Chained (Chained Trilogy) (7 page)

“Aye, milord!” answered Lord Cedric Durville from the right side of Lady Victoria, who sat between he and Lord Theodric. Cedric Durville was the lord of Quaos and one of the wealthiest lords in all of Daleraia. While Caden often found their taste gaudy and bordering on the excessive, the Durvilles were a loyal house; some of his closest friends were Durvilles. “A fine young man. We will be honored to call him our lord someday.” He raised his goblet and stood, his voice booming out over the gathered knights, lords, ladies, squires, and servants. “To Sir Caden, the champion of the tourney, and future High Lord of Daleraia and Warden of the South!”

“To Sir Caden!”
echoed those attending.

“To my son!” he boomed. “The firstborn child of my house, born of my seed and my love for his lady mother. Knighted at the age of sixteen for his valor.” He turned to Caden with a wide smile. “May your rule be long, prosperous, and fruitful!”

Caden was presented with the winner’s purse, and the third course was brought forth as more toasts were made, to the other lords and lordlings present, to their sons, and the other champions of the day. Caden indulged in the toasts between bites of food, the gnawing ache of hunger slowly abating as he ate his fill of lamb, beef, and quail stuffed with fragrant rice. When the dessert course was brought forth, conversation resumed and wine flowed. A traveling minstrel who’d accompanied them from Minas Bothe strummed his lute and sang in a high, clear and pleasing voice.

“Have you heard?” his father asked as he selected an apple tart from the wide array of selections before them.

Caden nibbled on an almond and grunted. “About what?”

“Prince Gaiwan of Lerrothe has docked in Dinasdale. Word has reached me of an engagement between he and the High Lord’s daughter.”

Caden shrugged as he crunched another almond. “What concern is that of ours? The Toustains still consider themselves royalty. I find it fitting that they would wed their daughter to the Bainards.”

Theodric chuckled. “The Toustains are
a lofty lot, I’ll give you that, but never forget where you’ve come from, my boy. The blood of kings runs through your veins. Great kings. Men whose backs our very realm was built upon.”

It was never far from his mind. That knowledge had guided his life’s decisions from the time he’d been old enough to understand. He’d worked at his studies harder than both
of his brothers; spent more time mastering sword, dagger, mace, and lance, than any other squire. Leadership was expected of him, so Caden was always the first into the fray and the last man to retreat. “What do you suppose it means?” he asked, turning the conversation back to Lady Gwendolyn of Seahaven. “You would not have mentioned it if you did not think it bore closer inspection.”

Theodric stroked his beard, now
speckled with white as age made itself apparent. His weathered face was lined and leathery, but his eyes were still bright and clear, his body still thick with brawn. A warrior in his youth, his sire was still formidable in his old age. “It could be nothing,” he mused. “Merely the grasping machinations of an ambitious family, or simply a wish to see their only daughter married well. However, it could be much and more; that prospect worries me. With the power of Lerrothe at their backs, the Toustains could—”

“What?” Caden challenged. “Wage war against the crown? Commit treason? Subject their people to an unnecessary string of battles that can only end in death and destruction? Come, Father, you cannot believe that Lord Clarion is so foolish.” It would seem his father was becoming paranoid. “Alemere is one realm joined of three. Dinasdale and Daleraia have been at peace for decades, with no sign of a rift in that peace. Why would the Toustains seek to destroy what you,
King Percyvelle, and King Merek worked so hard to build?”

Theodric shook his head. “You could be right,” he decided, helping himself to a cluster of grapes. “Mayhap, these are only the ramblings of an old man, whose mind grows feeble with age.”

Caden chuckled. “There is nothing feeble about you, Father. If you wish, I will journey to the cities of Dinasdale and glean what information I can. Would that put your mind at ease?”

“You are a good son,” Theodric remarked. “When I am gone, you will make a fine lord. Do as you please, I will not ask such a thing of you. A journey to the Isle of Camr
itte may soon be in order for your lady mother and I. Sir Bors Goodwin returns from his time there, and has informed me that His Grace’s health is failing. We may soon bury a king.”

