Wyndmaster 1 - The Wyndmaster's Lady

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Tell your captain to leave my waters," he told the sailors. "I'll send word when you need to return to pick her up." Before the men could push the boat back into the frigid water, he asked to whom the sloop belonged.

  "It's the Argyle, Peyton's piece of trash," Jillian said. "The lack of amenities on that floating barge boggles the mind. Now Fallon's sloop…"

  "You can tell me about all that later," Sierran said. He turned, expecting her to follow him.

  When she saw the horse, Jillian came to an abrupt stop. "Surely you don't expect me to ride that beast bareback!" she hissed.

  "You can walk if you've a mind to," he told her.

  Jillian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't know what kind of women you are accustomed to dealing with, Sierran—although I can make a good guess. I am a lady and a lady does not ride astride."

  "She does if she doesn't want to hike through the snow," he said, grabbing a handful of mane and vaulting onto the back of his steed. He sat there controlling the beast with his thighs, looking down at his sister with ill-disguised laughter. "You coming?"

  "You will regret treating me in this manner, Sierran," she said, holding her hand up to him. She gasped as he swung her up onto the horse as though she weighed little more than a child. Having no other choice, she threw her arms around his waist and held on as he dug his heels into his mount's side. The beast took off so abruptly, the hood of her cape flew back and away from her carefully coiffed hair.

  * * *

  "I don't think that's either your mother or the hag," Celeste mumbled as she watched her husband racing his horse back toward Vista del Mar. She took a deep breath and started downstairs to meet who she knew had to be one of Sierran's sisters.

  * * *

  Jillian had barely been civil to Celeste when they were introduced. Sierran's sister acknowledged his wife with a flick of her blazing eyes, a curt how do you do? before taking herself over to the first fireplace she saw and holding her gloved hands to the heat. She was shivering and her hair was a disaster, putting her in a very unpleasant frame of mind.

  "Nadia, would you have a bath drawn for Lady Jillian?" Celeste asked one of the maids. "I am sure she would like to refresh herself."

  "That is an understatement," Jillian said haughtily, not even bothering to look around at her hosts. She jerked off her gloves. "I am most uncomfortable in these wet things."

  Sierran's face was devoid of expression as he stood there with his hands dug into the pockets of his britches. His hair, too, was tousled but on him it looked attractive—and Celeste had to admit, sexy as hell—where on his sister it looked unkempt and blowsy. He gave his wife a staid look, rolled his eyes, and sauntered off.

  "Where is he going?" Jillian demanded, catching his departure out of the corner of her eyes.

  "I imagine to change his clothes," Celeste replied. "He is still not recovered fully from his stay in prison and…"

  "Ah, yes," Jillian interrupted. "I remember Vaughn mentioning something about that." She craned her head around. "Wasn't there something else about your father having tortured him?"

  Celeste's face turned red. "Yes, that did happen."

  "Poor Sierran. He does get himself into all kinds of mischief," Jillian said but there was no sorrow in her tone; rather,to Celeste, she sounded nearly gleeful.

  "Having his back torn open with a bullwhip certainly should teach him a thing or two, wouldn't you think?" Celeste asked, her jaw set and her eyes shooting blue fire.

  "I should hope so," Jillian said, completely oblivious to her hostess' ire.

  "And what do you think about him having had his chest cut to ribbons by a madman?" Celeste questioned, taking a step toward her husband's sister.

  Jillian picked up on the hostility accompanying that question and half turned around. "Is that what your father did to him?"

  "Yes," Celeste said as she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from slapping the woman. "My father took a knife to Sierran's chest and carved over three dozen gashes on it. One gash I had to sew closed." She narrowed her eyes. "Twice."

  Sierran's sister shuddered delicately. "I am sure it was a hard lesson for my brother to learn but perhaps he has profited from his ordeal."

  Celeste was so angry she couldn't speak. A part of her wanted to jump on the woman and rip her hair out while another part wanted to run her through with one of the crossed swords hanging over the mantelpiece. Before she could give in to either temptation, she pivoted on her heel and stormed off.

