Wyndmaster 1 - The Wyndmaster's Lady

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "She didn't tell you her father was Duke of Northumberton? That he was the younger brother to King Edmond? Queen Tatiana is her godmother."

  Sierran's face turned pale. "She is royalty?"

  "Aye," Brent said. "She is now the Duchess of Northumberton. I am amazed you didn't know. It was imperative that word be sent to the Federation that the property go to her. And you—as her legal spouse—now own it. Had there been any doubt whatsoever about the claim of inheritance, the Federation could have stepped in and confiscated the property." He put a hand on Sierran's shoulder. "I acted quickly in her best interest―and yours. Dragonmoor is a large estate entailing a great many servants and the property, itself, is exceedingly valuable. I didn't want to take a chance you and she might lose it to Federation greed."

  * * *

  When the Akinos sailed out of Zykanthos Harbor at moonrise on the morning following Celeste's abduction, it was with a full compliment of warriors and weapons—some one hundred and twenty men strong and with ten four-pounder, smooth-bore cannons ranged along the deck. Each man had pistol and shot, sword and dagger, and the commander's permission to use their weapons as they saw fit. Nothing and no one was to stand between them and bringing Lady Celeste Morgan home. Hate and fury filled the sails of the Akinos and revenge allowed her to glide easily through the waters on route to Argonne. The storm that had been building slid further south of Zykanthos Island. It was as though the gods had given their blessing—the way was clear.

  Edgeville Harbor was lined with men who had been awaiting Sierran's arrival. Men stood on the roofs of warehouses and along the docks with muskets primed and pointed at the Akinos. Lord James Morgan was taking no chances that his youngest son would arrive with a raiding party to seize back his young wife.

  "You knew he'd do this," Brent said.

  "Aye," Sierran said, a muscle working in his jaw. "Have our men stand by. If I'm not back within the day with my lady, turn the waterfront to rubble." He said it loud enough that those on the docks could hear.

  "With pleasure."

  Vargas and Mac said nothing though their eyes were troubled as their commander strode down the gangplank and was immediately flanked by four armed men.

  "Are those men any kin to him?" Captain Kynth asked.

  "I don't recognize them," Vargas replied. "Hired guns would be my guess."

  It would be an uneasy time for the men on board the Akinos but one in which every man-jack there would be diligent. They had received their orders from the commander and not a one of them would balk if it came to a firefight. Cannon was aimed at both the waterfront and the two ships berthed in the harbor.

  Sierran walked in the middle of the four men who had come to escort him to Eagle Grove. He had not gone armed though one of the men patted him down for a hidden weapon nevertheless. Keeping his eyes straight ahead as the man's hands moved quickly and professionally over him, he stared at the landau coach with the Morgan crest emblazed on its door.

  When the man was finished, he swept an arm toward the coach to indicate Sierran was to enter the oversized black vehicle. Climbing up into the luxurious interior, he was not surprised to find the seats covered with thick fur throws but was a bit taken aback that a brazier box sat upon the floor to heat the cab.

  "The ride up to Eagle Grove takes about an hour, Commander," the man who had frisked him said. "I hope you will be comfortable during the ride."

  There was about the man an air of apology that amazed Sierran. He had not expected his father's men to show him any form of respect. "Thank you," he said quietly.

  The man hesitated for a second then shook his head as he shut the door. He climbed up with the driver, and once he was settled the coach jerked forward with the snap of reins. Two outriders accompanied the coach to either side while a third took up the rear. Sierran thought perhaps it was the other three men who had escorted him from the docks who now rode guard.

  Settling back in the plush furs, Sierran stared out the glass window of the coach as the driver took to the inland road. He had never been into the interior of Argonne before and sat staring at the scenery they passed. Those villagers they met on the road stood aside with heads bent, not moving again until the coach was well out of sight. It was obvious to him the people of Argonne were expected to show deference even to a vehicle carrying the Morgan coat of arms.