Caden detected a note of sadness in his father’s voice. He knew that Lord Theodric had cultivated a deep and abiding friendship with the man
who had forged peace between three realms. Merek Arundel II had ruled Alemere justly and well, and his death would be a terrible blow to the realm. That his son, Prince Rowan, was a spoiled, narcissistic ingrate no more fit to rule a dung heap than an entire kingdom, was also cause for sadness. The future of the kingdom rested in the hands of the worst possible successor, and everyone knew it.

“I will do this thing for you,” Caden said, allowing a page to fill his goblet with a warm, mulled wine. “If for no other reason than to put your mind at ease. There is no need for you to worry over this union between the Toustains and the Bainards, as well as the death of your friend. I will depart for Dinasdale at first light.”

***

As he left the now dwindling feast for his tent, Caden happened upon his lady mother. She was bidding Lady Anne Durville good evening
when Caden found her near the opening of Lord Durville’s massive tent.

“Caden,” she said affectionately, taking his arm. “Your father has begun his war stories. As I have heard them all dozens of times, I thought it best to seek my bed for the night. Will you escort me?”

“Of course. How drunk is he?”

Lady Victoria laughed. “So drunk, that the boar he slew on his last hunt is now the size of a destrier.”

Caden shook his head in disbelief. His father’s tales grew taller and taller the more he imbibed. “I think he’s told so many false tales, even he believes them now.”

The two fell into companionable silence as he led her toward the tent she shared with his father. Lady Victoria had been a great beauty in her youth, and though time had lined her face with age, her body was still lithe and her hair
remained a stunning shade of coppery red. The daughter of a knight and a highborn lady of Quaos, Victoria had captured Theodric’s heart. She was the reason, Caden’s father often told him, that he’d been more than willing to make peace with Dinasdale in his father’s stead. He wanted love, passion, and a long life with his lady, not death, destruction, and war.

That sort of devotion was unknown
to Caden. As much affection as he felt for Esa, he could not say he loved her in the way his father loved his mother. Even in their old age, Theodric could still put a blush on Victoria’s cheeks with a whisper, or cause her to laugh with a well-timed jest. Perhaps, he realized as they walked, this was why he’d avoided marriage for so long. The restlessness he felt was a need for something more, a desire for love.

“I saw that woman slip away from the banquet table,” Victoria remarked as they reached the Maignart’s encampment. His tent was beside his father and mother’s. “I know she is waiting for you.”

Caden stifled a groan at the inevitable disagreement to come. His mother detested Lady Esa; she thought the woman crass and brazen, not at all fit for her firstborn son. “Mother, please, not now, not again.”

“If not now, then wh
en? When will you put your mistress aside and take a wife?”

Caden paused near the opening of her tent, the light from the candles inside casting a yellow glow upon them. Worry deepened the lines around his mother’s mouth. He knew that she only spoke out of love
for him. Softening toward her, he took her hand. “Mother, I will marry … someday. I will fill Minas Bothe with sons and daughters, this I promise you.”

“Someday.” Victoria’s mouth pinched and she sighed. “You will marry Lady Esa, will you not? The two of you have been carrying on for years now. You’ve hardly laid eyes on another woman, despite the selection of more than suitable ladies from among our vassals’ daughters.”

“Mother, Esa is a lady, and an honorable knight. She would make a fine wife.” Even as he said the words, he could hear the false ring to them. Esa was wild and untamed; the duties of a lady were foreign to her, the ways of managing a large castle like Minas Bothe unknown. The only wifely duty she was familiar with involved the spreading of her thighs.

“Lady Esa is beautiful,
’tis true. She is a brave woman, and one of our most valued knights, but she is a not a lady, Caden. She is unsuitable to be your bride. Then, there is the matter of her barren womb.”

Caden was hardly embarrassed to discuss such matters with his mother. In public, she was the perfect picture of a demure and delicate lady. In private, she’d always been frank and honest with her sons. “Perhaps
I am the one who is barren,” Caden said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Did that ever occur to you?”

