Dark Deceptions

by Christi Caldwell

  The first sign that anything was amiss was when Izlyn, standing at the lancet window that faced the bailey, began waving to her sister frantically. Concerned, Chrystobel put her sewing aside and went to the window only to see a big fight near the postern gate. The gate was open and she could see men battling all around it. Blood was being spilled. Frightened, she put her arms around Izlyn as they both stood and watched the chaos unfold.

  “Keller was correct,” Chrystobel murmured to her sister. “The Welsh were indeed coming. The missive they sent was a deception.”

  Izlyn was watching the battle below with big, frightened eyes. She had never seen a fight before. “Gryffyn?” she asked softly.

  Chrystobel hugged her. “Aye,” she said. “I am sure it is. But he shall be defeated. Keller and the other knights will not let him in, nor will they let him harm us. You must not be afraid.”

  Izlyn couldn’t help but be afraid of her brother. She’d been afraid of him all her life and it was difficult to change the innate behavior. She knew, however, that Keller and Gart and the other English knights would never allow anything to happen to her, so in that respect, she wasn’t afraid. But the thought of Gryffyn naturally had her fearful. She couldn’t help it.

  Chrystobel knew that. It made her fearful, too, no matter how much she told herself otherwise. She hugged her sister, kissing her on the top of her blond head.

  “We will never fear him again,” she said softly. “But if he does happen to come to us, then we will never allow him to hit us again, do you hear? Gryffyn only means harm, Izzie. If he were to come to us again, then it would be to kill us and we cannot allow that, can we?”

  Izlyn shook her head, moving away from her sister and boosting herself up into the window so she could see the battle outside from a better angle. There was a lot of fighting down below, pockets of men trying to kill each other. She could see Sir Rhys near the postern gate with his double swords and as she watched, he cut a man in half. Izlyn clearly saw two pieces of the man fall to the ground. Shocked, Izlyn turned to her sister and pointed out of the window.

  “Sir Rhys!” she exclaimed. “He kill… killed a man in half!”

  Chrystobel went to the window to see what had her sister so shocked, but she wasn’t able to discern what, exactly, Izlyn was talking about. Izlyn’s speech was growing better by the day but she couldn’t quite make sense out of killing a man in half.

  Still, it was ominous and violent out in the bailey. She and Izlyn continued to watch as men fought, and men died, and somewhere in the process of watching, she realized that men were coming away from the gatehouse, rushing over towards the kitchen yard, which she couldn’t quite see because it was just out of her line of sight. In fact, she could see Rhys coming out of the stable yards, moving for the kitchen as well, followed shortly by Gart, his big bald head reflecting what little light there was.

  All of them seemed to be heading towards the kitchens but they stopped just short of the kitchen yard. Everyone seemed to be hovering, waiting and watching, and Chrystobel had no idea what they were looking at, but whatever it was certainly had their attention. In fact, they were now starting to turn towards the keep. She could clearly see the movement of their directional focus. Curious, she strained to catch a glimpse of what they were looking at. Then, through the rain and wind, she heard something.

  Someone was yelling at the door of the keep. It was a loud, angry bellow. Concerned, she climbed down off the window sill.

  “Someone is at the door,” she told Izlyn. “I must see who it is.”

  Izlyn scampered after her, following her sister as they moved to the master’s chamber where there was a window that had a much better view of the keep entry. Chrystobel moved a stool next to the window, which was a bit tall for her, and stood on it, looking down at the entry. What she saw startled her to the bone.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of Gryffyn holding a knife to Keller’s throat. Gryffyn had Keller by the hair, the dagger aimed just beneath Keller’s right ear. It was Chrystobel’s worst nightmare and she shrieked, drawing Gryffyn and Keller’s attention upward. They both saw her in the window. Keller was the first one to yell to her.

  “Do not open the door!” he boomed.

  Chrystobel burst into tears as Gryffyn kicked Keller in the back, causing the man a good deal of pain. Gryffyn yelled up at her.

  “If you want your husband to live, you will open the door,” he shouted. “Do you hear me? Open this door or your husband will die!”

  Chrystobel staggered away from the window, toppled off the stool, and fell to the ground. Izlyn ran forward to help her sobbing sister, but Chrystobel was nearly hysterical. Izlyn, unable to get a coherent word from her sister, thrust herself up into the window, gazing down on the horrible scene.

  Gryffyn yelled at her, too, as Keller bellowed in unison. One was telling her to open the door while the other one was telling her to keep it bolted. Gryffyn was so frustrated that he nicked Keller’s neck with the dagger, causing bright red blood to pour. Izlyn watched, her eyes as wide as trenchers, as Rhys and Gart and William tried to move up behind Gryffyn.

  The English knights were stalking him but Gryffyn saw them coming and made a point of turning Keller around so they could see the blood flowing from the man’s neck. With the knights focused on Keller and Gryffyn, one of the Welsh rebels managed come up behind Wellesbourne and nick him in the torso with a short Welsh blade. It would have been worse had William not seen the man move from the corner of his eye. As it was, he had a few seconds to move away and attempt to defend himself.

