WinterofThorns (6 page)

Tears filled Seyzon’s eyes and he clutched
at his chest as though it was paining him. “By raping my woman?”

“I was gentle with her. I took great care
to—”

“You
raped
her,” Seyzon accused. He
was fighting the tears that threatened to fall. He balled his hands into fists.
His eyes were blazing hot.

Vindan shook his head. “What I did was
perfectly legal and well within my rights as her Overlord. She agreed to submit.”

“She agreed to submit,” Seyzon repeated
with a sneer. “Did you give her a choice?”

“It was either submit or I take the whip to
you myself. Your lady decided to sacrifice herself for you.”

“You son of a bitch,” Seyzon said,
breathing hard.

“Before you say anything else, Montyne, I
will give you one warning and one warning only. I have not and don’t intend to
do so unless you give me cause, but keep in mind I can—and will—annul your
marriage. Should I be forced to do that, I will send your lady where you will
never see her again.”

The rage that had been festering in his
soul, the urge to strangle a man who had been his friend for over thirty-five
years vanished in the blink of an eye. He knew Vindan did not make idle
threats. What he pledged, he saw to fruition. He would, indeed, set aside the
Joining and send Jana away without a second thought.

“I will be leaving Riverglade within the
hour. I will be taking the Lady Jana with me.”

“No!” Seyzon shouted and leapt at the bars.
He thrust one arm through, his hand out in pleading. “Don’t do that!”

“I will have your wife safe while you are
unable to protect her. I do not trust her brother to do so, and frankly, I do
not trust his motives. He could just as easily turn to the Selwyns as not if it
was to his advantage. For that reason, I cannot leave you here locked in his
dungeon. Gilbert will be taking you to Lavenfeld where you will be placed under
house arrest until further notice. When I have decided you have been punished
sufficiently, I will return the Lady Jana into your keeping.”

“If you touch her again—”

“You want me to annul the marriage,
Montyne?”

Fear ripped through Seyzon’s soul and he
shook his head. “Vin, no…”

“Then mind your tongue and don’t give me
reason to hurt you any more than I already have.”

They stared at each other for a long time.
Both of them knew the tight bond of friendship they had known since childhood
had cracked—if not broken—and things would never be the same between them
again.

Lady Millicent Montyne put up a hand to
shield her eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. There was a column of men
riding slowly toward Lavenfeld and the alarm had gone out. She climbed to the
battlements to see for herself what was coming. Her Master-at-Arms had a
spyglass to his eye as she joined him.

“Do you recognize them?”

“They carry the prince’s banner, milady,
and seem to be in no hurry to reach us. There are no wagons or artillery with
them,” Frederick Arbra replied. “I believe it to be Captain Gilbert Tohre and
his men.”

“Is the prince with them?” she asked.

“I think not but I believe Lord Seyzon is.”

Millicent put a hand to Frederick’s arm.
“Injured?”

“No, but his arms are behind his back. I
think he’s Gil’s prisoner, milady.”

“
What?
” Millicent’s eyebrows jumped
toward the thick brown hair that was parted precisely, the dark waves falling
to either side of her startled green eyes.

“Wonder what the brat has done now,”
Frederick said with a sigh.

“Nothing good, that’s for sure,” Millicent
snapped. She picked up her skirt and headed for the stairwell. “Come along,
Freddie.”

“Aye, milady.”

The portcullis was raised, the drawbridge
lowered as Gilbert led his men toward Lavenfeld. It had been a long, grueling
three-day ride from Riverglade and twice they had encountered Selwyn soldiers
with whom they’d engaged in quick skirmishes. Hot and tired, hungry, the men
rode listlessly into Lavenfeld.

Seyzon caught sight of his mother standing
on the steps that led into the main hall. Her arms were clasped over her chest
and at her side was her ever-present watchdog, Arbra. He could tell by the way
she was glaring at him that she was one very unhappy woman.

“What did he do?” she asked as Gilbert
halted his men and swung down from his mount.

“Milady.” Gilbert bowed deeply. He glanced
at his cousin Frederick and nodded.

“Gilbert,” Millicent said. “What did he
do?”

“I can speak for myself, Mother,” Seyzon
said but she ignored him.

“Gilbert?”

“He got married,” Gilbert said in a low
voice. “Without the prince’s permission.”

Millicent’s eyes widened then jumped to her
son. He was sitting slumped in the saddle with his shoulders pulled down by the
weight of the manacles locked to them. There was something dark, anguished in
his eyes she did not like. Neither did her Master-at-Arms.

“Was he whipped?” Frederick asked.

“No, but he’s under house arrest,” Gilbert
told him. “Indefinitely.”

“And his lady-wife?” Millicent demanded.
“Where is she?”

“Taken to Wicklow.”

“Oh, for the love of Alel, Seyzon!” his
mother barked. “What manner of harlot did you—”

“She is no harlot,” Seyzon interrupted,
eyes flashing. “She is the daughter of the late Baron Reynaud of Riverglade and
I love her.”

