Read Online WinterofThorns by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online

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