Chained (Chained Trilogy) (9 page)

“Not quite yet,” Orrick reminded him with a tight smile. “At least, not until after the wedding.”

Gaiwan’s fingers flexed at his side
, and Gwen could see the petulance pulling at the corners of his mouth again. “Of course,” he answered lightly. “Please excuse me, milord. Gwendolyn, shall I escort you back to the hall?”

Gwen exchanged a glance with her uncle before turning a bright smile upon Gaiwan. “I shall join my uncle. I believe he intends to visit with my lord father, and I should accompany him.”

“Aye,” Orrick added quickly, “Lord Clarion craves the company of his only daughter. It will not be long before she is gone from here, and his heart will languish for her. Pray, excuse us, Your Grace.”

Gaiwan
bowed to Gwen. “Until tomorrow morning, then, my love.” His lips found her cheek once more, and then he was gone, his long, lean figure a retreating shadow beneath the morning glories. Once he was out of sight, Orrick took her arm and led her to a low stone bench.

“Now then,” he said, now that they were alone
, “what’s this important matter that could not wait until tomorrow?”

Gwen gazed into her uncle’s dark eyes, set in a face so similar to her father’s it was uncanny. Dark skin was weathered and lined with age, his jaws cloaked in a thick
, black beard, which he adorned with silver rings as many of the lords of Dinasdale were wont to do. His hair was long, having never been cut, the ebony strands streaked with silver. His braids were pulled back from his head by an ornate silver clasp, falling between his shoulder blades. His warrior’s body had not withered in the years that Alemere had been at peace. While his middle was a bit rounder than it had been in his youth, Orrick’s powerful arms and shoulders were still as strong as they’d ever been.

“I trust Evrain told you
what happened in the woods today?”

Orrick grinned, stroking his beard. “Aye, girl. How loudly did those four piggies squeal when you gave them a taste of your arrowheads?”

Normally, Gwen would have laughed at her uncle’s teasing, but the pin against her breast was a heavy weight, reminding her of the gravity of the situation. She reached beneath her surcoat and retrieved it, holding it out to him. The moonlight reflected off the surface, causing the brown enamel to gleam.

“The men I killed were wearing these,” she said, her voice low. “Dressed in black, and attempting ra
pe and murder on Father’s lands while wearing the mountain of House Maignart.”

Orrick’s dark brows furrowed as he took the pin from her palm, inspecting it closely. “Daleraians,” he spat with a shake of his head. “Why does this not surprise me?”

Gwen knew her uncle had no love for the people of Daleraia. He’d been newly appointed as the lord of Freyvale when the now deceased King Terrowin II had torn it asunder in sword and flame. His anger over the death of his wife, Queen Krea, had enraged the king of Daleraia to madness, and the people of Freyvale had suffered for it. It did not matter to Orrick that his brother, Prince Favian, had kidnapped Krea and sired a bastard upon her, or that he’d angered the king by refusing to return her. Orrick had lost two brothers to the great war at the hands of Daleraians, and while he was happy for peace, his bitterness ran deep.

“They were a nasty lot,” Orrick added, closing his fist around the pin, “but you did away with them, and justly. Why bring this matter to me?”

Gwen shrugged. “It seemed important. Why would Daleraians seek to cause trouble in Dinasdale? What if there are more of them? Should Lord Theodric decide that he no longer wishes to keep peace—”

“Gods
, girl,” Orrick chided, “do not speak that way. Do you know what it could mean if that were true?”

“Of course I do!” she insisted. “Why do you think I’m coming to you? My father is ill, too weak to bear this burden, and my brothers are quick to anger. I know that you will tell me what I should do about this.”

Orrick stood. “Nothing, for now. This is not evidence of treachery by Lord Theodric, only proof that Daleraian scum have crossed our borders looking for a bit of sport in the form of rape and murder. They were dealt with swiftly and justly, and for now the matter is at rest.”

“I do not like this,” Gwen declared, standing as well. “I have a feeling
it is only the beginning.”

Orrick nodded. “You may be right, girl, but I pray you are not.
The implications … they are too much to be borne.”