Millicent blew out an irritated breath.
“Aye, I imagine you do. Get down from that horse, young man!”

Throwing his leg over his stallion’s head,
Seyzon slid to the ground with a groan. To those who were looking at him, they
saw a rich, red blush pass over his cheeks. He staggered, sucking in the pain
the jostle had caused.

“What ails you, boy?” Frederick inquired,
stepping forward.

“I was wounded,” he mumbled as he came
toward his mother.

“Where?” she asked.

“The healer had to remove my spleen.”

His mother stepped forward and, with the
assurance of having borne the young man before her and having every right to do
so, yanked up his shirt to see for herself. She clucked her tongue when she saw
the bandage had a pale-pink tint spread out in a two-inch section of it.

“Get this addlebrained boy to his room,
Freddie. Have him stripped and I want you to bath him. He reeks of horse and
other less savory things.” She put her nose close to his chest and sniffed.
“What
is
that stench, Seyzon?”

“I was in the dungeon,” Seyzon defended.
“There was no shower or tub there.”

“Dungeon?” his mother repeated, casting a
narrow look at Gilbert.

“Better than a whipping post,” Frederick
commented.

“Get those shackles off him,” his mother
ordered Gilbert.

“Aye, milady.” Gilbert was quick to
respond. He stepped forward to unlock the manacles, casting his cousin
Frederick an apologetic look.

Frederick nodded his understanding then
clapped a meaty hand to Seyzon’s shoulder. “Let’s go, brat.”

“Carlson,” Millicent called to another man.
“Have the healer go to my son’s room and wait for him.”

Feeling as though he were five years old
again and the sturdy warrior striding beside him had just been hired by his
mother to take him in hand, Seyzon looked up at the man he suspected was not
only his mother’s Master-at-Arms but her lover, as well.

“How’s she been?”

“Mean as a cornered ghoret,” Frederick replied.
He looked down from his six-foot-seven-inch height and frowned. “Is this shit
you’ve stumbled into bad?”

“Aye,” Seyzon said, his voice gruff. He put
a hand to his wound and grimaced.

“Talk to your mama,” Frederick advised, and
when Seyzon nodded, he hip checked his charge. “Good to have you home, brat.”

Millicent waited until Seyzon had shaved,
bathed and eaten a hearty bowl of stew before she joined him in the dining
hall. He was sitting alone with his elbow on the table, chin propped in his
hand, staring at the painting of the father he had never known. The Baron
Daniel Montyne had been a strikingly handsome man with a thick thatch of curly
black hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. There was a twinkle in those
merry, blue eyes and the smile that pulled at the baron’s lips held the
unmistakable hint of mischievousness about it. Seyzon regretted never having
met the man. He knew in his heart Daniel Montyne would have been a wonderful
father.

As it was, Seyzon had grown up at Wicklow
among a gaggle of women. Vindan’s father, the king, had been noticeably absent
from the castle. When he wanted to see his son, King Nolan sent for the boy to
be brought to him at the capitol in Devonshire. Not once had Seyzon ever laid
eyes on the man his mother had often called Raphian’s Right Hand—referencing
the demon known as the Destroyer of Men’s Souls. Millicent Montyne entertained
no love for Nolan Brell and whenever the man was mentioned, fury gathered in
her slender body.

“How was the stew?” she asked as she came
to the table.

“Good.”

She looked down at his bowl and realized he
had eaten little—if any—of the savory fare. “All right, boy. Out with it. What
happened?”

“I need some fresh air,” Seyzon told her.

“You’ll not get it. You are under house
arrest and in the keep you will stay. I’ll have a window opened.” She pulled
out a chair and sat down facing her son. “I’m waiting.” She frowned. “And pray
sit in that chair like an adult instead of a disrespectful ten-year-old.”

He sat back, curled his fingers over the end
of the chair arms then took a long, shuddery breath.

Lady Millicent’s gaze went to his hands and
was dismayed to see he was gripping the chair so tightly his knuckles were
white. His arms were stiff. “Zonny, look at me,” she said softly. When he
raised his head and his eyes met hers, the despair on his face was
heartbreaking. “What happened?”

His eyebrows drew together. It was obvious
he was striving to hold back his emotions. She reached out to place a hand on
his taut forearm.

“Tell me,” she coaxed. She felt him tremble
and watched as his chin quivered, but motherly instinct warned her not to press
any further, to let him speak in his own time. Even when his eyes shifted from
hers and sought refuge across the room she held her peace. The steady tick-tock
of the great clock in the main hall was the only sound breaking the silence for
the longest time. Then a single tear wound its way down his cheek.

“He…” her son began then had to swallow the
anguish he struggled to contain. “He came into the chapel at the moment the
priest pronounced us man and wife.”

“He?”

“Vindan.”

Millicent raised her chin and released a
long breath. “I take it you did not know he was coming.”

Seyzon shook his head. “No.”

