Chained (Chained Trilogy) (5 page)

“Such language for a lady,” Achart teased
, and handed the bloody rags off to another servant before sheathing his dagger once more. “Mother would be livid to hear you using such foul words.”

Gwen puckered her lips distastefully. “Mother is not here, thank the gods.” Lady Enid would have suffered an apoplexy had she witnessed her daughter’s daring back in the woods. Then, even the sight of her bare arms, now free of the kirtle’s sleeves, would have been enough to send her into a fit. As it was, Gwen would have to burn her surcoat
since it would likely never come clean of the bloodstains.

She sat between Jorin and Leofred, accepting a chalice of
red wine from a serving girl. She drank deeply, the strong wine both tart and sweet on her tongue. She closed her ears to talk of hunting, horses, and women as she picked at her meal. The quail was well seasoned, and the salad of wild greens and berries dressed with herbed olive oil refreshing. Still, Gwen could eat no more than a few bites as her mind wandered.

In a few days’ time, Prince Gaiwan Bainard would arrive at Seahaven for the ceremony that would seal their engagement. Though the Toustains were no longer considered royalty, Lord Clarion and Lady Enid never forgot to remind her that she was of noble blood. Her grandfather had been a king, and his father before him, and his father before that. What better way to secure a powerful ally than to wed their dau
ghter to the Prince of Lerrothe? The large island province was so far away—across the Elyri Sea—its land foreign and unknown to her.

She always knew th
e day would come when her father would choose a husband for her, and she would be forced to leave her home to become lady of another manor, the wife of a powerful lord. Still, she’d thought to be wed to a Dinasdalian, taking her no further from home than Vor’shy, but it was not to be. Within a year’s time she would be wed in a ceremony befitting a queen; after all, she would rule Lerrothe at Gaiwan’s side when he ascended to the throne in his father’s place.

It was a daunting prospect, even more so than becoming lady of her own castle
and fief. The closer the day loomed, the more anxious Gwen became. There was nothing to be done for it now. The ceremony was planned; all the great lords of Dinasdale and their families would descend upon Seahaven for the occasion. The agreement could not be undone, and would be sealed by a bedding ritual, which was a Lerrothian custom. Once her virgin’s blood was spilled upon the sheets, she would truly belong to Gaiwan. The wedding ceremony to follow was merely a spectacle for the benefit of the people and the holy temple, but as far as she, Gaiwan, and the gods were concerned, they would be wed in truth.

Gwen had always been high-spirited, a trait her father admired and her mother despised. For most of her life, she’d done
as she pleased with no one to stop her. Her mother might criticize, but as long as her father doted on her, there was nothing to be done about her nature. Now, she would be the property of her husband, who was agreeable, yet arrogant and superior. He would surely require obedience of her. As she pushed her food back and forth across her plate, Gwen wondered if the opulent life of a queen would be worth the loss of her freedom.

***

Seahaven was a massive limestone structure, its towers stretching toward the sky, with two layers of curtain walls fortifying it, the River Tyryn curving around it in a natural moat, and the Elyri Sea at its back. In Alemere, Seahaven was literally at the end of the world, the castle walls pressed up against the shore at the realm’s northernmost point. As the drawbridge was lowered for their hunting party, their horses pawed the ground restlessly. The banners of House Toustain fluttered in the breeze, and the humid, moist air coming from over the sea caused sweat to trickle down between Gwen’s shoulder blades. Once the drawbridge was down, they filed across it four abreast, through the two open portcullises of the gatehouse and the winding tunnel of the barbican before passing through the outer courtyard. Another curtain wall ringed the keep, housing an additional barbican filled with arrow loops and murder holes which loomed ominously above them. Gwen always shuddered to think of hot oil and arrows coming through those gaps in the stone, and the massacre they would cause should enemies ever decide to march upon Seahaven. There was no need to worry, her father always insisted. Alemere was at peace and had been since just before she was born.

