Chained (Chained Trilogy) (22 page)

Her kiss was untutored and chaste, but it set Caden’s blood on fire as he ravaged her soft and pliant mouth. He wondered smugly if her Lerrothian prince had kissed her this way. At the thought of the other man’s lips claiming hers, Caden growled low in his chest, his other hand coming up to her back and trapping her against him, his grip tightening on her hair.
Her mouth opened to him, and she offered her tongue tentatively. Caden hungrily took it, offering his in return. They tangled in the middle, tasting, searching and seeking. She tasted like innocence and sweet red wine, like promises and desire, like every flavor he’d ever experienced in the world, but unlike anything he’d ever tasted. Her body was a sweet temptation, long and lithe, supple beneath skin as dark and wondrous as the night. Caden was drowning in sensation, lost in the heady tang of her taste and the jolting pleasure of her touch as her fingernails raked his chest, traveling over his shoulders.

Just as suddenly as he’d pulled her to him, he pushed her away roughly, tearing his mouth from hers. Her eyes were wider than ever, her lips parted as tremors wracked her body. Caden appeared far more composed outwardly, but the wench could not know that he was a maelstrom brewing just beneath the surface of his skin.

Chest heaving with strained and heavy breath, she stood slowly, one hand pressed tightly to her chest, eyeing him as if she were afraid he would rip off his chains, take her to the bed, and ravage her. He should be so fortunate to be that strong; then, no force on earth could have stopped him. Caden retreated further into the shadowed corner, using the darkness as a shield against her.

“Have a care and keep your distance, wench,” he warned. “I am only a Daleraian after all. You are not safe within arm’s reach of me. You would do well to remember that.”

He could still see her, illuminated by the taper on the table. Her large eyes searched the darkness for him, but Caden remained still as stone, safe within the shadows. “I do not know you, Sir,” she said softly, “but I do not believe you would harm me. Twice now, you have had me close enough kill me with a single blow, but you stayed your hand. Why?”

Damn her. She dared to ask him why when he hardly knew himself. “
Because you are only a woman,” he said, the easiest excuse he could conjure at the moment. “Is it not the duty of a knight to protect the weak?”

Silence passed between them for a moment as Gwen seemed to contemplate this. After a while, she sighed and turned back to her bed, pausing to blow the candle out along the way. The room fell into complete darkness, and Caden could not even see his own hand in front of his face. He could hear her voice, however, when it reached out to him again from the darkness.

“Daleraian.”

“Yes, wench.”

“I am sorry about your brother. I do not know who killed him or why, but … I am truly sorry.”

He didn’t know why, but her apology touched him in a way it never could have coming from Sir Marcel Bauldry’s mouth.
She did not even know what she was apologizing for, only that it had happened on her father’s lands, at the hand of one of her people.

Caden’s voice was gruff when he answered
, “Thank you.”

Another pause, and then
, “Oh, one last thing.”

“Speak your mind freely, wench.”

“I don’t need protecting. I am anything but weak.”

Caden chuckled, resting his head against the stone wall and closing his eyes. “Aye, wench,” he whispered. “
You are most certainly anything but that.”

Chapter Ten

“Lord Humber of House Bauldry,” cried the herald, his voice echoing from the walls of the
great hall, “lord of Heywick and loyal vassal to House Toustain, the wardens of the north!”

Gwen stood as
Lord Humber strode through the great hall. She had closed her doors to all others today, save him. Other matters could wait; so long as Lord Humber was here, Gwen would hear what he had to say and aid Heywick in any way that she could.

A large man, Lord Humber was
rotund, yet still thick with brawn, with a long, bushy beard ringed in silver. A large, round paunch pressed at the front of his black doublet, further enhanced by the leather sword belt cinched at his hips, but Gwen was not fooled. His tree limb-like arms were near as thick as her body and his strength was fabled amongst other warriors. His brother, Sir Marcel, was of similar appearance. Sympathy flooded her at the sight of him, his dark face drawn. He had aged years in a short time, deep lines of grief edging his eyes and mouth. They were both dressed in black from head to toe—in mourning—their black mantles held in place at their shoulders by silver pins; the sailing ship of House Bauldry.

