Wyndmaster 1 - The Wyndmaster's Lady

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  She was still there an hour later, watching the sloop leaving Zykanthos and heading out to sea. A grim smile teased her lips for she imagined her husband's brother did not like leaving with his tail tucked between his arrogant legs.

  "I've set guards to watching," Vargas told her when he finally joined her as she was inspecting a strange plant that he told her was called donkey's tail.

  "Wherever did he find a plant like this?" she marveled. "It is very striking."

  "I don't recall, Milady, but everything in here is something he brought to Vista Del Mar."

  She sighed, looking about her at all the plants she'd never seen before. "I see the brother is gone."

  "Like a scalded dog," Vargas said. "But he'll be back and next time with several ships if I know him."

  Celeste chewed on her lower lip for a moment then asked if there was a lawgiver on the island.

  "Aye, there is but he stays to himself," Vargas said. "He retired many a year ago though he's not all that old."

  "Do you think he would come have a little talk with me?" she asked.

  "I can't guarantee it but I will send Seth to ask, but, milady…" He paused, shifting from foot to foot.

  She turned to look at the older man. "Yes?"

  "Well, I know what you might want to ask him and I can tell you that under Argonnese law, the commander is allowed to have more than one wife."

  Celeste's eyes widened. "You are joking!"

  "No, milady," Vargas said. "The problem is the first wife has more authority than the others."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Is that so? And do you know this woman Beatrice?" she asked.

  Vargas shook his head. "I never even heard of her before today and I doubt the commander had, either, but I know of Patterly. It's been in a right desperate state since its liege lord, Sir Angus Summerall, died of lung fever last summer. Lady Beatrice must be Lord Angus' widow. If that's the case, I'm thinking Lord James—the commander's father—has made the match to gain the Patterly estates."

  "And Sierran's father can just marry him off to her without a by-your-leave from his son?"

  "I guess so," Vargas said. "I'll send for the lawgiver, though. Maybe he can shed some light onto this."

  "Was my father brought into the keep?" she asked softly.

  "He is…" Vargas cleared his throat. "Below."

  She closed her eyes for a moment. "In the dungeon?"

  "Vista del Mar doesn't actually have a dungeon, milady," Vargas replied. "It wasn't built with one but there is a store room into which we put him until other arrangements can be made."

  "Thank you, Vargas," she said, bowing her head. "Would you see that he has supper taken to him?"

  "Aye, milady," Vargas replied. "I'll see to it now."

  For a long while, Celeste stood at the windows—the mysterious and beautiful plants ignored—and stared out to sea. Her agile mind was working over the problem of being in competition with a woman she'd never met but knowing it was she Sierran wanted and not the Lady Beatrice. As the sun set, she was still there watching the scarlet globe sink into the west.

  "Milady?"

  She glanced around to find Vargas standing in the doorway. "Yes, Vargas?"

  "Supper is ready, milady, and the lawgiver has arrived. I extended an invitation for him to sup with you if that's all right."

  "Perfectly all right, Vargas," she said. "Will you, Mac and Seth join us?"

  Vargas nodded. "If that is your desire. We are accustomed to taking our meals with the commander."

  She smiled. "I figured as much. Is he still asleep?"

  "Like a babe in his blankie," Vargas replied with a grin. "Most likely he'll sleep through the night. I gave him a fairly strong dosage." He ducked his head. "I didn't want him thinking on his brother's meanness."

  "I quite agree," she said and walked over to him. She threaded her arm through his. "Lead on, my friend. I find I am starving."

  * * *

  Lawgiver Brent LeMoyne was standing before the fireplace in the study with his forearm braced on the mantle as he stared down into the crackling flames. It was rare he was asked to venture from his cottage on the north edge of the island but when he'd seen Sierran's men assembling along the shore as a sloop dropped anchor in the harbor there, he knew something was amiss. From his bedchamber window, he had watched the Argonnese sloop lower a jolly boat into the water and he was fairly sure he recognized one of Sierran's brothers sitting stiffly in the prow. When the jolly boat was turned back—that brother shaking an irate fist at the gathered troops—he figured Sierran would be sending for him in his lawgiver capacity soon enough.

