Chained (Chained Trilogy) (11 page)

“I suppose you have every reason to be,” Enid said with a sigh. “When I wed your father, there was no betrothal ceremony, and there certainly wasn’t a bedding ritual.”

“Lerrothian customs are strange,” Gwen murmured, using her knife to slice into a plump sausage.

“Yes, but we must please our new royal in-laws, mustn’t we? They have graciously
allowed us to hold the ceremony here, and you to remain at Seahaven until the wedding. Compromises had to be made, so your father and I agreed to the bedding ritual. Honestly, dear, it makes no difference whether Prince Gaiwan takes your maidenhood now, or after the wedding. The outcome will be the same.”

Gwen lowered her eyes to her plate. “Yes, I will do my duty
, Mother, as all women do.”

“It is unpleasant, but is necessary for the bearing of sons. Come, let us finish here quickly, there is much to do.”

Gwen’s thoughts wandered as she forced herself to eat. The day would be long; she knew there wouldn’t be time to eat again until dinner, and she would be grateful later to have a full stomach. Doing one’s duty? Was that how her mother thought of the marriage bed? The fact that her parents had sired five children together gave Gwen pause. There was some great secret about the act of mating that married women hid from maids, and Gwen was more curious now than ever to know what it was. If Lord Gaiwan’s kiss could stir her, perhaps his touch would as well.

Now,
she thought,
if only I could force myself to like the spoiled brute.

***

Caden and his men were greeted warmly in Vor’shy, but then most men were, particularly when their coin was good. For the right amount, a man could indulge in any pleasure to be found under the heavens in Vor’shy. In both Dinasdale and Daleraia it was known as the City of Pleasure.

On Harlot’s Ro
w, a man could have his fill of carnal desires. The brothels there catered to men of every taste, with women of every kind: dark skinned Dinasdalians, lily white Daleraian’s, the golden bodies of Lerrothe, and every shade that fell in between, from rotund to thin, dark-haired, titian, and flaxen. A man could also pay to bed another man if he so fancied, but the prices for that were higher, the pickings were slimmer, and only the best of the brothels catered to those tastes. For an exorbitant price, a man of dual tastes could pay to have one of each.

On Dicer’s Lane, a man could gamble until he stumbled out into the street rich as a king or poor as a pauper. There was Glutton’s
Court, where the finest cuisine in Daleraia could be had for the right price: soups thick with clams and crab, fish freshly caught and stuffed with all manner of delicacies, beef and lamb, curries and saffron scented rice, tarts and cakes, custards and creams, sweetmeats and fruits, and wine … Oh, how the wine flowed—ruby reds, sparkling whites, robust beers, stout ales—all were in abundance and a man could drink, eat, wench, and dice to his heart’s content.

In Vor’shy
, minstrels played their lutes as they strolled along the street, bards sang their songs of glory and the gods, women danced wearing no more than transparent wisps of silk for coin, and children frolicked and played. The smells of perfumes and spices coated the air, and the sights of the Dinasdalians—with their ebon skin, silver and bead decorated hair, and rich clothing—attracted the eye. Caden knew he’d lost the interest of his own men as they entered the city. Their eyes wandered, and he didn’t doubt their minds strayed from the task at hand.

“Go,” he told them as their party reigned up near an
inn. “Eat, drink, and wench to your heart’s content. I will attend my business alone. If any man amongst you isn’t ready to depart Vor’shy at sunrise, he will answer to me.”

The men left their horses to the stable grooms
and departed. Meanwhile, Caden filled the innkeeper’s hands with coin to prepare their best rooms for him and his men.

“Are you certain you don’t wish me to come with you?” Asher
asked, appearing at Caden’s side. His hair was windswept and his eyes twinkled as they took in all that the city had to offer. “As we rode down Harlot’s Row, I happened to observe a very promising brothel. A Dinasdalian wench beckoned to me from one of the upstairs windows … Caden, she wore no more than a wisp of silk and a smile. Now, I could go and avail myself to the lady’s charms for a night, but I would never neglect my duty to my dear, dear brother. Why, how wretched of me to—”

“Asher,” Caden interjected, fighting back a grin. He tried his sternest face on his younger brother, but failed. “Off with you. My business requires discretion, and I can’t very well achieve that with you lot trailing behind me.”

