Dark Deceptions

by Christi Caldwell

  Izlyn’s little face crumpled into tears and she buried her face in her father’s tunic. Keller, disturbed by Gryffyn’s ranting, turned to look at the man as he struggled to his feet.

  “Am I to understand that you are speaking of this child?” he asked with puzzlement. He couldn’t help it.

  Gryffyn’s balance was gone and he stood up only to list heavily to one side. He ended up seated on the nearest bench that flanked the great table.

  “That is none of your affair,” he growled. “She is my sister and I shall do with her as I please.”

  Keller had done an admirable job of keeping his temper even and his manner disinterested since his arrival. It was simply the way he was, in all things and especially in light of a new situation. But even he was starting to lose patience with a man he was coming to perceive as arrogant, brutal and dangerous. He faced Gryffyn fully and put his enormous hands on his hips.

  “Answer me,” he rumbled. “Did you put this child in the vault?”

  Gryffyn refused to look at him. He saw a chalice over his right shoulder and decided that was more interesting. As he reached for it, Wellesbourne snatched it out of his reached and threw it against the wall. Wine sprayed on the wall as the cup clattered to the floor, the message obvious. Gryffyn bared his teeth at William, who simply lifted an eyebrow in reply. The test of wills was in full swing.

  “She is a stubborn, disobedient wench and must be taught manners,” Gryffyn whirled on Keller, snarling. “This not your house or hold, de Poyer. This family belongs to me and I will do with them as I see fit. You will not question me.”

  Keller’s dark eyes glittered. “Nether Castle and all who reside within her became my holding a month ago when the treaty was signed,” he found that it was a struggle to keep his temper down. “Your sisters, your father and you belong to me now and will do as I say. Is this is any way unclear?”

  Gryffyn lurched to his feet, walking unsteadily towards the entry door. He waved an unsteady hand at Keller as if to block him out, moving past his father and sister, who stepped out of his way to give him a wide berth. They watched him stagger from the entrance like a drunken man.

  Once outside, Gryffyn crossed paths with Chrystobel, who was emerging from the kitchens with another trencher for Keller. Furious, irrational, Gryffyn made his way towards his sister, who was completely unaware of the man’s rage. He came upon her in such a manner that gave her little time to defend herself. One moment, she was preparing to deliver food and in the next, Gryffyn had her around the neck. Keller’s second trencher fell into the mud. No one heard Chrystobel’s cries as Gryffyn disappeared with her into the stables.

  Back in the hall, the thick stone walls drowned out any noises from the bailey. With Gryffyn gone, Trevyn returned his focus to Keller.

  “My apologies, my lord,” he said, suddenly looking very old and very defeated. “Gryffyn is not indicative of every person at Nether. There are those of us who welcome you as an ally and would not show you such disrespect.”

  Keller studied the man a moment, trying to gauge both the man’s character and sincerity. Being the garrison commander at Pembroke Castle for five years, he’d known his share of Welsh warlords. He knew how they thought and how, like the English, they could be deceptive. He would be on his guard.

  “We shall see,” he replied vaguely, changing subjects because he had nothing more to say about Gryffyn. “I sent a missive ahead of our arrival. Is the priest here?”

  Trevyn nodded. “I am told he is in the kitchens eating his meal, my lord.”

  “Bring him to the hall. Your daughter and I will be married immediately to seal the treaty and be done with it.”

  The command sounded harsh coming from his lips. It was a business arrangement and would be treated as such. Trevyn sent a servant for the both the priest and Chrystobel. The priest was easily located but Chrystobel was not. She was found an hour later outside of the stables, sitting in the mud with her hands over her face.

  * * *

  Keller had been standing in the doorway of Chrystobel’s bower for the better part of a half hour. He stood just inside the door, his enormous arms crossed as he silently watched the activity surrounding his betrothed.