He was right, of course. Gwen usually took pride in her sharp intuition, but now she hoped that jus
t this once, it had failed her.

***

The smell of bacon greeted Caden as he stepped from his tent. The sun had yet to breach the horizon, but the men Caden had selected to accompany him had awakened early. The rest of the large camp was still, save for the few knights, men-at-arms, and squires tending to the horses and preparing for travel. Sir Odard Bostel, a knight in the service of Lord Cedric Durville, tended the fire and the bacon frying over it.

“Good morning, milord,” he
called with a grin, as Caden left the shadow of his tent and came near the fire. Urien had already risen and, like the good squire he was, appeared at Caden’s side with a mug of stout ale.

“M’
lord,” he said as Caden accepted the cup, “Golias has been fed, groomed, and saddled. I’ll see to your things now.”

Caden nodded at the boy in approval. Only ten and four years of age, he’d been sent to Minas Bothe for fostering and had begged to be in his service. Once he’d gotten over his nerves and learned how Caden preferred things, they got along quite well.
“Good lad,” he said, sending Urien off. He accepted a trencher from Sir Odard, piled with greasy bacon and soft bread.

“Beautiful morning for a ride,” said
Lord Guyar Durville, sauntering toward the fire, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His doublet was the rich red of house Durville, and rubies adorned the hilt of his shortsword and the signet ring he wore on his right hand. His dark hair was a tousle of waves around his face, and his eyes were a merry blue. Short and broad, he had the look of all the Durville men about him: olive skin, dark hair, craggy, rugged features. Brother to Lord Cedric Durville, and heir to Quaos unless a male heir was produced—Lord Cedric had no offspring—Guyar was a good friend to Caden, despite the difference in their years. Lord Guyar had children Caden’s age—three daughters to be exact, one of whom he seemed to hope Caden would marry. “An even more beautiful morning for intrigues. Tell me, what is this errand we are about? Why the secrecy?”

Caden shrugged. “There is no secrecy. We are simply journeying to Dinasdale for pleasure. I’ve heard that Lady Gwendolyn Toustain is betrothed to Prince Gaiwan Bainard of Lerrothe. We simply wish to offer our congratulations, perhaps with a betrothal gift.”

Lord Guyar laughed. “Now I see the way of it. This new alliance makes Lord Theodric nervous, and with good reason. Do you suppose the betrothal is more than it seems?”

Caden shook his head. “I do not, but my father does. I am only doing this to put his mind at ease, nothing more. It will be a diverting journey. I’ve always enjoyed Dinasdale
. Women with skin like ebony, sweet white wine, and all the crab and clams a man can eat.”

“If milord intends to enjoy himself, then so shall I,” Guyar remarked as he bit into his own bacon. “By your mention of ebony-skinned wenches, I suppose you do not mean to bring Esa along for this journey.”

“No,” Caden murmured before draining the last of his ale, “I do not.”

Last
night as she slept beside him, he’d decide
d
it was time to start driving a wedge between himself and Esa. Especially since upon his return, his mother would invite every eligible woman in Daleraia to Minas Bothe for the purpose of being considered for marriage. By the time he returned from Dinasdale, he would have found the courage to tell her the truth, and end things. Esa had been disappointed to be left behind, but Caden knew she would not defy him.

After he’d
broken his fast, Caden helped Urien finish loading his things onto Golias’ back, and ducked back into his tent to arm himself. Esa still lay upon his palette, the blankets fallen down past her hips to reveal her nude body. Urien blushed as he handed Caden his shortsword and glanced away. Caden grinned.

“Does the sight tempt you, boy?” he asked
, sliding the shortsword into its scabbard. He sheathed a smaller dirk, and his longsword at his back.

Urien’s face turned crimson and he nodded. “Y
–yes, m’lord … I–I mean … no, m’lord. I know that Esa is your woman, I—”

Caden laughed. “Calm yourself, lad. I do not believe you mean to steal her away from me.”

“Not that he could,” Esa murmured, heedless of her nudity as she shifted on the pallet and rolled onto her back. “He is handsome, I’ll give him that, but I’m like to break the poor lad in two.”

