Gryffyn appeared in the shadows, his gaze on his father. He had been hiding in the passage used by the servants to travel to and from the kitchen area, a secondary passage that was submerged in the thickness of the walls of the great hall. Unless one was a native of Nether, the passage was easily concealed and therefore not easily known. But Trevyn knew about it and he also knew that Gryffyn was hiding in it, listening to the entire conversation with the English. As he wept, he wept for himself. He was the coward de Poyer had accused him of being.
“Excellent, Father,” Gryffyn said quietly. “Now they will let their guard down. They will not be looking for me within the fortress any longer.”
Trevyn wiped at his eyes. “You heard what they said,” he muttered. “You told your sister to kill her husband. How could you do such a thing?”
Gryffyn’s features hardened. “How could she not do such a thing?” he countered savagely. “The foolish bitch has betrayed me and she will pay. I will kill her before this day his finished.”
Trevyn continued wiping at his eyes. “If you do, her husband will kill you,” he said. “You heard the man. He is already protective of her.”
Gryffyn was near the table. In a flash, he marched to his father and clubbed the man in the jaw, sending him to the floor. Gryffyn grabbed the knife on the table, the one used to cut the bread, and pounced on his father as the man struggled on the wooden floor. Holding the knife to his father’s throat, he snarled into the man’s face.
“I will kill her,” he repeated, hissing. “Chrystobel has disobeyed me and for that, she will pay with her life. Izlyn, too, because she does not deserve to live, the imperfect and foul child that she is. She is an embarrassment to the d’Einen name. I will be done with these women who disobey me and then I will be done with you because you brokered this contract that would see the English assume my inheritance. I should have killed you when you negotiated the deal behind my back but I did not. I heard you tell those Saesneg bastards why you gave away my legacy. You hate me and I hate you. Now, I will take back what is rightfully mine and rid Nether of the English scum forever.”
Trevyn struggled for his life. “Gryffyn, nay!” he cried. “I did not mean what I said about you! I only said it for their benefit!”
Gryffyn wasn’t listening. He was bent on destruction. Taking the bread knife, he plunged it into his father’s chest, stabbing the man deep into his heart. As Trevyn lay dying on the floor, his deep red blood bleeding out onto the wood, Gryffyn wrapped the old man’s hand around the knife to make it appear as if he had taken his own life. The way Trevyn had rolled onto his side, Gryffyn easily propped the hand up against the knife hilt and kept it in place. As Gryffyn pushed himself off his father, he rolled the old man over even more, driving the knife deeper.
Trevyn d’Einen, former Lord Carnedd, lived the last few seconds of his life breathing in the dirt off the floor of the great hall as his son slinked back into the recesses of the hidden passage. Gryffyn’s black, vile heart could only understand one thing at a time, one abhorrent emotion above all else. He couldn’t even think that his father was dead by his hand. Nay, that was not in his realm of thought. At the moment, all he could feel was betrayal. His sister had betrayed him and she would pay with her life. Returning to the hidden passageway near the hearth, he sank back into the shadows to make his plans.
His next target was Chrystobel.
* * *
After his discussion with Trevyn, Keller had returned to the crowd of Nether inhabitants and gave orders to release them, and that included the servants. He stood in the cold, bright bailey, discussing the schedule of the day as his men assumed their new posts and the servants flooded back into the kitchens, keep, and hall. Screams from the servants returning to the great hall and finding the bloodied corpse of Trevyn d’Einen alarmed the English knights, sending all four of them racing into the hall to find a scene of death before them.
Unfortunately, some of the servants had seen Keller and William emerge from the great hall just before Trevyn’s body had been discovered, so the rumors began to fly fast and furious that Trevyn had been murdered by the new lord of Nether. George and Aimery heard the whisperings and yelled at the servants, which upset them more. A good deal of weeping and commotion went on around them as Keller and William tried to sort through the chaos and figure out what had happened. The first thing Keller did was have George and Aimery herd the hysterical servants out of the hall.
