Chained (Chained Trilogy) (6 page)

“I needed my good luck charm,” she lied, as she straightened and turned back to Evrain. He nodded, believing her. The Dinasdalians were religious
, superstitious people, and many believed in charms and such. While Gwen’s faith in the gods was strong, and she went to Seahaven’s chapel to pray every morning, she did not put much trust in charms. The power of her gods could not be reduced to something small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. “I am ready,” she declared, taking Evrain’s arm once more.

“Very well,” he said as he led her from the room. “Just think, in a few more days you will be betrothed to a prince. Our royal line will continue, made stronger by that of the Bainards. It is a glorious match,
Gwendolyn.”

“Yes,” she agreed mechanically and without thought. The time had come for her to slip into her role of dutiful daughter and simpering lady. “Absolutely splendid.”

Chapter Two

Quaos
, Daleraia

Sir Caden Maignart reveled in the feel of cool water sluicing over his hot skin. Unlike the other knights, he did not relish eating while covered in his own stink. After a long day of archery, jousting, and swordplay, he was glad to be clean and free of his armor. Standing on a stool, his squire, Urien, accepted buckets full of well water from a page. At Caden’s command, Urien emptied the bucket over his head, before reaching for another one. They repeated the ritual until Caden had scrubbed himself clean with a cake of soap, rinsing and repeating three times.

“Urien, enough,” he said, running his hands through the sopping
, black hair clinging to his forehead and neck. “Fetch a drying linen.”

Silence greeted him, and when Caden turned to chastise Urien
for his sloth, he found a fourth person within the enclosure. Around them, poles staked to the ground held animal skins between them, shielding him from the eyes of passersby. While Caden wasn’t shy about his own nudity, he knew that many ladies were passing through the camp on their way to the feast. One such lady had found her way into his bath, but he couldn’t say he was displeased by her boldness. The woman holding the linen out to him had come into the enclosure and stood smirking smugly at him. Still naked and dripping wet, Caden strode toward her, his eyes sweeping her tempting curves with interest.

“Leave us,” he commanded. The boys jumped to do his bidding, leaving him blessedly alone with the statuesque lady who had invaded his privacy.
Once alone with her, Caden accepted the linen from her and began to dry himself, never tearing his glittering blue eyes away from her.

Hair like fire come to life fell to the small of her back in a tumble of curls.
Cat-like, green eyes burned into his with undisguised lust and need. No delicate maiden was Lady Esa Beaumarchais. Even dressed in a man’s doublet and breeches, she cut an impressive figure—all bountiful curves and lithe muscle. Her face was strong and handsome, her lips curved, nose aquiline, her chin strong and proud.

The tradition of knighted females was an old one in D
aleraia. While Esa was not highborn, the title of ‘lady’ had come with her knighthood, elevating her into high social circles. Fierce and strong as she was beautiful, Esa had captured his interest the moment he’d laid eyes upon her.

“You fought well today in the melee,” she said, her voice deep and throaty. Her eyes raked his body without shyness, yet one of the many things he liked about Esa.
She knew what she wanted, and was never afraid to pursue it.

Caden ran the linen over his face and the one week’s worth of beard scrubbing his jaws. “As did you,” he replied. “
There are few men in Daleraia who can wield a halberd as well as you.” She’d rode beside him in the melee, a mock battle waged between the Maignarts and the Durvilles, the main event of the tourney. They’d delivered a crushing defeat to the Durvilles, thereby earning them the winner’s purse. Thirty thousand silvers split between himself, the knights who rode with him, and their men-at-arms and squires. Of course, as their commander he took the larger share. “You should not have come here. Your absence will be noted and people will talk.”

Esa shrugged as she unfastened the iron buckle at her waist, dropping her belt—
as well as dirk and sword—to the ground. “Have I ever cared what anyone thinks of me?” she challenged, eyebrows raised as her fingers came to the laces of her doublet. “If any man speaks ill of me, I’ll slit his throat and drink my wine from his skull.” She paused, giving him a coy glance as she paused, her doublet half-unlaced. “Should I leave?”

