Wyndmaster 1 - The Wyndmaster's Lady

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  He reached out and took her hand to stroke it gently. "I hear you are Joined to one of our national heroes," he said. "Commander Sierran Morgan."

  "And so much in love I am still seeing stars when I look upon his brave face," she responded.

  "Oh, a love match," her uncle said. "Do tell!"

  "I doubt there is anything for me to tell you that you don't already know," she countered.

  He grinned impiously. "True. I make it a point to keep up with our champion. I know just about everything concerning him."

  "Except perhaps about what his family did just these past few days," Celeste said softly, knowing the king would not have heard of the goings on at Eagle Grove quite yet.

  The smile slipped from her uncle's face. "I have no love of the Morgan family save for our gallant commander. What goings on are these, sweeting?" he inquired.

  "First off," she said, "I would like to offer the Federation a piece of property they might well find of use." She reached into her pocket and withdrew the deed to Patterly. "As you can see my husband has already signed the deed and—as I am sure your men can tell you—Patterly is a very substantial holding."

  King Edmond glanced down at the deed. "Indeed, it is of estimable value. I believe it borders the Morgan estates of Eagle Grove and Seamlas, both rather substantial landholdings in Argonne."

  "A holding almost as large as Dragonmoor," she said. "A holding my husband and I would like to donate to the Federation for its use."

  Her uncle drew in a breath. "Are you sure?"

  "I have been reminded by our lawgiver that a copy of the deed is here in the royal treasury. We will, of course, remit the original when we return to Zykanthos."

  An astute man, the king leaned back against the stone wall of the window seat. "In exchange for what vengeance, milady?" he asked.

  "Vengeance?" Celeste questioned then shook her head. "Nay, Your Majesty. 'Tis not vengeance I seek but retribution."

  "Retribution for what?"

  "Actually," she said, slipping her hand from her uncle's. "It is a matter of treason to the crown."

  That made King Edmond sit up straight. "Treason? What treason, milady?"

  "The Morgan family did plan and execute an abduction of my royal personage from my home and thence hie me away to Argonne, to the estate of Lord James Morgan, where they held me at ransom for my husband's appearance there at Eagle Grove," she said, lowering her head and forcing a single tear to fall down her cheek.

  "For what purpose?" the king demanded, his gray eyes flashing fire.

  "To have him service a woman he was forced into marrying by proxy so Lord James could gain the woman's land," Celeste said. "A terrible, humiliating thing was put upon my poor husband, brave soldier that he is." She looked up through her lashes. "National hero that he is."

  "Service?" the king repeated in a deadly voice. "As in a carnal way?"

  Celeste simply nodded as though unable to speak.

  "He was put to stud?" the king snapped.

  Wincing at the vile descriptive, Celeste nodded again, dabbing at her eye. "Then my poor husband was horribly beaten, savagely brutalized by his brothers and brothers-in-law and now lies in a stupor on our ship in yon harbor." She sniffed. "I don't know if he will survive."

  "Don't lay it on so thick, bantling," her uncle said with a sigh. "We get your point. Our champion was abused at the hands of his family."

  Celeste knew not to say anything else. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the wheels turning in the king's head. His face was without expression but his steely gaze was boring into the floor as the situation flitted through his agile mind.

  "They kidnapped an heir to the Justonian throne," he said.

  "Aye, Your Majesty, they did."

  "Took you to Argonne how, milady?"

  "I was drugged, tied up, thrown into the bottom of a smelly fishing boat—my gown ruined, by the by―rowed out to sea and then tossed into Lord Peyton Morgan's bunk where I was kept tied hand and foot," she reported.

  "That is, indeed, a serious crime though unfortunately it can not be labeled as treason," King Edmond commented. "To lay hands upon a person of royal birth is a crime punishable by loss of title and confiscation of properties."

  "I could not ask that," Celeste was quick to say. "Confiscation of property and belongings, perhaps, but not the revocation of title." She looked up at her uncle. "Think of the Morgan children. They are innocent in this. Please?"

  "Confiscation of all properties of all members of the offending family, then," the king stated strongly.

