Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 (23 page)

spouse—now own it. Had there been any doubt whatsoever about the claim of inheritance, the

Federation could have stepped in and confiscated the property." He put a hand on Sierran's shoulder. "I

acted quickly in her best interest?and yours. Dragonmoor is a large estate entailing a great many servants

and the property, itself, is exceedingly valuable. I didn't want to take a chance you and she might lose it

to Federation greed."

* * *

When the
Akinos
sailed out of Zykanthos Harbor at moonrise on the morning following Celeste's

abduction, it was with a full compliment of warriors and weapons—some one hundred and twenty men

strong and with ten four-pounder, smooth-bore cannons ranged along the deck. Each man had pistol and

shot, sword and dagger, and the commander's permission to use their weapons as they saw fit. Nothing

and no one was to stand between them and bringing Lady Celeste Morgan home. Hate and fury filled the

sails of the
Akinos
and revenge allowed her to glide easily through the waters on route to Argonne. The

storm that had been building slid further south of Zykanthos Island. It was as though the gods had given

their blessing—the way was clear.

Edgeville Harbor was lined with men who had been awaiting Sierran's arrival. Men stood on the roofs of

warehouses and along the docks with muskets primed and pointed at the
Akinos
. Lord James Morgan

was taking no chances that his youngest son would arrive with a raiding party to seize back his young

wife.

"You knew he'd do this," Brent said.

"Aye," Sierran said, a muscle working in his jaw. "Have our men stand by. If I'm not back within the day

with my lady, turn the waterfront to rubble." He said it loud enough that those on the docks could hear.

"With pleasure."

Vargas and Mac said nothing though their eyes were troubled as their commander strode down the

gangplank and was immediately flanked by four armed men.

"Are those men any kin to him?" Captain Kynth asked.

"I don't recognize them," Vargas replied. "Hired guns would be my guess."

It would be an uneasy time for the men on board the
Akinos
but one in which every man-jack there

would be diligent. They had received their orders from the commander and not a one of them would balk

if it came to a firefight. Cannon was aimed at both the waterfront and the two ships berthed in the harbor.

Sierran walked in the middle of the four men who had come to escort him to Eagle Grove. He had not

gone armed though one of the men patted him down for a hidden weapon nevertheless. Keeping his eyes

straight ahead as the man's hands moved quickly and professionally over him, he stared at the landau

coach with the Morgan crest emblazed on its door.

When the man was finished, he swept an arm toward the coach to indicate Sierran was to enter the

oversized black vehicle. Climbing up into the luxurious interior, he was not surprised to find the seats

covered with thick fur throws but was a bit taken aback that a brazier box sat upon the floor to heat the

cab.

"The ride up to Eagle Grove takes about an hour, Commander," the man who had frisked him said. "I

hope you will be comfortable during the ride."

There was about the man an air of apology that amazed Sierran. He had not expected his father's men to

show him any form of respect. "Thank you," he said quietly.

The man hesitated for a second then shook his head as he shut the door. He climbed up with the driver,

and once he was settled the coach jerked forward with the snap of reins. Two outriders accompanied the

coach to either side while a third took up the rear. Sierran thought perhaps it was the other three men

who had escorted him from the docks who now rode guard.

Settling back in the plush furs, Sierran stared out the glass window of the coach as the driver took to the

inland road. He had never been into the interior of Argonne before and sat staring at the scenery they

passed. Those villagers they met on the road stood aside with heads bent, not moving again until the

coach was well out of sight. It was obvious to him the people of Argonne were expected to show

deference even to a vehicle carrying the Morgan coat of arms.

His first view of Eagle Grove astonished him for the sprawling estate rivaled even the royal residence at

Dullwitch in Emardia. Soaring five stories with tiled turrets, the castle—and it could be described as

nothing less—was made of pale pink marble and had been built on an island. The estate was reached

over an elaborate arched causeway that spanned a pristine lake surrounded by tall, graceful willows

interspersed with aspen and cypress. Swans glided upon the lake and deer grazed delicately at the

water's edge. It was an idyllic setting but it turned Sierran's stomach.