“Aye, ’tis true enough. I don’t envy you, Caden. While the elder brother tends to his father’s business, the younger will tend to the lasses. Not to worry, I’ll have two … one for me and one for you. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Caden shook his head with a snort of laughter.
No, it is I who should envy you,
Caden thought, watching as Asher departed in search of his harlot.

“Lord Guyar,” he remarked
, steering Golias from the inn and back toward the lane; Durville was still astride as well, and pulled up beside him at a slow canter, “how shall you pass your time tonight? Gambling, whoring, feasting?”

“Guarding, milord,” Guyar said
, gesturing toward the sword in its hilt at his side. “If Lord Theodric knew I’d left you unprotected in Dinasdale, he’d have my head for it.”

“Aye, but
who said he needed to know? I am capable of seeing after myself.”

“True enough, your father needn’t know, but I would, and my honor would steal any enjoyment I might find in the brothels or the gambling houses. I am at your back, for whatever that knowledge is worth to you.”

Caden nodded. “Aye then. I’d thought a tavern would be the best place to glean information. The tongues of men are loosened by ale and wine.”

“I know just the place.”

Lord Guyar led Caden to a tavern with a fish emblazoned upon the door. Inside, the low hum of conversation mingled with that of knife scraping plate, the strings of a lute, and the lilting laughter of a woman.

“
There,” Guyar said, indicating a table near the roaring hearth. From this spot, they could observe the entire room, and hear snatches of conversation from the tables near them. Once they were seated with stew and ale before them, Caden lowered his head over his bowl and attuned his ear to the conversation of the men closest to them. There were four, all Dinasdalian. They’d clearly had several cups of the tavern’s strong black beer.

“Do you supposed all of Seahaven will attend the bedding ritual?” one asked before draining the dregs of his cup and bellowing for a serving wench.

“Of course not, you dolt!” another answered.

“And just how would you know?” the first
demanded, sloshing beer over the sides of his cup as he brought it to his lips. “Those Lerrothians are a queer lot. It’s indecent, I tell you. Why would Lord Clarion agree to such a thing?”

“Why indeed?” Guyar murmured as he stirred the contents of his bowl distractedly. His back was turned to the men they eavesdropped on, but his ears
were attuned to every word.

“If a Lerrothian prince wanted to marry my daughter, I’d let him bed her, and give his servants a go as well,” quipped a third man with a hearty chuckle. “An alliance with House Bainard is naught to be laughed at. Lady Gwen will be a queen someday, and all for the price of allowing a prince to bed her to seal an engagement. Seems a fair agreement, if you ask me.”

“Did you ever wonder if this so-called bedding ritual isn’t really a Lerrothian custom at all?” supplied the fourth man. “Mayhap Prince Gaiwan simply wishes to sample a bit of what he’s getting when they’re wed—and who’s to say no to him, besides?”

“An alliance with the Bainards,” the second man murmured. “The Toustains will be kings again.”

“They were always kings,” the third man replied. “Lord Clarion is a king. It does not matter that his name does not carry the title that his father’s once did. Once a king, always a king.”

As the four men
took their leave of the tavern, Caden pushed his bowl of stew away, untouched. “Once a king …” he murmured, his eyes meeting Guyar’s. “The Toustains are prideful yes, but treasonous? I say no, but Father thinks there is more to this alliance than meets the eye. What do you think?”

Guyar worried the ruby ring on his right hand wit
h the fingers of his left. “I would be inclined to agree with you,” he said slowly, “if not for the fact that the Bainards have long been hungry for conquest. It is not the Toustains I mistrust, it is King Henry, and his son, Gaiwan. The Toustains have much to gain from this union—a good marriage for their daughter, wealth and lands—what do the Bainards have to gain?”

“Dinasdale,” Caden replied
, rubbing the growth of beard upon his chin. “And the power to crush Daleraia in a single blow if they wished. Father may have been right.”

