullen."
"She's cocked up? Kynyr's lips twisted on the edge of a snarl.
"You could use a gentler term, Kynyr."
"Why should I? Every time your family comes around, they hurt you."
"She's living here now. Please try to be nice."
"If Larena hurts you, she's out of here. Understood?"
Kady slid her arm around Kynyr's waist and walked him out onto the veranda.
 It's a nice day."
They settled on the sofa together with Kady in the circle of his arm, her head
resting on his shoulder. Kynyr relaxed as a sense of contentment spread
through him and he allowed Kady to change the subject. She knew when, where,
why, and how to choose her battles and Kynyr had not managed to win one yet.
 Yes it is. His hand went to her belly and rubbed it fondly.  You mind if we
name him Fergus?"
"Fergus? No, I don't mind. But why Fergus?"
Then Kynyr told her the story of Fergus MacFie, the general of Clan
MacLachlan, a brave mon who had died at Hell's Widow, helping Kynyr to rout
the sa'necari there.
"Fergus Maguire. Okay, but I choose the middle name."
Kynyr kissed her.  And what will that be?"
"Todd."
"Fergus Todd Maguire. Kynyr kissed her again.  I like the sound of that."
* * * *
Guards cleared the way for the wagon carrying Yren's corpse. A cheer went up
from the eager watchers. However, there were not as many present as there had
been on the day that Donald Greenlea and Iollen Newell had been flogged. A
deadmon's corpse held far less fascination than the pain and suffering of
condemned myn.
The scaffolds had originally been four platforms, each of them twenty feet
square, with steps along the sides, and a frame across the top to hold the
hangmon's nooses. Claw had built them four and a half years ago to execute the
outlaws his guardsmyn captured when they ran those renegades to earth. Padruig
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Caimbeul had expanded and re-designed them.
There were now eight square platforms. The side steps had been removed from
each, and a long sturdy walkway connected them in the rear broad enough for
three guardsmyn to march the length of it abreast. A log skirt beneath the
walkway prevented anyone from seeing what went on behind it with the only
steps up to the scaffolds at either end of the walkway. T-shaped flogging
posts had been erected on the two central squares. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]