Wyndmaster 1 - The Wyndmaster's Lady
Page 14
"I love you," he whispered.
Celeste smiled. It was the first time he'd said those words, though he had shown her his love in a thousand ways since they'd been together.
"I love you, too," she whispered back.
He tried to move off her but she would not allow it.
"I like the feel of you on me," she said.
"I'm heavy," he protested.
"Yes, you are, but I love that heaviness, milord." Her arms were velvet bands anchoring him to her. She felt his cock slide out of her and groaned. "There that problem goes dissolving again."
"Bad problem," he said. "Bad, bad problem."
They lay like that for quite some time until Sierran insisted on moving to her side. She complained but he told her his chest was hurting. That wasn't true but it was the only thing he knew to say to make her release him. He didn’t like crushing her beneath him because he felt he was too heavy. He shifted to his side and gathered her into his arms.
"What do you suppose she wants?" Celeste asked after another ten minutes of silence between them.
“Who?”
“Your sister,” she reminded him.
"Oh, her.” He sighed. “To get me to go to Eagle Grove and consummate that damnable Joining," he stated.
"Will you?" she asked softly.
He snorted. "What do you think?"
She wrapped a curl of his chest hair around her middle finger. "I think I would squash any woman you dared to put your dangly in," she replied.
"I'm not leaving Zykanthos," he told her. "My father can find another way to take possession of Patterly."
"Is it an estate worth having?"
He shrugged. "I suppose so although I've heard Summerall neglected it for the most part. Brent says there are rich, fertile lands there but they haven't been worked properly." He put up a hand to scratch at his chin. "And there may be minerals and ores. I suspect there are if my father is so anxious to own it."
"Can't you just sign the land over to him?" she asked.
"I could but it wouldn't be legal. The Joining has to be consummated for it to be lawful in the eyes of the Argonne High Council." He yawned and rested his chin atop his lady's head. "It's a moot point for I have no intention of going to Argonne and certainly no desire to hump the widow Summerall."
"I should hope not," his lady said. She settled into his arms and closed her eyes. "But we must be nice to your sister while she's here."
He pulled his head back and looked down at her. "Why?"
She opened her eyes and tilted her head back to lock gazes with him. "Because—like it or not—she's your family. Let it not be said that your lady-wife did not extend courtesy and consideration to your sister."
"You would have scratched my brother's eyes out or maimed his dangly on the Akinos but you'll be civil to my sister?" he questioned.
"This is our home," she said. "The Akinos was not."
"Oh," he said. "Well that certainly explains things." He shook his head at her logic then closed his eyes.
She closed hers and in a matter of moments, they were sleeping.
Chapter Thirteen
It was a strained meal the three of them ate that evening. The conversation was stilted and the unease palpable. Although the food was excellent, the wine exquisite, and the dessert utter heaven, no one seemed to have enjoyed the repast as they retired to the study where a roaring fire kept the chill of the winter night at bay.
"How many people live on Zykanthos, Sierran?" Jillian asked.
"Around two hundred," he said, sipping the cognac Celeste had poured for him.
"And you own the entire island?"
He nodded. Out of respect for his wife's wishes, he was dressed more properly for a meal with his sister though he had adamantly refused to put on a coat and cravat. His white shirt had been begrudgingly tucked into his britches, he wore a belt, and he had on boots. That was as far as he was willing to go.
Jillian on the other hand was dressed in elegance with jewels in her upswept hair—compliments of one of Vista del Mar's more creative maids—and at her ears, neck, and upon her wrists. Several rather expensive rings adored her long, tapered fingers.
"You seem to have done well for yourself, Jilly," Sierran remarked. "Who was it you married?"
"Lord Edward Gillespie, Earl of Haverton," she replied, her chin high. "His family is very close to the Ibydosian Royals." She took a tiny sip of the port in her hand.
"And Madeline and Danica?" he asked. "Whom did they catch?"
His sister frowned before she caught herself then forced the lines from her forehead. "You make us sound like fishwives, Sierran," she said. "We didn't catch anyone. Father made excellent matches for each of us. Maddy Joined with Lord Levon Reed of the Vantar Reeds and Dani is wife to Lord Morris Bartlett. His family is…"
"Big in shipping," Sierran finished for her. "I know Morris. The others I've only heard about."
Jillian sat her empty glass aside. "How do you know Morris?" she asked. It would not do for her brother to have a friend inside the family.
"I own the Akinos," he replied, "and two merchant ships, the Austru and the Shamal. I met Bartlett when I purchased the Shamal. He's a prissy little twit."
"I quite agree," Jillian said, relaxing.
"What about our brothers?" he inquired. "Whom did they marry?"
"Well, Peyton married a friend of mine, Lady Leticia Reynolds. We went to boarding school together and are very close," she said with a smile that transformed her face. "Dyllon took Lady Lizabeth Nelton as his bride and Fallon wed Lady Harriet Dunston." She sighed. "Vaughn married that odious Wetherby girl. Do you remember her?"
"Vaguely," he said. He was thirteen the last time he'd been with his entire family and he had a slight recollection of his twenty-four year old brother bringing a scrawny, sharp-faced woman to supper one evening.
