Chained (Chained Trilogy) (25 page)

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“Put these on. If you are to dine in my great hall, you will dress appropriately.”

Caden eyed the
navy blue surcoat his captor extended to him dubiously. He raised an eyebrow at her as he accepted it, along with the black leather breeches and boots he’d been wearing when he was captured. The breeches had been washed and the boots polished until they gleamed. A black belt accompanied the ensemble. The clothes were plain but well made, and if putting them on gave him a short reprieve from his chains, then he would not argue with her. While he’d worn the same clothes since the day he was chained to Lady Gwen’s wall, her maid had supplied him with water enough to wash with just that morning, and he was as clean as he was like to get until he was freed. A change of clothes were more than welcomed at this juncture. “An invitation to dine at Lord Clarion’s table,” he murmured as she produced a key from the pocket of her kirtle and advanced upon him. “Whatever did I do to deserve such an honor?”

She pursed her lips as she knelt to free him. The task took quite a few minutes.
Finally, Caden flexed his fingers, breathing a sigh of relief as he freely moved his limbs for the first time in days. “Make no mistake, you are still my captive,” she said, glaring up at him pointedly. “But,” she added, “because you were telling the truth about the helm, I’ve decided you’ve earned a few hours of freedom from your shackles.”

Knowing he’d been rig
ht all along did not matter now, but it was still a relief to know there was evidence of Asher’s innocence. “Found that other helm, eh?” he murmured as he removed his borrowed tunic. The lady emitted a sharp gasp when he bared his torso, and Caden locked eyes with her, grinning. “Do you like what you see, wench?”

Her eyes—which had been skimming his bare chest and abdomen—shot back up to meet his. She snorted. “You are not the first man I have seen undressed. Now, hurry if you please, I do not want to be late for dinner.”

Caden smirked. “Ah, yes,” he teased as he removed his chausses, standing before her now in only his braies. “I’d quite forgotten about your Lerrothian prince. Tell me, wench, is he as impressive as they say. More impressive than, say, myself?”

It was undeniable now, the heat in her gaze as she studied him. “More impressive? No. Only different.”

“Different,” Caden grunted. “Aye, a man loves to hear that. ‘Different’, you say.”

Gwen giggled. “Feeling a bit sore? And here I thought only women wished to hear vain compliments on their beauty bandied about.”

Caden shrugged. “Only a bit jealous of you, wench,” he replied as he bent to don the clean chausses and the breeches over them. “Here, I’ve provided you with a feast for the eyes, and you have not reciprocated. I am beginning to feel insulted.”

She tried to give him a stern look, but Caden could see the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She was fighting it with all she had. “You grow too bold, Sir,” she chastised. “I would never allow you to look upon my person.”

Caden’s eyes met hers just before his head disappeared into the shirt she’d provided. “Pity,” he murmured.

He
realized just how true that was as his eyes traveled over the soft curves encased in rich, golden silk. Caden wanted the sight more than he’d thought. All that dark, gleaming skin bared to his view, its hills and valleys ripe with womanhood … yes, he wanted it. More than that, he wanted Gwen to want it, to undress for his pleasure and give herself to him. Why the notion should grip him so strongly, Caden did not know. He did not want to dwell on it.

You’ve been too long without Esa,
he told himself.

Pulling the belt around his waist, Caden fastened it, and strode forward, his arms outstretched. “Do I meet milady’s approval?” he asked with a mocking bow.

Gwen’s eyes swept over him in a cursory inspection and she inclined her head. “You will do, Sir,” she said, extending an arm toward the door. “Shall we?”

Caden watched her incredulously as he passed her and made his way toward the door. He wanted to believe that there was some underhanded scheme at work here, but Gwen gave no indication of dishonesty.
Her two guards waited for them just outside of the chamber, and flanked them as they descended the winding staircase.