"My wife and children are dying of hunger, milord!" A peasant had been brought before Lord James for

poaching a deer and was on his belly before the great man, pleading.

"Let them starve for all I care!" he remembered his father saying. "If they harm another of my beautiful

deer, I will roast them all over a slow spit!"

The peasant had been hanged outside the gates of the Morgan estate on Emardia as a warning. Sierran

had heard the man's family had slowly starved to death.

As the hooves of the horses clopped over the stone archway, Sierran dug his fingernails into the palms of

his hands. His family had never held any care for their servants or any of those who lived on Morgan

land. Treated with no regard and even less thought, those entailed to Lord James had a hard row to hoe

when even a wild animal was given more consideration than a human being. He held no hope that his

brothers and brothers-in-law treated their people any differently.

The coach pulled up before the massive stone steps that led up to Eagle Grove's wide portico. Standing

beneath the roof of the portico was Vaughn Morgan, eldest son of Lord James. Beside him stood a

diminutive woman Sierran recognized from long ago—Lady Teresa Wetherby Morgan, Vaughn's

lady-wife.

Stepping down from the coach, Sierran took a deep breath and started up the steep steps. He did not

greet Vaughn—though he did give a sketch of a bow to Teresa.

"Welcome to Eagle Grove, Sierran," Teresa said in a timid voice.

Mumbling his thanks, Sierran met his eldest brother's eye. "Where is my wife?"

Vaughn grinned nastily. "In the study with our parents," he replied.

Sierran ground his teeth. "My true wife," he snapped.

"Celeste is nearby," Teresa was quick to say. "You have no need to worry."

"Go inside, Teresa," Vaughn ordered her. "We don't need your inane prattle."

Curtseying quickly, Vaughn's wife hurried away, her face red.

"Always did know how to keep a woman in line, didn't you, Vaughn?" Sierran said with a snort.

"You should take lessons from me, little brother," Vaughn said. "That hellion you took to your bosom

would try the patience of a saint."

A slow, merciless grin spread over Sierran's mouth. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that his

family would not have dared to treat Celeste with anything less than respect and would have done no

harm to her for fear of Sierran's wrath.

"Gave you a bit of trouble did she?" Sierran sneered.

Vaughn took a step forward so he was almost nose to nose with his sibling. "Get your ass inside, fuck

Beatrice, and be gone. The longer you stay here, the less I like it."

"That was my intention," Sierran said, not stepping back nor showing any sign of being intimidated by his

brother.

Pivoting on his heel, Vaughn stomped away, his shoulders bunched, hands clenched into fists. Following

at a leisurely pace he certainly didn't feel, Sierran entered his parent's palatial mansion, reminding himself

with every step not to gawk at the wealth exhibited so garishly.

Lord James and his lady-wife, Lady Judith, were seated in the library to one side of a huge fireplace

snapping with immense logs. The pleasant scent of cedar filled the room but it was far too warm for

Sierran's taste. Ranged about on elegantly upholstered chairs and settees were the other adult members

of Sierran's family as well as a slightly overweight woman whose bosoms were so large he nearly laughed

when he saw them. Three maids moved among those gathered to offer trays of wine glasses and tidbits

upon which to snack.

"You certainly took your own sweet time in getting here, Sierran DeLyle," Lord James complained.

"One would think your tart means very little to you."

There were snickers from the others gathered and a couple of his sisters-in-law put their heads together

to make some sly comment—no doubt at Celeste's expense.

"Whatever you do," Brent had warned him before Sierran left the ship. "Do not let those vultures know

Celeste is Justonian royalty—and especially not Edward Gillespie. Trust me on this, Sierran."

Sierran flexed his shoulders and lifted his chin, his eyes locked with those of his father's. "Let's get this

over with. Where do you want me to fuck the bull's side of beef, Father?" he asked in a casual tone.

