Chained (Chained Trilogy) (19 page)

His lips split into a blinding smile, and for a moment, Gwen was taken aback. Despite his battered face, she had to grudgingly admit that the man had magnetism.
His smile was disarming. “I could think of a few things, wench,” he murmured, his eyes lowering to the neckline of her kirtle.

Gwen’s jaw clenched, but she reminded herself of her vow
to remain calm. “My steward thinks I should kill you.”

He scowled. “Your steward sounds like an idiot.”

Espan huffed and stammered in outrage at that, and Gwen stifled a laugh. “He is my advisor, Sir,” she said. “My father’s as well. I heed his council in all things.”

“Heed mine,” he offered. “You don’t want to kill me. To do so would be a grievous error.”

Gwen’s eyebrows raised. “Why?”

“Suffice it to say that if I were go
ne, Lord Theodric would miss me … enough to send thousands of warriors to Seahaven’s gates.”

“Lord Theodric has already set his forces against Dinasdale. Do not think I have forgotten that.”

The knight’s jaw ticked. “I have already told you, we played no part in the atrocities committed in Heywick.”

Gwen shrugged. “Forgive me if I’m not inclined to release you with only your word as evidence. I need more than that.”

“Then let me go,” he growled, his voice low, “and I will prove it. Keep my men as collateral, and I will return for them when I bring evidence of our innocence.”

“I think not. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived at Seahaven, Sir. I am within my rights to h
ave you executed, but I am not inclined to just yet. You will remain my captive until I am ready to release or ransom you, but you will not return to the dungeons.”

The gaoler snapped to attention at that. “And just where do you
s’pose I’m t’ keep him if not in the dungeons?”

Gwen stood and turned to face him. “This prisoner is no longer in your care. You have more than proven your ineptitude where
he is concerned. He has nearly escaped you several times, and bested your guards at that.”

Espan stepped forward, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Milady, what are you saying?”

“I want him shackled to that wall, there.”

Espan and the gaoler followed her extended arm and pointing finger. Both men glanced back at her in disbelief. “Milady,” Espan protested. “Surely you do not mean—”

“But I do,” Gwen said brusquely. “My mother always said the best way for a woman to see something done, is to do it herself. The Daleraian is now in
my
guard. I want iron rings installed into that wall immediately. He shall remain under my personal guard, where he cannot conspire with his men to escape. There are no guards for him to assault here … no one here but me.”

Espan stuttered and stammered before gaining his composure. “
Milady, begging your pardon, but it is hardly proper.”

Gwen’s nostrils flared as she turned on the man. “Am I not castellan here? Do I not speak with the voice of the high lord?”

“A-aye, milady,” Espan sputtered. “You do, but it is my duty to advise you in all things.”

“And so you did,” Gwen said, turning her back on him. “I have made my decision and I will be obeyed. This Daleraian poses no threat to me in irons. In this way, I can be sure
that he causes no further harm to our guards, and has no one around him with which to conspire.”

Espan inclined his head humbly, but doubt was still present in his eyes. “I will do whatever you command, milady, you know this.”

“Good,” Gwen said with a curt nod. “Then do as I’ve asked, immediately, and send for Lynet, I have need of her.”

Espan bowed again and retreated quickly, his s
urcoat swishing around his ankles. Gwen turned on the gaoler next. “Go, and take all but two of your guard with you. I want a watch set up just outside my doors, two sentries on each watch, day and night.”

The gaoler did her bidding as well, departing without protest. With only the two guards standing watch just outside her doors, Gwen was alone with the knight.
She knelt before him again, reaching out toward his face. He flinched away, inhaling sharply as her fingers made contact with his jaw.

“Hold still!” Gwen chastised, gripping his chin firmly and forcing him to endure her inspection. “I
must know if your face needs to be stitched. You’ve taken quite a beating.”

The Daleraian snorted dryly. “You should see the other men. Five against one, it was hardly a fair fight.”

“No,” Gwen agreed as she gently prodded his injuries, wincing at the large gash torn just above one dark eyebrow. “It was not well done of them.”