"Teresa is not one of Father's favorites, I assure you," Jillian said. "He can barely tolerate speaking to the chit."
"Yet he gave his consent to the Joining," Sierran observed.
"She had a most impressive dowry," Jillian remarked.
"Ah, then that explains it. How much dower land did she bring to Father's estates?"
"It was a goodly portion of Wetherby lands Father purchased when we fled to Argonne and built Eagle Grove," she told him. "Teresa's dower lands abut ours to the east."
"So how large does that make Eagle Grove now?" he asked.
"Well," she said, her voice filled with pride. "Once the Patterly lands are incorporated, Eagle Grove will be by far the largest estate in all of Argonne. Father will wield such power not even the might of the Argonnese government will be able to stand against him."
Sierran's smile was nasty. "I can see why he's so anxious to get his hands on Patterly."
Jillian stiffened. "And do you see why it is necessary that you come to Argonne to consummate your Joining to Lady Beatrice?" she asked. "Once that is done, you can return here to your island and never once have to step foot upon Eagle Grove lands again."
"The family will leave me be, eh?" he asked, lifting his snifter to drain the last of the cognac.
"Indeed!" Jillian agreed. She looked from her brother's scowling face to Celeste's carefully expressionless one. "You do see the advantages, don't you, dear Celeste?"
"Advantages to your family, yes," Celeste said. "But there are no advantages that I can see for Sierran."
"Well, no," Jillian agreed. "There will be nothing for him at Eagle Grove but then again, there never has been or ever will be."
Sierran was staring down into his empty snifter. When Jillian said that, he slowly lifted his head and looked over at her. "What happens to Patterly if I refuse to be a part of Father's scheme?"
Jillian blinked. "Well, you can't," she said. "You must come to Argonne and―"
"No," he said softly. When she would have protested, he held up his hand. "I said no. Not now, not ever."
"But you must, Sierran!" Jillian protested.
Jillian shot to her feet as her brother turned to leave the room. "This isn't finished, Sierran. You must come back with me to Argonne and―"
"No, I don't have to do anything," he said, his back to her as he kept walking.
Furious that she was being dismissed with such a cavalier attitude, Jillian spun around and glared at Celeste. "You need to make that silly boy see reason!" she insisted.
Celeste got gracefully to her feet. Her smile was as nasty as her husband's had been. "Sierran isn't a boy, Lady Jillian. He is a man." She clasped her hands together in front of her. "A very powerful man who makes his own decisions. He will not be bullied into doing what he does not wish to do."
Jillian flounced her skirt and stormed out of the room, not even bothering to say goodnight to her hostess. She was seething and cursing vulgarly beneath her breath as she stomped up the stairs. She slammed the door to her room behind her and flung herself on the bed, lashing out with her fists and kicking her legs like a small child having a tantrum.
Celeste had stayed in the study. She was torn between going up to her husband and following behind his sister to give her a piece of her mind. For the longest time she stood there undecided but thoughts of Sierran's overbearing father trying to force him into doing something her husband had no intention of doing, brought thoughts of her own father to mind.
It had been nearly three weeks since she'd last seen her father in the dungeon of Dragonmoor. She had heard his wild shouts coming from the iron box as it had rolled along behind the wagon as Vargas took Sierran to the Akinos but she had not laid eyes on her parent since. Though she had ventured many times down the corridor that led to the room where he had been incarcerated, she had turned around each time, unwilling and unable to face the man who had done such terrible things to the man she loved. The man she knew as her father had never really existed. In his place, a monster had walked and it was that monster she had not been ready to see.
"He is well enough," Sierran had reported to her. "I haven't been to see him, either."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm afraid of what I might be tempted to do to him."
It had been an honest statement and one Celeste knew her husband had every right to make. He had been tortured brutally at her father's hands and would bear the scars of that torture for the rest of his life. Sierran had also told her about what her father had done to shame him and that—even more than the pain that had been inflicted upon him—seemed to torment Sierran the most.
"He put his filthy hands on me," Sierran had said. "To me."
It had taken her many nights of gentle loving to push that vile memory from her husband's mind. Now, it was nothing more than a ghost hovering somewhere deep in the background.
At least she hoped it was.
Standing there in the study she hitched up her courage. Tonight would be as good a time as any to confront her father. It needed to be done. She knew he begged to be allowed to see her—accusing Sierran of having raped her and even murdered her.
Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, she left the study and took the corridor toward the room the carpenters and masons on the island had turned into a private prison for her father.
"It's a large space," Sierran had explained. "I had the walls knocked down between two storage rooms and bars mortared into place over the windows. One room is airy and bright and the other—which is his bedchamber and bath—is dark but with a fireplace for warmth. There is also a fireplace in the living area. I had thick bars forged for the walls of the living area so anyone can stand there and converse with him."
"Does anyone do that?" she'd asked.
"Not to my knowledge," he replied. "He gets three meals a day that he has never refused to eat. I have provided him books and writing materials. Once a week my men go in to prepare a bath for him and clean the two rooms. They've been forced to wrestle him to the floor and shackle him to keep him still while they do that."