  "Now where are you going?" Jillian called out, stamping her foot in vexation.

  "Where I can't do any damage," Celeste muttered.

  * * *

  Sierran had just come down the stairs when he spied his wife hurrying out of the great hall. From the set of her shoulders and the militant look on her lovely little face, he knew Jillian had said something to set Celeste off. He sighed, shook his head, and turned into the Great Hall, reluctant to face Jillian but curious to know why she'd been sent.

  Jillian had taken off her cape and was standing with her back to the flames, the skirt of her gown lifted to warm her cold legs. When she saw Sierran, she dropped the gown with a faint blush tinting her cheeks at doing such a common thing but when she saw he was clad only in a white shirt and black pair of denim pants—and the shirt having been left untucked and him barefoot at that!—her mouth dropped open and her green eyes widened.

  "Is that how you dress for your guests, Sierran DeLyle?" she demanded.

  "I am in my home and I am comfortable, Jillian Kay," he replied. "You can hike your skirt back up and bare your arse to the flames for all I care. I don't give a gods-be-damn about supposed polite social behavior."

  "Obviously," she muttered, smoothing her mussed hair. "Is my room ready yet? Is the bath prepared?"

  He shrugged as he took a seat in his favorite chair and hooked his leg over the arm and his arm over the back. "To tell you the truth, I didn't ask. You can go up to the second floor and check, if you like."

  Jillian stared at him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been a mere boy five years her junior. Thin and lanky—more arms and legs than anything else—she and her friends had made fun of him. His hair had been a nondescript shade of mousy brown and though his eyes had been that strange golden color, they had certainly not been framed by the long dark lashes that now bracketed them. Today, he was tall and muscular with hair that was thick and a glossy dark brown that looked almost black. Through the carelessly buttoned front of his shirt, she could see a matt of dark hair growing but even from where she stood, she could see the faint red lines that must be the cuts of which his strumpet had spoken. He was a very handsome man with just enough sun crinkles at the corners of his devastatingly beautiful eyes to let you know he was older than you first imagined. And there was power and authority to him that both surprised and alarmed her.

  "Am I that ugly, Jilly?" he asked.

  His sister shook her head. "You are not ugly at all, Sierran," she grudgingly admitted. "You look more like our father than I had expected."

  "That was an insult you really didn't need to hand me," he mumbled. He flexed his bare foot in irritation.

  "Aren't your feet cold?" she asked, experiencing the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach as she watched his dangling leg and the soft-looking skin of his foot.

  "No," he replied.

  Jillian looked away. "Would you be a gentleman and escort me to my room?"

  Sierran just sat there and looked at her for a long moment then heaved himself out of the chair. "Sure, let's go." He led her out into the corridor then indicated the winding stairs. "After you."

  Acutely aware of her brother behind her, Jillian gracefully lifted the skirt of her gown and began the climb up the stairs. She missed nothing as she inspected the paintings on the staircase wall and the fine carpet underfoot. When they reached the landing and he moved around her to lead her to her room, she could not look away from his broad shoulders and long legs, mentally having to
shake herself to keep from entertaining the forbidden thoughts that were going through her head.

  Sierran stopped at a door and opened it, sweeping his hand across the threshold. He stepped aside so she could enter the room.

  "Oh, my," Jillian said, taking in the beauty of the room. "This is lovely, Sierran."

  He leaned against the doorjamb. "If you need anything, just ring. A maid will come up to attend you."

  She had gone to the window and pushed aside the draperies. "The view is spectacular."

  "Glad you like it," he said and turned to go but he stopped and looked back at her. "Jillian?"

  His sister swiveled her head around. "Yes?"

  "There is something I want you to remember while you are here," he said with no expression at all on his handsome face. "This is my home. Celeste is the mistress of my home. She is my legal wife―"

  "Your second wife," Jillian interrupted.