  "Perhaps all but one?" she asked in a small voice.

  Her uncle gave her a stern look. "Who is it you are saving from our eternal damnation, sweeting?"

  "Lord Edward Gillespie."

  "The Earl of Haverton?" her uncle inquired and at her nod he sighed. "We have always liked him."

  "He was of some help to us and my husband's family will need a place to stay when we take their other lands," Celeste answered.

  The king bent forward, put his elbow on his knee, and cupped his chin in his hand. "How much property are we talking about here?"

  "Well, there is, of course, Eagle Grove and Seamlas," she said.

  "Go on."

  "Also lands owned by Lords Vaughn, Dyllon, and Fallon Morgan. Sloops owned by those men as well as the lands of Lord Levon Reed and Lord Morris Bartlett. Those beastly men beat my poor husband senseless."

  A nasty glare entered the king's eye. "Did they now?"

  "I would not lie to you about such a thing, Uncle," Celeste stated.

  "Is not Lord Morris the one who owns a rather large ship making concern?"

  Celeste nodded. "The one and the same." She was silent as the king seemed to be mulling something over in his mind.

  "Who," he asked her at last, "actually laid hands to our champion, our national hero?"

  "All of his brothers and the two brothers-in-law I mentioned, sire," she replied.

  "Attacking a member of our royal guard—retired though he may be—is punishable by confinement," he said. "Did you know that, niece?"

  "No, Your Majesty, I did not." She smiled. "His father also struck him, I believe, though I was not there to see it."

  "Wenchell!" the king called out.

  Out of nowhere the scrawny little man appeared, notebook in hand, pen to paper.

  "Warrants, if you will, for the persons of Lords James, Vaughn, Dyllon, Fallon, and Peyton Morgan along with additional warrants for Lord Levon Reed and Lord Morris Bartlett. With the warrants for their arrest and remittal to Wardsgate prison in Placida for sentencing, I want a confiscation of all lands and belongings held singularly and jointly by the Morgan families, including those of the sisters…." The king arched a brow.

  "Madeline, Danica, and Jillian," Celeste provided.

  "Those lands and any remaining dowries the Federation might discover are now property of the Justonian throne and will be henceforth added to Federation coffers upon inspection."

  "What of Lord Edward Gillespie, Earl of Haverton, Your Majesty?" Wenchell inquired as he hastily wrote upon his notebook.

  "Let him keep his land, but make sure he understands it is at the bequest of Lady Celeste Morgan," King Edmond said. "Eddie's punishment in this will be having his family sponging off him until such time as they can scrape together enough coin to build a hovel or two."

  "I can not imagine all sixteen adults and nine marauding children living in stately Haverton Hall," Wenchell said, letting both the king and his niece know he knew quite a bit about the Morgan family. "It is not a large holding."

  "Too bad," the king snapped. "Does Haverton Hall have a dungeon?"

  "I believe it has a small one, Your Majesty," Wenchell replied. "I venture to say it could accommodate no more than four men comfortably. Seven would be extremely crowded and uncomfortable."

  "Good, then remand said miscreants after their arraignment and sentencing for a confinement in that dungeon for daring to lay hands to ou
r champion."

  "Not Wardsgate, Your Majesty?" Wenchell wanted clarified.

  "Haverton will suffice."

  "As you wish, Your Majesty," Wenchell said with a twitch of his lips. "For how long, sire?"

  "Six months sounds about right," the king replied with a yawn. "We'd make it longer but we'd have their lady-wives clamoring after us and we don't want that."

  "Very good, Sire."

  The king turned a crooked brow to Celeste. "Who was the woman our champion was forced to service in that despicable way, Niece?"

  "Lady Beatrice Summerall."

  "Wenchell, have her Joining by proxy to the good Commander Sierran Morgan set aside, voided by degree of the crown, then we want her remanded posthaste to the convent of St. Carolus. We are sure the good sisters can teach her a thing or two about chastity!"

  "I would not wish that on my worst enemy," Celeste mumbled.