“You shall never know if you marry her, will you? Choose a wife, Caden, a woman of noble blood. Lady Emery Calliot is quite beautiful and I believe she is besotted with you. If she is not to your liking, consider one of Lord Cedric’s nieces. All three are well-mannered, biddable, and lovely. There are countless others who would leap at the chance to be your bride. You need only choose one.”

Caden did not answer; there was no use arguing with her. Despite her great love for her husband, Victoria did not understand her son’s reticence toward marriage. All she knew was that he had yet to marry, and because their elder brother had not wed, Asher and Jarin were taking their time selecting brides as well. So long as Caden was eligible, they were free from the matchmaking attempts of their mother.

“Very well,” he said to placate her. “I am leaving at dawn to complete a task for Father. When I return to Minas Bothe, I promise you that I will begin to give the matter serious thought. In fact, you may invite the families of all
of the eligible ladies you deem fitting so that I may spend time in their company. Whatever pretext you need to make the arrangements, use it, and I will make myself available. Will that make you happy?”

Victoria smiled, her chest swelling with happiness. His mother was never more joyful than when she was entertaining. “Oh, Caden, what a splendid idea! It will be a
grand visit, and I will only invite the very best candidates. You are bound to find a bride from amongst them!”

He bent to kiss her cheek, happy, at least, to see her smile so radiantly. “I am certain you’re right, Mother,” he said. “I bid you good night.”

“Good night, son.”

Caden left her at the entrance of her tent and
parted the closed flap of his own, stepping into the dimly lit space. His squire was still undoubtedly feasting and drinking, having known he would want his privacy with Esa tonight. Sure enough, she was waiting for him. Her bare arms and the tops of her breasts peeked from the top of the blanket she held over her naked body, and she lounged on his palette, a goblet of wine in hand. Caden began to disrobe, his body already humming to life at the sight of her.

“I hope I did not keep you waiting long,” he said as he shrugged out of his surcoat.

Allowing the blanket to fall down around her waist, Esa arched her back invitingly. “Hours, m’lord,” she purred. “But I shall allow you to atone for your rudeness.”

Sinking on
to the palette, he pulled Esa against his bare chest and invaded her mouth with his searching tongue. Tomorrow, his duties as a son of Lord and Lady Maignart would weigh upon him—marriages and alliances, intrigues and secrets—but tonight there was only starlight, wine, and Esa.

Chapter Three

“Uncle!” Gwen extolled as she paused near
Lord Orrick’s place at the high table. “How marvelous to see you this evening. You’re quite dashing in that shade of blue.”

“Dear Gwen,”
he replied, standing to embrace her. “Do my eyes deceive me, or do you grow lovelier year by year?”

Gwen held him tight as they hugged. “Slip away to the garden when the entertainments begin,” she whispered in his ear. “Th
ere is something I must speak with you about.”

“Of course,” he answered quickly
. He kissed her cheek with a loud smack, tickling her cheek with his thick beard.

Evrain led her on, past Leofred, Achart,
Jorin, and their lady mother. Lord Clarion was absent; his health had declined as of late, and he was not good company at the table. Instead, seated in the high lord’s place of honor was her betrothed. Prince Gaiwan Bainard. She paused as he stood to greet her, her throat constricting at the sight of him.

They’d only been introduced once, so Gaiwan was still a virtual stranger to her. His appearance was as disarming now as it had been the first time they’d met. Piercing blue-green eyes were set in a regal face that was all chiseled lines and smooth planes. His jaw was
cleanly shaved, and his hair was no more than a bristle of scruff upon his head, the style of the men of Lerrothe. His skin was the color of golden wheat, and she’d heard the chambermaids whispering that the sun-kissed tone covered his entire body; that the men of Lerrothe often sunned themselves naked upon their balconies to achieve the beautiful shade. There were other rumors as well: that the Lerrothian men were hairless and smooth, that their prowess as lovers was unmatched, that they were a lusty people—both the men and women—that the men of the royal family kept so many concubines they might lay with a different woman every night of the year if they so pleased.