Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 (14 page)

claimed the Solarian's life. Seth had been around for only a few years but Brent he'd known since

childhood. It had been at his suggestion that the lawgiver had retired to Zykanthos six years earlier.

Leaning against the wall just staring at those closest to him added to the mellow feeling left behind by the

tenerse.

"I am dying to try this wonderful smelling concoction!" Celeste said, taking up her spoon after the

blessing. "I've never had potato and ham soup."

"Gilda is a superb cook," Brent told her. "I've never had anything that wasn't cooked to perfection."

"Aye, well, there was that casserole she fed us New Year's Day last year," Sierran spoke up and every

eye snapped to him there in the shadows at the far end of the room.

"Milord!" Celeste said, her face beaming with delight. "How are you feeling?"

Sierran pushed away from the door. "Like I'm walking on a stack of mattress but otherwise fine," he

said, waving away Vargas and Seth who were starting to get up from the table. "Sit down. I can make it

to the chair."

A maid hurried out and back again to place a setting before him. She dipped a curtsey at his polite thank

you and stepped aside for the butler to pour a goblet of wine for his master.

“Wine, Sierran?” Celeste asked then shook her head.

“Perhaps not,” he said. “A glass of lemonade would not be amiss, Gilda.”

The maid nodded and hurried off, taking the goblet of wine with her.

They waited until he was seated in the chair reserved for the lord of the keep before the other men took

up their water goblets. "To Sierran and Celeste!" the four men toasted.

Sierran met Celeste's look and smiled proudly at her. "To Celeste," he agreed, lifting his water goblet to

her. "My only true wife."

Brent's eyebrows drew together as he drank the toast. When he set the goblet down, he turned to

Sierran. "Have you more than one?" he asked.

"It seems I have one in Argonne whom I've never met," Sierran replied. "One I don't want and with

whom I certainly have no intention of ever living."

"Ah," Brent said. "Your father's been arranging lives again, I take it. Which brother was that I saw

scurrying away with his fist in the air?"

"Vaughn," Sierran replied, the name sounding like a bitter brew on his lips.

"I should have guessed," the lawgiver said. "Was he sent here to fetch you then?"

Sierran nodded. "To take me back to consummate the Joining by Proxy," he said. "I will not do it." He

shifted in his seat, his wounds starting to remind him they were there.

"Who is the woman in Argonne?"

"Beatrice Summerall," Sierran answered and when Brent winced, he stopped with his spoon in mid-sip.

"You know her?"

Brent frowned. "Unfortunately I've had the displeasure of meeting her. Summerall was at least twice her

age and with one foot in the grave when he Joined with her ten years past." He glanced at Sierran. "You

remember Lord Angus Summerall of Patterly."

At first Sierran shook his head then memory came flashing back and his mouth dropped open. He stared

at Brent. "Not, Angus the Bull?" he asked.

"The one and the same," Brent replied. "Buried five wives before him—each one younger than the last. I

believe he was close to ninety when he passed on." He shook his head. "Never did get an heir though

that was certainly his intention."

"Something was obviously wrong with his dangly stuff," Celeste said innocently.

The men choked on whatever was in their mouths at that statement. Their faces turned red more from

embarrassment than the liquid going down their gullet the wrong way.

She looked from one to the other. "Did I misspeak?" she asked.

"Not really, sweeting," Sierran said, wiping his lips, and trying not to cough. "We just don't discuss such

things in mixed company."

"Oh," she said, shrugging. "All right." She continued eating.

Brent sat back in his chair, a wide grin on his face. “Sierran, you have struck gold here, man."

Sierran was looking into his lady's eyes. "From the greatest of travails came the most wondrous of gifts."

"Travails?" Brent questioned.

Sierran glanced at Brent. "It was at Dragonmoor that I met this beautiful woman."

Brent drew in a harsh breath. Everyone knew no one visited Dragonmoor unless they had been

imprisoned there. "My God, Sierran," he whispered. "Where is Lord Allen now?"

