Wyndmaster 1 - The Wyndmaster's Lady

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Leave it to us, milord," Vargas said. "We'll see to things."

  "A stroke," Mac said and the other two men looked over at him. "If she saw him acting up, it wouldn't be a hard thing to imagine." He shrugged. "Maiden Briar can paralyze a man so he appears to have had a stroke. He can't move and eventually the poison will enter his lungs and he'll stop breathing."

  "If she were to be there at his deathbed and see his chest stop moving…" Vargas suggested, "She'd not know you had any hand in his death, milord."

  Sierran nodded. He looked out over the water and was quiet for a long time, his eyes searching the horizon for any other answer. He could find none. He turned to Mac. "I leave it in your hands. Call us when you think she should be there." Pushing away from the wall, he headed for the stairs.

  "Aye, milord," Mac agreed.

  * * *

  It was just a little after midnight that the knock came on Sierran's bedchamber door. Though Celeste was sleeping restlessly beside him, he had not closed his eyes but rather had been awaiting the summons. As soon as he heard it, he shook Celeste gently to awaken her then got out of the bed, pulled on his britches, and went to the door.

  Vargas was standing in the hall with a lantern. "Milord, I hate bothering you in the dead of the night but it seems Lord Charles has suffered a stroke. I believe the end is near."

  Sierran looked behind him to see Celeste sitting up in bed. "Sweeting?" he said softly. "Do you…?"

  "Aye," she said, flinging the covers aside to take her robe from the foot of the bed.

  "We'll be along," Sierran told Vargas. He looked into the other man's eyes for a moment then turned to draw on his shirt for the air had turned chill.

  Her hand was clasped tightly in his as they descended the stairs and walked along the corridor toward the cell. Torches were alight on the walls and Mac was standing at the bars, looking into the cell.

  "Who found him?" Sierran asked.

  "The guard who usually checks up on him before turning in each night," Vargas replied. "Lord Charles always curses him and when he didn't, Felix called me and Vargas. Together we went in and found him on his cot, just staring up at the ceiling."

  "Do you want to speak to Felix, milord?" Mac asked.

  "No," Sierran said. "I guess not."

  The door to the cell was open and Celeste paused at the opening before taking a deep breath and venturing into the living area. Sierran's hand tightened even more on hers as he led her into the bedchamber where her father lay perfectly still beneath a thick coverlet. His chest rose and fell slowly but he did not move. His eyes were fixed on something beyond that world as a thin stream of saliva oozed from one corner of his mouth.

  Removing her hand from Sierran's, she knelt beside her father's cot. "Father?" she whispered, but Lord Charles did not react. She looked down at his liver-spotted hand that lay outside the coverlet and with her own hand trembling, placed her palm on his flesh, wincing at the coldness that was already spreading through his body. As she watched, his chest ceased to move and he laid perfectly still, his eyes still open.

  "He was waiting for you, milady," Vargas said sorrowfully.

  "Aye," Mac agreed. "Before he let go of this world."

  Sierran glanced at both men and the look he gave them was a warning they both took to heart, ducking their heads beneath that silent reprimand.

  Celeste knelt there for several moments more then with the help of her husband got to her feet. She lifted her hand, kissed her fingertips, and then laid them against her father's forehead. "Sleep well, Father," she said, turning away.

  She and Sierran were almost to the stairs when she stopped and looked up at him. "May I take him back to Dragonmoor for burial, milord?" she asked.

  "If that is your wish," Sierran replied.

  "He would prefer to be laid to rest on his own lands."

  "Then that is how it will be."

  She reached up to put a hand to his cheek. "You are ever good to me, my husband."

  He covered her hand and turned his face to kiss her palm then brought her hand to his chest, over his heart. "You are my light and my life, Celeste."

  His wife searched his eyes then smiled sadly. "I am going up to bed but before you join me, go back, and instruct Vargas to be careful where he discards the remainder of the Maiden's Briar. We want no one else to come into contact with it."

