Chained (Chained Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page B

her.”
    “And you thought to be her champion?” questioned Leofred, the second-born son of Lord Clarion. “Gods, Gwen, you are a foolish woman,” he muttered as he swept past her, kneeling to inspect the nearest body. “Foolish, but a bloody good shot.”
    “Call me what you will,” she retorted, “but I was the only here to come to that woman’s aid.”
    “Aye, you did well,” Evrain said grudgingly. “Though, I could argue that you would never have been in such a position had you not wandered off from the rest of the party. Come, let us return to camp. We will sup first before returning to Seahaven. This hunt is over.”
    Gwen could not agree more. Though her shoulders remained squared and her chin high, she was inwardly shaken by what she had seen and done. She wanted nothing more than to retreat behind the walls of the castle, although before she’d been delighted to be free of it. The whole thing had left a sour taste in her mouth.
    Leofred turned to Sir Brennius Hewse, a knight of her father’s house. “Sir Brennius, see to the burial of these maggots, and then rejoin us at camp.”
    Sir Brennius inclined his head. “Aye, milord.” Turning to two squires, he bellowed, “You heard him. Get to work!”
    As the young squires set to the task of the burial ben eath Sir Brennius’ watchful eye, Gwen fell into the circle of her brothers’ tall, broad bodies, and followed them back toward camp. Standing around her, they were are as large and strong as the trees of the wood. The elder three were the image of their father, Lord Clarion. Broad and thick with skin dark as ebony, and jaws strong and sharp; their dark eyes were hooded by equally dark brows and set in faces that were pleasing to the eye. The youngest, Jorin, was more akin to Gwen and their mother, Lady Enid, in looks. Though their skin was dark—as were all Dinasdalians—they were a few shades lighter than their brothers, with eyes the color of chestnuts. Jorin was long and lean, sinewy where his elder brothers were brawny, and fine-featured like Gwen.
    They dressed richly and adorned themselves with silver, as was the fashion among the nobles of Dinasdale. Great, silver rings flashed at Evrain’s knuckles, and a large chain of linked silver discs draped him shoulder to shoulder, a large silver archer pendant resting against his chest. Silver buttons in the shape of archers ran down the front of Leofred’s jerkin, and the pommel of his sword was an ornate silver archer with sapphires for eyes. Achart was the only one of the four who wore a beard, and he’d adorned it with silver rings, dividing it into four forks that hung down to his chest and clinked gently when he moved. His left ear was pierced four times, and in each hole he wore a sapphire set in silver. Jorin was more simply adorned, with only one ring, a ruby in his left ear, and a gleaming silver archer on the buckle of his belt. They wore their hair long and braided, adorned with silver and glass beads in shades of blue—cerulean, turquoise, and cobalt. Only Jorin wore his unbraided; it fell down to his shoulders in a cascade of lovely, dark waves, held back from his face with a leather thong.
    His hand found hers as they walked. “I think what you did was very brave,” he whispered.
    Gwen smiled at her younger brother and lifted his hand to kiss the knuckles affectionately. “Thank you, Jory,” she said, using the pet name her mother had given him. Of the four of them, Jorin was closest to her. Only ten and four years of age, he was becoming a man before her very eyes. Soon, he would leave to be fostered at Vor’shy. Though she knew it was necessary—her own brothers had left for years at a time to foster at other castles—she was going to miss Jorin sorely.
    They arrived at camp moments later, and were greeted by servants who had remained beneath the large, erected canopy to prepare a late luncheon. Beneath the canopy was set a table large enough for ten with rough, wooden