Dark Deceptions

by Christi Caldwell

  The scent of violets was heavy in the air as Chrystobel and Izlyn finished bathing and dressed in heavy sleeping shifts. Chrystobel braided her sister’s hair and finally put the girl to bed, covering her up with fluffy coverlets. As the child slept dreamlessly, Chrystobel sat by the hearth in a chair made of oak, with curved rails along the bottom so that it rocked gently, and gazed pensively into the fire. Now that the day had calmed and she and Izlyn were both safe and warm, her thoughts drifted to the man she had married.

  Keller de Poyer. The English knight was now her husband. She kept seeing his dusky blue eyes and strong features, rolling them over in her mind. Up until six months ago, she’d had no knowledge of the man and, in fact, had been accepting gifts from the local chieftain, Colvyn ap Gwynwynwyn, a bastard grandson of the last man who claimed the Powys throne. It was perhaps assumed that she would marry Colvyn, even though the man was known to have an entire stable of lovers, and she didn’t particularly find the man attractive or even interesting. He was short, dark, and rugged, and saw a wife as merely another possession. He’d as much as told her that. She wondered if de Poyer saw her as just another possession, too, just like Nether Castle.

  It was hard to know someone after only having been acquainted with him for a few hours, but in that time she had seen that Keller was vastly intelligent, wise, and rather stiff. Aye, he was indeed stiff, as if he didn’t know how to smile or enjoy himself. She’d seen him crack a smile, briefly, and it was a very handsome gesture. But then the smile had vanished and he was back to his stiff, intimidating self. It was quite clear that the man had an emotional wall around him, a wall that protected the soul beneath. She wondered if the wall was so strong because it was protecting something very soft and delicate. There had been moments, briefly, where she had seen something in the depths of those dusky eyes that bespoke of all things untold and vulnerable. It seemed strange to think of the powerful English knight as vulnerable.

  As she sat by the fire and pondered the character of her new husband, there was a knock on the chamber door. Before she could rise and open it, the panel flew open and Gryffyn appeared. He blew into the chamber, slamming the door behind him and bolting it. Chrystobel was so startled that she leapt out of her chair and, tripping over the leg, ended up on the floor. Gryffyn hardly noticed, however. He raced past her and carefully peeled back the oiled cloth, peering at the activity in the bailey below.

  Chrystobel picked herself up, brushing off her knees. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, fighting down her panic. “You mustn’t stay here. My husband will be back any minute.”

  Gryffyn whirled on her. “Husband?” he spat. “So you have already married the loathsome swine?”

  “I have,” she replied. “Father tried to find you to tell you of the ceremony, but he was unable to locate you.”

  Gryffyn avoided commenting on his whereabouts during her wedding. “De Poyer is nothing but a thieving bastard!” he barked. “He has no right to be here!”

  Chrystobel had seen her brother in rages like this before. His control would soon leave him and he would punch her senseless, so she made sure to stay well away from the man and his unpredictable fists. In fact, the only thing to do was to agree with him, humor him, anything to keep him from pummeling her and Izlyn in his fury over the English.

  Terrified, she had to do what was necessary to protect both her and her sister. It was a submissive behavior she’d utilized for many years in the face of her abusive brother; sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. She prayed it would work this time. She had to show she was on his side, to agree with a barbaric man in the hopes he would go along his way and not harm her. The game of terror had begun.

  “I know,” she agreed quickly. “But I was forced to marry him. I did not want to.”

  That seemed to ease Gryffyn somewhat. He began smacking a fist against his open palm, agitated. “To the Devil with him and the rest of his Saesneg soldiers,” he grumbled. “The first arrow did not work but there will be more. If they want my castle, they will have to fight for it. There will be hazard and rebellion every second of the day!”

  Chrystobel tried not to appear too shocked by his admission. So the arrow had indeed come from him! She very much wanted to appear as if she was on his side, anything to get the man out of her chamber without blood being drawn. The longer he remained here, the more chance there would be of him becoming violent. Get him out!