  After William had found her in the mud by the stables, he had brought the dazed and bleeding woman to her bower. Young Izlyn tried her best to clean Chrystobel’s face, wiping the blood away from her lip and cleaning off the mud, and servants dashed in and out of the chamber with hot water and linens in an effort to help. Trevyn had disappeared, as had Gryffyn, and the more Keller watched the activity, the more suspicious he became. People were smacked around, disappearing even, and generally terrified. The situation was odd and growing more odd, and he eventually reached his limit of patience.

  He finally ordered the servants out with a brusque command, looking to George and Aimery, just outside the door on the landing, to ensure that his command was carried out. William was stalking the castle, looking for both Trevyn and Gryffyn. Most of the family seemed to have vanished the moment Chrystobel was discovered. Keller doubted it was coincidence. When the servants scattered like frightened chickens, herded from the chamber by the Ashby-Kidd twins, Keller closed the door behind them.

  It was oddly and suddenly quiet from the commotion as he faced Chrystobel and her wide-eyed sister. Both ladies were sitting on the bed, looking up at Keller as if he were the devil himself and preparing to demand their souls. Keller regarded the frightened women for a moment, eventually closing the distance between them. His gaze never left Chrystobel’s face. What he saw, and what he had observed initially, greatly disturbed him and he was attempting to determine how best to pursue the situation.

  When he reached the bed, he sat down next to Chrystobel, his significant weight rocking the bed. Little Izlyn nearly slipped off, holding on to her sister for support. Silently, he held out a hand to Izlyn, who was still holding a rag and a small bowl of warm water. She looked at him with enormous eyes, having no idea what he meant, until he gently reached out and took the bowl from her. Collecting the rag, he dipped it into the warm water and carefully wiped away the blood from the cut on Chrystobel’s lip.

  Chrystobel sat stock-still as he wiped away the remnants of the mess and inspected her cut at close range. Her sister had done a good job of cleaning off the majority of the blood and dirt, so Keller eventually set the bowl and rag aside. When his focus returned to her, his dark eyes were intense.

  “What happened?” he asked softly.

  His voice was deep, raspy, and strangely soothing. Chrystobel didn’t even know the man yet she sensed an innate gentleness from him, something buried deep and hidden. He had wiped her cut with the lightest of touches. A man with hands the size of his should not be so gentle or delicate. But he was. It was disarming, fascinating. Chrystobel met his gaze for a moment before averting her eyes.

  “I… I slipped and fell, my lord,” she lied.

  “You slipped?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “And fell on your face?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  He continued to gaze at her as she stared at the hands in her lap. She had the most glorious beauty, something he was more intrigued with by the moment. Her lashes were thick and feathery, sweeping against her cheeks when she blinked. He noted the bruise on her cheek, her split lip, and he even saw blood on her scalp. When he reached out to inspect the bloody spot on her blond hair, she flinched but he put a big hand on her arm to still her. Carefully, he inspected the split on her scalp. Then his eyes moved down to her ear and he could see a bit of dark blood in the canal. Inspecting further, he noticed that her neck was bruised.

  Chrystobel couldn’t see him but she could certainly feel and hear him. She could feel his eyes upon her, inspecting every inch of her, knowing she was lying about what had happened. She knew he would question her on it and she was terrified for that moment. Still, she had to stay strong. She could not let him know the truth. It was her shame alone to bear and she
did not want her future husband judging her by such weaknesses or by dark family secrets.

  She heard him sigh heavily. “Did you fall on your neck?” he asked quietly.

  Chrystobel looked at him, confused and wary. “My… my lord?”

  Keller lifted his chin in the direction of her neck. “Your neck is bruised.”

  Her hands flew to her neck nervously as if to hide what he had already seen. “I must have hit it somehow,” she replied, her voice weak and soft. “I am sorry that my appearance has been so unsuitable. I will make all effort to make myself presentable.”

  Keller suddenly grasped her by the chin and forced her to look at him. When their eyes met, Chrystobel felt an exciting jolt, as if his eyes had somehow reached out to grab her. It was like a lightning strike, quickly come, quickly gone. Her breathing began to come in quick little gasps for reasons she could not understand.

