Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 (26 page)

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 our 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."

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,