Gasps shot through the room and Sierran was hard pressed not to laugh at the blushes and fluttering

hands-at-the-breasts of the women gathered. All, that is, except his mother who was looking at him with

a slight smile that did not quite reach her dark eyes. She was sitting there with her hands folded in her lap,

her legs politely bent to the side and crossed delicately at the ankles, her shoulders straight.

"You are a crude barbarian!" Sierran's eldest sister, Madeline, hissed.

Sierran cast his sister a hard look. "I am what you made of me, Maddy."

His face tight with rage, Lord James got up from his chair. With military bearing, though he'd not served

a day in any branch of service, he strode up to Sierran and backhanded his son. "You are not fit to be in

the same room with these ladies. Apologize this instant!"

Sierran staggered beneath the blow but it was not unexpected. He'd spent thirteen years of his life

enduring such hits from every one of his immediate family. He had been prepared. He considered the

slight trickle of blood that seeped from the corner of his mouth a small price to pay if that was the only

pain they would dish out to him.

"The so-called ladies gathered in this room know why I am here, Father," Sierran said. "I'll not apologize

for being brought here to be a stud to the Summerall bitch. This is your doing, not mine."

Lord James' brown eyes flared with obvious outrage. He was taller than any of his sons at six foot, five

inches and solidly built. His eighty-four years of life had not bent his regal bearing nor had it lessened the

strength of his hand when he struck Sierran again.

"That is quite enough, James," Lady Judith said primly. "Do not punish the boy because he is being

forced to tup your whore of a mistress."

Shocked eyes flew to Sierran's mother who was sitting as still as a statue with that faint smile on her lips.

When her husband's head snapped toward her—his lips drawn back in a snarl of outrage—she merely

looked at him. "Everyone here knows you are sleeping with the Widow Summerall, James. Do not stand

there and pretend indignation at her expense. We all know what she is."

Sierran ran the back of his hand across his mouth. The cut to his lip from the first hit had widened with

the second. His bottom teeth had scored the soft inside of his lower lip and blood flooded his mouth.

"Madame, you are being deliberately insensitive," Lord James told her. "Lady Beatrice is…"

"A whore," Lady Judith stated. "She was a whore when Angus wed her and she is a whore every time

she opens her thighs to you." She sniffed. "Pray have the decency not to pretend otherwise to your

family."

Sierran could not stop the grin from forming on his face though the cut to his lip made him wince.

"The bedroom in which you are to perform your duty is at the top of the stairs, Sierran DeLyle," his

mother told him, "and in readiness for you. Allow the Widow Summerall a moment to take her

cumbersome teats upstairs before you go and attend to things."

Lady Beatrice Summerall shot to her feet, her massive bosom heaving with indignation. "Madame, I

assure you I am not a cow upon whom you may foist off your rutting son."

"Son, father," Lady Judith said, not even bothering to look at the woman. "I imagine you've had each of

my other sons long before now. What is one more Morgan piece between your legs, Bea?"

The other women gasped again and their faces turned red but one look about the room and Sierran

knew the truth of it. His father had not been the only man there to part the legs of the Widow Summerall.

Even his brothers-in-law had guilty looks about them.

"Pray go upstairs and ready yourself, Lady Beatrice," Lord James said, his hands opening and closing at

his sides. "Let us be done with this travesty as quickly as possible."

"All she needs to do is bend over the bed with her skirts hiked up and I'll handle the rest," Sierran said,

locking eyes with his father.

"James!" Beatrice protested.

"Go, Bea!" Lord James said, his face strained. "This is most distasteful to us all."

Casting Sierran a haughty, enraged glance, Lady Beatrice grabbed up her skirts and ran from the room,

her large breasts jiggling in such a way, Sierran had to bit his lip to keep from laughing. Her heavy

footsteps up the stairs made the chandelier in the center of the library ceiling shake.