Her throaty laughed seemed to embarrass Urien more
. “She’s right, m’lord.”

Caden stifled another chuckle and schooled his face into a serious mask. “Have you been with a woman, Urien?”

Urien shook his head. “No, m’lord.”

Caden studi
ed the lad. He called Urien boy, but he was, in fact, nearly a man grown. Two things brought manhood, his lord father had always taught him: wetting his sword with a man’s blood, and wetting his cock with a woman’s honey. “There are plenty of willing maids at Minas Bothe, lad,” he said with a wink. “You’re the tallest of the squires, and one of the strongest. As well, you’re one of the few with a handsome face. No need to suffer on account of Lady Esa. If you’ve the urge, find a willing girl and sate it. You’ll find yourself far better focused.”

Urien swallowed, his eyes e
ven wider as he nodded. “Yes, m’lord. I will, m’lord.”

He grasped the boy
’s arm as he made to leave the tent. “Willing, Urien,” he added, arching an eyebrow. “Be sure she’s willing. If I hear any unsavory tales of you behaving as some of the other squires and knights, you will know my wrath.”

Urien squared his shoulders as if insulted by
the insinuation. “Of course, m’lord.”

“Good lad.”

Urien disappeared and Esa rose from the bed, stretching lithely. Caden felt his own manhood stirring at the sight of her.

“Cover yourself, woman,” he growled, turning his back to her. “Or find yourself on your hands and knees
, and impaled.”

“Does milord seek to threaten me, or entice me?” she purred, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her breasts into his back.

Caden groaned and reluctantly pulled from her embrace. “Curse you, I’ll be late. No more, Esa. You are insatiable.”

Esa sighed and bent to find her shirt. “You
needn’t suffer so, if you’d only take me with you.”

“You’d be a distraction to me,
not a help.”

“That, Caden, is the difference between men and women. We think with our brains
, while you do your thinking with your cock.”

Caden stared down at his proud erection, then back at Esa with a smirk. “Guilty. All the more reason for you to return to Minas Bothe
.”

Esa yanked on her breeches and slid into her
shirt and jerkin. “As you command,” she said. She came to him and kissed his lips hungrily. “Safe journey, Caden.”

“Good-bye, Esa.”

She left him then, and Caden was grateful. Another moment in her company and he would lose his head. When he emerged from the tent again, the other knights and men-at-arms had broken their fasts, and the entire company were mounting up for the journey. Urien, who was returning to Minas Bothe with everyone else, came forward with Golias, his massive grey destrier. The war horse was as mean as a snake, and known to bite and rear when anyone but Caden came near him. He abided Urien, but it had taken the boy a long time to earn the horse’s trust. He nickered docilely as Caden approached, bowing his head so Caden could stroke his sooty mane. On the battlefield, the beast was a most intimidating sight when draped in the colors of House Maignart and armored in iron.

Taking the journey with him was Guyar Durville, his brother
, Asher, Guyar’s cousin Mordrain Urry, and Gareth Goodwin son of Sir Bors Goodwin. With them traveled four squires and a dozen men-at-arms. They set out as the first orange rays of the sun broke the horizon, thundering further and further away from the massive assembly of tents and pavilions. Caden set his eyes on the horizon and gave Golias the freedom to run, enjoying the feel of the mild morning air upon his face. By afternoon, the air would be dry and blazing hot, but for now it was pleasant enough. He and Asher outpaced the others, racing each other down the Radaughorm, the road named for the mountains ringing Daleraia. The road reached from the keep at Minas Bothe to the border of Dinasdale and Daleraia, which were separated by the River Gwyth. They stopped for a quick lunch of dried, salted beef, and bread, allowing the horses to feed before continuing on.

They slept beneath the open canopy of the sky that night
, as well as the night after that. The third day of their travels found them on the bank of the River Gwyth. A stone bridge took them over and onto Dinasdalian soil—the lands of Asnor Keep to be exact—the small castle belonged to Waleran Buron, a minor lordling. He sent riders out to meet them, twenty large, dark men with silver links in their beards and braids hanging down their backs.