Chained (Chained Trilogy) (14 page)

Caden eyed the men gathered around the fire with a wary gaze.
Was it the Durvilles, he wondered as he observed Lord Guyar beside him? Or the Goodwins? There was also his uncle, Sir Destrian, who was the lord of Enthorm.
But why?
He shook his head as he reached for his longsword and whetstone, wanting his blade sharp in case of attack, which was likely. Bauldry men could be closing in on all sides as they ate. No, he decided as he sharpened his blade with long, precise strokes, none of his father’s vassals had cause to do such a thing. If that was true, then the Bauldrys were lying … but to what cause?

Caden’s biceps
bunched as he stroked the blade with the stone, his jaw clenching as his mind whirred with the possibilities.

“You need your strength, milord,” Guyar said quietly, offering him the heel of bread once again. The hastily prepared stew smelled divine, with bits of venison, carrots, onion, and a thick broth.
“You cannot have your vengeance if you die of starvation.”

“And grief?” Caden grunted, accepting the heel and spoon. “When do I make time for that?”

Lord Guyar’s face was shadowed by the light of the fire, his expression grave. “After,” he said simply, going back to his own meal. Caden knew Guyar’s pain ran as deep as his over Asher’s loss. The Maignart sons had been fostered at Quaos Keep, and Guyar had treated them as the sons he’d never sired.

Caden forced himself to eat
but tasted nothing. It was all like ash upon his tongue. He sat, sharpening his weapons—longsword, shortsword, and dirk—long after the cookfire had been put out. He volunteered for the first watch, knowing he could never sleep. He dreaded his dreams and the inevitable memories that would plague him in sleep: Asher’s head severed by the halberd, the spray of his blood, his screams. Even as the other men turned in for the night, he could hear them, echoing on the silence of the night.

***

Morning found Gwen alone in her bed, throbbing between her thighs and staring numbly at the ceiling. Gaiwan had departed shortly after dispensing with her maidenhead, telling her that it was the Lerrothian way. After the bedding ritual, the veil was removed, the bridegroom departed, and the bride was left to sleep alone. They would not share a bed until they were wed, which Gwen was now grateful for. That gave her one year’s reprieve before she would have to endure Gaiwan’s attentions every night until the day she died.

Perhaps not,
she told herself as she rose slowly, reaching for her bedrobe.
They say the Lerrothian royals keep concubines.
If she were fortunate, Gaiwan would leave her be once she bore him a son.

Her hands lingered over her middle as she tied the belt of her robe
, fear lancing through her at the thought that she could be with child even now.

“There will be no
pain the next time,” he’d promised her, kissing her temple as he donned his clothing once more and prepared to leave her. “You will enjoy it so much more without the discomfort, or our mothers on the other side of the veil.”

That was doubtful. Gwen did not know much about the act, but she did know there was nothing enjoyable about what Gaiwan had done to her and she was dreading having to allow it again. Lynet stirred on her bed, nestled in a small nook in the corner of Gwen’s chamber. She was on her feet the second she realized her mistress had risen.

“Good morning, m’lady,” she mumbled sleepily. “Would you care for a bath?”

She’d offer
ed to have one drawn for Gwen after Gaiwan’s departure the night before, but Gwen had refused, unable to leave the bed where she lay trembling and crying silently into her pillow. Now, she would be grateful for the soothing hot waters of a bath and the chance to scrub Gaiwan’s touch from her skin.

“Yes, please,” she said, striding to one of her windows and throwing open the shu
tters. Leaning against the window’s frame, she closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of the ocean mingling with that of sea lavender from the gardens, which were not far from her tower. She remained there until Lynet returned with a handful of pages, who helped fill the tub.

An hour later, Gwen felt much more like herself. Clean and confident, in her favorite hunter green kirtle and jade surcoat, she held her head high and
left her chambers, her destination Lord Clarion’s chambers. She had not visited her father since the night the Bainards had arrived and she craved his company now.