When the weeping subsided and an eerie silence settled, Keller was able to think more clearly. As he gazed down at the body, it appeared as if the man had killed himself because of the hand against the knife hilt and the way the body was laying, but to Keller, the scene was puzzling at best. He had spoken to the man only minutes earlier and he had seemed well enough. Certainly not upset enough to take his life. It was a most puzzling circumstance and a disturbing one as well.
“This does not make any sense,” he said as he stood over the body. “D’Einen did not seem depressed enough to take his own life, and certainly not by stabbing himself with a bread knife. The blade is dull and it would have taken a great deal of force to push it through skin and bone.”
William was kneeling beside the corpse, shaking his head with bewilderment. “It would not have been a simple or painless way to die,” he said, inspecting the knife shoved deep into Trevyn’s chest. “But if someone else did this, who would it be? All of the occupants of Nether were under guard one way or the other. There was no one else around.”
Keller’s dusky eyes were grim. “No one that we know of,” he said quietly. “It is entirely possible that there was someone else wandering this fortress that we did not know of.”
William was still looking at the body. “That is possible,” he agreed. “Do you have any ideas about it?”
“Mayhap Gryffyn has not left the fortress as was speculated.”
William looked up at him, the light of realization going on in his eyes. “Mayhap he was here all along,” he concurred, standing up and brushing his hands off on his breeches. “You said that he tried to coerce Lady de Poyer into killing you. Is it possible he thought his father was a traitor as well? Enough to drive him to murder the man?”
Keller shrugged his shoulders, looking down at the cooling corpse. “We have had one altercation with the man and it was enough to tell me that he is unpredictable and brutal,” he said, keeping his voice lowered so the servants wouldn’t hear him. “It is quite possible he is hiding here at Nether, evading our searches, and waiting for the proper time to strike.”
William listened seriously. He pondered the situation, his gaze moving back to the corpse of Trevyn. “Then mayhap we have been going about this all wrong,” he said after a moment. “Gryffyn has lived here his entire life and would know where to hide to evade us. We could search for years and still never find him, so instead of going in search of him, we must bring him to us.”
Keller’s eyebrows lifted. “A trap?”
“Indeed.”
Keller liked the idea. In fact, it made a good deal of sense. “He wants me dead,” he said. “It would make the most sense to use me as bait.”
William shook his head. “Nay, it would not,” he replied softly. “You said that your wife told you that Gryffyn would kill his entire family if she did not do his bidding. It is quite possible that Gryffyn has already started that task, first with his father and next with his sisters. It would make the most sense to use one of them as bait and since the little one is so skittish, it would make the most sense to use your wife.”
Keller hastened to disagree. “He admitted that the arrow that struck George was meant for me,” he reminded William. “I told you what Lady de Poyer said to that regard, so the man is indeed out to kill me. I say let him try.”
Again, William shook his head. “That would not be wise, Keller,” he said. “Think on it this way; as we have seen, Gryffyn would not attack you man to man. Rather than do that, he relied on an arrow, so it would seem he is not c
onfident in a confrontation of brute strength against brute strength. He is much more apt to attack a weaker person physically, your wife for example, because it makes him feel more powerful. She makes him feel omnipotent and you are a challenge to that sense of power. Therefore, she is the better bait because he will come to her, knowing he can best her.”
Keller had gone from giving his full support to the scheme to drawing back considerably. The thought of Chrystobel in danger nearly threw him into fits. “But she is a mere woman,” he said, trying to make a strong case for his refusal when he knew, deep down, that William was correct. Gryffyn was a coward in every sense of the word and would more than likely attack a woman before he would attack a full-grown man. “She is afraid of her brother as it is. How can we expect her to lay a trap for the man?”