  Sierran watched her start up the stairs, unable to speak for a moment then he called out to her. "How did you know?"

  She didn't look back at him. "I didn't," she said and continued on up the stairs.

  Realizing he had confirmed with his question what had been merely a suspicion in her mind, Sierran could have kicked himself. He had never meant for her to find out he'd had a hand in her father's death.

  "Don't be long, Sierran," he heard her say.

  * * *

  Jillian accompanied her brother and sister-in-law to Emardia though she had no real desire to be a witness to the burial of Lord Charles Allen. The weather was miserable with the threat of more snow hovering in the air. Ice floes had formed on the water as the Akinos made its way to Bowsted Harbor but Sierran and his womenfolk were cozy enough with the lively brazier that warmed the ship's salon. It had been an overnight trip from Zykanthos to Emardia and Jillian had found fault with her tiny cabin, but the ship was now berthed and its passengers awaiting the coach that would take them to Dragonmoor.

  A tall man in the uniform of the Ibydosian Forces arrived on horseback just as Sierran helped his sister into the coach. He turned to greet the man, smiling as he held out a hand.

  "How are you, Gilbreth?"

  "I am well, Sierran," the man replied, shaking Sierran's hand. "I trust you are well."

  "I am."

  "General Tremayne sends his regards," Gilbreth Andrews said. “And has issued an invitation for you to visit with him if you have time."

  Sierran knew Tremayne to be an honorable man—as vastly difference from Thurston as a man could be—but he had no desire to go to Force Headquarters on the off chance he might be taken back into custody for failure to carry out a direct command.

  "I'm afraid I really don't have time to spare this trip. Another time perhaps?" he asked, wondering how the Federation knew he was coming back to Emardia.

  "Certainly," Gilbreth replied. "Oh, if I may…" He reached inside his heavy wool uniform coat and withdrew a folded paper. "I was instructed to hand this into your keeping."

  Sierran took it. "What is it?"

  "The deed to Dragonmoor," Gilbreth answered. "With your marriage to the lord's only child, the property is now yours. It has been notarized and entered into Federation records. A copy has been sent to Dallwitch to the Royal Treasury."

  Taken aback, Sierran looked up from the papers. "How did the Federation know about my Joining to Lady Celeste?" he asked. "Or of her father's demise, for that matter?"

  Gilbreth's eyebrows slashed together. "From your lawgiver, of course," he replied. "Lord Brenton informed the Federation of your Joining at the time he remitted the resignation of your commission. He sent word of Lord Charles' passing the morning it happened, I believe, asking that things be settled as quickly as possible for when you arrived so the Lady Celeste could put the unpleasantness of his death behind her. I do hope that is satisfactory."

  Sierran wondered who the lawgiver had sent to Emardia to inform the Federation and why he'd felt the need to do so in such haste. He made a mental note to seek out Brenton as soon as they returned to Zykanthos.

  "I am grateful to the Federation for expediting the matter," Sierran mumbled.

  "It was the least we could do to atone for the terrible injustice of you being remanded to the Dungeon Master to begin with," Gilbreth said, his mouth tight. "But at least something good came from the ordeal, eh?"

  Sierran smiled. "Something very good, indeed, Gil."

  "Then you are happy?"

  "Very happy."

  "Good," Gilbreth said. "I see your wagon has arrived and I won
't keep you. Please give my regards to your lady-wife."

  As the wagon rolled out of Placida and across the rugged plains over which he'd been taken in the sweltering confines of the iron box, Sierran was silent as he stared out the window. His wife sat beside him, his sister across from him with Vargas, Mac, and Seth riding behind in another coach.

  "You are being uncharacteristically quiet, Sierran," Jillian observed. She was tugging on her soft kid gloves.

  He looked around at her. "How would you know? It's been years since we were in a coach together." His eyes narrowed. "Do you even remember the last time?"

  Jillian thought about it for a moment. "I suppose it was when Nana Margaret passed on. We went up to Shoringtown to attend that absurdity of a funeral."

  "No," Sierran said. "It was when I was being taken to Breverly."