  His first view of Eagle Grove astonished him for the sprawling estate rivaled even the royal residence at Dullwitch in Emardia. Soaring five stories with tiled turrets, the castle—and it could be described as nothing less—was made of pale pink marble and had been built on an island. The estate was reached over an elaborate arched causeway that spanned a pristine lake surrounded by tall, graceful willows interspersed with aspen and cypress. Swans glided upon the lake and deer grazed delicately at the water's edge. It was an idyllic setting but it turned Sierran's stomach.

  "My wife and children are dying of hunger, milord!" A peasant had been brought before Lord James for poaching a deer and was on his belly before the great man, pleading.

  "Let them starve for all I care!" he remembered his father saying. "If they harm another of my beautiful deer, I will roast them all over a slow spit!"

  The peasant had been hanged outside the gates of the Morgan estate on Emardia as a warning. Sierran had heard the man's family had slowly starved to death.

  As the hooves of the horses clopped over the stone archway, Sierran dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. His family had never held any care for their servants or any of those who lived on Morgan land. Treated with no regard and even less thought, those entailed to Lord James had a hard row to hoe when even a wild animal was given more consideration than a human being. He held no hope that his brothers and brothers-in-law treated their people any differently.

  The coach pulled up before the massive stone steps that led up to Eagle Grove's wide portico. Standing beneath the roof of the portico was Vaughn Morgan, eldest son of Lord James. Beside him stood a diminutive woman Sierran recognized from long ago—Lady Teresa Wetherby Morgan, Vaughn's lady-wife.

  Stepping down from the coach, Sierran took a deep breath and started up the steep steps. He did not greet Vaughn—though he did give a sketch of a bow to Teresa.

  "Welcome to Eagle Grove, Sierran," Teresa said in a timid voice.

  Mumbling his thanks, Sierran met his eldest brother's eye. "Where is my wife?"

  Vaughn grinned nastily. "In the study with our parents," he replied.

  Sierran ground his teeth. "My true wife," he snapped.

  "Celeste is nearby," Teresa was quick to say. "You have no need to worry."

  "Go inside, Teresa," Vaughn ordered her. "We don't need your inane prattle."

  Curtseying quickly, Vaughn's wife hurried away, her face red.

  "Always did know how to keep a woman in line, didn't you, Vaughn?" Sierran said with a snort.

  "You should take lessons from me, little brother," Vaughn said. "That hellion you took to your bosom would try the patience of a saint."

  A slow, merciless grin spread over Sierran's mouth. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that his family would not have dared to treat Celeste with anything less than respect and would have done no harm to her for fear of Sierran's wrath.

  "Gave you a bit of trouble did she?" Sierran sneered.

  Vaughn took a step forward so he was almost nose to nose with his sibling. "Get your ass inside, fuck Beatrice, and be gone. The longer you stay here, the less I like it."

  "That was my intention," Sierran said, not stepping back nor showing any sign of being intimidated by his brother.

  Pivoting on his heel, Vaughn stomped away, his shoulders bunched, hands clenched into fists. Following at a leisurely pace he certainly didn't feel, Sierran entered his parent's palatial mansion, reminding himself with every step not to gawk at the wealth exhibited so garishly.

  Lord James and his lady-wife, Lady Judith, were seated in the library to one side of a huge fireplace snapping with immense
logs. The pleasant scent of cedar filled the room but it was far too warm for Sierran's taste. Ranged about on elegantly upholstered chairs and settees were the other adult members of Sierran's family as well as a slightly overweight woman whose bosoms were so large he nearly laughed when he saw them. Three maids moved among those gathered to offer trays of wine glasses and tidbits upon which to snack.

  "You certainly took your own sweet time in getting here, Sierran DeLyle," Lord James complained. "One would think your tart means very little to you."

  There were snickers from the others gathered and a couple of his sisters-in-law put their heads together to make some sly comment—no doubt at Celeste's expense.

  "Whatever you do," Brent had warned him before Sierran left the ship. "Do not let those vultures know Celeste is Justonian royalty—and especially not Edward Gillespie. Trust me on this, Sierran."

  Sierran flexed his shoulders and lifted his chin, his eyes locked with those of his father's. "Let's get this over with. Where do you want me to fuck the bull's side of beef, Father?" he asked in a casual tone.