  “Of course, Gryffyn,” she said patiently. “Anything you say. But you cannot remain here. He has already been back twice. If he finds you here, it would be very bad for you.”

  Gryffyn was in the process of mentally dismembering the man he now considered to be his arch enemy, de Poyer, but he paused when his sister’s words sank deep. He looked at her, abruptly, his expression nothing short of venomous.

  “He cannot best me,” he declared. “He had his demons pummel me earlier, but wait until I get the man alone. I will tear him apart!”

  Chrystobel agreed steadily. “Of course you will,” she said. “I have seen what you can do. You are much more powerful than he is. Now, get out of here and go hide someplace where he will never find you. To the storage vaults, mayhap; there are many places to hide there.”

  Gryffyn ignored her suggestion, at least outwardly. Inside, however, his distorted mind was working furiously. He was like a caged beast, pacing around and knocking over furniture, so much so that he awoke Izlyn. When the girl rubbed her eyes sleepily and then saw her brother, she began to weep. Gryffyn looked at the girl, infuriated.

  “And you!” he barked, pointing a finger at her. “Tell me that I have your support or I shall punish you severely!”

  Chrystobel raced to her sister’s side, falling onto the bed and throwing her arms around the girl. “You do not have time for her,” she insisted, her voice rising with panic. “Gryffyn, you must leave now. If they find you, they will kill you!”

  Gryffyn marched over to the bed and reached out, grabbing Chrystobel by her hair. As she cried out in pain, he yanked her away from Izlyn and onto the floor. On her knees before her brother, his fingers brutally entwined in her hair, she gasped when he yanked her head upwards so that she was gazing into his menacing face. Gryffyn yanked her hair again just because he liked to hear her yelp. The sounds of pain always gave him pleasure.

  “You are loyal to him, aren’t you?” he hissed.

  Chrystobel was gasping and weeping with pain. “Nay!” she cried.

  “Admit it!”

  “Nay!” she wept. “Please, Gryffyn, let me go!”

  Gryffyn didn’t comply. He held her hair tightly, his wretched mind mulling over a variety of scenarios involving his sister and the enemy knight. True, she had never shown any real excitement for marrying the Saesneg. In fact, she had been openly reluctant to do so. She was a bigger pawn in this situation than any of them. Therefore, Gryffyn eased his stance slightly… but only slightly. At the moment, he was concocting a scheme that would very much involve his sister. He needed her to save him. He needed her to save them all. There was a very simply way to put an end to the Saesneg reign of Nether.

  “Then you will prove your loyalty,” he rumbled, digging into his leather vest and producing a small, sharp dagger. When Chrystobel cried out, terrified he was going to use it on her, he yanked her hair again to both control and still her. “When your husband comes to share your bed, you will use this dagger on him. When the man least expects it, thrust it into his back and kill him. Do you understand?”

  Chrystobel was weeping uncontrollably but she nodded. Gryffyn yanked her hair one last time as he thrust the dirk at her, placing it into her shaking hands. Then he let go of her hair and watched her fall to the floor. His gaze, furious only moments before, was now strangely impassive as he looked at his sister huddled in a terrified heap.

  “It is your duty as a Welshman to kill the English vermin,” he told her. “If you do not, then I will know you are a traitor and I will kill you the first chance I get. O
nce you are dead, I will kill Izlyn and Father as well. I will leave no one in this family alive, so you hold everyone’s lives in your hand. Kill your husband or I will kill you. Is this in any way unclear?”

  Sobbing, Chrystobel nodded her head. “It… it ‘tis.”

  Gryffyn felt very powerful at that moment, pleased with his plan to kill de Poyer. As usual, he would have someone else do his dirty work for him. This time, it would be his sister.

  “Good,” he grunted. “I will be down in the storage vaults. You are correct. It is the best place to hide. I will await word of your success.”