  There had been something in her husband's voice that alerted Celeste that the coach ride to which he was referring had not been a pleasant one. When she saw the color drain from Jillian's face, she reached out to take Sierran's hand. "What is in Breverly?" she asked, looking up at him.

  A muscle jumped in Sierran's jaw but he did not answer.

  "Oh, surely you must know that is where the Federation has a military school, Celeste," Jillian said, rearranging the heavy fur robe that covered her legs.

  Celeste squeezed his hand. "You did not tell me you went to military school."

  "I didn't," he said.

  "Father took him there but he kept running away," Jillian said. "Twice, if memory serves."

  "And that last time I was taken back by coach," he said. "With the entire family in attendance." He stared hard at Jillian. "And that was where I was left while the rest of you took ship to Argonne later that night."

  Jillian had the grace to blush. "It was for your own good," she said.

  Sierran rudely snorted at that statement and returned to looking out the window again though his hand jerked against Celeste's.

  “Your family left him then moved away?” Celeste asked, aghast at such a thing having happened to the man she loved. “Why would you…?”

  “Let it drop, Milady,” Sierran asked softly.

  Jillian pretended to find something interesting out her window and silence fell upon the travelers.

  Several hours later—after Lord Charles had been interred in the family crypt—and the keep inspected to make sure the servants were taking care of the estate, Celeste realized her husband was missing when it was time to leave. After looking for him above stairs, she finally realized where he must have gone and found him in the dungeon, staring at the bloodstained slab where he had spent torturous hours under her father's brutal care.

  "You should not have come down here," he told her.

  "Neither should you," she said, slipping her arm around his waist.

  "He was out of his mind, Celeste," he said.

  "I know."

  "The gods only know how many people died down here."

  "I asked Vargas to ride into town and send back a priest to exorcise the evil in this wretched place," she said. "I have also instructed the staff that these rooms are to be cleaned and stripped of all devices. There will be nothing left of the wickedness my father wrought."

  "It will always be here, sweeting," he said, running a hand through his hair. "The walls are saturated with the screams of his victims. Can you not hear them?"

  "We will lay those poor souls to rest," she said. She reached down to take his hand in hers. "Now, let's leave this place and return to the ship. I have no desire to stay here a minute longer."

  He nodded and began walking with her toward the stone stairs. "Is there anything else here you want to take with us?"

  "Everything that meant anything to me has already been brought to Vista del Mar."

  The last sight Celeste had of the home in which she'd been born, and in which she'd lived an imprisoned life, was of the sun setting over it, washing Dragonmoor in blood-red color.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "When are you planning on returning to Argonne, Jillian?" Sierran asked his sister a month later. They were in the study, waiting for Celeste to come down stairs so they could go in and break their fast.

  "Are you that anxious to be rid of me?" Jillian countered.

  "Nay, you can stay as long as you like but I am not going to change my mind about going back with you so you are wasting your time if you think I'm going to cave in," he told her.

  "I've come to that realization," Jillian lied. "And I suppose it is time I returned to Edward although this time of year he spends hours on end hunting." She sighed. "I'll send word tomorrow for Peyton to return for me."

  "Make sure he understands he won't be allowed to come ashore," Sierran reminded her.

  Jillian rolled her eyes. "Of course." She picked at a piece of lint on her skirt. "Would you have time to show me about the island later today?" she asked. "I've yet to see hardly any of it."

  The last thing Sierran wanted to do was spend more time with his sister. He found it hard just to be civil with her when she used her snide, condescending voice or made untoward comments about the staff.

  "I don't but perhaps Vargas or Mac…"

  "Oh for the love of Alel, Sierran!" his sister exploded. "Would you foist me off on the servants?" She dug her fingernails into her palms to make tears glisten in her eyes. "At least allow Celeste to accompany me."

  "Accompany you where, Jillian?" Celeste asked as she came into the study.

  Jillian sniffed. "All I want is to see the island before I am forced to leave and…"

  "No one is forcing you to leave, Jillian," Sierran said with a clenched jaw.

