Free WINDKEEPER by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Page A

Milord!" she demanded as she lifted one of the girl’s hands for the Prince to see.
    Something dark and painful crossed Conar’s face as he stared at the marks on the girl’s pale flesh.
    "Milord, please! Do something!"
    He seemed to come out of some distant reverie and shook his head to clear it of whatever vile memory had claimed him. He swallowed, tasting bile in his mouth.
    "Conar?" Liza inquired.
    He looked at Liza’s pleading face and then at the girl’s bent head. He seemed to gather himself and then let out a ragged breath. Hesitant to further upset the servant, he knelt on the floor beside Liza.
    "Milord?" Liza’s whisper was like a calming breeze after the roughest storm.
    With infinite care, Conar held out his hand to the servant girl, but didn’t touch her quivering body. "Mam’selle?" he whispered, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Mam’selle, may I help you to your feet?" When she didn’t answer, he took a deep, wavering breath and let it out slowly, speaking to her as quietly and as reassuringly as he could. "I am not angry at you, Sweeting."
    Liza watched the girl shrink further into herself. Speaking solely to the girl, Liza lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I don’t think you realize what it is you’ve done, Mam’selle." She saw the girl flinch and hurried on. "You have done something no one ever has before. You have brought the mighty Prince Conar McGregor to his knees. You had best take advantage of his momentary lapse of churlishness and take his hand, else neither of us will ever hear the end of it."
    The girl hesitantly raised her head and she briefly met Liza’s smile, her gaze skipped away and then returned for a moment, searching, pleading. What she saw in those beautiful green depths, almost the same shade of green as her own, made the girl stop shaking. Moistening her lips, she held Liza’s warm, gentle gaze.
    Conar could feel the girl’s intense fear like a sentient life form invading his soul. Towering rage welled up inside him, for he knew the girl was accustomed to ill treatment, probably at the hands of his own twin, that she expected blows and beatings with every sharp word. He felt a great pity building inside as horrible memories surfaced in his mind, and he leaned down, putting his lips close to the girl’s ear, even though she tensed like a steel spring as he neared.
    "If you persist in behaving as though I am a beastie from the pits, Mam’selle, how will I convince this lady that I am a sweet-tempered and malleable knight? How will I win her heart, then? If she will not have me, I shall surely pine away, and you will be the one to blame for my untimely demise. You will be the one who will cause my insomnia, my loss of appetite, my hair loss, my gout, my…" He saw a tiny, flickering smile on the girl’s lips. "My admission to an institution for the terminally suicidal and perhaps, ultimately, my celibacy." He saw her flinch with astonishment.
    "Not that, Milord!" the girl whispered, her lips twitching.
    "Most assuredly that, Mam’selle," he informed her, his hand over his heart. His soft, deep voice broke with feigned misery. "Would you be the cause of that?"
    "I would be hounded to death by every female in Serenia if that were to happen, Your Grace," she whispered back.
    "And rightly so, Mam’selle, should you deny so many, so much!" He smiled broadly.
    "Conceited buffoon," Liza snorted.
    He glanced at Liza. "Don’t belittle what you haven’t seen." He grinned at the red flush that quickly spread over Liza’s face.
    The servant giggled, her lilting laughter sounding like summer puffs of wind; but a loud noise from below stairs made her cower again, her laughter vanish, and her trembling fingers cover her face.
    Conar immediately reached out and drew down the girl’s hands, holding them in one of his own. With his free hand, he raised her tear-stained face so he could get a better look at her. "What troubles you, girl?" he