  Gasps shot through the room and Sierran was hard pressed not to laugh at the blushes and fluttering hands-at-the-breasts of the women gathered. All, that is, except his mother who was looking at him with a slight smile that did not quite reach her dark eyes. She was sitting there with her hands folded in her lap, her legs politely bent to the side and crossed delicately at the ankles, her shoulders straight.

  "You are a crude barbarian!" Sierran's eldest sister, Madeline, hissed.

  Sierran cast his sister a hard look. "I am what you made of me, Maddy."

  His face tight with rage, Lord James got up from his chair. With military bearing, though he'd not served a day in any branch of service, he strode up to Sierran and backhanded his son. "You are not fit to be in the same room with these ladies. Apologize this instant!"

  Sierran staggered beneath the blow but it was not unexpected. He'd spent thirteen years of his life enduring such hits from every one of his immediate family. He had been prepared. He considered the slight trickle of blood that seeped from the corner of his mouth a small price to pay if that was the only pain they would dish out to him.

  "The so-called ladies gathered in this room know why I am here, Father," Sierran said. "I'll not apologize for being brought here to be a stud to the Summerall bitch. This is your doing, not mine."

  Lord James' brown eyes flared with obvious outrage. He was taller than any of his sons at six foot, five inches and solidly built. His eighty-four years of life had not bent his regal bearing nor had it lessened the strength of his hand when he struck Sierran again.

  "That is quite enough, James," Lady Judith said primly. "Do not punish the boy because he is being forced to tup your whore of a mistress."

  Shocked eyes flew to Sierran's mother who was sitting as still as a statue with that faint smile on her lips. When her husband's head snapped toward her—his lips drawn back in a snarl of outrage—she merely looked at him. "Everyone here knows you are sleeping with the Widow Summerall, James. Do not stand there and pretend indignation at her expense. We all know what she is."

  Sierran ran the back of his hand across his mouth. The cut to his lip from the first hit had widened with the second. His bottom teeth had scored the soft inside of his lower lip and blood flooded his mouth.

  "Madame, you are being deliberately insensitive," Lord James told her. "Lady Beatrice is…"

  "A whore," Lady Judith stated. "She was a whore when Angus wed her and she is a whore every time she opens her thighs to you." She sniffed. "Pray have the decency not to pretend otherwise to your family."

  Sierran could not stop the grin from forming on his face though the cut to his lip made him wince.

  "The bedroom in which you are to perform your duty is at the top of the stairs, Sierran DeLyle," his mother told him, "and in readiness for you. Allow the Widow Summerall a moment to take her cumbersome teats upstairs before you go and attend to things."

  Lady Beatrice Summerall shot to her feet, her massive bosom heaving with indignation. "Madame, I assure you I am not a cow upon whom you may foist off your rutting son."

  "Son, father," Lady Judith said, not even bothering to look at the woman. "I imagine you've had each of my other sons long before now. What is one more Morgan piece between your legs, Bea?"

  The other women gasped again and their faces turned red but one look about the room and Sierran knew the truth of it. His father had not been the only man there to part the legs of the Widow Summerall. Even his brothers-in-law had guilty looks about them.

  "Pray go upstairs and ready yourself, Lady Beatrice," Lord James said, his hands opening and closing at his sides. "Let us be done with this travesty as quickly as possible."

  "All she needs to do is bend over the bed with her skirts hiked up and I'll handle the rest," Sierran said, locking eyes with his father.

  "James!" Beatrice protested.

  "Go, Bea!" Lord James said, his face strained. "This is most distasteful to us all."

  Casting Sierran a haughty, enraged glance, Lady Beatrice grabbed up her skirts and ran from the room, her large breasts jiggling in such a way, Sierran had to bit his lip to keep from laughing. Her heavy footsteps up the stairs made the chandelier in the center of the library ceiling shake.

  Lord James snaked out a hand and grabbed Sierran's neck, pulling the younger man closer to him to glare down into Sierran's face.

  "Hurt that woman and I will take a horsewhip to you," Lord James growled from between tightly clenched teeth. "Do you understand?"

