For a long time he just stood there, mulling over the wreck his life had become, the
harsh words Rylee had thrown at him, the loss of her. His heart felt as though it had
been ripped from his chest, thrown to the ground and stomped upon. He ached, he
hurt, and he had no notion of how to remedy the situation. The longer he stood there
the deeper the hurt became until—once more—it was anger at his situation that came to
the forefront of his warrior’s mind and he refused to dwell on Rylee’s deliberate cruelty
any longer.
“You need to get the hell away to think,” he mumbled. “You need to take charge of
your life, Farrell. You’ve allowed her to dictate to you for far too long.”
“Don’t take that assignment, Sandair,” he mimicked the lady’s words. “My
birthday is coming up.”
So he had begged off from going to the Deisceartach Province only to be given an
assignment that was three times as dangerous as the first and he’d nearly died.
And…
“Can’t you tell them you’ll pass on this one? I’ve had the party planned for months
now. You’ll ruin it if you leave!”
Instead of taking the assignment to Duffin, he had gone to Drogheda and lost two
good men in a firefight that he’d won only by a thin thread. Telling the men’s mothers
their sons weren’t coming home had been the hardest thing he’d ever done and
something he hoped never to be forced to do again. There was a reason none of his men
were married and the more he thought on it, the better he understood the wisdom of
that.
Leaning there on the slippery rail, he made a choice that might have been on the
spur of the moment but once conceived, took on a life of its own. He straightened up,
pushed away from the rail and turned in the direction the sailors had gone.
It wasn’t hard to find the Mary Constance. The ship was ablaze with lights and men
were loading cargo by the shimmer of torches.
16
Journey of the Wind
“I’m looking for Captain Andelton,” Alsandair said to one of the men carrying a
heavy cask on his shoulders.
“He be in his cabin,” the sailor said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder then giving
Alsandair directions on how to get to there.
Such frenetic activity this late at night made Alsandair wonder if the ship’s captain
was anxious to put distance between him and Hamisch. He skipped down the aft
ladder and knocked smartly on the door to the captain’s cabin.
“Enter!” a voice snarled from behind the teakwood portal.
Warmth hit the warrior in the face as he opened the door. A squat man in
shirtsleeves was standing in front of a desk piled high with papers. He glanced up at
Alsandair and frowned.
“I’ve got all the ship’s crew I need, lad,” he said then returned his attention to the
sheaf of papers he clutched in his hands, his nose practically touching the sheet as he
squinted down at whatever was on the paper. “Try the Molly Dee.”
“I’m not looking for a berth, Captain,” Alsandair replied. “I hear you have a cabin
available.”
Captain Andelton looked up sharply. “You’re a paying passenger?” he asked.
“That depends on the price of the fare,” Alsandair said.
The seafarer swept his hawklike scrutiny up and down his visitor. “You’re a
warrior,” he said, spying the sword strapped to the young man’s back and the dagger
thrust into a sheath at his thigh.
“I’m the Commander of the First Anlusian Guards,” Alsandair replied, striding
forward to put out his hand. “Alsandair Farrell, Sir.”
Shifting the papers he held so he could take the proffered hand, Andelton’s frown
returned. “Not one of Fergus Farrell’s boys, I hope.” His grip was reluctant.
Alsandair shook his head. “Fergus is my uncle. I’m Trevor’s eldest.”
Andelton’s grip tightened. “Never met Trevor but I knew his lady-wife Adair.” He
locked his gaze with the younger man’s. “I’m sure Addie did not raise the same sort of
boys Fergus’ wife did.”
“I have the belt marks to prove it, Sir,” Alsandair laughed as he released the
captain’s hand.
“You’re looking for passage to Sulan?”
“I’m looking for a bit of adventure,” Alsandair replied. “I’ve a month of leave
coming and I’ve a yearning to see Midworld.”
“It can be a wondrous place at times,” the captain said. “If you stay away from the
Kanus chieftains and the slave traffickers.”
“I think I can do that.” He ducked his head. “How much is the passage, Sir? I’ll
have to go back to my room to fetch my belongings and—”
17
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
“Can you cipher a bill of lading?” Andelton interrupted. “I’ve been having a devil
of a time with my eyesight of late and I’m in need of someone who can read and write
to help me sort out these papers.” He shook the papers in his hand. “I need spectacles
but who has the time to see the oculist?”
“I’ve always had a head for numbers,” Alsandair said, glancing at the papers. “I’d
be happy to help and it would pass the time, I’d venture to say.”
“I’ve got the one cabin left and I’m not a man to weigh anchor with an empty berth,
but I need to leave port tonight if we’re to make Sulan by the end of the week. My
daughter is getting married come the Solstice and I promised her I’d be back in plenty
of time.”
Alsandair nodded. “I see your need for haste.”