William cleared his throat softly. “Stop thinking like a husband,” he muttered. “If my wife was expected to lay a trap for her murderous brother, I would say the same thing, but the truth is that Lady de Poyer makes the perfect bait. We will be around her at all times so she will be well protected, but if Gryffyn has killed his father, it would make the most sense that his sister is next. That is exactly what he threatened to do, is it not?”
Keller wanted to argue with him; he truly did, but he found it difficult to muster a convincing case. He was so torn that he could hardly think straight. Why was he so reluctant to put Chrystobel in danger? Could it possibly be because he actually cared for her somehow and cared what happened to her? Impossible, he told himself sternly. Still, the thought lingered.
“I must think on it,” he finally said, unable to look William in the eye because he was certain that the man could see his turmoil. “Set the posts for the day and get some sleep yourself. I will see you later.”
He turned to leave but William grasped his arm. “Wait,” William said. “I know you are not keen on the idea of making your wife a target, but we have little choice. At this very moment, Gryffyn d’Einen is running loose somewhere in this fortress after having murdered his father. He may very well be watching us right now. In any case, I will not sleep soundly until the man is caught and I doubt you will, either.”
Keller almost brushed the man off but he refrained, mostly because he was right. He and Wellesbourne had never been particularly close but that had been Keller’s fault. He didn’t want to get close to anyone again, but the past day or two had seen that attitude waver somewhat. Wellesbourne was an excellent knight, excellent counsel, and more than that, he felt as if the man was offering his friendship. Perhaps it was time for Keller to reconsider his harsh stance against emotional attachments and open himself up. But it was difficult.
“Nay, I will not,” he agreed quietly. “I fear that you are more than likely correct in your suggestion.”
William breathed a sigh of relief that Keller was actually agreeing with him. That had never really happened since William had known him. The man didn’t take suggestions well so it was a surprise to realize that he was accepting this one. De Poyer was being almost… congenial. Aye, that was the word William was looking for. He’d hardly seen that from the man, either. Perhaps his stiff liege was finally easing.
“We could use more assistance with this situation,” William said, dropping his hand from Keller’s arm. “When are de Lohr’s reinforcements set to arrive?”
Keller scratched his scalp in a weary gesture. “It was my understanding that they were a few days behind us at most, so unless bad weather has delayed them, I would expect to see them very soon.” He stopped scratching his head and sighed wearily. His fatigue was catching up with him. “Put the senior sergeants in command while the knights get a few hours of sleep. I want my men patrolling every inch of this fortress and most especially the keep where the ladies are. And get Trevyn out of here before his daughters see him like this. That would not be good for their morale.”
William nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
There was a friendly expression on William’s face, one that compelled Keller to behave similarly. He counted himself lucky to have Wellesbourne under his command so he gave William a brief, awkward smile as he turned and headed out of the great hall with Trevyn’s blood on the floor and its dirty hearth. Already, his thoughts were turning to Chrystobel. He realized that he very much wanted to see her.
The morning was deepening as he crossed the muddy bailey towards the keep, the sky above brilliant blue as a brisk breeze swept across the land. Gusty winds not only chased fat, puffy clouds across the sky, but it also kicked about leaves and clutter in the ward. Everywhere Keller looked he could see his soldiers; upon the walls, milling in the bailey, or near the towers. He even saw the Ashby-Kidd brothers over near Tower Night, standing in conversation near the entry.
Keller was satisfied to see such a heavy English presence but he knew, as he lived and breathed, that Gryffyn d’Einen was somewhere, watching and waiting. It was an uneasy feeling he had, but one he intended to remedy quickly. With that in mind, he headed in the direction of George and Aimery to relay his orders – rest for the knights with the senior sergeants in command, and the hope that de Lohr’s reinforcements would soon arrive.
William had been correct. Keller wouldn’t sleep easy until his wife’s murderous brother was caught.