  "The wife of my heart," he stated. "She is the love of my life and I will defend her in every way I can. If you insult her or cause her the first moment of embarrassment or unease, I will personally escort you to the docks and you will never again be welcome in our home." His eyes narrowed. "Is that clear?"

  Jillian lifted her chin. "Am I welcome now, Sierran?" she asked.

  A slow, deadly smile crept over his mouth. "You are being tolerated, Jillian," he said then turned away.

  * * *

  He found Celeste in the solarium as he knew he would. Over the last week, they had spent many a soothing hour in the lush room with its vibrant plants or whiling away moments in the warm water of the hot tub—of which she was particularly fond. By now she knew the name of every exotic plant he had brought to this room and had studied volumes on that plant's properties. She knew which ones were of medicinal value and had spent quite a bit of time brewing poultices and salves for him and other members of his household. The solarium had become her favorite place at Vista del Mar.

  "She isn't a likeable person, is she, dearling?" Celeste asked as he strolled into the room, his hands in his pockets—a sure sign he was annoyed.

  "None of my family are likable, milady," he grumbled.

  “It bothers me that Jillian seems to dislike you,” she said.

  He shrugged. “They all dislike me, Celeste, but of them all, Jillian was less hateful to me when we were children. I suppose that’s why I can tolerate her better than I can the others.” A wry smile peeled back his lips. “And most likely why they sent her rather than another.”

  He came over to her where she was carefully clipping a bonsai tree. "That looks much better."

  "Did you know Lucas Gilbert makes miniature furniture for his daughter's doll houses?" she asked.

  Sierran shrugged. "I know he whittles a lot. Why?"

  "I've asked him to make me a little village to place around this plant." She looked up at him. "I thought it would be quaint."

  He smiled. "It would be," he agreed and took his hands out of his pockets to slip his arms around her. "I know something else that would be quaint." He rubbed himself from side to side against her.

  "Is that all you think of?" she asked with mock exasperation.

  "My back is as healed as it will ever be and my chest doesn't pain me that much anymore," he said, lowering his head so he could nibble at the side of her neck. "I've yet to claim you as I want to since you kept insisting on climbing atop me and riding me like a prized steed."

  She pursed her lips. "But it feels so good to ride you like that, Sierran."

  "Mayhap yet I know other things that will feel even better," he whispered against her cheek.

  Her hands were trapped between them, her palms flat to the hard muscles of his chest. "Better than your dangly thrusting into my sheath?" she giggled.

  Sierran stepped back and before she could protest, lifted her into his arms, swinging her up high against his chest.

  "Should you be doing this?" she asked, concerned for his wounds. True, they were healing—thanks to the salves she'd been slathering all over him—but she wasn't fully convinced he was healed enough to be exerting himself.

  "Hush, wench," he said. He carried her to the small daybed he had purchased for the room. They had spent many a glorious moment there watching the sun set over the waters of Zykanthos Bay. Laying her on the bed, he went to the solarium door and shut it, twisting the lock he had had Seth install for him.

  Celeste propped herself up on her elbows and grinned at him. "Strip, slave," she said haughtily. "I wish to view what I have purchased."

  It was only one of the games they played when they were alone—taking turns being the love slave of the other. When she was in her mischievous mode, she was at her most creative.

  "I am a warrior," he said. He came over to the daybed and stood there with his legs spread, his hands on his hips. "I am no slave!"

  "Oh," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "And I am but a poor, defenseless maiden you've torn from the loving arms of her family and stolen away for your wicked sport."

  "That you are," he said as he arched a dark brow. "Now lie down 'ere I tie you down."

  Celeste flopped down on the bed with her arms and legs spread wide. "Do with me as you will, you evil man. I have not the will to fight you."

  Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt then shrugged out of it, never taking his hot gaze from her. He removed his britches to stand there with his cock jutting forth like a well-honed blade.

  "Evil man," she repeated. She flung an arm over her eyes and sighed loudly. "You will despoil me with that wicked weapon."