Blood rushed to Caden’s groin, swift and hot, and he tossed the linen aside. “Just because you shouldn’t be here, doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be.”

Esa smiled as she shrugged out of the doublet, revealing the thin shirt beneath it. Through the worn fabric, he could clearly see the outline of her nipples and the curve of her waist. Caden reached for her, his large hands gripping her waist as he took her mouth with his. He pulled her against his body, insistently pressing his arousal against her mound. He ground his hips against hers, making his desires clear. His hunger grew and swelled as her lush curves tempted him with promise. Jerking at the laces of her breeches, he quickly pulled them down over her hips, baring her shapely legs. He turned her swiftly, filling his hands with her hips and driving into her in one forceful trust.

Her moans were low and throaty, further heightening his lust as he pounded against her. She met him thrust for thrust, swaying into him with equal force, as insatiable and lusty as he. Caden rode her like an untamed mare, one hand fisting in her hair as he pulled her into him and bit down on her shoulder in his passion. Esa’s lusty cries increased, rising in pitch as the honeyed walls of her core began to spasm around him, signaling her completion. He clapped a hand
over her mouth as her cries became high-pitched shrieks, stifling the sounds from reaching those gathered just beyond the tents. She shuddered against him and went limp, clutching one of the wooden poles tightly for balance as he finished, slamming into her thrice more before shuddering in his own release, gritting his teeth to bite back the hoarse cry burning in his throat. Tensions left him the moment his seed had spilled, his clenched jaw slackening. His chest heaved with the effort to calm his breathing and he pulled away from Esa, reaching for his linen once more. Wrapping it around his waist, he left the enclosure and crossed the small space between it and his tent.

He found it blessedly empty. Urien had likely gone off to the feast already and his page would be there as well, filling wine goblets. Quickly, Caden crossed to a basin of water and cleaned himself before finding the clothing Urien had laid out for
him. Esa entered the tent behind him, dressed once more, her cheeks a bit flushed. Caden grinned at her unabashed perusal as he slid into a pair of clean braies.

“Hungry for more
?” he asked when her eyes slid over his well-muscled frame. Esa scowled and turned away, pretending to inspect his now splintered shield. The enamel-plated mountain crest had been completely shattered, the wood itself turned to kindling from the swing of a morningstar during the melee. The weapons they’d used were blunted, but could still cause much damage. His shoulder still ached from the impact, though he had dented Guyar Durville’s halfhelm with his gauntleted fist in return for the splintered shield.

“You flatter yourself, Caden,” she said coolly.

Caden chuckled, shaking his head at Esa’s feigned aloofness. They both knew what Esa wanted from him, though he had yet to give it to her. It wasn’t that he did not want to marry. On the contrary, Caden looked forward to the day he would rule Minas Bothe—and all of Daleraia—in his father’s stead, take a lady to wife, and began bearing sons. It was true that of all the ladies in his acquaintance, Esa was the one he most desired, and they’d been lovers for nigh on three years. Caden could not be certain where his reticence came from. He was a knighted warrior and the son of a high lord; he’d sowed more oats than a farmer and was fortunate not to have a string of bastards from Minas Bothe to Seahaven by now. He’d fought in battles, he’d killed men, he’d made love to many women, and he’d done his share of drinking and gambling. There was nothing left to do now but marry, and marry he would.

As he slid into his
breeches, doublet, and surcoat, Caden watched Esa thoughtfully. She was beautiful and strong. He needn’t worry about frightening a blushing maiden on his wedding night if he married her, or the prospect of wedding a child bride ten or twenty years his junior. Though, there was the issue of their childless affair. In the time they had been together, Esa’s womb had never quickened with child. Perhaps if she’d come to him with a bastard in her belly, he would have been forced to make an honest woman of her. Yet, there had never been a child, and so Caden remained unwed. He could have easily chosen one of the daughters or nieces of his father’s vassals to wed, but he was in no hurry. It wasn’t as if they were going anywhere.