She was surprised to find him out of bed and seated out on
his large, stone balcony. Her uncle was with him, and the two were speaking in hushed tones when she came upon them. Lord Clarion’s illness had sapped much of his size and strength, but he’d once been as formidable in appearance as Orrick. Now, he was as slender as she, his skin darkened and papery thin. Strands of white streaked the dark locks hanging down his back, and his haggard face was clean shaven, long since scraped of a beard turned as white as his hair.

The two men hushed as Gwen’s footsteps alerted them to her
presence. Lord Clarion smiled at his only daughter affectionately, but Gwen did not neglect to notice Orrick’s deep frown, or the small object he curled into his fist and hid from her as she approached.

“My daughter,” Lord Clarion rasped as she bent down to wrap her arms around his neck, placing a kiss on his hollowed cheek. “It is wonderful to look upon your face this morn. Your uncle was just telling me of your betrothal ceremony yesterday. He says your beauty outshined that of Kya.”

Gwen laughed and settled into a chair beside him, her hand finding his and holding on tight. She did not want to think about how weak his grasp was as he clutched her back, or how thin and bony his fingers had become. “I do not know about that,” she said. She eyed her uncle curiously, frowning when he avoided her gaze. “Uncle,” she said politely, “how nice to see you this morning, though I am surprised. Father does not receive visitors this early.”

Orrick
returned her gaze boldly. “Yet you are here, niece.”

Gwen’s gaze fell to Orrick’s clenched fist
, where he held the pin he did not know she’d seen. “Something has happened,” she accused, “and you do not want to tell me.”

Orrick had the grace to at least look appropriately ashamed of himself. “Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked nonchalantly.

Gwen snorted and stood, facing them both. “I am not a child to be cossetted. Whatever has happened, I want to know what it is. It concerns Daleraia, does it not? No, Uncle, do not try to tell me it does not—I saw the pin you hid in your fist as I came upon you. It is the mountain of Maignart, the one I found upon those men I killed.”

Lord Clarion chuckled at Orrick’s browbeaten expression. “I have told you, brother, that Gwendolyn is her father’s daughter. Shrewd, smart, relentless. Now that she is on to us, she’ll never let the matter rest until we tell her. Besides, with my sons departing Seahaven, she must know. The rule of the keep will become hers.”

Gwen’s eyes widened and she blinked rapidly. “Leaving? Where are they going? You want
me
to act as castellan?”

Orrick o
pened his fist and allowed the mountain pin to fall to the stone floor at his feet, sneering as the sound of clinking silver rang out. “The Daleraians have broken the peace. It is just as you suspected, Gwendolyn, gods forgive me for not believing you.”

Gwen settled into her chair once more, her mind racing at this news.
“You could not have known,” she whispered. “I only assumed … but, why?”

Her fa
ther shook his head. “We do not understand. That is why your brothers are leaving Seahaven this morning. Much has happened, and we know little. What we do know is that Heywick was attacked.”

Gwen nodded slowly. “That explains it, then.”

“You noticed it, too,” Orrick observed. “Lord Humber’s absence from yesterday’s ceremony and feast.”

“The Bauldrys were notably absent. We know that the Daleraians did this thing?”

“They flaunted their banners proudly,” Orrick replied. “There were Maignarts, Durvilles, and Goodwins—and at their forefront, one of Lord Theodric’s sons. The secondborn, they say.”

Gwen scowled. “What reason would they have for this? I don’t understand.”

“We do not either, but Lord Humber is furious. He dispatched four hundred men-at-arms led by eight knights to fight back, but by the time they arrived, the damage had been done. Heywick was ravaged. Many were lost, but some were able to escape. Lord Humber opened his gates to them, and is keeping those who lost their homes within his walls, protecting them. He is vowing to seek vengeance on behalf of his brother, with or without my consent.”

“Sir Marcel? What happened to him, was he killed?”