His eyes flashed mischievously as she met his gaze. “I meant, not fair to them.”

Lynet appeared then, gasping as she faltered in the doorway. “It’s all right, Lynet,” Gwen said, turning to face her maid. “Our Daleraian friend did not like the hospitality of our dungeons. He is now our guest. Bring a healer from the temple to tend to his injuries; tell her his wound needs sewing. I require clothing for him as well.”

The maid curtsied. “At once
, m’lady,” she answered obediently, her frightened eyes still fixed upon their captive. She backed away slowly, staring back and forth from Gwen to her prisoner with disbelief. Once she was gone, Gwen turned back to him.

“Now then,” she said, folding her hands demurely in front of her. “Will you give me your name, Sir?”

He raised his chin a notch, and Gwen could see how the neck shackle had chafed his skin. “Daleraian suits me just fine, wench.”

“Gwendolyn!” she snarled. “My name, use it, if you please! Or milady, or Lady Gwen! I am no lowborn wench for you to disrespect me in such a way.”

He smiled again, a display of startling white teeth against the grime and bruising staining his face. “Are all the women of Dinasdale so hot-tempered?”

“Are all Daleraian men so boorish and rude?”

The knight laughed. “Aye, that we are. We’ve no need for pleasantries and courtesies where I come from, because our women are not so delicate. Warriors, fighters, mothers … Daleraian women are strong and proud, as fierce as their men.”

Gwen scoffed at that. “Continue testing my patience, Sir, and you will
know just how fierce I can be.”

“I do not doubt it, wench,” he said smoothly, sinking down to sit cross-legged on the stone floor, his shackles and chains clinking. “Does it matter what my name is? I am only one thing to you.”

She shrugged. “I suppose not.”

At that moment, a pair of guards toting large, heavy iron rings and the tools to hammer them to her stone wall entered. Lynet and one of the temple priestesses followed, their arms laden with clothing for the Daleraian, and the supplies needed to tend his wounds.

Gwen helped Lynet bathe his face, neck, and shoulders, revealing smooth patches of skin bulging with muscle beneath the blood and grime. He flinched as her cloth pressed to his ribs, and Gwen realized that at least one of them had been broken. She frowned, pressing her fingers to his side and probing for the injury.

“Ah, goddammit!” he hissed.

“There,” she murmured to Lynet. “It’s broken. We should bind it, tightly. And bring wine to pour into his head wound; we’ll need to use the needle.”

He didn’t fight as they tightly bound his ribs with strips of linen, but he did ask for a drink of the wine before they splashed it into his wound. Gwen held the chalice to his lips and watched
while he drank greedily, his throat bobbing beneath the thick iron shackle, wincing as it stung his injured lip. He didn’t make a sound as the temple priestess mended the open wound on his brow, or when she slathered it with a mixture of herbs before wrapping another strip of linen around his head to cover it. However, when she produced a handful of incense from the folds of her white robes, he ridiculed her.

“Save your chanting and incense for someone who cares for your gods,” he sneered. “I have no use for them.”

The priestess gasped, one hand covering her bosom as she mumbled a prayer under her breath that the gods forgive his blasphemes. “It’s all right,” Gwen said to the priestess with a tight smile. “You may go now, thank you for all your help.”

The priestess curtsied to Gwen and retreated, shooting the Daleraian a pitying glance.

“Our work is done, m’lady,” said one of the guards from the other side of the room. Gwen approached, eyeing the newly installed rings critically. There were two, spaced no wider than a man’s shoulders. Gwen grasped one and pulled as hard as she could; the ring didn’t budge an inch.

“Will they hold?” she asked, suddenly struck with the thought that she could awaken in the night to find the Daleraian standing over her bed.

“A team of mules couldn’t pull those rings free,” the guard declared proudly.

Gwen nodded. “Very well. I want him unchained just long enough for him to dress, then you may shackle him to the wall.”

The guards eyed her nervously. “M’lady, are you sure that’s wise? Five of our strongest guards couldn’t put him down once he’d broken loose from his cell.”