Gwen descended from the dais, her hands outstretched to them. “Lord Humber, Sir Marcel, welcome.” She turned to t
he accompanying knights and men-at-arms, greeting them as well. “All of you, be welcomed to Seahaven. Please, make yourselves comfortable, lunch will be served shortly. I am sure you are in need of refreshment after your journey.”

“
Milady,” Lord Humber said, bowing gracefully. “Please except my heartfelt apologies for not attending your betrothal ceremony.”

Gwen ushered them toward the dais and the places of honor reserved for them.
Lady Enid, and Lady Josaine were already seated. “There is nothing to apologize for,” she assured him. “You can hardly be blamed after what occurred in Heywick. Your people come first, and they needed you. Sir Marcel, I was most distressed to hear of your wife’s passing. Lady Breena was a gentle and kind woman, and she will not be forgotten.”

The knight inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you, milady.
Your condolences are welcome, but I am more interested in what you and your lord father intend to do about it.”

Gwen was taken aback by his rudeness, but quickly reminded herself that Sir Marcel was grieving for his wife. She cleared her throat as a page made his way down the high table, filling their chalices with white wine. Before she could reply, Lord Humber spoke up from beside her.

“Quiet, you fool,” he hissed at his brother, his head lowered over the thick clam and crab stew placed before him. “You have done more than enough.” Gwen frowned as she observed the Bauldry brothers. Humber was clearly not pleased with Marcel, and the silence that stretched on between them was tense. For the first time, she noticed that Marcel’s arm was tied in a sling made of black fabric, held close to his body at an odd angle. The fingers were mangled and twisted, and she realized with horror that it was his sword hand that had been injured. He ate clumsily with his left hand, gripping his spoon as best he could. Gwen tore her eyes away from the pitiful sight of him sloshing soup over the sides of his bowl, and turned her attention back to the lord of Heywick.

“Your brother speaks through his grief,” she said softly. “I do not hold it against him.”

Lord Humber shook his head. “My brother is a fool, whose actions might have given the Maignarts even more cause to wish to break peace with us. I should display his head upon the ramparts of Heywick Hall, but he is my brother and the gods frown upon fratricide.”

Gwen frowned. “Milord, forgive me
, but I know not of what you speak.”

Lord Humber drained
his chalice with one long swallow and motioned for the page to refill it. “No, you would not. Forgive me, milady, these matters are best saved for later. This conversation is not meant for the table.”

“Nonsense,” Gwen insisted. “No one dines here this afternoon save us. Do you
not trust your men enough to speak of the matter before them?”

Lord Humber placed his chalice beside his bowl, leaning back in his chair as it was taken away and replaced with cod
stuffed with leeks, onions, and fragrant lemon. He ignored the fish and turned toward Gwen. “They already know of it, milady, they were there when my brother committed the one act that could only serve to further set the Maignarts against us. You must forgive me for not being there to stop him. Had I been, perhaps it would never have happened.”

Trepidation filled her as she leaned toward Lord Humber, her breath caught in her lungs. “Tell me all of it.”

“When Lady Breena was killed, my brother allowed his grief to rule him. I cautioned him—we must wait for the command of our high lord, I told him—but he was intent on hunting down the Daleraian who raped and slew Breena.”

Gwen
did not hold that against Sir Marcel, but didn’t say so aloud. When Lord Humber’s story was over, she might well have to hold the knight responsible for whatever folly he’d committed in his grief. “He had only one piece of evidence to base his accusation on … a very distinctive helm worn by Breena’s murderer. A helm edged in gold, and in the shape of a fox’s head. You may not be aware of this, Lady Gwen, but all knights who have attended the tourneys in Quaos and Minas Bothe know that helm. It is worn by one of Theodric Maignarts own sons.”