  He meant it as a threat and she took it as one. Chrystobel remained in a ball on the floor, her face against the wooden planks, hearing Gryffyn as he stomped to her chamber door and swiftly quit the chamber. Like a violent storm, Gryffyn had swept along the land, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake. But the moment he vacated, the sudden silence was both comforting and eerie.

  Once he was gone, Chrystobel jumped up and ran to the door, throwing the iron bolt so that he could not come back inside. Then she collapsed against the door, weeping and frightened. All she’d ever known from the man was terror, since she had been a small girl. He continued to put the fear of the devil in her, a primal instinct that had been instilled in her long ago. It therefore took her several moments before she was able to calm sufficiently.

  Still sniffling, she pushed away from the door and made her way back to Izlyn, who had lain back down in the bed and pulled the coverlets fearfully over her head. The little girl was trembling, too, and Chrystobel lay down next to her, snuggling with the child to comfort her. All the while, Chrystobel was very torn with the course her life would take over the next few hours. She was terrified of Gryffyn, enough so that she was actually considering doing his bidding. She knew her brother well enough to know he meant what he said. He would kill them all should she fail.

  But in the next breath, her new husband had sworn to protect her. She didn’t know the man and she didn’t yet trust his word – should she believe him? Or should she do her brother’s will simply to keep her family alive? Her entire life had been filled with these moments, threats of murder from a man who delighted in spreading panic. She was so very sick of the fear, so perhaps it was time to do something about it.

  The dirk was still in her hand and she opened her palm to look at it, gleaming dully in the weak firelight. Perhaps it was time to take a leap of faith to save her father and her sister, to trust a man she had only known a matter of hours. She was coming to feel as if Keller de Poyer was her only hope, an English enemy who had sworn to defend her. Nay, she could no longer subject herself and her family to Gryffyn’s tyranny because to do so, ultimately, would only cause their deaths. This she knew as certainly as she lived and breathed. Someday, someway, Gryffyn would kill them all.

  It was time to take a stand.

  * * *

  It was an hour or two before dawn by the time Keller made his way back to Chrystobel’s chamber. Over six hours of searching had failed to produce Gryffyn, so he put his men on shifts to watch over the Welsh inhabitants of Nether. Half went to bed while the other half remained awake and vigilant, guarding the unhappy Welsh.

  The more the minutes passed, the more enraged he was about Gryffyn’s absence. He was coming to think that the man had fled the castle, which would have been the right thing to do. Gryffyn was more intelligent than he gave him credit for if that was the case, and as Keller made his way up to Chrystobel’s chamber, he struggled to push aside thoughts of the man. He didn’t want to carry that poison over into the lady’s chamber. He didn’t want that vile man on his mind when he looked at her.

  The keep was dark and quiet at this hour as he reached the second floor landing. There were two chambers on this floor and he went to the chamber on the left, the one that overlooked the southern portion of the bailey. Lifting the latch, he gave a shove but the door was bolted. He knocked softly.

  It took a moment for him to hear movement. He could hear feet on the floor, coming closer. Chrystobel’s voice hissed at him from the other side of the panel.

  “Who comes?” she demanded.

  “It is your husband, Lady de Poyer.”

  He could hear the iron bolt being thrown, grating against the wood. The door opened slightly, but only enough to allow Chrystobel out. Keller was forced to step back as she came onto the landing, closing the chamber door behind her. He couldn’t help but notice that she was in a sleeping shift with a heavy shawl draped around her shoulders. A sleeping shift made him think of a bed, and a bed made him think of consummating their marriage. She also smelled of flowers, something he found quite alluring. He was still dwelling on the scent of violets when she began to speak, jolting him out of his somewhat lustful thoughts.

  “Izlyn is asleep and I did not wish to wake her with our conversation,” she whispered. “I must speak with you.”

  Keller could sense her grim mood. “How may I be of service?”

  Chrystobel looked up at him, her brown eyes deep and bottomless. It was evident that there was much on her mind, a thousand questions without adequate answers. He was coming to see that the woman had no ability to hide her emotions. They were written all over her face. After a moment, she sighed faintly.