Gwen
bent to open the trunk at the foot of her bed, retrieving her bow and an arrow from her quiver. The knight’s eyes widened as she lifted the bow and notched her arrow. Pulling back on the string, she smirked in satisfaction as the guards came forward to do her bidding. One false move, and Gwen could release the arrow, ending his life in the blink of an eye.

“Well met, wench,” the Daleraian muttered grudgingly. “Well met.”

***

Guyar was right; he was a mad, bloody fool. Caden had to admit that the lady’s move had been a stroke of genius. If left down in the dungeons with Guyar and the others much longer, he was sure to cause more trouble for the gaoler and his guards. The one he’d strangled would
not have been the last, and Caden would not have stopped until he was freed or killed. Stubborn by nature, it was not his way to sit and stew when there was action to be taken.

Now, with a single command
Lady Gwen had taken his chance away from him. Here, in the northern tower of Seahaven, far removed from his men, there was no chance of escape. Even more infuriating was the fact that his new gaoler was a woman. Given the chance to get his hands on her, Caden could have killed her in an instant. But then what? He was strong as an ox, but still not enough to break his new chains, or the iron rings bolting him to the wall. His new restraints—a harness made of iron shackles and chains that crisscrossed his torso before binding his wrists with no more than a foot of chain between them—were newly forged, rust free, and unbreakable. Even if he could escape, there was the matter of fighting his way out of Seahaven alone—an impossible task.

If Lady Gwen didn’t shoot an arrow through his neck, one of the guards outside the door would shove a spear between his ribs. If he were, perchance, to disarm Lady Gwen and kill both guards, there was still the
great hall, both the inner and outer baileys, and the barbicans and gatehouses of two curtain walls to fight his way through, as well as the hundreds of guards patrolling Seahaven’s wall walks day and night. He did not even have a weapon. Caden didn’t stand a chance, and the wench knew it. Her smug expression as she’d eyed him down the shaft of her arrow had infuriated him, but Caden could do nothing about it now.

All there was for him to do now was try to reason with her to win his freedom. He would take time to rest and heal from his wounds, and hope to persuade her to ransom him to his father without revealing his true identity. If that failed, he could always wait until
Lord Theodric arrived at the gates. Caden had no doubt that he would come. By now, Asher’s remains had arrived in Daleraia, as well as the rider who had escaped Sir Brennus’ attack upon them in the woods of Heywick. That rider would carry word of Caden’s capture, and Lord Theodric would act immediately. As much as he’d wanted to avoid that eventuality, it seemed inevitable. If Caden bided his time long enough, rescue would be certain.

A
s prison cells went, the one he found himself in now wasn’t so bad. The northern tower faced the Elyri Sea, and when the lady had gone down to the great hall for dinner, she’d left her shutters open. Surrounded by the smells of sea, salt, and sand, along with the vibrant colors of sunset, Caden could almost forget that he was a prisoner. At least, he could until he moved and the rattle of his chains reminded him of the truth. The shackles annoyed him more than anything. To be bested by a woman, and caged like a mongrel dog … the future lord of Minas Bothe should never have been in such a position. He’d only been imprisoned one week, and already Caden was restless. He missed the feel of a sword in his hand, and a horse between his legs. He missed the biting winds that howled atop the Radaughorm Mountains, and the view from the highest towers of Minas Bothe. He missed his brothers—Asher most of all—and he missed Esa.

The scrape of Lady Gwen’s wooden door alerted him just before she entered, dressed finely for dinner. Her maid followed, a lit taper in hand illuminating their way. She bustled about, lighting more candles and casting a soft yellow glow over the walls, as her lady swept imperiously into the chamber
. Caden watched her closely from his corner of the room, free to observe from the shadows shrouding him. No one bothered to light the candles nearest him. She was a highborn lady through and through—graceful, haughty, and refined. Her dark skin gleamed in the light of the candles, enhanced by the rich burgundy silk she wore. Yet, her shoulders slumped as she sat before a table strewn with parchment, maps, and scrolls, her eyes turbulent.