Caden swiftly tightened his belt at the waist
before sheathing a silver-handled dirk with a ruby pommel at his side. “Come, milady,” he said, giving her his arm. “Allow me to escort you to the feast.”

Esa smiled at him hopefully, as if she’d discerned the direction of his t
houghts. “That would be fine, m’lord.”

Something had to be done about Esa
—and soon—but for now Caden was content to feast with her, ride with her, walk and talk with her, and bed her. She was good company, and he considered her a friend; he was not ready to lose that just yet.

They strolled between rows of tents toward the banquet tables, colorful
pavilions on either side as far as the eye could see. Lord Durville’s annual tourney was one of the largest held each year in Daleraia, second only to Lord Theodric’s annual birthday tourney. Several men would be knighted for their valor and skill today, a handful of women as well. But first, feasting and drinking.

The banquet tables were assembled as they would be in any
great hall, in two columns facing the high table. A makeshift dais had been erected, where the lords and ladies dined in their places of honor. An empty chair at his father’s right hand was reserved for Caden. He escorted Esa to her place among the other knights and kissed her hand, his lips lingering.

“Until tonight, milady,” he murmured, giving her a sly wink before sauntering toward the high table. Several knights called out to him as he passed.

“Well done today, milord!”

“You fought well, Sir Caden!”

“Well met, Sir!”

Caden acknowledged them all, taking his time reaching the table. He’d missed the first course, but
was just in time for the second. A page filled his goblet as he sat and Caden drank deeply, the distinct sweetness of white wine distilled in Vor’shy dancing upon his tongue.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight?” teased his younger brother, A
sher, from his right side. He was still wearing his mud and bloodstained gambeson, though he had left his armor in his tent. The skin of his knuckles was scraped raw, and his left cheekbone was swollen and bruised. He’d obviously taken a few hits in the melee.

Caden scowled at Asher
, who was a slightly slimmer, clean-shaven mirror image of himself: dark hair cropped close in the style of a Daleraian, clear blue eyes the color of the morning sky, and strong, proud features with a chiseled jaw. “You are the son of a high lord, one would think you’d know to dress for dinner.”

Asher tilted his head back and drained his wine goblet in one swallow before holding his cup out toward a passing page. “I love the taste of roasted meat on my lips and the grime of warfare upon my skin.
’Tis the way of a man.”

“’Tis the way of a man to have the taste of a tit on his lips and the feel of a warm honeypot around his cock,” jested Jarin, the youngest of the three sons of Lord Theodric Maignart. He leaned forward to be seen from Asher’s opposite side, his grin wide and wicked. “That, dear brother, is the way of a man, though I’d be surprised if you knew the feel of a woman smelling like a stable.”

Unlike Asher, Jarin had at least washed his face and hands, changing into a clean surcoat before coming to table. Where Caden and Asher took after their father, Jarin’s looks had come from their mother, Lady Victoria. His titian hair was in wild curls around his face, and his eyes were like warm amber framed by tawny lashes. Caden chuckled as he drew his dagger and sliced into capon stewed with raisins, dates, and onions. He tasted it, frowned, drew a pinch of salt from the cellar between he and Asher, and sprinkled it over the capon. Tasting again, he nodded in satisfaction and continued eating. Before them on the table were bowls of bread beside large hunks of butter carved to resemble the great castles of Daleraia: Minas Bothe, Enthorm, Quaos Keep, Haleah Hall. The trencher his capon was served upon was imprinted with the mountain of Maignart, he saw as he scraped the last of the meat and onions from its surface.

His
father’s large hand came to rest upon his shoulder. “My son!” he boomed proudly, gesturing toward Caden with the goblet in his opposite hand. “Lord Cedric, have you ever seen a finer specimen of manhood? Look at the boy … handsome, regal, strong! A commander, a born leader. A man couldn’t be prouder to call a boy his son.”

Lord Theodric was in his cups, and when he was he loved to extol the many great qualities of his sons, chiefly Caden. It was no secret that his eldest son was close to his heart, while Lady Victoria doted on Asher and Jarin.