  However, he had not expected the summons to come from the new mistress of Vista del Mar rather than his old friend Sierran.

  "Sierran married," he said aloud to the leaping flames. "It had to happen, I suppose."

  "Would you prefer that it hadn't?"

  Brent flinched at the melodic voice that interrupted his musing. He dropped his arm from the mantel and turned around to find himself staring into the beautiful face of a woman who would make any Goddess jealous. It was a moment before he could speak for her overwhelming beauty was totally unexpected.

  "Milady," he said, coming toward her with his hand outstretched. "Most certainly not!"

  Celeste placed her hand in his and when he bowed to place a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, she felt a jolt go through her—one she knew he felt, as well.

  Brent straightened up—his gaze locked with hers—unable to look away. A tingle went all the way up his arm and when she eased her hand from his, that tingle disappeared in the wink of an eye.

  "I am Celeste Allen Morgan," she said softly. "Vargas did not tell me your name."

  "Brenton," he replied. "Brenton LeMoyne. My friends call me Brent."

  She smiled. "And I hope we will be friends," she stated.

  "I am sure we will,” he told her.

  "Supper is awaiting us," she said and when he offered her his arm, she took it. She was not surprised he knew where the dining hall was and led her to it.

  "Do you spend much time at Vista del Mar?" she asked as he held her chair out for her at the head of the table.

  "No," he answered. "Both Sierran and I value our privacy but now and again he invites me." He took a chair beside her. "He isn't home all that much actually."

  "I believe he will be henceforth," she said. "He mentioned resigning his commission."

  "I sincerely hope he does," Brent said. He took up his napkin and laid it in his lap. "The war with the Emardians is winding down and peace is on the horizon. He's been fighting since he was in his mid teens."

  "Has it been that long for him?" she asked. "I didn't know."

  "As a younger son, it was either soldiering or the priesthood and I doubt Sierran would make a good religious," he said with a grin.

  "I agree," she said, a faint hint of color invading her cheeks.

  "Where did the two of you meet or may I be so bold to ask?" he inquired as Vargas, Mac, and Seth arrived.

  "There you are!" Celeste said. "I wondered where you were."

  "We had to clean up a bit before coming to your table, milady," Mac spoke for them. He took a chair across from the lawgiver. "Good eve, Lord Brenton."

  "MacDougal," Brent acknowledged. He nodded at the other men.

  "When Vargas came to fetch us he was in his top sergeant capacity snapping at us to hurry," Mac told Celeste.

  A maid came in carrying a tray with bowls of steaming soup and placed the fragrant fare before each diner. The butler poured a rosy-hued wine for each of the diners.

  "Gilda's best soup," Brent said. "Potato and ham. It is sheer heaven."

  "That it is," Vargas agreed.

  The men were watching Celeste and she arched her brows in question.

  "The commander says grace over the food," Vargas informed her.

  "Oh," she said. "My father always did that." She extended one hand to Brent and the other to Mac. "Will you join hands gentlemen?"r />
  No one saw Sierran standing at the far end of the watching as Celeste bowed her head and gave thanks for the meal she was about to enjoy. His heart filled with emotion for the five people sitting at his table were the only five people in the entire world for whom he held any kind of feeling. He had known Vargas since they were new recruits and had befriended Mac in the midst of a pitched battle that had nearly claimed the Solarian's life. Seth had been around for only a few years but Brent he'd known since childhood. It had been at his suggestion that the lawgiver had retired to Zykanthos six years earlier. Leaning against the wall just staring at those closest to him added to the mellow feeling left behind by the tenerse.

  "I am dying to try this wonderful smelling concoction!" Celeste said, taking up her spoon after the blessing. "I've never had potato and ham soup."