As they came into the inner
bailey, the sights and smells of the castle assaulted her senses. The aroma of baking bread wafted from the bakehouse, mingling with the scent of the fresh hay in the cart passing them on its way to the stables. Steel clashed as knights trained their squires in the yard, and arrows raced toward straw targets. Milk maids trudged in the direction of the keep with fresh milk for the kitchens, and serving boys ran here and there about their tasks. The courtyard was crowded, more so than usual. It only               took Gwen a moment to realize why.

“It would seem your prince has arrived early,” Leofred murmured as he helped her down from her
grey palfrey. Gwen frowned at the sight of horses she did not recognize being led to the stables, and trunks being toted toward the entrance of the keep.

Gwen sighed. Prince Gaiwan had come, and she would be expected to dress and greet him, to entertain him at dinner, to cage her defiant nature until he was gone. “Hmm,” she mumbled
, “so it would seem.”

“You’d better
hurry to your chambers before Mother sees you,” Jorin whispered as they neared the keep.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Be
quiet, you.” Yet, she knew he was right. It would be best if she could avoid Lady Enid until she was bathed and properly dressed. In the main hall, fresh rushes were being laid on the stone floors, and wooden tables and benches erected. Maids rushed back and forth with candle sticks, loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, and flagons of wine. Casks of ale were being hauled from the storeroom; all around them, tapestries were beaten to free them of dust and dirt. The tapestries boasted the symbol of the Toustains, as well those of their vassals—ship and minstrel. Gwen noticed new tapestries that Lady Enid undoubtedly had created especially for this occasion: white with a roaring blue ocean wave etched upon it—the emblem of House Bainard. Blue fringe adorned the edges.

Gwen quickly ascended the northern staircase, ignoring the curious stares of servants as they surveyed her soiled clothing. She found her
lady’s maid, Lynet, waiting beside a large, steaming tub with linens draped over her arm.

“Welcome home
, m’lady,” she said, curtsying as Gwen swept into the room. Leaving the linens on a small table beside the tub, she rushed forward to accept Gwen’s bow and quiver. She quickly undressed Gwen, peeling away the layers of her surcoat, kirtle, and chainse, leaving Gwen nude in the balmy air streaming through the open, arched windows.

“Burn the surcoat and gown,” Gwen instructed Lynet, who quickly moved to do her bidding.

Before stepping into the tub, Gwen caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror nearby and paused, staring at her reflection. Wide, almond-shaped eyes stared back at her, and the long, thick braid of her hair hung over her shoulder, a few strands loosely framing her face. Her body was lean and lithe with muscle from archery and riding, her shoulders supple, her stomach smooth and flat. She was willowy, with just the barest hint of curve at her hips, and her breasts were no more than a handful. Gwen had always envied her mother’s buxom figure, but had been assured that childbearing would round her more in the years to come.

At the thought of carrying a future prince in her womb, Gwen trembled and tore her eyes away. The idea of marrying a future king was intimidating enough; giving birth to one would be even more daunting. With a sigh, she sank into the tub, her muscles relaxing as the hot water enveloped her. Lynet had turned
the tub to face the large, open doors of her balcony, offering her a stunning view of the sun setting over the Elyri Sea. The shutters of her windows were thrown open to the warmth of the evening, enveloping Gwen in the smells of sand and salt. Lynet returned from burning Gwen’s ruined clothing and knelt behind the tub. Gwen closed her eyes as Lynet’s deft fingers began unplaiting her thick braid.

“You must have had quite a hunt today
, m’lady,” Lynet said in her gentle voice. She soaked Gwen’s hair and began lathering it with a cake of lavender scented soap.

Gwen sighed. “I made four kills,” she said quietly. “Four men, chasing this poor woman through the woods. They meant to rape her.” Lynet gasped, her hands stilling in Gwen’s hair. “Do not tell Mother,” she added.

“Of course not, m’lady,” Lynet said quickly, resuming her duties. “What a brave woman you are.”

Gwen tilted her head back and
Lynet rinsed her hair. She left the wet mass trailing down Gwen’s back and reached for a sponge. Gently but firmly, she took one of Gwen’s hands and began scrubbing it, careful to clean beneath each fingernail. “Am I?” she whispered.

“Oh,
of course,” Lynet replied cheerily, scrubbing Gwen’s arm with the sponge. “Everyone always says so.”

