Chained (Chained Trilogy) (31 page)

“You are right, of course,” he said. “Would you see to her, Mother? I must speak with Sir Frendrel.”

Victoria nodded and took Gwen’s arm, gently prying her away from Caden. She stared back at him mournfully, and Caden instantly felt a sort of kinship to her then, as if he’d known her his entire life. To know that they shared a common grief, that her pain was the same as his, united them in a way that could not be denied.

He could not care for this woman, he simply could not. She was the enemy—she’d seen to that herself with her damned chain. Jarin had seen to that by beheading her brother. Sir Marcel saw to that by beheading Asher.
Her father had seen to that by agreeing to marry Gwen to Gaiwan instead of him. It was foolish to want her, but desire could be buried and avoided. To actually care for her was a madness that would doom him.

“Come
, dear,” his mother crooned gently, leading Gwen away. “I know there is not much I can do, but I find the world is always a bit brighter after a nice hot bath, and a cup of wine. I’ll have a chamber prepared for you.”

Caden turned and faced the fire, one hand braced upon the stone wall as they left him alone. His eyes watched the dancing flames as his mind raced with all that he knew. Someone had begun this
—wanting war between the two houses—he was certain of that now. But who? Who would seek to end a peace so hard won? His forebears had bled for this peace, as had Gwen’s.

Methodically, Caden examined the evidence. Daleraian
s had raided in Dinasdale, sacking Heywick, as well as plundering its forests and farms, stirring unrest. Someone wearing Asher’s fox helm had been at their forefront, undoubtedly in an attempt to place the blame upon him. Whoever was behind this, wanted it to appear as if the Maignarts had broken the peace. It would make sense then, for Lord Clarion or one of his vassals to have been the one. His father had always said the Toustains were a lofty bunch, never ceasing to remind others that they were of royal blood. Perhaps this marriage to the Bainards was a grab at power. United with them, Lord Clarion and King Henry Bainard could crush Daleraia, and all with the approval of the Isle of Camritte, due to the breaking of the treaty King Merek had worked so hard to forge. Perhaps Camritte itself was an eventual goal. Even they could not stand up to the combined power of those two houses.

No,
he thought,
it does not make sense for Lord Clarion to have done this.

Someone had delivered the Toustain sons to Minas Bothe as a
gift
. No matter Lord Clarion’s ambitions, Caden could not believe the man would sacrifice his sons—particularly Evrain, his heir. Whoever had left them at the gates, must have known retaliation would be at hand for Asher’s death. He was not so sure his father would have stayed his hand either, and Evrain still might have been killed.

If not Lord Clarion, then who?

Caden wondered if the Bainards were simply using the Toustains as their puppets. Perhaps their thirst for conquest had set their eyes upon Alemere. United, Dinasdale, Daleraia, and the Isle of Camritte were a force too powerful to destroy. Torn asunder, however … yes, Caden could see it now. If Prince Gaiwan married Lady Gwen, he could use Dinasdale against Daleraia. Ah, but he could not just ask Lord Clarion to join him against half the kingdom of Alemere. No, there must be a cause for war, and that cause would be the breaking of the peace—which by all accounts appeared to have been instigated by Daleraia.

If what he suspected was true, then he now needed to convince his father—as well as his father’s vassals—that it was true. He had to talk them out of storming Dinasdale, a feat that may prove impossible.
Even then, Dinasdale might still march, enraged over the death of their high lord’s heir. With a sigh, he came away from the hearth, turning to find Sir Frendrel entering the room.

“Sir Caden,” he said, gesturing toward a small, round table laden with the food and wine that he and Gwen hadn’t even touched. “Will yo
u sup?”

Caden shook his head. He found he had no appetite now. “No,
thank you, but I will take wine with you.”

Frendrel nodded, pouring for them both before settling across from him at the table. “Your lady mother is a saint,” Frendrel observed.
“Five days after Father’s death, she arrived at our gates, come to offer solace to my family.”