“If you’ll rush back with your stuff, we’ll be able to leave as soon as you return. I
have two other passengers already aboard and the tide will be going out within the
hour.”
Scratching his cheek with his cupped fingers, Alsandair inquired once more to the
price of the ticket for passage.
Andelton waved his hand. “I’m not likely to find anyone needing passage at this
time of night, so if you’re willing to help me with the ciphering, the cabin and meals are
on me this trip.”
Alsandair grinned and stuck out his hand to seal the bargain. “I’ll be back in two
shakes of a sheep’s tail,” he agreed.
“Don’t bring that sheep back with you!” Andelton said, chuckling.
18
Journey of the Wind
Chapter Two
After sending word to Cowan and Daniel that he would be sailing on the tide and
giving them his intended destination, Alsandair packed his few belongings—he tended
to travel light when on assignment—then headed back to the docks. Nestled down in a
thick, black double-breasted wool peacoat for the November night had turned even
colder on his trek back to his room, he had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and
wore a black twisted-rib watch cap atop his thick hair. He’d changed out of his leather
pants into a more serviceable pair of black denims so in the thick fog, he was nearly
invisible in his dark attire. Running up the gangplank, he was met on the bridge by the
captain and Garnet Ruck, introduced as the Mary Constance’s cabin boy.
“Ruck will show you to your cabin, Commander,” Andelton informed him.
“It’s just Sandair,” the young warrior corrected, putting out a hand to Ruck.
“A pleasure, Sir,” Ruck greeted him with a grin. “Right this way.”
“We’ll be leaving port momentarily,” Andelton called after Alsandair. “If you are of
a mind, I’ve Chrystallusian brandy in my cabin.”
Alsandair stopped and turned around. “Much obliged, Captain, but I’ve had more
than my share of the drink tonight.” He tapped his head. “Best be turning in, especially
if you want me clearheaded in the morning.”
Andelton laughed and waved him away, calling out orders to his men in
preparation for sailing.
The cabin to which Ruck escorted him proved to more comfortable than Alsandair
had been expecting. Paneled in dark wood, the bunk was larger than usual with a white
hobnail chenille spread covering it and a thick quilt folded at the foot. There was a
handsome inlaid sea chest for his belongings, a ladder-back chair with a cushion, a
small desk built into the wall and a corner screened off for the close stool—a lidded
throne-like chair that held the chamber pot. A small cabinet with railing around three of
its sides at the top held a pitcher and ewer and a couple of tin cups.
“I’ll be back with some fresh water, Sir,” Ruck said, tugging at his forelock before
closing the cabin door.
Alsandair swung his duffel bag up on the bunk and pulled off his cap. Running a
hand through his hair, he tossed the cap to the desk and sat down on the bunk to pull
off his boots. As he did, he glanced up at the wall on which the bunk stood. Above and
to the side of the bunk were several handholds jutting out from the wall in case the ship
was tossed about in foul weather. A large swinging lamp hung over the desk and lent a
mellow light to the otherwise dark room.
19
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
After Ruck had returned with the water and the ship was on its way out of Drutton
Bay, Alsandair stripped off his clothing, pushed his duffel bag to the far side of the
bunk and then pulled the covers back. He climbed into the bunk, stretched out, flinging
the covers over him and turned on his side. Wriggling down into the bed, he pressed
his cheek into the soft pillow, snuggling down until he was comfortable. Within
moments, he was sound asleep, sinking into a dream that had him tossing and turning
before the Mary Constance ever cleared the first buoy.
Rylee was running ahead of him, looking back over her shoulder, her long red hair streaming
behind her in the wind. The skirts of her pale green muslin gown molded around her legs and the
ribbons bedecking her red tresses fluttered around her head.
“Go away, Sandair!” she shouted back at him. “Leave me be, you heathen!”
They were in a meadow of bright gold sunflowers and red clover and the smell of freshly
mowed hay from a neighboring field wafted in the air. Overhead the sun was warm and bright,
but its rays were cooled by a freshening breeze from off Galrath Lake.
“You can run but you can’t escape me, Ry!” he called out to her as he crashed through the
tall stalks of sunflowers, batting them aside.
It was up a slight hill they moved and at the crest he could see birds soaring on the thermals,
hear their raucous cries to one another. The sound of wood being chopped echoed over the little
valley through which they ran.
He heard a giggle and then lost Rylee among the tall stalks. Stopping, he listened but there
was no movement close-by save the rustle of the sunflowers. He stood there like a predator poised
for its prey—silent, unmoving, waiting.
Never one for patience, it was Rylee who moved first and when she did, a loud explosion of
breath escaped her lungs as she began to fall, brought down by Alsandair’s strong arms that had
wrapped around her from behind. Laughing, she fell forward toward the clover-studded ground
only to be turned at the last moment, landing with her back to her lover’s front, his loud whump
of air rushing past her ear as his muscular body met the earth.