  "Nay, but we would," the king said emphatically. He slapped his hands on both thighs this time and stood, holding his hand out to his niece. "Pray take us to your husband, our champion, bantling, and let us see for ourselves the damage done to him by his nefarious family. We've yet to settle the issue of full punishment in our mind for this deed."

  Celeste took her uncle's hand and walked with him, feeling like a fairy tale princess as courtiers and ladies-in-waiting bowed and curtsied as they passed.

  "So you really do love our champion, eh?" the king asked as they went out into the lowering light of the late afternoon.

  "With all my heart," she replied.

  "'Tis about time he settled down," King Edmond said. "We've watched him joust many times. The fellow is spectacular in the lists."

  "I am content to keep him on Zykanthos Island," Celeste said. "Seeing him hurt breaks my heart."

  The king nodded and as they ventured down the dock, he nodded and waved to the throngs gathered to see their monarch for he had ever made himself accessible to his people. Though well-guarded with numerous soldiers tagging along ahead and behind his royal personage, he stopped now and again to speak to a commoner, to chuck a babe under its chin.

  "Alas, our Queen has not seen fit to grace us with a bantling," he said with a sigh. "We so wanted a son and she desired a daughter." He sighed again. "It was not to be."

  The men of the Akinos were stunned to have the king come aboard their vessel. Many dropped to the ground on their knees, their heads bent, unaccustomed to being near royalty.

  Brent stepped forward to introduce himself to the king, bowing low before the monarch.

  "Ah, yes, we have heard of you, Lawgiver," the king decreed. "How is our champion?"

  Brent cast Celeste a quick look. "He is unconscious, sire. His lady-wife…"

  "We will see him now," the king interrupted. He motioned Celeste ahead of him down the companionway.

  In the confines of the cabin, the king stood at Sierran's bedside and shook his head. "Seeing him hurt like this breaks our heart, as well, bantling," he told Celeste. "What family could do such to one of their own?"

  "One that has no care for him, Your Majesty," Celeste replied.

  The king nodded. "All too true, niece. All too true." His jaw tightened. "Since they have no care for him I shall adopt him and make him one of our own."

  Celeste's mouth dropped open. "Sire?" she questioned, shocked to the foundation of her being.

  "It shall not affect your Joining to him. First cousins marry all the time among the monarchy, you understand. But since we are without issue and we greatly admire our champion and always have, we shall declare him our true son."

  "But Your Majesty, Queen Tatiana may not agree," she reminded him.

  "As we recall, our queen made comment that it was a shame our champion was not our son. Now, he is." He turned around, knowing Wenchell would not be too far behind. "Did you make note of that, Wenchell?"

  "Aye, Your Majesty. I did."

  "Prince Sierran Allen," the king said. He looked at Celeste. "Middle name?"

  "DeLyle, Sire," she answered.

  "Prince Sierran DeLyle Allen, Duke of Northumberton, Laird of Dragonmoor." He smiled. "How does that sound, bantling?"

  Celeste's eyes filled with tears. He was giving her back the ancestral property she had offered the Federation and in return making her husband its rightful owner. "It sounds wonderful, sire, and I know he will believe himself unworthy of your generosity."

  "As a champion should," the king agreed. He laid a gentle hand on Sierran's shoulder. "Sleep well, Sir Knight, for on the morrow you will have much with which to occupy your mind."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reclining in his own bed, annoyed at not being allowed to get up even to piss, Sierran did not make a good patient. His face was still a motley collection of yellows, blues, purples, and reds and a few stitches had been called for to close the deep cuts on his right cheekbone. He had been chaffing at the bit for several days now but no one would allow him out of bed and—truth be told—he really didn't think he was capable of putting up too much of a protest. His ribs hurt. His head ached and when he sat up too quickly he got dizzy. Much to his chagrin, he was still pissing blood in the urinal Vargas insisted on holding for him at the side of the bed. He hurt from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet and then some.

  He flounced the covers to get his wife's attention as she sat sewing by the window. "I am bored, Celeste," he pronounced.

  His wife looked up. "Would you like to play a game of chess?"

  "No," he snapped. "I've had a belly full of chess with you and Vargas and Brent and Mac."

  "Cards?"

  "No."