Gwen descended first, an arm’s reach away from Caden as she stepped gracefully.
The heavy masses of her hair hung down her back in waves, her head topped by a chainmail chaplet, which was dotted in rubies to match the necklace circling her slender throat. One fistful of that hair, and she’d be his captive, their roles reversed.
I could take one of the guards’ spears,
he calculated,
kill them both and use her as my shield until I am free of Seahaven.

Yet, he merely followed her docilely down the winding stairs, his hands folded behind his back. Not once did his boots even touch the hem of her gown.
Surely I’ll be killed or beaten and recaptured before I could make my escape,
he told himself. The truth was that he had no desire to hurt Lady Gwen, no matter what it would gain him.

Has the wench affected you so much?
His inner voice was taunting, mocking. The great knight, Sir Caden, his bloodlust stolen from him by a woman. Not just any woman, no.

His enemy’s daughter.

The sounds of music and the enticing aromas of food greeted him as he alighted from the bottom step, stealing him from his thoughts. In the gallery, minstrels played, while below ale and wine flowed. Caden heard Gwen’s sharp gasp just before her steps faltered and she paused near the back of the hall. He stopped short to keep from bumping into her, his hand shooting out to steady her, his fingers wrapping gently around her arm.

“Milady?” He studied her profile, frowning at her stricken expression. He followed her gaze up to the high table, where a man dressed in rich, white
and gold samite was seated in the place of honor. His coloring and the blue enameled ocean wave brooch pinned at his shoulder meant only one thing—Lady Gwen’s betrothed had come for an unexpected visit.

Gwen squared her shoulders, her shock quickly covered by a mask o
f composed calm. Caden’s frown deepened. This was the first time since he’d met the lady that he had seen anything other than fire burning in those dark irises. The shuttered expression she wore changed her, and now she was not even the wench Caden was coming to know. She continued on, and Caden was forced to follow. He held his head high, ignoring the stares and murmurs. By now, word had likely spread that Sir Caden Maignart was a prisoner of Seahaven. They knew who he was, and were undoubtedly taking his measure, many of the knights probably wondering if he was as good a fighter as he was renowned to be.

A woman
, who was so similar to Gwen in looks she could only be Lady Enid Toustain, alighted from the dais, her wide eyes dancing with excitement. “Darling!” she exclaimed, loud enough for the entire hall to hear. “Isn’t it delightful? Your betrothed has returned!” She enfolded her daughter in an embrace, and Caden alone was close enough to hear her whispered words. “You dare to embarrass me by bringing that
man
into my great hall.”

“Sir Caden is our guest,
Mother, a ward of Seahaven.”

“A prisoner,” Lady Enid hissed, pulling away slightly and pretending to inspect Gwen’s attire. “You look so lovely,” she declared for their audience before taking Gwen’s arm. “He will not sit at the high table, Gwen, I forbid it
,” she whispered.

Gwen sighed. “I had not intended for him to,” she murmured, her voice low. “Sir Caden,” she added, turning to glance at him over her shoulder
, “there is a place for you, among the servants. Your guards will remain near you. You should be aware, as well, that you are surrounded by other knights, most of whom have come to the table armed.”

Caden smiled mockingly. “And me withou
t my dirk,” he quipped. “Alas, however will I cut my meat?”

Gwen ignored him, but her narrowed glare said it all. He was to behave himself, or she would banish him back to her room for the night. Caden obliged her, and took the seat she’d indicated, near the
back of the hall where the chamber servants dined. He was accustomed to the high table, and had never sat so far back in any hall. It was not so bad, he discovered when he found himself beside Gwen’s lady’s maid.

“Ah, the lovely Lynet,”
he said jovially as a kitchen wench approached their table, her arms buckling with a heavy soup tureen. The soup she ladled into his bowl was rich with flaky cod and chunks of carrot and onions.

“Shh,” she hissed, ignoring the soup as she craned her neck for a glimpse of the high table. Prince Gaiwan had come down to escort Gwen to her s
eat, his arms stretched wide as he smiled and spoke. Caden could not make out the words, but could see clearly when the prince took her into his arms and kissed her upon the mouth in full view of the hall. Caden’s fingers tightened around his spoon and his teeth clenched.