"You've done far more for him than he would ever have done for you, milord," she had said quietly.
"He is your father," Sierran said and had changed the subject.
She could hear her father speaking the farther down the corridor she walked. Ahead of her was a dead end so she could see there was no one standing before the bars. She knew he was carrying on a conversation with himself. She stopped to listen but could not make out the words he was saying. Now and again, she would hear him giggle.
Steeling herself, she continued toward the room where her father was being held.
"If you do go to see him, stay well back from the bars, Celeste," Sierran had warned her. "He isn't in his right mind. Better yet, let me or Vargas know when you want to go and we'll accompany you. It may not be safe for you."
Her father was pacing the living area of his cell with his head down, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a white shirt that looked too big for him and his britches were a bit too long over his stocking feet. His cheeks were stubbled with growth that was coming in stark white and his hair—though in need of a good washing—had gone from salt and pepper to nearly gray since last she'd seen him.
"We took away his belt and cravat for fear he might do himself damage. Vargas also took his boots for there were metal strips in the soles that he could have taken out to slash at his guards. “He's never allowed metal utensils for that reason. We have provided him a blunt wooden spoon with which to eat his meals," Sierran had explained.
"Tear out his fingernails with hot pinchers," she heard her father mumble. "Cut his manhood from him with a rusty blade."
Celeste blanched at those words—spoken low and furtively but with such venom it sent chills down her spine.
"Pull out his eyes and…"
"Father?"
Lord Charles stopped in mid stride and slowly turned his head. His eyes were vacant pools in his thin face. "Who are you?" he snapped. "How dare you address me in such a manner!"
"It's me, Father. Celeste," she said gently. Tears had formed in her eyes for the man on the other side of the bars was nearly unrecognizable.
"You are not Celeste!" the crazed man stated. "My Celeste is safe within the walls of St. Carolus where she is being protected from the likes of the degenerate who has imprisoned me in this vile place!" He squinted. "I know who you are. You are Morgan's whore! That's who you are!"
She shook her head as tears fell down her cheeks. "I am his wife, Father," she said. "We were legally Joined."
"Whore!" Lord Charles said and flung himself at the bars, thrusting a hand with crooked fingers through the bars to grab her. "Filthy slut! Diseased harlot!"
Celeste jumped back to keep him from touching her. His hands were filthy, the nails packed with grime and there was a foul odor wafting from him. He was clawing at her like a wild animal with his cheek pressed tight to the bars. Lips pulled back from gnashing teeth, eyes wild, and snarls coming from deep within him, he looked more animal than human.
She buried her face in her hands, sobbing, but when her father's growls became howls of rage, she looked up to see Sierran standing beside her.
"I hate you!" her father screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. "I am going to tear you apart, you despicable cur! I am going to slash you to ribbons!"
Sierran took his wife into his arms. "Come away, sweeting. He has lost his reason."
"Foul fiend!" Lord Charles shrieked. "Evil demon from the Pit!"
Leading his lady up the corridor Sierran glanced back at the insane man raking his hands beyond the bars. He knew in that moment that the lord was of no use to himself or anyone else. Rather than have Celeste obsessing about her father's downward spiral into irreversible madness, something would need to be done.
Once they were well away from the howls and snarls reverberating along the corridor, Celeste sagged against her husband, overcome with the horror of what she had just
witnessed.
He swung her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to their bedchamber. He laid her down upon the bed and bent over to smooth the hair back from her forehead.
"I'll be right back, sweeting," he said but he didn't think she'd heard him. She had turned over to bury her face in the pillow. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek and with grim determination turning his face hard he left the room in search of Vargas.
Jillian peeked out of her room, her eyebrows drawn together. She watched her brother descend the stairs and did not miss his expression that made her shudder. Surely such a look did not bode well for someone. She glanced at the closed door to her brother's bedchamber. She heard the crying coming from his room.
"Apparently all is not sweetness in paradise," she said. With a hateful sneer on her face, she stepped back and gently closed her room door.
* * *
Vargas and Mac were playing cards with two of the guards but as soon as they saw Sierran enter the gatehouse, they got quickly to their feet.
"Walk with me," Sierran said to them and his two men fell in behind him.
They took the stairs up to the wall walk where there would be privacy. No one was pacing the parapet for the drawbridge had been raised for the evening, the portcullis lowered.
"I've a favor to ask of you," Sierran said. He braced his hands on a merlon thrusting up from the crenellated wall.
"Name it, milord," Vargas spoke for the both of them.
"I know you have access to whomever on the island brews up the tenerse you foist off on me," Sierran said. "Would that person also have Maiden's Briar?"
Vargas and Mac exchanged a look and it was Mac who spoke. "You want to poison your sister, milord?"
Sierran laughed. "Aye, I do but not even I would be that evil." He shook his head. "It is for him."
"Ah," Vargas said. "Him." He nodded. "I figured that was coming."
"He's lost his mind completely," Mac said.
"She went to see him and I don't want that to ever happen again," Sierran said, lowering his head and closing his eyes. "If he could die quietly in his sleep, just cease to breathe…"