  "Gilda is a superb cook," Brent told her. "I've never had anything that wasn't cooked to perfection."

  "Aye, well, there was that casserole she fed us New Year's Day last year," Sierran spoke up and every eye snapped to him there in the shadows at the far end of the room.

  "Milord!" Celeste said, her face beaming with delight. "How are you feeling?"

  Sierran pushed away from the door. "Like I'm walking on a stack of mattress but otherwise fine," he said, waving away Vargas and Seth who were starting to get up from the table. "Sit down. I can make it to the chair."

  A maid hurried out and back again to place a setting before him. She dipped a curtsey at his polite thank you and stepped aside for the butler to pour a goblet of wine for his master.

  “Wine, Sierran?” Celeste asked then shook her head.

  “Perhaps not,” he said. “A glass of lemonade would not be amiss, Gilda.”

  The maid nodded and hurried off, taking the goblet of wine with her.

  They waited until he was seated in the chair reserved for the lord of the keep before the other men took up their water goblets. "To Sierran and Celeste!" the four men toasted.

  Sierran met Celeste's look and smiled proudly at her. "To Celeste," he agreed, lifting his water goblet to her. "My only true wife."

  Brent's eyebrows drew together as he drank the toast. When he set the goblet down, he turned to Sierran. "Have you more than one?" he asked.

  "It seems I have one in Argonne whom I've never met," Sierran replied. "One I don't want and with whom I certainly have no intention of ever living."

  "Ah," Brent said. "Your father's been arranging lives again, I take it. Which brother was that I saw scurrying away with his fist in the air?"

  "Vaughn," Sierran replied, the name sounding like a bitter brew on his lips.

  "I should have guessed," the lawgiver said. "Was he sent here to fetch you then?"

  Sierran nodded. "To take me back to consummate the Joining by Proxy," he said. "I will not do it." He shifted in his seat, his wounds starting to remind him they were there.

  "Who is the woman in Argonne?"

  "Beatrice Summerall," Sierran answered and when Brent winced, he stopped with his spoon in mid-sip. "You know her?"

  Brent frowned. "Unfortunately I've had the displeasure of meeting her. Summerall was at least twice her age and with one foot in the grave when he Joined with her ten years past." He glanced at Sierran. "You remember Lord Angus Summerall of Patterly."

  At first Sierran shook his head then memory came flashing back and his mouth dropped open. He stared at Brent. "Not, Angus the Bull?" he asked.

  "The one and the same," Brent replied. "Buried five wives before him—each one younger than the last. I believe he was close to ninety when he passed on." He shook his head. "Never did get an heir though that was certainly his intention."

  "Something was obviously wrong with his dangly stuff," Celeste said innocently.

  The men choked on whatever was in their mouths at that statement. Their faces turned red more from embarrassment than the liquid going down their gullet the wrong way.

  She looked from one to the other. "Did I misspeak?" she asked.

  "Not really, sweeting," Sierran said, wiping his lips, and trying not to cough. "We just don't discuss such things in mixed company."

  "Oh," she said, shrugging. "All right." She continued eating.

  Brent sat back in his chair, a wide grin on his face. “Sierran, you have struck gold here, man."

  Sierran was looking into his lady's eyes. "From the greatest of travails came the most wondrous of gifts."

  "Travails?" Brent questioned.

  Sierran glanced at Brent. "It was at Dragonmoor that I met this beautiful woman."

  Brent drew in a harsh breath. Everyone knew no one visited Dragonmoor unless they had been imprisoned there. "My God, Sierran," he whispered. "Where is Lord Allen now?"

  "Installed in a locked room in the farthest reaches of this keep," Vargas said.

  "Where he will stay," Sierran said, looking away from his wife. "Until other arrangements can be made."

  Everyone was quiet for a moment then Celeste asked softly about what other arrangements he had in mind.

  Sierran sighed deeply. "I do not expect him to live out his life below ground like a mole, dearling, but I will not have him out and about where he can hurt anyone else."