Caden forced a smile. “Yes, she is a true lady. Tell me, Frendrel, how did it happen? Your father was in good health, I know, and not prone to illness. I confess to being surprised to hear of his death.”

Frendrel’s voice was low as he leaned toward Caden across the table. “Now that we are alone, I may speak of this. My Father did not die of natural causes. He was murdered.”

“Murdered?”

Frendrel nodded. “Aye. He had only just returned from Camritte that day. We supped in the hall, but he could not enjoy it. His mind was too heavy, and he’d confessed to me that matters on the isle had left him sorely vexed. He had plans to ride for Minas Bothe the following morning to speak with Lord Theodric. He left the hall early that night to go to his bed. A servant found him the next morning, lying on the floor, bleeding like a stuck pig. He’d been stabbed in the back. His squire was murdered as well, the poor lad. Renouf was only in his thirteenth year. The assassin escaped without nary a trace, and while we combed all of Ir’os for him … He might have left by sea in the dead of night, for all we know, but I doubt we will ever find the truth.”

Caden scowled as he sipped slowly from his chalice. “You say he was riding for Minas Bothe and that he was vexed. Do you happen to know why?”

Frendrel shrugged. “He did not tell me all of it; only that King Merek was dead and Prince Rowan had ascended to the throne. He said the day of Rowan’s coronation was like to be the darkest day in the history of Alemere.”

Everyone knew that Prince Rowan was not even half the man King Merek had been, but the laws concerning succession were clear. He was the firstborn son, and therefore entitled to the throne. “Who would want to murder Sir Hadrian?” he mused aloud.

The same person who would seek to stir war between the realms,
he thought.

As Caden drained the dregs at the bottom of his chalice, he realized that he’d barely scratched the surface of this foul plot. There was far more at play here than even he knew.

But what?

***

Ir’os was like Seahaven, in that it was near enough to the sea that Gwen could hear and smell it all around her. It brought her a small measure of comfort, though it was not enough to cause her to forget that she was far from home, surrounded by danger, and that she’d failed to protect the people she loved. She’d wept for hours after hearing the news. Her tears had been for her father, who would soon hear the news that his heir was dead. For Lady Josaine, who did not even have the comfort of Evrain’s seed to give her solace. For Achart, who likely never thought he would someday become heir to Seahaven. For her lady mother, who had lost her firstborn child.

She sat now, in a spacious tower room overlooking the Elyri Sea, a small chair pulled close to an open window so
that she could watch the sun set. Lady Victoria had finally left her alone after overseeing the drawing of her bath and procurement of clothing. Lady Esme had lent her a simple linen kirtle and wool overgown trimmed in ermine—all in black. There were stockings, slippers, and even a black veil, which Gwen would wear over her hair. For now, she wore a simple bedrobe and a chainse beneath it, her hair a loose, damp mass down her back. She observed the picturesque shore of Ir’os as she drank of the wine Lady Victoria had sent for. There was also a light dinner, but Gwen could not bring herself to eat it.

A knock sounded at the door and Gwen hoped that it was not Lady Victoria. While the woman was lovely and perfectly sweet, Gwen could not abide her just now. When she looked into her eyes, all she could see was the mother of the man who had killed her brother. While she wanted to like the woman, the reminder only made her angry. She was afraid she’d say something rude and
further deepen the rift between their families. Gwen did not even want to think about how much more difficult it would be to travel to Minas Bothe, where she would likely come face to face with Sir Jarin.

Gwen stood
and set her cup aside. “Come in,” she called out, bracing herself for more of Lady Victoria’s pity and fussing.

Caden appeared in the doorway, swiftly closing it behind him as he entered the room.
He had bathed and changed his clothing as well, Gwen noted. He also wore black—a leather jerkin left open to reveal the tunic underneath, a pair of black breeches, and his boots. His beard was freshly trimmed, accentuating the strength of his jaw.

He approached her slowly, as if she were a skittish doe. “My room is just down the corridor,” he said. “I should be there, but
instead I am here.”

