Chained (Chained Trilogy) (33 page)

Caden dared a glace toward the bed where Gwen lay sleeping. “It matters not how I feel, nor does it matter how she feels. We are both slaves to our duties and our families. Last night, I might have done something foolish, but I cannot pretend to regret it. Have I not always been a dutiful son? Have I not always done what
is asked of me?"

Victoria inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Aye, you have. It is only in choosing a bride that you have rebelled against us.”

“I still intend to find a wife,” he assured her. “My promise to you was not a lie.”

One coppery red eyebrow arched. “It would seem to me that you have already found her.”

Caden frowned. “Mother, you know as well as I do that she is betrothed to Gaiwan Bainard. He has even claimed her in the Lerrothian bedding ritual. Agreements have been made … she is not mine to marry.”

“Lerrothian bedding ceremony, hmph,” Victoria muttered. “A barbaric custom. To think that Lord Clarion would allow such a thing.”

“He wanted a union with Daleraia,” Caden confessed. “Between Gwen and I.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “It could still be, Caden. It would solve all
of our problems.”

Caden’s fist
pounded the small table between them, and he had to fight to keep his voice low. “She is not mine!” he hissed. “I will bind us to Dinasdale in another way. Jarin will marry the daughter of one of Seahaven’s vassals, and we can try to coax the Durvilles into offering one of their daughters to Achart Toustain. Perhaps another one to Leofred. We will do what must be done, but Gwen cannot be my wife.”

Victoria sighed. “What if she is with child?”

“She could already be carrying Prince Gaiwan’s child.” Caden did not realize how much the thought would sicken him until now. He frowned at the bitter taste it left in his mouth.

“What if she is with child, and the child is yours?”

“Then I will claim it. I doubt Prince Gaiwan would raise my bastard, and I would happily take him. We are speaking of things that are not certain. That is purely hypothetical. War is coming, Mother, and we have to stop it. That is our reality at the moment.”

And if your suspicions are true, and the Bainards are behind this whole thing?
he asked himself.
Can you honestly allow Gwen to marry into that family?

It wasn’t his business; her
father had already chosen for her. Caden ran a hand over his tired face and stood. “You should go, before she awakens. Will you ride to Minas Bothe with us?”

Victoria shook her head. “I will rem
ain until Sir Hadrian is buried and Lady Esme has no further need of me. Besides, I know you will want to ride swiftly, and would not dare to slow you down. This old body does not sit a horse like it used to.”

She stood as well and Caden kissed her cheek. “I love you, and I know you mean well, but you’d do well to put this notion of a marriage between Gwen and I from your mind. Our paths are set, and they do no merge—they have only intersected for a time, however brief it may be.

Victoria gave him a sad smile and turned to leave. “Pity,” she said. “I quite like the girl.”

Caden’s ey
es went back to the bed. “I like her too,” he whispered.

***

Caden and Gwen rode hard for three days to reach Minas Bothe, stopping only to eat and tend their horses before mounting up again. They slept very little and spoke even less; there was no time for such. The death of Sir Hadrian had filled them both with an urgency that could not be ignored. Things were unraveling fast and something had to be done.

Gwen had seen Quaos and Haleah
before—two of Daleraia’s thriving cities—but they could not compare to the harsh and beautiful wilderness stretching on beneath the Radaughorm Mountains. As they rode, they passed The Athils, the twin lakes where the final battle of the War of Four Kings had been fought. They passed the Adari Ruins, a crumbling castle that had once been a great keep—the first seat of the Maignarts, before Minas Bothe was built. Flat, green fields stretched on for miles, with wildflowers dotting the landscape with bursts of color. The trees were different here, shorter and sparser, with thick tangles of thorny bushes knotting about each other everywhere. Daleraia was a place of contradictions, harsh yet beautiful, with dry heat suppressing the valley, and cold, biting winds whistling atop the mountains.

The cities of Enthorm an
d Minas Bothe were both upon those mountains, tall, stone structures built on the summits. Stone stairways led from one summit to the other, and at the highest summit of two neighboring mountains, stood the great Maignart keeps. Enthorm was held by Sir Destrian, Lord Theodric’s brother. Minas Bothe was the seat of the high lord himself. They arrived at dawn on the third day.