  "Aye, wench," he agreed and placed his knee upon the daybed's mattress. "That I will."

  Sierran settled his naked body between her thighs, pushing the skirt of her gown up. "Damn, woman," he grumbled. "How many petticoats do you have on?" He pushed up two before sliding the hem of her chemise up to reveal her garter belt and stockings.

  "I wasn't planning on being ravished today," she reminded him.

  "You can plan on being ravished every day," he shot back and put his warm hand on her bare thigh where the stocking met the garter belt.

  His fingers trailed over her for a moment before he unhooked first one stocking then the other, alternately lifting her legs to his shoulders so he could peel the silk from her shapely legs. He reached up to tug the garter belt over her hips and Celeste accommodated him by arching her lower body up to help.

  "You are supposed to be fighting me, wench," he complained. "Not aiding me."

  "Oh," she said. "I forgot." She let her arm fall behind her head. "Oh, stop! Stop! You vile little man!"

  Sierran looked up at her. "Little man?" he questioned and stretched out atop her, allowing her to feel the hardness of his cock between her spread legs. "Does that feel little to you, madame?"

  Celeste put her tongue out to slowly lick her upper lip as he hovered there above her. The weight of him pressing down on her was heavenly and it was causing havoc with her lower body. She could feel the moisture gathering in her vagina.

  “I must admit it doesn’t feel all that small now that you mention it,” she replied.

  His gaze went to that little pink tongue moistening her lip and growled deep in his throat. He shifted his weight so he was leaning on his left elbow and he brought his right hand up to cup her breast through the velvet fabric of her gown. He squeezed her gently then lowered his mouth to hers, thrusting his tongue into her sweet mouth.

  Encircling him within the perimeter of her arms, Celeste moved her legs so they anchored his down and as his kiss deepened and his cock stirred between her thighs, she met his dueling tongue with her own.

  He kneaded her breast firmly through the material then insinuated his palm inside her bodice so he could touch her bare flesh. He plucked at her nipples—smiled around the gasp of pleasure that came from her—and ground his lower body against her.

  Celeste pulled her lips free of his. "If you don't take me right now, Sierran, I am going to…"

  He wriggled between
her thighs. "Then move your legs, wench, if you want me in you."

  She quickly unhooked her legs from over his. The moment his shaft entered her, she quivered from head to toe. It was glorious—the feel of him lying upon her, the heaviness of him, the attitude of powerful possession that feeling elicited within her, and the hardness of him thrusting deep.

  "Wrap your legs around my hips," he whispered and she didn't hesitate to do as he bid.

  His cock went deeper into her velvet softness.

  Sierran had waited so long to take her in that way. He had spent many a night dreaming of lying between her sweet thighs and ramming into her with sure, strong strokes that would bring her untold pleasure. At that moment, he was having a hard time controlling his cock for it wanted to release its juices into that warm, tight channel. Her hands were buried in his hair, her teeth nibbling at his chin and he was strung as tightly as a new bow.

  "Come for me, little one," he said, his voice thick with passion. "Come for me."

  Celeste felt that strange itching that always preceded the delight Sierran visited upon her. It was a building, tingling sensation that made her arch her hips higher and grind her body along his. She craved this man like an addict his dependence.

  He felt the first ripple on the tip of his cock and pressed tighter, harder into her. He increased the speed of his thrusts and when that second ripple came—like an undulating wave that clutched him from tip to base—he stilled within her as those ripples became a crashing wave.

  "Sierran!" she called out and slid her hands from his hair to his shoulders, grabbing at him, thrusting her hips closer to his.

  With his lady being pleasured, there was no need for him to hold off any longer and he gave into the release. He dug his fingernails lightly into her buttocks and poured himself into her.

  Burst after burst of intense pleasure washed over Celeste and she tightened her legs around him, hearing him grunt, knowing he was experiencing as much gratification as she. When he collapsed atop her, his cock flexing one last time before he lay still, she held him tightly, listening to his panting breath, feeling his pounding heart, loving him with every inch of her soul.