Gwen sighed. “Yes, you should be there.
Regardless, I am glad you are here. Would you care for wine?”

He laughed drily as he c
ame further into the room. “I have had more than enough, I think, but I will sit with you.”

Gwen nodded and gestured toward the empty chair across from hers. Caden sat, and Gwen resumed her place by the window. “Why have you come?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the horizon and the blood red sun slowly disappearing on the horizon.

“Our families might be on the brink of war, but I would never wish the death of a brother on anyone, not even my worst enemy.”

She turned to find Caden’s piercing stare boring into her. In his eyes was mirrored the same grief she felt.
She noticed the glimmer of tears, but Caden was a stronger person than she—he would not let them fall. “I am your enemy, aren’t I?” she mused. “You should hate me for what Sir Marcel did to Asher, and I should abhor you for what your brother did to mine.”

“If we were all defined by the actions of our families, then there would never have been peace in Alemere. It was my father—not King Terrowin—who met with your grandfather and King Merek to negotiate for peace. My grandfather was so entrenched in fighting his father’s war, that he could not see reason. My father went
against King Terrowin’s wishes so that my life, and the lives of my sons and their sons, could be better.”

“Aye, you are right,” she said. “Your father is a true example—we are not held to their follies. It is why I cannot hold your brother’s actions against you. This is as much my fault. If I’d let you go …”
She paused as a lump rose in her throat, swiftly and painfully. She lowered her head as the tears began again, but quickly blinked them back and straightened, facing him once again. “Perhaps the outcome would have been different.”

Caden stood and reached for her hand, tugging her to her feet. “Listen to me, wench,” he said with a smirk. “Your actions likely saved me. I was as angry as my brother and set on vengeance. I might have rushed headlong into battle with Heywick, or even Seahaven, and I would be dead as well.
By chaining me to that wall, you forced me to sit and think, to gain perspective.”

Gwen smiled. “It was for your own good, then. For what it’s worth, I am glad you did not
run off to your death. I believe House Maignart will need you in the times to come.”

Caden lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles gently. “Thank you, wench. I will leave you now to your rest.”

He released her hand and turned to leave, and Gwen felt lonelier than she ever had. “Wait!” she called out, following him.

Caden turned. “Yes?”

Gwen paused, her fingers nervously worrying the knotted belt of her bedrobe. “I … I feel alone here,” she confessed. “You are the only person within this keep who knows me, knows my grief and understands it. Please, I …” She trailed off, her eyes lowering to the hem of her robe. “I do not want to be alone.”

He inched toward her, closing the distance between them, his hand coming out toward her face. His fingers found the line of her jaw, stroking slowly before cupping her face. “How could any man resist
such a plea? I would stay with you, Gwen, aye. I would stay and never leave, but you know I cannot.”

She forced her gaze to meet his. “Of cour
se I know you cannot stay … not forever. I do not ask that of you. I only ask for this one night, for the comfort of your arms, for you to allow me to comfort you in return. I hold no delusions beyond that. I belong to Gaiwan, and you belong to Daleraia—your duty binds you, I know this. Tomorrow, we may be enemies again, but tonight … tonight we can be something else.”

Caden
’s jaw tightened, his eyes glittering with a feral light as he lowered his head toward hers. “You do not know what you are asking of me,” he murmured, his lips hovering over hers. “But how could I say no, when the thought has been with me since the first time I laid eyes upon you?” He reached for her, grasping her waist and pulling her against him tightly. He stifled Gwen’s gasp with a thorough kiss. “Aye, wench,” he rasped once he’d pulled away, “we shall have this one night.”

All
of the tension left Gwen’s body at his declaration and relief swept over her. For a night, at least, he could cause her to forget all that had happened. Morning would be soon enough to face those things. Another kiss silenced her thoughts, and Gwen surrendered, lifting her arms around his neck and holding on for dear life. Caden’s embrace was tight, and Gwen felt safe in the circle of his arms. She knew he would treat her better than Gaiwan had. His kiss was a promise, his touch a prelude of what would follow.