“Was he angry?”

“He was smiling,” he answered. “But I knew
he was furious with me. I could see it in the way he was smiling. It was that
sneaky smile that means he’s about to do something to you that you’re not going
to like. You know the one I’m talking about.”

“All too well,” she said then pursed her
lips. “What then?”

“He took me into the sacristy and let me know
just how angry he was then he had me call my lady in.”

“He spoke to her?”

Seyzon nodded. “Aye, but I don’t know what
he said. He sent me out of the room and when she came out, she wouldn’t speak
to me. She ran from the chapel.”

His face crinkled, his chin trembled, and
his eyes were so bleak Millicent feared what he would say next.

“He had sent her to her room and me…”
Another tear fell. “Me he sent to the dungeon then he…”

His chest heaved. Pain shifted across his
face. A low, keening sound came from somewhere deep in his chest—barely making
it past his tightly pressed lips.

“What did he do?” his mother asked, her own
eyes filling with tears as she dreaded his answer.

“He went to her room.” He sucked in a great
gasp of breath and crumbled under her gaze. “He took what was mine.”

Millicent slowly closed her eyes then
dropped to her knees beside her child. She put her arms around him and he
twisted sideways, collapsed against her, the terrible, racking sobs exploding
from his chest like molten lava. She ran one hand to the back of his head to
hold it tight to her shoulder. Buffeting his forceful weeping, the low keening
that punctuated each breath, she kissed the side of his face.

“Let it out, son,” she told him. “Let it
all out.”

She would never know how long his pitiful
crying lasted but by the time he pulled back from her—his handsome face ravaged
by unspeakable grief—the shoulder of her gown was soaked from his tears. She
smiled as he put his fists up to rotate them against his eyes, for the gesture
vividly reminded her of when he was a small boy.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he whispered.

“There is nothing for you to be to be sorry
about. The blame lies with Vindan Brell, not you,” she stated. It took some
doing but she pushed up from the floor to sit once more in her chair. She laid
her hand on his knee. “Have you spoken to her since that night?”

He shook his head. “He wouldn’t let me. He
took her to Wicklow with him and sent me here.”

“I see,” she said, and when he lifted his
face to lock eyes with her, she squeezed his thigh. “You fear he has taken her
from you. That he will annul the Joining.”

“He says he won’t.”

She patted his knee then removed her hand.
“Jealousy,” she said, sitting back in the chair. “He is jealous of her.”

Seyzon flinched. A muscle clenched in his
cheek. Clenched again.

“You know I am right,” she said. “If he
were bent in another direction and so were you, you know where that would have
led long ago.”

“That is a wicked thought, milady,” he told
her.

“Though a true one,” she replied. “If it is
any conciliation, I am sure he used protection.”

Seyzon winced. “By the gods, I pray so.”

“Best you know so. Vindan does not need a
bastard child running about Wicklow and certainly not one he got on his best
friend’s wife.”

“He calls me the brother he never had,”
Seyzon said, running his arm under his nose, his next words muffled by the
cloth. “Some way to treat a brother, eh?”

“Stop that,” she said. “That is nasty.” She
pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and fluttered it at him until he took it.
“Well you know what they say.”

He blew his nose, looking up at her over
the handkerchief. “What do they say, Mama?”

“That incest is best when it’s kept in the
family,” she said with a grin that made him laugh.

And laughter was one step closer to healing
the heartache stamped on her son’s face.

* * * * *

A week later, Frederick walked over to
where Lady Millicent was seated in the solarium. She was gazing out the window
as her son strolled aimlessly in the glassed-in greenhouse attached to the
solarium.

“He is hurting,” Frederick said, putting
his hands on her shoulders and kneading gently.

“Aye, and there is nothing I can do to
help,” she replied then slowly smiled. “Unless…”

Frederick cocked an eyebrow. He leaned down
so he could see her face. “Millie?” he questioned suspiciously and when her
smile turned nasty, he sighed. “I’ll hitch up the buggy.”

* * * * * *

She saw him striding toward her and thought
back to the night he’d been born. Even then the young prince made his presence
known far and wide. He’d bellowed so loudly the moment he was thrust into the
world the women gathered at his mother’s bed had cringed.

“A pair of lungs on this one,”
the midwife had proclaimed as she’d handed him to his mother.

“He’ll have no trouble getting the
attention he seeks,”
one of the ladies-in-waiting
quipped.
“Look at those blue eyes!”

Tall, handsome and with the regal bearing
of a man who knew who and what he was and that the world was his to command, he
plowed through the simpering toadies milling about the Great Hall and left them
in his wake. His broad shoulders were like a battering ram and the chiseled set
of his strong jaw gave mute evidence that he was a man with whom to reckon. The
steady glint in his pale-blue eyes warned off those who would delay him and
raked speculatively over the comely females who batted their eyelashes at him
as he passed. Those fearless orbs were like spotlights as they swept across
everyone visiting the Great Hall.