"Installed in a locked room in the farthest reaches of this keep," Vargas said.

"Where he will stay," Sierran said, looking away from his wife. "Until other arrangements can be made."

Everyone was quiet for a moment then Celeste asked softly about what other arrangements he had in

mind.

Sierran sighed deeply. "I do not expect him to live out his life below ground like a mole, dearling, but I

will not have him out and about where he can hurt anyone else."

"I understand that," she said.

"There is a room on the ground floor of the keep that can be reinforced into a quite comfortable

containment facility," Sierran said, deliberately not using the words jail or cell. "He will be able to look out

and you can visit with him through bars that will be placed in the wall."

"I have no desire to visit with him, milord," she said, lowering her head.

The other men turned to look at her but no one said anything to her admission.

"Nevertheless, if you wish to, you may," Sierran said and at her silent nod, turned to Brent. "So tell me,

lawgiver. What do I do about the bitch who has been foisted off on me?"

Brent snorted. "Stay as far away from her as you can," he advised. "As long as the Joining is

unconsummated, there is little your father can do. Zykanthos is your estate and he has no authority here.

May I ask who sent you to Dragonmoor?"

"It wasn't my father if that's what you're thinking although I wouldn't put it past him," Sierran told him. "It

was Thurston."

"Ah,” Brent said. "I should have known. And where is the fanatical general now?"

"Dead," Vargas stated.

"That's the best news I've heard all day," Brent said with a laugh.

"I would like you to draw up a letter for me so I may resign my commission," Sierran said. "I have

several of my men with me here—they took leave to help out—and I would like to buy their early

releases. Can you handle that?"

"The Ibydosians are forever in need of money," Brent said. "I've no doubt they would be happy to sell

your men's releases. How high should I go in setting a price?"

"Whatever it takes to get them cashiered out," Sierran said.

"How many are we talking about here?"

Vargas spoke up. "Nine in all what came with us and another three back at the Force compound."

"Twelve then?"

"Aye, milord," Vargas agreed.

"You've enough money in your coffers to handle this, Sierran?" Brent asked.

"There is money at Dragonmoor if he doesn't," Celeste spoke up. "I can tell you where my father’s

strongbox is and how to open it."

Sierran's eyebrows shot up. "You are privy to such information, sweeting?"

Celeste shrugged. "I know the strongbox is in his bedchamber in a niche behind a tapestry of the

goddess Caluna. The key to that strongbox is never off the chain he wears around his neck." She took up

her goblet of wine. "I imagine there is quite a large sum of money in the strongbox since he does not

believe in banking establishments."

"That would be stealing though, wouldn't it?" Mac inquired.

"I am the lady of Dragonmoor and with my father out of the picture, the estate reverts to me," she said.

"Not exactly," Vargas said. "He left a will giving the estate and all it entails to the Sisters of St. Carolus

Convent to look after you when he is gone."

"The telling words there are
after he is gone,"
Celeste said. "He isn't gone. He is very much alive and

will remain so—I believe—for many years to come." She set aside her goblet. "I care not what happens

to the estate and have no desire to ever step foot inside it again but there are certain things in my

bedchamber I would like to have retrieved along with the strongbox and other valuables scattered

about—things that belonged to my mother, for instance. I would venture to say his will is in the strongbox

and that can certainly be misplaced." She smiled sweetly.

“I assume you are his only child?” Brent inquired.

“I am.”

“Then even should the will go missing, the estate will revert to you unless it is encumbered with debt.”

“I don’t believe that is the case,” Celeste said. “My father does not like to owe anyone for anything.”

"Make a list of what you want and I'll send the men to fetch it," Sierran said. "I assume I shouldn't set

foot in Emardia again any time soon."

"If ever," Brent agreed. "And certainly not Argonne."

"That is a given," Sierran agreed. "I've no desire to let my father get his greedy hooks in me ever again."