  “Did you find my brother?” she asked.

  “Nay.”

  She grunted softly. “Nor will you, I suppose,” she muttered. “My lord, I must ask you something and I would beg you to be truthful.”

  “I always am.”

  She was very hesitant and the words came out in spurts. “You… you are a stranger here,” she said nervously. “I have only known you a few hours, yet you are my husband. I do not know you as a man of character or honor yet. I can only assume such things because of your rank. You said earlier that Gryffyn’s violence towards us would be no more and I very much hope… that is to say, I want to believe you. But there are things you do not know.”

  Keller took her statement very seriously. He crossed his big arms, bracing his legs apart as he settled in for the conversation. “I suspect there is a great deal I do not know about this place and about you,” he said. “But the question is whether or not you intend to tell me, or if you intend on keeping secrets.”

  She looked both surprised and offended. “It is not secrets I keep but family realities,” she said. “This is my family and there are things….”

  He interrupted her. “I told you earlier than you and your family belongs to me now,” he said. “I am your family and it is my right to know what goes on here. What is it that you are not telling me?”

  Her nervousness was growing worse. “All families have issues that they do not wish to share with outsiders,” she said. “You, my lord, are an outsider.”

  “I am your husband.”

  “But I do not know you.”

  “If you continue to keep secrets, you will never come to know me and I will always be a stranger to you. Is that what you truly wish?”

  Nay, she didn’t. Chrystobel looked at him, his intense gaze and intelligent face, and realized that he made a good deal of sense. He was her husband, and would be forever, and it was time to build the bridges of trust unless she wanted a miserable marriage. She would have to make the first move because she very much wanted his help and she wanted to believe him when he said he would defend her. With a deep breath for courage, she opened her mouth to speak but tears popped to her eyes instead. It was fear, pure and simple. She had to fight through it.

  “Gryffyn came to me earlier this evening,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. Then she held up her right hand, the one clutching the dirk Gryffyn had given her, and extended it to Keller. “He told me I had to kill you. He told me that if I did not, he would consider me a traitor and kill me and Izlyn and my father. He said he would kill us all if I did not abide by his command.”

  Keller eyed her a moment before taking the dirk. It was small, but sharp enough to do damage. He inspected it a moment, struggling
not to feel an inordinate amount of hatred towards Gryffyn. Emotions were misplaced in warfare, and this was definitely war. Gryffyn had challenged him since nearly the moment he had entered the walls of Nether, and now the game was increasing in intensity. It was growing deadly.

  Gryffyn was including his sister in his games, instructing the woman to murder on his behalf. The fact that she had divulged her brother’s scheme told Keller that she wasn’t allying herself with her brother, which relieved him tremendously. She could have very easily obeyed him, but she hadn’t. Instead, she had come to Keller for help. He knew she had done it more out of fear of her brother than of her loyalty to her new husband, but it didn’t matter. Trust went both ways, and now it was time for him to earn her trust. She was placing her faith in him and he would not fail.

  “Why did you not send word to me in the bailey that he had come to you?” he asked calmly.

  Chrystobel shook her head. “How?” she asked. “You have taken all of the servants away and I could not leave Izzie alone. I knew you would come to me, eventually. But there is more you should know.”

  “What is that?”

  Chrystobel felt terrible telling him such things, ashamed at her brother’s appalling behavior. “He admitted to being behind the attempt on your knight’s life,” she said. “From what I could gather, he meant the arrow for you.”

  Keller wasn’t surprised to hear that. Rather than be angry about it, he thought the entire circumstance ridiculous. It was a coward of a man who stood in the shadows and directed others to do his deadly deeds only to fail at them.

  “I am sure it was but, like a fool, he entrusted other fools to do what he should have done himself,” he said almost philosophically, glancing up at her to see her genuinely contrite expression. He felt rather sorry for her. “Do you know where your brother is now?”