“We leave our horses here,” Caden told her as they came to a stable nestl
ed at the foot of the mountain, “and continue on foot.”

They climbed the stairs for what seemed like hours, passing homes, shops, smith
ies, and cook houses. On the higher summits there were richer homes, where merchants, lordlings, and knights lived, then barracks where men-at-arms resided. All bore the standard of the Maignarts, the brown, white-capped mountain proud on burgundy banners and flags fluttering in the breeze. As they neared the keep, frost began to appear upon the face of the mountain, and then eventually, snow.

Gwen found herself grateful for the woolen garments lady Esme had lent her; the air grew cooler as they ascended, the winds howling and biting. Caden had removed a
black mantel from one of his saddlebags and pulled it around his body, covering his head and face against the whipping winds. Gwen’s veil shielded her from the wind, but the cold seemed to go as deep as her bones, despite the mantle lined in ermine she wore.

He belonged here, she realized as she watched him ascending the stone stairs, his face upturned to greet the wind as if it were an old friend. Caden was as hard and untamed as the wilds of Daleraia, as strong and implacable as the mountain his keep was built upon. How could she ever imagine he could belong at Seahaven w
ith her? This was his true home, and she had no place here anymore than he had one in Dinasdale.

Gwen was glad when they finally reached the top of the mountain, where the gates were thrown open to allow them entrance.
Servants, knights, men-at-arms, and the other residents of Minas Bothe watched them enter with wide eyes. Calls of, “Sir Caden!” and “Milord!” and “Welcome home!” filled the air, and a few of the soldiers even stepped forward to take his hand, shaking it vigorously.

“I knew those barbarians in the north could never keep you jailed,” one declared with a wide smile before peering at her curiously. Behind her black veil, and with her hands covered by gloves, Gwen was unrecognizable, for which she as grateful. In Sea
haven, Caden had been the enemy. Here, she was the intruder, and once it was known that she was here, she would know no peace. She moved nearer to Caden, staying close as they moved through the outer bailey, second curtain wall, and barbican before coming into the inner courtyard. Caden offered Gwen his arm and led her into the keep. Only once they were inside did Gwen remove her veil, breathing a sigh of relief to be shielded from the winds. The howling persisted, and Gwen wondered if it was always this way. She’d find it wretchedly hard to sleep in a place where the winds were constantly putting up such a racket.

“Milord!” A portly man in a long, swishing surcoat approached, his
smile wide. Like all Daleraians, his dark hair was cropped close to his head. He opened his arms in welcome and laughed. “It does these old eyes such good to look upon your face. When your father returned from the Isle of Camritte to find that you still had not returned, he was distraught. Knowing you are home will bring him endless joy.”

“So he is returned then?”

“Aye, and not a moment too soon, I’d say.” The large man eyed Gwen warily, and she did not miss the derision curling his upper lip. She held her head high and returned his stare. “You have returned with someone, milord. A prisoner or a guest?”

“A guest,” Caden said, placing a hand protectively at the small of her back. “This is Lynet, my guide out of Dinasdale. Lynet, this is
Lord Arthur Bourneville, Minas Bothe’s chief steward.”

Gwen curtsied. “I am pleased to meet you.”

Arthur continued staring at her as if she had sprouted a second head. Caden filled the silence. “Where is he now? I must see him immediately.”

“In his chambers, alone. Shall I send for him?”

Caden shook his head. “No, I will go to him. Thank you, Arthur.”

The steward bowed. “Welcome home, milord.”

Caden continued leading her past the great hall and to a winding stairway leading to a northern tower. “My father is a hard man, but a fair one,” he said to her as they ascended. “You need not fear him, not when I speak in your defense.”

Gwen nodded. “I will bear that in mind.”

At the top of the stairs was a long, winding corridor, dark save for flickering torches set upon the walls. Caden took her hand, and they continued on past large, heavy doors with bedchambers on the other side. When they came to the last one, at the end of the sharply winding hallway, Caden turned and knocked upon the door. It was answered by a boy—Lord Theodric’s squire, Gwen assumed. His mouth fell open at the sight of Caden standing there.