* * *

Celeste was sitting at her vanity, running the brush through her long brown hair when her husband finally

came upstairs to join her. Her blue gaze met his amber ones in the mirror and she smiled. "You have

concluded your business, milord?"

"For now," he replied, coming up behind her. He took the brush from her hand and ran it down the silky

length of her thick tresses. "You have glorious hair, sweeting."

“Thank you for noticing,” she said.

“What do you think of my lawgiver?” he asked.

"I like him," she said.

"He's been a friend since we were in knee pants," he told her. "He is very much enamored of you."

She cocked her head to one side. "When I touched him, I felt a tingle all the way up my arm."

Sierran smiled as he looked down at her hair. "He said the same thing happened to him." He glanced up

at her in the mirror. "Should I be jealous of the two of you?"

"Silly man," she said. "You know better and if he mentioned it to you that should tell you he has no

intention of acting upon the feeling."

"I know," he admitted and laid the brush on the vanity. Turning away, he went to the bed and sat down

to remove his boots.

"Let me," she said. She got up and came to him, squatting down to tug off his boots.

"All that sleep I got today and I'm still tired," he said.

"You need to rest," she said, taking off his stockings as well. "Your feet are like ice, milord!"

"Cold feet, warm heart," he said as he put out a hand to help her get up. He pulled her between his legs,

lassoing her slim waist within the span of his arms, and bringing her against him.

"Be careful of your wounds," she warned.

"They hurt but it's worth it just to hold you like this," he said.

She cradled his head against her chest, smoothing her hands through his hair. "Who did you send to

Dragonmoor to fetch the strongbox?" she asked.

"Mac will go in the morning and take along a contingent of men just to be on the safe side. I doubt the

servants at your father's estate will protest or put up a fight but I'd rather be sure of my men's security."

His hand dipped down to the sweet upturn of her rump and she giggled.

"I know where you're mind has gone, milord," she said.

He eased back so he could look at her. "And where is that?"

"To your dangly," she said. When he shook his head in disagreement she asked where, then, had his

thoughts gone.

"To your sheath," he said in a husky voice. "I develop this problem between my legs every time I think of

it."

Celeste felt her blood thicken and pool between her legs. She moved her hands to either side of his face

and lowered her lips to his, placing a sweet, heated kiss to his mouth. When she released his lips, she

smiled.

"Why don't you finish undressing, milord, and let's see if we can't get down to the root of that problem,"

she whispered as she moved back from the bed.

Sierran stood up to tug his shirt from his britches. Making quick work of the buttons, he kept his gaze

locked on his lady, taking in her tempting beauty as she stood there in her soft nightgown, her bare little

feet peeking from beneath the hem.

"I love your toes," he said and felt like an idiot.

"Is that normal?" she giggled.

"Some men have foot fetishes," he replied, stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside. "They love to suckle

a woman's toes."

She wrinkled her nose. "I hope those toes are clean when they do that," she commented.

Peeling off his britches, he kicked them aside and held his hand out to her. "Come here, bantling, and

let's begin that discussion of my problem."

Celeste glanced down at the problem as it presented itself and sighed. "It's a rather big one, milord," she

said, coming closer.

"Aye, so it will need a lot of discussion, don't you think?" he parried as he took her hand in his.

"A lot of discussion," she agreed as she climbed up on the bed with him, not once relinquishing her hold

on his hand.

Sierran scooted halfway across the thick mattress, tugging her along with him. His back felt raw and his

chest prickled with pain but nothing was going to stop him from claiming his woman as he had wanted to

since their Joining.

"Be careful," she warned as he pulled her closer. She was eyeing his chest and the stitch that she'd had

to re-sew. When she saw him wince, she put a staying hand to his shoulder where there was no cut. "No.

You lie down."

"Celeste…"

"Lie down, Sierran," she ordered and then she sat up, pulling at her nightgown, raising her shapely little