  "I've been cooped up here for over a month with only that trip to Dragonmoor to break the monotony. All I ask is to have a little bit of pleasure before I go." She dabbed at her tearful eyes.

  Celeste met Sierran's annoyed look. "If you would allow Seth to drive us, he could show us about the island. I must admit I'm a bit curious about the rest of Zykanthos and Brent has often invited us to visit him."

  "You've not seen it either!" Jillian gasped. "Why are you keeping her captive here, Sierran?"

  Sighing deeply, Sierran shook his head. "I am not keeping her prisoner in her own home, Jillian."

  "It seems that way to me!"

  "It would," he snapped. He gave his wife a droll look. "If you want to trudge about the island in the dead of winter, Celeste, you certainly can, but I've no desire to."

  "Then Celeste can take me sightseeing?" Jillian pressed, eyes narrowing.

  "There is snow on the ground, Jillian," Sierran protested.

  "Oh, foo! There's not that much," his sister said. "The roads are clear and we aren't going to be traipsing inland. We'll stay to the coast roads. Can't she show me the island, Sierran?"

  "If she likes and if the weather permits. If 'tis warm enough, I've no objection to you venturing out. If it's too cool, then no, you won't be going anywhere," Sierran replied. He held his arm out for the women to precede him to the dining hall.

  Standing on tiptoes, Celeste gave her husband's cheek a peck and his arm a squeeze. "Thank you, dearling," she whispered. "It will get her out of your hair for awhile."

  "Don't come crying to me when she proves to be more than you bargained for," Sierran said in a low voice.

  "Is Brent the lawgiver you've mentioned in passing?" Jillian inquired. "The hermit who lives on the north part of the island?"

  "He isn't a hermit," Celeste corrected her. "He just prefers to keep to himself."

  Jillian sniffed. "Sounds like a hermit to me."

  As they ate, Sierran kept glancing surreptitiously at his sister. Though she was an overbearing and spoiled brat, he had to admit, she seemed to get along well enough with Celeste. There had been no open confrontations between the two women, although they were rather cool to one another in his presence. Apparently Jillian had taken to heart his warning not to insult or slight his wife that first day when Jillian had arrived at Vista del Mar.
They had been dutifully polite to one another and that was encouraging.

  "I don't like her and she doesn't like me," Celeste had stated when he asked what she thought of his sister. "I don't trust her, either. She hates you, dearling."

  It was the distrust Sierran felt, as well, that worried him. He didn't think Jillian would do anything to harm Celeste but he intended to make sure Seth was on alert when he took the women sightseeing.

  He had no illusions about how his sister felt toward him. Every question he had asked about his family had been answered as though she were speaking to an outsider—whom he supposed he was. Some questions she neatly sidestepped, others she gave only minimal response and some she pointedly ignored as though to tell him he did not have the right to ask such personal things. Often he caught her glaring at him with such animosity, it was hard to bear. But then she would smile, he would return the smile unconsciously, and she'd be gone before he could think long on the expression in her eyes.

  Aye, he thought, as he sipped his coffee. He would make gods-be-damned sure Seth watched Celeste like a hawk while she was in Jillian's dubious company!

  * * *

  That evening as Sierran undressed to join his wife in their bed, he saw that Celeste was staring at him. "What?" he asked.

  "You are superbly formed, milord," she said, her eyes wandering down his lean frame. "I could just gobble you up."

  "Is that so?" he asked. He kicked off his britches and stood there with his arms outstretched in invitation. "Feeling hungry are you?"

  Celeste patted the bed. "I find I did not get enough supper this eve."

  Sierran lowered his arms and walked over to the bed. He stood there and looked at her, his head tilted to one side. "If memory serves, there was no dessert this night. Why was that, milady?"

  His wife threw aside the covers to reveal her nude body. She slid her hand to the soft triangle at the apex of her thighs. "I've got your dessert right here, milord."

  He put one knee on the mattress. "And what kind of dessert is it, Sweeting?"