Gwen’s eyes widened as they moved from Lord Humber to Sir Marcel. Her trepidation swelled into fear and panic as she read the truth in the knight’s eyes. She shot to her feet, her chair scraping noisily on the floor. “What have you done?” she gasped, her throat restricting as she realized what it could mean if Sir Marcel had done what she thought.

Sir Marcel was unapologetic as he stood as well, glaring at her over his brother’s head. “I found and executed my wife’s murderer, and I have no regrets,” he hissed. “I took his head from his shoulders and spilled his blood.”

Gwen rounded Lord Humber’s chair, coming face to face with Sir Marcel. “It is not for you to dispense justice
, Sir, not on the son of a high lord. He should have been arrested and brought to Seahaven for a trial.”

Sir Marcel spat upon the rushes in a show of defiance. “
Fuck that, and fuck you.”

At least ten swords left their scabbards and several knights stood in defense of their lord’s daughter, Lord Humber among them.

“You will apologize to our liege lord’s daughter for that insult,” he hissed, his swortsword drawn. “And then you will remove yourself from her sight for the remainder of our stay here.”

Sir Marcel’s jaw tightened
, and for a moment, she thought he meant to refuse. The others waited, their weapons poised and ready. Eventually, the knight sighed in exasperation. “My apologies, milady,” he said, his gritted teeth lending a growl to his deep voice. “I will excuse myself from your great hall and remove myself from your presence until you see fit to invite me back again.”

Gwen nodded. “You may go
.”

The knights reluctantly sheathed th
eir swords, and slowly the hall returned to normal, the soft buzz of conversation humming around them as knife scraped plate. Lady Enid watched the exchange with wide eyes, obviously appalled at such behavior during a meal.

“Lord Humber,” Gwen said calmly. “Forgive me, but I do believe you were right before to suggest that we speak privately. Please, follow me.” She turned to a passing page. “Have refreshment sent to my father’s solar for Lord Humber and I, immediately.”

“Yes, m’lady,” the boy mumbled as he dashed off to do her bidding. Gwen led Lord Humber up the eastern staircase, to her father’s solar. Once they were alone and platters laden with olives, cheese, bread, and prawns had been served, Gwen turned to the lord of Heywick. The food was merely a courtesy; her stomach was so turbulent, Gwen could not have taken a bite if her life depended upon it.

“Milord,” she pleaded. “Please tell me that what I think has happened hasn’t. Your brother … did he truly exec
ute one of Lord Theodric’s sons?”

Lord Humber shook his head slowly, his mouth a tight line. “Forgive me, milady, but I cannot.
’Tis true, my fool brother had done this thing.”

Gwen squeezed her eyes shut against the wave of nausea threatening to embarrass her in front of her father’s vassal.

“It was that damned helm,” Lord Humber continued. “As I said, every man who’s ever fought in a tourney knows that helm, and when Sir Marcel found the boy in a brothel with that helm among his things, it was all he needed to convict himself. I pity my brother the loss of his lady wife, but he has always been impetuous and imprudent. If you see fit to punish him, you will hear no argument from me. With his actions, he may very well have set things in motion that cannot be undone.”

Gwen thought of her brothers and was suddenly violently ill. They were in danger, now more than ever. “
Sir Marcel is injured,” she said, remembering his mangled hand. “There is more to this story than you are telling me. There was not just an execution, was there?”

Lord Humber sank into his chair. “Aye, milady, you have the right of it. Asher Maignart was accompanied b
y a band of knights and men-at-arms, all who tried to defend him when my brother dragged him out into the street for a public beheading.”

Gwen’s blood ran cold in her veins. “
Asher
Maignart?” she gasped, her mind already spinning chaotically with thought. It was too much of a coincidence not to be true. “This band of Daleraians, did they escape Sir Marcel?”

He snorted. “Yes,
another knight of House Maignart challenged him to combat and nearly killed him in the fight. Only the gods know why he spared Marcel, though I suspect the injury done to his hand was meant to humiliate him more than anything. As well, the Daleraian sent him stumbling back to Heywick with a message.”