“Aye, but then mayhap he was not. We will not hasten to judgment. You are your father’s son in that, I know.”

Before Caden could respond, a clamor rose near the entrance. He frowned to find Dorantes Emory, one of Minas Bothe’s men-at-arms, creating quite a stir as he pushed men aside and vaulted over tables, dashing toward them with fear in his wide eyes. Caden and Guyar were on their feet in an instant, fists tightened around the hilts of their swords.

“Sir Caden!” he cried as he neared them, panting noi
sily. “Come … come quickly, ’tis your brother. It’s Asher … th–they tore him from the brothel and beat him, th–throwing him down in the street … he’s been accused of murder, and they mean to behead—”

Caden needed to hear no more. “Show me,” he barked, his long legs carrying him from the tavern faster than Dorantes could match. His shorter strides w
ere two for every one of Caden’s. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as they made for Harlot’s Row, his teeth clenched and his eyes sharp for any signs of trouble.

An hour at best,
he thought as they raced down Glutton’s Lane.
I barely left him for an hour.

His mother would never forgive him if something happened to Asher. He would never forgive himself. Caden quickly outpaced Lord Guyar and Dorantes as they neared a brothel named The Lord’s Delight. He needn’t have asked Dorantes to guide him; there was a large enough crowd gathered in the street, and voices raised in a loud din as Caden came upon them.

Letting Golias charge into the crowd, Caden parted them like water as people dodged the war horse’s snapping teeth. He drew his longsword from the scabbard at his back as he leapt from the saddle. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared as he took in the sight of his brother, bound hand and foot by ropes, and forced to kneel in the dirt like a dog.

A wall of Dinasdalian men-at-arms met him, pushing him back as he attempted to get to Asher. He wore only his shirt and breeches, likely having left his doublet, surcoat, and weapons behind in the brothel. From the windows above them, whores watched with wide eyes and open mouths, their flimsy garments held over their naked bodies.
Villeins lined the lane, watching silently as a large man armored from head to toe drew a gauntleted fist back and drove it into Asher’s jaw.

“Halt! Cease this!” Caden demanded, bringing the hilt of his sword down on the head of one of the men holding him back. “I demand to know on whose authority you dare to hold my brother captive!”

The armored man removed his polished helm and stared at him with cold, dark eyes. “And who are you to demand anything of me, Daleraian?” he spat, the silver rings in his beard clinking against his chest plate as he spoke. “As a knight of Dinasdale, it falls to me to mete out my lord’s justice. This man,” he pointed the tip of his broadsword at Asher, “has been identified as one of the marauders who rode into Heywick in search of plunder.”

Before Caden could speak, Lord Guyar was between him, sword drawn. “Put down your sword,
sir,” he warned. “That is no ordinary man you hold there. That is Asher Maignart, son of Lord Theodric Maignart, High Lord of Daleraia and Warden of the South, and this is Sir Caden, eldest son of Lord Theodric and his heir.”

“I do not know from where these accusations have come,” Caden sai
d calmly, “but they are false, Sir. Asher traveled into Vor’shy only today, with myself and my men. Every man among us can vouch for him.”

“Am I to take the word of a Daleraian over that of a maid in my own household?”

“Bugger your maid!” Asher growled from where he knelt, blood seeping from his split lip and swollen nose. “I told you, I had nothing to do with it!”

The large fist crashed into Asher’s jaw again, sending a tooth flying this time. Caden roared and lunged, but was brought up short by the crossed swords of two of the knights.

“Speak again and I’ll cut your bloody tongue out,” the dark knight threatened, glaring at Asher through the visor of his helm. “And you,” he snarled, pointing his sword at Caden, “run home, boy, and give your father a message from Sir Marcel of House Bauldry, brother to Lord Humber Bauldry, Lord of Heywick, who answers only to High Lord Clarion and King Merek. Tell him that the next Daleraian to show his face in Heywick will have his head mounted on a spike. Tell him that this son of his will answer for the rape and murder of my lady wife, and the pillage of Heywick and its surrounding farmlands.”