“Let go of me, you oaf!” she trilled, wriggling her bottom against the swollen passion of his
groin.
His arms shackling her to him, he wedged his chin into the softness where her neck met her
shoulder. “Never,” he whispered, running his tongue along her ear.
Squirming against the invasion, she felt his hands on her breasts, rubbing her nipples
through the soft muslin, crushing the lush globes lightly in his powerful hands. She protested his
liberties as she lay there on her belly with the sunflowers towering overhead, Alsandair pressing
his weight upon her. He shifted so he lay beside her, his hand hiking up the hem of her skirt until
his palm touched the soft, bare flesh of her thigh. He caressed her.
“Licentious man,” she giggled.
“Horny man,” he corrected. He shifted to allow her to turn over so she lay on her back,
looking up at him with her vibrant green eyes sparkling with desire.
20
Journey of the Wind
“What is it you wish for me to do to remedy that situation—in which you seem to
perpetually stay?” she asked. She reached up to stroke his lean jaw.
“You need do nothing, milady,” he said, moving the hem farther up her leg. “Just lie there
and enjoy the fruits of my labors.”
Rylee sucked in a breath as his nimble fingers slid over to the inner plain of her thigh, his
thumbnail scratching delicately along the sensitive flesh and moving ever upward until he
touched the moistness between her legs.
She brought her hands up to push at his shoulders. “Get off me, you degenerate.”
Deliberately he pressed his thumb against the soft, wet heat and inched it inside her, turning
his hand so his fingers slid deliciously beneath her, his middle finger grazing her anus.
Her hands tightened on his shoulders and instead of pushing him away, she was holding
him to her, her fingers digging into the crisp cotton of his shirt. Her eyelids fluttered as he
snaked his thumb deeper into her velvet heat and she sighed deeply.
“Like that, do you?” he asked, lowering his lips to the corner of her mouth.
Rylee lay at his mercy with her eyes closed, her hands dropping away so they lay to either
side of her head. As a result, her breasts pushed upward, inviting his attention. Lowering his
head, he caught one straining nipple and suckled it through the material.
“Sandair!” she gasped.
He withdrew his thumb from her silky sheath and rubbed his palm against the wiry curls at
the junction of her thighs. All the while his teeth plucked at the muslin covering her breast until
she was writhing.
“Beast,” she labeled him on a long sigh.
Lying there on his side facing her, he took only a moment to put his hand to the fly of his
britches to release the aching erection there. As he sprang free, he was up and over her, nudging
her legs apart with his knee and settling deliciously upon her as he paused with his throbbing
cock seeking entrance into her moist heat.
“Want me?” he whispered.
She arched her hips upward in answer and as his thick tool slid firmly inside her, his mouth
slanted over hers to claim her in a potent kiss that made his blood sing.
Beginning a slow thrust—pushing ever deeper inside her with each movement
and
withdrawing until he was almost all the way out of her—his tongue dueled with hers in the same
deliberate rhythm. He nibbled at her bottom lip, flicked the tip of that wicked muscle at the
corners of her mouth and dragged it over her teeth.
Rylee brought her legs up to imprison his hips and in the process gave him latitude to
increase the pace of his thrusting and the deepness of his penetration. As she locked her ankles
behind his waist, his rhythm increased along with the power he used to take her. With her short
fingernails digging into his shoulders, he rode her hard with his balls slapping against her with
each strong thrust.
“Aye, my warrior,” she moaned, and nipped him on the side of his neck as he lay there
stretched out atop her.
21
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
It was the unexpected sting of pain that spurred him to an even faster and harder pace. He
was pistoning into her with abandon, striving for the release that had drawn his balls into twin
cauldrons of fiery heat.
Grunting against one another, the lovers felt the first wave of passion at the same moment.
She was grinding herself against his steely erection and he was pumping into her with deliberate
force. They came at the exact same moment, shouting out their mutual relief as tremor after
tremor shook them—draining him and depleting her.
He collapsed atop her, panting and spent. She wrapped her arms around him as though she
would never let him go.
“I love you,” he whispered against her throat.
“I’ve used you,” she replied sweetly.
Pushing himself up until he could look down into her passion-sated face, he found her
grinning hatefully at him.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Rylee looked past his shoulder and smiled. “Tell him what I mean, my love.”
Slowly Alsandair turned his head. Looking behind him, he found they were not alone in the
sunflower-bedecked field. A tall man stood there—blocking out the sun with only his dark
outline in view.
“Mine,” the faceless man said, reaching down to clamp a hard hand on Alsandair’s shoulder
to drag him up and off Rylee’s lush body.
Alsandair sat up in the bed—his face slick with sweat, his heart hammering in his