  "I understand that," she said.

  "There is a room on the ground floor of the keep that can be reinforced into a quite comfortable containment facility," Sierran said, deliberately not using the words jail or cell. "He will be able to look out and you can visit with him through bars that will be placed in the wall."

  "I have no desire to visit with him, milord," she said, lowering her head.

  The other men turned to look at her but no one said anything to her admission.

  "Nevertheless, if you wish to, you may," Sierran said and at her silent nod, turned to Brent. "So tell me, lawgiver. What do I do about the bitch who has been foisted off on me?"

  Brent snorted. "Stay as far away from her as you can," he advised. "As long as the Joining is unconsummated, there is little your father can do. Zykanthos is your estate and he has no authority here. May I ask who sent you to Dragonmoor?"

  "It wasn't my father if that's what you're thinking although I wouldn't put it past him," Sierran told him. "It was Thurston."

  "Ah,” Brent said. "I should have known. And where is the fanatical general now?"

  "Dead," Vargas stated.

  "That's the best news I've heard all day," Brent said with a laugh.

  "I would like you to draw up a letter for me so I may resign my commission," Sierran said. "I have several of my men with me here—they took leave to help out—and I would like to buy their early releases. Can you handle that?"

  "The Ibydosians are forever in need of money," Brent said. "I've no doubt they would be happy to sell your men's releases. How high should I go in setting a price?"

  "Whatever it takes to get them cashiered out," Sierran said.

  "How many are we talking about here?"

  Vargas spoke up. "Nine in all what came with us and another three back at the Force compound."

  "Twelve then?"

  "Aye, milord," Vargas agreed.

  "You've enough money in your coffers to handle this, Sierran?" Brent asked.

  "There is money at Dragonmoor if he doesn't," Celeste spoke up. "I can tell you where my father’s strongbox is and how to open it."

  Sierran's eyebrows shot up. "You are privy to such information, sweeting?"

  Celeste shrugged. "I know the strongbox is in his bedchamber in a niche behind a tapestry of the goddess Caluna. The key to that strongbox is never off the chain he wears around his neck." She took up her goblet of wine. "I imagine there is quite a large sum of money in the strongbox since he does not believe in banking establishments."

  "That would be stealing though, wouldn't it?" Mac inquired.

  "I am the lady of Dragonmoor and with my father out of the picture, the estate reverts to me," she said.

  "Not exactly," Vargas said. "He left a will giving the estate and all it entail
s to the Sisters of St. Carolus Convent to look after you when he is gone."

  "The telling words there are after he is gone," Celeste said. "He isn't gone. He is very much alive and will remain so—I believe—for many years to come." She set aside her goblet. "I care not what happens to the estate and have no desire to ever step foot inside it again but there are certain things in my bedchamber I would like to have retrieved along with the strongbox and other valuables scattered about—things that belonged to my mother, for instance. I would venture to say his will is in the strongbox and that can certainly be misplaced." She smiled sweetly.

  “I assume you are his only child?” Brent inquired.

  “I am.”

  “Then even should the will go missing, the estate will revert to you unless it is encumbered with debt.”

  “I don’t believe that is the case,” Celeste said. “My father does not like to owe anyone for anything.”

  "Make a list of what you want and I'll send the men to fetch it," Sierran said. "I assume I shouldn't set foot in Emardia again any time soon."

  "If ever," Brent agreed. "And certainly not Argonne."

  "That is a given," Sierran agreed. "I've no desire to let my father get his greedy hooks in me ever again."

  * * *

  Celeste was sitting at her vanity, running the brush through her long brown hair when her husband finally came upstairs to join her. Her blue gaze met his amber ones in the mirror and she smiled. "You have concluded your business, milord?"

  "For now," he replied, coming up behind her. He took the brush from her hand and ran it down the silky length of her thick tresses. "You have glorious hair, sweeting."

  “Thank you for noticing,” she said.

  “What do you think of my lawgiver?” he asked.