Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 (20 page)

within him, he looked more animal than human.

She buried her face in her hands, sobbing, but when her father's growls became howls of rage, she

looked up to see Sierran standing beside her.

"I hate you!" her father screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. "I am going to tear you apart, you

despicable cur! I am going to slash you to ribbons!"

Sierran took his wife into his arms. "Come away, sweeting. He has lost his reason."

"Foul fiend!" Lord Charles shrieked. "Evil demon from the Pit!"

Leading his lady up the corridor Sierran glanced back at the insane man raking his hands beyond the

bars. He knew in that moment that the lord was of no use to himself or anyone else. Rather than have

Celeste obsessing about her father's downward spiral into irreversible madness, something would need to

be done.

Once they were well away from the howls and snarls reverberating along the corridor, Celeste sagged

against her husband, overcome with the horror of what she had just witnessed.

He swung her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to their bedchamber. He laid her

down upon the bed and bent over to smooth the hair back from her forehead.

"I'll be right back, sweeting," he said but he didn't think she'd heard him. She had turned over to bury her

face in the pillow. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek and with grim determination turning his face hard he

left the room in search of Vargas.

Jillian peeked out of her room, her eyebrows drawn together. She watched her brother descend the

stairs and did not miss his expression that made her shudder. Surely such a look did not bode well for

someone. She glanced at the closed door to her brother's bedchamber. She heard the crying coming

from his room.

"Apparently all is not sweetness in paradise," she said. With a hateful sneer on her face, she stepped

back and gently closed her room door.

* * *

Vargas and Mac were playing cards with two of the guards but as soon as they saw Sierran enter the

gatehouse, they got quickly to their feet.

"Walk with me," Sierran said to them and his two men fell in behind him.

They took the stairs up to the wall walk where there would be privacy. No one was pacing the parapet

for the drawbridge had been raised for the evening, the portcullis lowered.

"I've a favor to ask of you," Sierran said. He braced his hands on a merlon thrusting up from the

crenellated wall.

"Name it, milord," Vargas spoke for the both of them.

"I know you have access to whomever on the island brews up the tenerse you foist off on me," Sierran

said. "Would that person also have Maiden's Briar?"

Vargas and Mac exchanged a look and it was Mac who spoke. "You want to poison your sister,

milord?"

Sierran laughed. "Aye, I do but not even I would be that evil." He shook his head. "It is for him."

"Ah," Vargas said. "Him." He nodded. "I figured that was coming."

"He's lost his mind completely," Mac said.

"She went to see him and I don't want that to ever happen again," Sierran said, lowering his head and

closing his eyes. "If he could die quietly in his sleep, just cease to breathe…"

"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