Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 Read Free Page B

indecision for a long time so that by the time she dredged
    up enough courage to take another look, the lad and the maid had vanished.
    Relieved—yet oddly disappointed—Celeste went back to her bed and lay down. Her head was
    throbbing unmercifully and she prayed she wasn’t getting one of her brutal migraines. Putting a hand up to
    rub her temple, she could not get the image of the lad pulling away from the woman’s teat out of her
    mind. Some part of that image gave her the strangest feeling and each time the picture flitted across her
    mind’s eye, she would feel a tightening in the lower part of her belly and an odd heaviness between her
    legs.
    “Stop this, Celeste! You should not be dwelling on such sinfulness,” she cautioned herself and turned
    over to bury her heated face against the silk of her pillow sham.
    That what she had seen would be a sin in the eyes of her father she had no doubt. Many had been the
    time over the years when she had sat through his lectures on the evil of men and to what base depravities
    they could sink.
    “Get down upon your knees and thank the gods that I love you as I do, Daughter,” he had often said to
    her, “for I shall never let such evil lay hands to you!”
    Of what depravities her father spoke she had no idea and when she would timidly venture to ask, his
    eyes would bulge, his lips would peel back from his teeth, and he would extend his lecture to include
    wayward children who dared to question their fathers. She had learned to never ask lest she be forced to
    endure another hour or two on her knees as her father continued his tirade against the baseness of the
    male gender.
    Only once had she dared ask her father what would become of her when he left this world. Who, then,
    she’d asked, would protect her from the evil of men?
    “I shall not leave this world without you being cared for in a manner in which I approve,” her father had
    declared.
    That declaration did not bear thinking on so she had pushed it from her mind.
    Lying there as her headache subsided a little, she turned over on her side and stared at the wall, her gaze
    searching for the small imperfection in the plaster that seemed to comfort her when she felt lonely and
    alone. For hours she would stare at that flaw—the only thing that dared to not be perfect in her
    room—and focused on peacefulness she did not feel.
    “Why can’t I be like other girls?” she asked so quietly no one save the gods could have heard. “Why
    can’t I live like other girls?”
    Other girls were courted by gallant young men who swore eternal devotion to them, who went down
    upon one knee to ask for their lady’s hand in Joining. Joinings were performed in elaborate ceremonies
    presided over by impressively dressed priests and the marriage was sealed with a gentle kiss.
    Had she not read of such happenings in the books she had managed to sneak out of her father’s
    library—hiding them beneath her skirts or tucked down in the bodice of her gown? Did she not know of
    knights and their sumptuous castles, of such gallant warriors being ready to die for the hand of their love?
    Was not a life of living happily ever after the conclusion of such things?
    Sighing heavily and feeling emptiness deep inside her that hurt her to the depths of her soul, Celeste
    wished fate would intervene and send to her such a knightly man to free her from her bower.

Chapter Three
    Though the guards had informed him several of his men had tried to gain access to him during his
    imprisonment, Sierran saw no one save the two men who were his jailers. No letter was ever delivered to
    him even though he’d been told one had been attempted.
    “They crucified him, Commander,” the guard told him. “For daring to try to contact you.”
    “Who?” he’d asked, heartsick at the thought of one of his men dying for such a reason.
    “Barnes, he was,” the guard replied.
    “Barnes?” Sierran had echoed. “Frederick Barnes?”
    “Aye, that