Chapter Eight
Chrystobel had heard the sobbing in her dreams, eventually awakening her from a deep sleep. She gradually became aware that there was a sobbing woman in the landing outside of her chamber and as she listened more closely, she recognized the woman’s voice. It was a kitchen servant, one that had served Nether for many years. She was a flighty woman but not usually given to hysterics, which concerned Chrystobel. Rising wearily from her bed as morning sunlight streamed in through cracks in the oilcloth, she was careful not to disturb Izlyn as she made her way across the cold floor to the chamber door and unbolted it.
The serving woman was being held at bay by several English soldiers, all of them crowded onto the landing and guarding Chrystobel’s door. They seemed unsure what to do with the agitated woman, but when Chrystobel appeared in the doorway, the woman began screeching about Trevyn d’Einen’s death at the hands of the English.
Horrified, Chrystobel came out onto the landing to demand what she meant, completely ignorant of the fact that she was still in her sleeping shift in front of ten pairs of curious male eyes. But the serving woman seemed incapable of doing anything other than weep, telling Chrystobel between gasps that the marchog Saesneg had murdered the lord. The English knight has killed your father! The servant was babbling in Welsh, something the English soldiers couldn’t understand, and what she was telling Chrystobel was dreadful and sickening. Overwhelmed, Chrystobel slumped against the wall, listening in utter shock.
It’s not true! She put her hands to her head as if to block out the horror. She couldn’t take the woman’s screaming any longer, piercing her brain like a thousand shards of steel, cutting into her very flesh. She bolted for the stairs but, finally realizing she was only wearing a shift, turned for her chamber and raced into the room to find some proper clothing. She ended up snatching the first suitable garment she came to, a heavy robe made from leather and wool, with great belled sleeves, and she pulled it on and fastened the ties at the waist. Pulling on the closest pair of shoes, which happened to be Izlyn’s small leather slippers, she raced for the door just as her little sister sat up in bed.
Izlyn made a sound, something close to a little cry, and Chrystobel froze at the chamber door, turning to the girl. Izlyn was rubbing her eyes sleepily and Chrystobel went to the girl, pulling her into her arms. She hugged her, warm and soft and cozy.
“I must leave for a moment, Izzie,” she said, kissing the girl on the head and struggling to keep a calm manner. “I shall return shortly but I want you to remain here. Please?”
She held the little girl’s face between her hands, nodding encouragingly, but Izlyn was tired, and a bit disoriented, and shook her head unhappily. Chrystobel’s manner grew firm.
Sweet fruit were the magic words as far as Izlyn was concerned. She loved the fruit compote the cook would make with apples and cinnamon and honey, so with the lure of her sister returning with such treats, she lay back down and did what she was told. Chrystobel smiled at her sister as she stood up from the bed and headed to the door.
“Stay here,” she instructed firmly. “I do not want you running about with English soldiers in the castle, so you must remain here. I will return shortly, I promise.”
Izlyn nodded, pulling the covers up over her head at the mention of the English soldiers, but it was good enough for Chrystobel. She knew her sister wouldn’t leave the room, for the child tended to be fearful enough without such things as strange men lurking about, so Chrystobel quit the chamber and shut the door behind her only to come face to face with at least eight English soldiers on the landing.
She eyed the soldiers somewhat warily for a moment, just as they were eyeing her. Each one was so uncertain of the other, the English in enemy lands and the Welsh facing men who were bent on conquest. But Chrystobel pushed her natural fear aside because it was a standoff at the moment. They were wasting precious time.
“What do you know about this madness of my husband killing my father?” she demanded. “Who would spread such lies?”
An older soldier stepped forward. “I do not know, my lady,” he replied. “We have been here all night. We’ve not heard anything about it.”
Chrystobel gathered her skirts. “Then I am going to find my father,” she said. “You will remain here and guard my sister.”
An older soldier shook his head. “We were instructed to watch over you and your sister, Lady de Poyer,” he said. “If you are going to find your father, then I will escort you.”
Chrystobel frowned. “I do not believe that is necessary.”
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