“His lady wife,” Lord Clarion provided. “Raped and murdered in the street by Daleraian scum.”

“Dear God!” Gwen choked back bile as she thought of sweet Breena Bauldry. No woman deserved such a fate, least of all Lady Breena. A more gentle soul had not existed in the world.
“What will we do?”

“Evrain, Leofred, and Achart are departing for Heywick,” her father said
, his hand stroking his chin. “With them they will take three hundred men at arms for their defense. I would know the full scope of what has happened there. They will urge Lord Humber to becalm himself and wait for my command. I cannot have my vassals acting without my leave. From there they will travel to the Isle of Camritte, where they will speak with King Merek. He must know of these atrocities, and we cannot act without his leave.”

“And Jorin?
Is he leaving as well?”

“He is
to foster with the Saint-Clairs. That has not changed.”

Gwen gasped. “You cannot! It isn’t safe for him to travel so far with things so uncertain!”

“He will travel with your brothers,” Orrick interjected. “With so large a company of knights and men-at-arms, Jorin will be protected. They will leave him at Vor’shy in Lord Mador’s care, before journeying on to Camritte.”

“That journey could take weeks!” she exclaimed.
“To avoid passing through Daleraia, they would have to sail around it.”

Orrick nodded. “Longships will be sent from Seahaven’s port, to await them in Brodernil Bay. From there, they will sail the Elyri Sea, around Daleraian’s coast
, to the isle.”

“And what of Seahaven and Freyvale? What will we do here?”

“The castles will be fortified and prepared for defense,” Lord Clarion explained. “Your uncle will depart for Freyvale to protect his lands and people. Here, you and I will do the same.”

Gwen’s mouth fell open and she gaped at him. “You and I?” Inwardly, she was
beaming at the thought that her father would trust her to help him in her brothers’ absence; that he had not asked Evrain to stay behind was telling. He wanted her by his side in the storm to come.

Clarion nodded. “Yes, you and I. Together, we will prepare Seahaven for siege, protect our people, and hold the keep should the need arise.
We will pray that King Merek acts swiftly, and with wisdom.”

“By now the
king could be dead,” Orrick muttered. “And Prince Rowan will succeed him, gods help us all.”

Clarion frowned. “Let us pray King Merek’s health holds a bit longer. Prince Rowan could never conduct himself with as much grace and sense as his father.”

Let us hope our good sense holds as well,
Gwen thought.
For every decision made from now could add more kindling to the flames of war.

“What of the Bainards?” she asked aloud, thinking of her
betrothed with distaste. “Do they know of what has happened?”

Orrick shook his head. “No, and we mean to keep it that way for now. Have you spoken with your betrothed this morn?”

Frowning, Gwen stared down at her hands. “I have not seen him since …” She trailed off, and Orrick grimaced.

“Aye, well, when you happen upon him he will most likely tell you that they mean to depart tomorrow morning. Their ship will carry them back to Lerrothe, and you are unlikely to see him again until it is time for you to set sail there for the wedding.
”

Gwen could have shouted for joy
at the news, but she straightened in her chair, remaining composed. “Perhaps it would be better to tell Prince Gaiwan,” she ventured. She loathed the idea of giving him a reason to remain at Seahaven. However, if it came to war the Bainards could be useful. They’d have no choice but to fight for the family of their crowned prince’s affianced. “The Bainards could be of use.”

Lord Clarion stroked his chin. “Aye,
that could be, but think how it would appear to our king if we brought the Bainards to our cause without beseeching him first.”

She understood then. “It would seem as if our alliance with the Bainards is borne of a thirst for power … power over House Arundel. We would appear the oath-breakers.”

“You see now why the path we walk is such a narrow one,” Orrick replied. “We must still our vassals first, then take our claims to King Merek. Only then should we involve the Bainards if the need arises.”

“Very well,” she agreed. “Worry not
, Uncle, you can trust me to act in my lord father’s stead.”