“Dinasdale is a queer place,” he muttered, stabbing at a chunk of cod with the edge of the spoon.
“Why doesn’t he just lay her upon the high table and mount her in front of everyone?”

Lynet frowned. “’Tis
the Lerrothian way,” she said between bites. “Gwen must allow his open affection or risk offending him.”

Caden tore his eyes away from the sight of the prince kissing Gwen’s hand, to inspect the others seated on the high table.
“What is he doing here? I thought he had returned home.”

“Word reached him concerning Lord Clarion’s sons. He has returned to lend Seahaven his aid and to comfort Gwen.”

Caden did not like the sound of that. The Bainards would likely lend aid in the form of warships and soldiers—enough to dock at both Brodernil Bay and Gythe Bay, and swarm over Daleraia from two sides. “Who is the woman seated beside Gwen? The one who looks as if she wishes she were dead.”

“That’s Lady Josaine,” Lynet whispered. “Sir Evrain’s wife. She grieves for her husband.”

Caden felt a prick of sympathy at the sight of the lady’s swollen eyes and pinched mouth, but then remembered Asher and hardened himself. His brother had never lived long enough to marry or bear a son. Why should he care for the woman who would be made a widow if Evrain did not return to Seahaven?

“And the rest?” he inquired.

“Lady Enid and Sir Brennus Toustain, you know,” she said, continuing past Lady Josaine and moving to their right, down the high table. “Beside Sir Brennus is Lord Humber Bauldry of Heywick.”

Caden’s mouth fell open, soup sloshing over the sides of his spoon
as his eyes alit on the large man at the end of the high table. How had he not seen it before? He was like his brother, Sir Marcel, in every way, save for the silver at his temples and the large paunch pressing against his black doublet. “Where is his brother, Sir Marcel?” he asked casually. He felt Lynet’s piercing gaze on him, and knew that she could sense his anger.

“Will you do anything foolish if I tell you?” she asked tentatively.

“I may if you don’t,” he countered.

“He is here,” she confessed. “He arrived with Sir Humber, but he has not been seen in this hall since he raised his voice in anger to Lady Gwen. The servants were all in a lather over it, and the gossip spread fast. He was cast out until Lady Gwen decides he is welcome to table again.”

“Yet another reason to bury a sword in his belly,” Caden grumbled under his breath.

“Sir?”

Caden shook his head. “Nothing. Tell me more. Who sits on Prince Gaiwan’s other side?” Caden feigned interest in his bread and butter to keep from watching as Gaiwan fed Gwen morsels of venison from the end of his dirk.

“That is Queen Rhiannon, Gaiwan’s mother,” Lynet answere
d as their own, less choice cut of venison was served. Caden allowed Lynet to cut his portion—as he had no dagger—and fill his trencher with venison, onions, and radishes. “Beside her is Princess Rosalie, his sister, Prince Darius, his brother, and Princess Sebille, Darius’ wife. They are not fond of Gwen.”

Caden studied the two women intently.
No
, he decided as he watched them,
they wouldn’t like Gwen
. She was a different sort of woman, and these ladies were royalty. They knew their place and never strayed from it, while Gwen not only abhorred her place, she ran away from it whenever possible. They would not like such a willful wife for Prince Gaiwan.

“What do you know of this union?” he asked
, accepting a full mug of ale from a passing kitchen wench. “Lady Gwen hardly seems amenable to it.”

Lynet’s shoulders sagged. “I should not be talking to you, m’lord,” she said softly. “She wouldn’t like it.”

“No, you should not,” he agreed, admiring her loyalty to her lady. “Still, I like to think I have more than proven myself to you, Lynet. I have not tried to escape or harm your lady, nor have I caused you offense.”

Lynet watched him uncertainly. “
That is true enough,” she agreed, “but you are still the enemy.”

“Aye,” he answered, “but not by choice. If there is a c
hance I could make things right with your help, would you feel guilty about speaking then?”