  "What would you like to do?" she asked, putting aside her sewing. She got up from her chair and came over to his bed.

  "I'd like to beat the hell out of Levon and Morris," he seethed.

  "You will just have to wait until they are released from confinement," she said reasonably, "and you are more in control of your fighting skills." She grinned as she fluffed his pillow behind him. "Then you can trounce the hell out of them."

  "Don't think I won't," he stated. "I've taken the last whipping I intend to at their hands."

  "I should think so," his wife agreed. "They are lucky they still have their titles if not their lands and property."

  He had yet to come to terms with all that had happened while he laid in blissful unconsciousness onboard the Akinos. That his woman had gone behind his back to her kinsman as she had not only annoyed him, it embarrassed him even though he could see the wisdom of what she'd done. By getting the king involved, she had stopped a potential bloody fight that surely would have ensued had his father and brothers and brothers-in-law come after him on Zykanthos—though they had shown up only to find he was not there. Other than attempting to intimidate Sierran's people, the commander's family had succeeded only in being run off Zykanthos with cannons aimed at their sloop—a sloop confiscated by the crown when the Morgans had returned to Argonne.

  "I'd like to have been a fly on the wall when Father heard what the king proclaimed," Sierran said, his teeth clenched.

  "I don't imagine it set too well with any of them," Celeste said.

  "Not that they care that I am no longer a member of their precious family," he said, plucking at a loose thread on the coverlet. "I never truly was to begin with."

  She turned to pour her husband a tumbler of cool water. "What upsets them is that they'll never again dare to come up against you, milord."

  Sierran sighed. "That's true." He cocked a brow at the water.

  "Just drink it, Sierran," Celeste told him with exasperation.

  He took the tumbler, sniffed it, and then drank deeply, grumbling as he handed it back to her. "I am bored, Celeste," he said again, kicking his feet beneath the covers.

  She sat down beside him and snaked her hand under the coverlet. "You are such a brat," she said, her hand sliding over his thigh to cup his shaft.

  "Wah," he said, his voice that of a headstrong child. He wagged his
eyebrows at her.

  Her fingers wrapped around him. "What have we here, Prince Sierran?" she asked.

  He turned so he was looking fully into her eyes. "My scepter, wench," he said. "Feel the power in it?"

  "And these?" she asked, cupping his sac.

  "The crown jewels, of course," he replied.

  Pushing aside the coverlet, she glanced down at his erection as it pulsed in her hand. "I am so glad you do not find it necessary to hide such treasures from your lady-wife," she whispered.

  "She's ever a grasping wench, you know," he said with a heavy sigh. "She's always pulling at my scepter, wanting to wave it about." His eyebrows drew together. "I suppose it's a good thing she doesn't want to wear the gods-be-damned crown jewels."

  Celeste bent over and took him in her mouth, suckling strongly, running her tongue over his tip.

  "There she goes again," he said, putting his hands behind his head. "Playing with my scepter."

  His wife chuckled and slide her lips all the way to the base of him, her throat relaxed and her tongue sweeping along the underside of his shaft. She moved her hand to cup and knead his balls.

  Sierran closed his eyes and drew great pleasure from his lady's mouth and tongue. She had no compunction about suckling him and not once had she ever balked at swallowing the juices she brought forth from his rod. She was the first woman he'd ever known who would lick him dry when they were finished. There was no hesitancy whatsoever on her part to do everything she could to give him enjoyment. When she pulled away from him, he looked down.

  "What's on your mind, sweeting?" he asked.

  "I've always wondered about royal scepters," she said and moved so she could straddle his naked hips, tugging the skirt of her gown up so her bare bottom could rest on his thighs.

  As she wriggled against him, Sierran could feel the soft hairs of her nether region and he inhaled the sweet scent of her musk wafting up to him. He took one hand from behind his head and reached out to pull her neckline down to bare one perfect, lush globe. "What is it you've been wondering about?" he asked in a throaty voice as he ran his thumb over her hardening nipple.

  "What keeps them so shiny?" she asked.

  Sierran's left brow quirked upward. "Honey, of course," he replied. He molded her breast in his hand.