“S
–sir Caden!” he gasped. “You’re home!”

Caden smiled patiently at the lad. “Aye, Robert, I am home. I was told my father is within.”

The squire backed away to allow them entrance. “Aye, he is in his solar.”

“Good. Leave us,
I must speak with him alone.”

Robert nodded obediently, rushing to do Caden’s bidding,
casting Gwen a curious gaze over his shoulder before disappearing from sight. The shutters were closed to the wind, which seemed to howl the loudest here. This left the room dark and shadowed, with only lit candles to offer relief. A great hearth and glowing braziers scattered throughout the room offered more light and heat. Gwen removed her gloves now, her fingers thawing in the warmth of the room.

They found Lord Theodric seated at a table in his solar, a quill pen in hand,
his dark head bent low as he wrote.

“Father,” Caden called out, pausing just within the solar with Gwen at his back.

The man glanced up, and Gwen’s heart nearly broke at the grief she found there. He rose slowly, coming toward them with tears of joy shining in his deep, blue eyes. This man was Caden’s mirror image in every way, and seeing them together was quite jarring. Only the lines of age, and the sprinkle of grey at Theodric’s temples, set them apart. The two men embraced and Theodric eyed Gwen over Caden’s shoulder. When they pulled apart, Theodric stepped around his son and approached her.

“Do I have you to thank for returning my son to me, girl?”

Gwen told herself that she was not afraid. Yet, with the legendary Theodric Maignart standing before her, she found herself quite intimidated.

“Aye,” Caden answered for her. “Lady Gwendolyn was my savior from the dungeons of Seahaven. She has come to return me home.”

Theodric blinked in surprise, his eyes wide. “Lady Gwendolyn, of House Toustain?”

Gwen curtsied. “Aye, milord. I
am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Seemingly still speechless, Lord Thedoric reached for her hand and kissed the knuckles chastely. “Welcome to Minas Bothe, milady,” he sa
id. “There is much to discuss, is there not? I am sure by now you know what my fool son has done to your brother.”

Gwen felt the now familiar rush of grief that accompanied thoughts of Evrain. “Aye,” she said, fighting back tears. “We met with your lady wife in Ir’os and she apprised us of the situation.”

Theodric walked back toward his table, gesturing for them to join him. Caden sat to his right, and Gwen took the seat at his left. The lord folded his hands before him and stared at first Caden, then at Gwen. “I am sure you realize that war is now all but avoidable. While I have no wish to march against Seahaven, your brother has done quite a bit of warmongering while I was away.”

Caden grimaced at that. “He has rallied the Durvilles and the Goodwins, hasn’t he?”

Theodric nodded, his expression grim. “If Sir Gareth Goodwin and Lord Guyar Durville are returned to their families unharmed we may yet have hope of calming them, but I promise nothing. Your brother’s death has stirred quite a fury in them. Aye, and in me as well. Your capture at the hands of Lord Clarion’s daughter did not help matters.” He eyed Gwen knowingly. “What could you have been thinking, milady?”

Gwen’s eyes widened at the direct accusation, but told herself she must face it head-on. She had come here to treat with him, and it would seem that began now. “Milord, you must know that my lord father
is ill. When Daleraians sacked the city of Heywick, he sent my brothers away to speak with King Merek. We received word that they were set upon by Daleraians and all but my youngest brother, Jorin had vanished.”

Theodric’s jaw hardened. “Milady, I can assure you, these men did not march under my command.”

“No,” Gwen agreed. “Yet, I could not have known that at the time. I could think only of protecting my people and finding my brothers. I ordered all Daleraians who crossed onto our lands imprisoned and brought to me for questioning. Sir Caden was my captive before I ever knew his identity. Once it became clear that Sir Asher’s part in the sack of Heywick had been falsely represented, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. I am here to rectify that now, milord. I am castellan of Seahaven, and in the absence of my brothers and lord father, I speak with the voice of High Lord Clarion. I would hope that we could come to terms that will satisfy both our families and vassals.”