Gwen turned and grasped Lynet’s hand, stilling the sponge. Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at the maid. “Then why can I not find the strength to tell my parents I do not wish to marry Prince Gaiwan?”

Lynet smiled compassionately, her sienna fingers curling around Gwen’s dark ones. Her sire was a Daleraian, as was reflected in her freckled cheeks and warm, cornflower blue eyes. “Oh, m’lady, sometimes it takes more bravery to remain silent than to speak. You’re only nervous about becoming a bride and having to leave your family. You’ll see, everything will be all right. Prince Gaiwan is gallant and handsome. I’m sure he’ll make a very fine husband.”

Yes, the prince is gallant and handsome,
Gwen thought,
but he is also arrogant and domineering, as all men of power are. How long before I am forced to submit to him?

Out loud,
she merely said, “They say this stretch of beach just beyond my window is the very edge of the world, but it is not, is it? Across the Elyri Sea, there is an entirely new world that I know nothing about. I am expected to marry its prince and become queen someday.”

Lynet continued scrubbing, moving up over Gwen’s shoulder and to her back. “Aye, it’ll be a very grand adventure, just you wait and see. Within a year you’ll be writing home to tell us about all
of the wonderful things you’ve seen and done.”

Gwen forced a smile. “You’re right, of course. I suppose my nerves are getting the best of me.” She took the sponge from Lynet. “I will finish here. Please lay out the purple silk surcoat and the silver
samite kirtle.”

Lynet stood and smiled. “Aye, m’lady, a fine choice. Perhaps the moonstone girdle
as well? Oh, and your amethyst coronet. You’ll make a lovely sight for your betrothed!”

Gwen shook her head as Lynet disappeared from the room, retreating to the adjoining wardrobe. Lynet was a
guileless girl who grew excited about the simplest things. While Gwen loved gowns and gems as much as any other lady, she found no reason to get excited over moonstones or amethysts when her chests were overflowing with them. As a naïve young girl, she’d dreamt of a man who would shower her with gems and silks. In his eyes was always the light of love and adoration. When she looked into the eyes of Gaiwan Bainard, she saw only lust and supremacy. She supposed there was nothing to be done but to try to win Gaiwan’s heart. Her mother had always told her that if a woman could capture a man’s heart, she could have anything from him that she wished. Perhaps, instead of trying to outwit Gaiwan, she should seek instead to win his heart. Things would only go better for her if she did.

She left the bath and allowed Lynet to dry and oil her until her skin g
leamed and she smelled of lavender. After dressing in the purple and silver ensemble, she clasped the silver girdle around her hips, the large moonstone dangling from an ornate silver chain. Lynet brushed Gwen’s hair, encasing the thick waves in a caul with silver silk bands, and topping it with the coronet—brilliant purple amethysts set in silver. One large stone rested against her forehead, dangling from the point that met between her eyebrows.

The moment the coronet was settled on
to her head, there was a knock upon the door.

It was Evrain, she discovered as Lynet ushered him in, come to escort he
r to the dining hall for dinner.

“You are a vision,” he said
, offering her his arm. “Your prince awaits you in the main hall. I hear he is most eager to lay eyes upon you.”

“Just one moment,” Gwen said suddenly, remembering the pin she’d taken from the wood. Going over to
the trunk at the foot of her bed—where Lynet had stored her bow, arrows, and quiver—Gwen crouched and opened it. Swiftly, she found the pouch attached to her belt and took the pin from it.

Evrain laughed. “You’re not like to encounter any bandits at dinner.”

Gwen quickly tucked the pin beneath her surcoat, fastening it to her kirtle and out of sight. She must find time during the feast to pull her great uncle, Lord Orrick, aside and discuss the matter with him. He had come from Freyvale, the neighboring castle and fief where he was lord, to visit with her father and attend the engagement ceremony. Lord Orrick was a wise man who had seen much war and bloodshed. He’d only been ten and six years of age when his father, King Jorin, went to war with Daleraia. He had witnessed the death of many friends and loved ones, as well as the mistakes of those who had ruled before him. If anyone could offer her prudent council, it would be Orrick.