  “You will stop saying that,” he growled softly. “You are not unseemly nor are you unsuitable. You are the loveliest woman I have had the fortune to lay eyes upon so I do not want to hear those words from your lips again. But I would know why you feel it necessary to lie to me.”

  She looked shocked, blinking rapidly and trying to pull away from him. But he would have no part of it. He grabbed her by the arms with those enormous hands and refused to let her move.

  “I… I do not know what you mean,” she lied again, hating herself for it but unwilling to divulge the truth.

  “Aye, you do,” he said calmly, watching her face flush pink. “Who did this to you? And do not tell me that you fell because I do not believe you.”

  Chrystobel’s heart thumped painfully against her ribs, the strength from the man’s grip both terrifying and thrilling her. She struggled to pull away, bumping into Izlyn in the process. The youngest d’Einen sibling burst into tears.

  Keller looked at the young girl, concerned. “Why is she weeping?” he asked.

  Chrystobel craned her neck back to look at her sister, watching the girl put her hands over her face. It was difficult to get a good look at her because Keller had her in an iron grip and she was unable to twist around sufficiently. She tried to pull from his grasp but it was impossible. The man had hands of steel.

  “Izlyn?” she asked softly. “Why are you weeping, sweetheart?”

  The young girl didn’t answer her, bawling into her hands. Chrystobel turned back to Keller, her expression pleading.

  “Please,” she begged softly. “Let me comfort her. She is frightened.”

  “Of what?”

  Chrystobel’s lovely brow rippled. “Of… of you, my lord. She is easily frightened.”

  Keller gazed at her intently a moment longer before releasing her from his grasp. Chrystobel turned to her sister and put her arms around her, kissing her head.

  “All is well, sweetheart,” she said softly. “You need not be afraid.”

  The girl continued to cry and Chrystobel put her hands on the pretty young face, forcing Izlyn to look at her. She smiled encouragingly to the girl. “Look at me,” she commanded gently. “See that I am unharmed? Sir Keller has not harmed me. All is well, I promise. Stop weeping.”

  Keller watched the exchange carefully. His detailed ear digested every sigh, every whisper, every expression and sound. He had spent his life reading people and attempting to deduce their thoughts. In his profession, it was mandatory if he wanted to live a long and healthy life. He was coming to see that there was something beneath the surface of this family that he was not being told. He could see it in their faces and in their actions. Although he was coming to suspect what it was, still, he wanted to hear the truth from their lips.

  “What did I do to frighten her?” he asked quietly.

  Chrystobel turned to look at him. “It is difficult to know,” she said. “Izlyn is very delicate. She weeps often.”

  “Why?”

  Chrystobel shrugged, looking back to her little sister. “It is the only way she can communicate. She cannot speak, so she weeps.”

  Keller watched as Chrystobel dried the last of her sister’s tears. He could see in those small actions that she was a very compassionate and caring individual. He could feel his interest in her deepening, unable to resist.

  “Was she born mute?” he asked.

  Chrystobel shook her head. “Nay,” she looked at him. “As a baby, I remember her speaking a few words. Then, when she was about two years old, she simply stopped speaking. She has not uttered a word since.”

  Keller didn’t know why he was beginning to feel some strange emotional pull towards these women. He shouldn’t have and he knew it. Perhaps it was because he would soon be related to them both or perhaps it was because they looked so pale and helpless at the moment. Perhaps it was because they now belonged to him, as did everything else at Nether. He watched them both with his intense dark eyes.

  “Why did your brother put her in the vault?” he asked.

  Chrystobel’s head snapped to him as if startled by the question. She looked back to Izlyn, almost fearfully, struggling over an answer. She wasn’t a particularly good liar and the truth, before she could stop it, came out in pieces.

  “Because… because she will not speak to him,” she almost choked over the words, horrified that they came out but unable to stop them. “It frustrates him and he punishes her for her disobedience.”