  "Have my wife ready when I come down from servicing that bawd," Sierran said, meeting his father's steely gaze. "I'll not sign the papers to Patterly until Celeste is at my side."

  "It will be my pleasure to be rid of you and that slut you call wife," Lord James snarled and let go of his son's neck, turning away from the younger man.

  One final look at his mother's composed face and a sweeping look across his brothers' and sisters' triumphant stares, Sierran headed for the stairs. He could feel the burden of his family's eyes weighing him down.

  "Go fetch that little tart," Lord James told Dyllon. "And pray do not attempt to manhandle her again!"

  Dyllon had the grace to blush and quickly glanced down at the scratches that had been gouged into the back of his hand.

  * * *

  Celeste looked up from her perch atop a crate as the lock to the door of the pantry in which she had been rudely thrust snicked open and the man who had shoved her inside the claustrophobic room stood framed in the doorway.

  "He's here," Dyllon Morgan snapped. His upper lip twisted. "Fucking the widow even as we speak."

  Though she had managed to rake her fingernails down the man's hand earlier when he had dared to take liberties with her, she ached to drag them down his smug face and peel off the top layer of his skin. He looked too much like Sierran for her comfort. When he had groped her, she had attacked him like a snarling she-wolf and he was staying well back from her now, not trusting her to behave.

  Dyllon stepped well back from the door as Celeste got to her feet. He could not help but admire her shapely figure in the soft gray wool of the gown his mother had loaned her, but he knew better than to try to lay hands to her again.

  "The family is in the library," he mumbled. "I am to take you there to wait for Sierran."

  With her head held high, Celeste left the pantry, flicking a hateful glance down Dyllon Morgan as she passed. She wanted nothing more than to jump on him and shred him to ribbons but vengeance would have to wait until she and Sierran were free of the Morgan family fetters.

  They were all there, except for the fat slob that Sierran was being forced to service, when Celeste was escorted to the library. No one spoke to her or acknowledged her entrance into their midst. She was being pointedly ignored as though she were of no worth to the Morgan family. Speaking amongst themselves no one even glanced her way.

  "He grew up to be quite handsome," Lad
y Harriet, Fallon's wife was heard to comment to her sister-in-law Lady Danica.

  "Handsome is as handsome does," Danica snapped. "He is a pig as evidenced by his vulgarity."

  Celeste could well imagine what her husband might have said to put his middle sister's nose out of joint.

  "But he is, nevertheless, Danni, a very striking man," Lady Leticia, Peyton's wife, commented. "I would not mind being in Bea's garters right now."

  "As if he'd tup you," Celeste muttered under her breath but her mother-in-law appeared to have heard her. She nodded at Celeste as though in agreement.

  The clock in the library was striking the tenth hour when Lady Beatrice came back down the stairs. Every hair was in place and her gown had not the slightest wrinkle in it. She cast Lord James a nasty look then flounced to a seat near him, her bottom lip thrust out in a pout. "That man," she said in a grating voice, "is no gentleman."

  Lord James leaned toward her, taking her hand to soothe her. "Did he hurt you, milady?"

  "He insulted me with every thrust, Jamie," she said, tears gathering in her eyes. "He took me like a common streetwalker."

  "Surely he did not bend you over the bed as he threatened…" Lord James began with a pained expression on his face.

  "Worse!" Beatrice said, her mouth trembling. "He pushed me up against the wall and did it there with no regard to dignity or comfort or anything else!"

  Celeste's heart thudded hard against her rib cage. She didn't like the look on Lord James' face nor the gleeful expectancy hovering on the faces of the other men in the room. She stepped forward just as Sierran entered the room. "Sierran…" she began but it was Edward Gillespie, Jillian's husband who reached out to take her arms.

  "Milady, be still," he warned her, pulling her back against him though she tried to stomp on his instep.

  Lord James released Beatrice's hand and stood up. He stepped forward and took a paper from the pocket of his coat, slapping it against Sierran's chest. "Sign this and be done with it!"

  Sierran didn't even look at the paper but took it from his father, strode over to a table, bent over and scrawled his name across it. He left the paper on the desk.