  Keller couldn’t help it. His brows drew together and he looked at the pair as if they had gone mad.

  “Because she does not speak to him?” he repeated, his tone bordering on incredulous. “Is this the truth?”

  Chrystobel’s gaze was on her sister. She could hear the outrage in Keller’s tone, afraid it was directed at her. “Aye, my lord,” she said, more hesitantly. “He feels that she is being stubborn and if he punishes her enough, then perhaps it will compel her to speak. He has told her that if she tells him that she does not wish to be put in the vault, he will not do it.”

  Keller stood up, his sheer size and massive presence causing Izlyn to collapse into her sister’s embrace as the two sisters gazed up at him fearfully. His expression was calm although the dark eyes were glittering with something emotional, something deep. He began to pop his knuckles through his heavy leather gloves as if the process would help him think more clearly. It was obvious that he was pondering the situation. He looked from one fearful face to the other and back again.

  “That will not happen again,” he finally said. “It is apparent to me that Gryffyn d’Einen has wrought much distress upon this place and I do not appreciate nor respect men who wreak havoc simply for havoc’s sake. Lady Chrystobel, I will ask you a question and you will be truthful. Did your brother put those bruises on your neck and was it he who split your lip?”

  Chrystobel’s eyes were wide with fright. She opened her mouth as if to reply, looking at her sister as she did so, and then suddenly shut her mouth. She didn’t know Keller well enough to trust him with the truth. She was fearful of what would happen to her or to Izlyn should Gryffyn find out that she told of his foul deeds. At the moment, fear of her brother outweighed the fear of her new husband. Unable to look at Keller, she looked to her lap.

  “I…,” she began softly. “I am not sure….”

  “The truth, lady.”

  He had interrupted her stammering and she grew flustered. “I… I do not remember,” she whispered painfully, still looking at her lap. “I was walking across the bailey and… and perhaps I tripped. I do not remember.”

  Keller stared at her. He didn’t like being lied to and since he wasn’t any good when it came to communicating with women, it produced a bad combination in a situation like this. He couldn’t decide whether he was furious or disappointed that she would not tell him the truth, which turned his demeanor to stone. His coldness was apparent. Reaching down, he took her hand in his massive gloved one and pulled her up from the bed.

  “Come along, then,” he muttered. “There is a priest in the hall waiting to perform the wedding sacramen
t.”

  He had her on her feet and Chrystobel visibly blanched. “But…,” she stammered. “I am not appropriately dressed to receive the sacrament, my lord. At least allow me to change from these dirty clothes.”

  Keller’s gaze moved over her body, noting the shapely figure beneath the surcoat. “God does not care how clean you are, my lady.”

  Horrified that he was not going to allow her to change into a clean frock and at least brush her hair, she grabbed Izlyn in a gesture of panic and perhaps comfort. Keller dragged both women from the chamber.

  He realized, as he hit the bailey outside, that he was angry. Angry that the woman he was to marry would not give him the truth to a direct question. If she would not tell him the truth about a matter such as this, he couldn’t imagine what else she would hide or lie to him about.

  Perhaps he should not have believed her when she said she was chasing a wounded rabbit down the slopes of Nether. Perhaps she really had been running away. If she wanted a marriage in name only, then he would be happy to oblige her. It would save him from becoming emotionally invested in yet another woman who would break his carefully-protected heart.

  Chapter Five

  Of everything Chrystobel had ever imagined her wedding to be, the actual experience was something quite different.

  In the smoky, smelly hall of Nether, standing before a priest who smelled of urine and ale, she became Lady de Poyer. Izlyn clung to her during the mass and her father stood a few feet away with a rather sickened expression on his face. In fact, it made Chrystobel angry to see the expression on her father’s face since the man had knowingly entered into the contract that would use her as a pawn in his deadly game of tactics with William Marshal. She didn’t understand his visible show of remorse, late as it was, but it was of no matter. The wedding sacrament had been hastily, and sloppily, completed, and in short order Sir Keller became her husband.