  Bedlam followed as more Welsh moved upon the knights and soon the three of them found themselves in serious combat as Gryffyn held Keller at knifepoint at the keep entry. In the bailey of Nether, chaos and terror reigned.

  Izlyn fell out of the window much the way her sister had, shocked and horrified at what she had seen. She looked at Chrystobel, who was now picking herself up off of the floor. Chrystobel, in fact, seemed to be calming a great deal as she reached out to grasp her sister.

  Chrystobel’s face was pale, her hands shaking, but her expression was something Izlyn had never seen before. There was an intensity beyond anything Izlyn believed her sister to be capable of. Somehow, someway, Chrystobel had calmed herself to the broad point of determination. Hysterics would not save Keller. She had to keep her head about her if she was going to be of any use. With that in mind, Chrystobel focused on Izlyn.

  “Listen to me, Izzie,” she said, grabbing her sister by both arms. “Gryffyn is here. Did you see him?”

  Izlyn nodded, terrified. “There is… blood.”

  Chrystobel couldn’t think about that. All she could focus on doing what was necessary to save their lives. That is what it came down to now; her survival, or Gryffyn’s. She had to make sure it would not be Gryffyn.

  “He will kill Keller if we do not open the keep to him,” she said to Izlyn. “But the only reason he wants to come inside the keep is to get to you and to get to me. He wants to kill us. Do you understand?”

  Izlyn nodded fearfully, her eyes welling, but Chrystobel shook her gently. “Nay,” Chrystobel said firmly. “No tears. We do not have time. We cannot be afraid anymore. We must save Keller and we must kill Gryffyn. We have no choice. All of those years that he beat us, we never fought back, but tonight that will change. Tonight, we must fight back. If we do not, all of our happiness will be destroyed. We will be destroyed, and I am not ready yet to die. Are you?”

  Izlyn shook her head. “N-nay,” she whispered.

  Chrystobel drew in a long, fortifying breath, thinking of what had to happen. The time had come for her to save herself, her husband, and her sister, and she would not fail. It was time for her to take a stand against a man who had spent most of his life beating on helpless women, knowing they wouldn’t fight back.

  Tonight, all of that would change. They had no choice if they were going to survive.

  “Listen to me, Izzie,” Chrystobel said, cupping her si
ster’s face with her hands. “I know you are frightened. I am frightened, too, but we must do this to save ourselves and to save Keller. I will not allow Gryffyn to terrorize us any longer. It is time we fight back.”

  Izlyn nodded again, her tears fading somewhat. It was clear that she was trying very hard to be brave. “What… what should I do?”

  Chrystobel thought a moment. She’d never had to do this kind of thing before. She didn’t think like a killer, but for the moment, she had to. She had to do something exceedingly final, something that would rid her of her brother forever. As she took her sister’s hand and headed for the chamber door, her gaze fell on a big iron sconce, about four feet tall, with great spikes on the end to hold the tapers with. She remembered using a similar weapon at the church on the day they had gone to bury her father, using the wax and candles against men who were attacking her husband.

  Dropping her sister’s hand, she raced for the sconce and removed the tapers, revealing five inch long iron teeth, sharp as daggers.

  She headed down to the first level below with the sconce in hand and deadly intentions on her mind.

  She had a plan.

  * * *

  Keller knew he was in a bad way the moment someone grabbed his hair and pulled him off the muddy ground. Dazed, his ears were ringing and the world was rocking slightly, and he felt something very sharp against the side of his neck. The next voice he heard in his ear was not unexpected.

  “Greetings, de Poyer,” Gryffyn said. “It seems that we were destined to meet again under somewhat violent circumstances.”

  Keller’s heart sank when he realized who had him. He was also quite furious. “Damn you, d’Einen,” he snarled. “Release me immediately.”

  Gryffyn laughed, although it was not a humorous laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “If the situation was reversed, would you release me?”

  “If the situation was reversed, I would have killed you by now.”

  Gryffyn’s smile faded. “That was my first thought, also,” he said. “But I want something and I suspect I will not get it unless I use you as a bargaining tool.”

  Keller didn’t even have to ask what Gryffyn wanted. That was abundantly clear. But he sought to distract the man, anything to help him gain the upper hand. Threatening d’Einen wouldn’t work because, clearly, the man had the advantage. Therefore, Keller had to resort to another tactic. He had to stall enough to disorient or confuse the man. Then, maybe he would have a chance to turn the tables. At the moment, he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  “What is this obsession you have with your sisters?” Keller demanded. “By God’s Bloody Rood, d’Einen… what is this sick fixation you have for them? Why breach an entire castle to get to them?”

  Gryffyn yanked on Keller’s dark hair. “Because they are mine,” he growled. “They belong to me, as does this castle. It all belongs to me and you stole it!”

  “I saved it from you.”

  “It is mine!” he shrieked. “You have no right to it!”

  Keller could see that he had Gryffyn off-balance. He pushed. “With you here, Nether was indeed a living hell,” he said. “You made it a Netherworld in every sense of the word. This place is much better off without you and your brutal ways.”

  Gryffyn growled, coming out something of a yell. He began to half-shove, half-drag Keller in the direction of the keep. As the rain pattered and the thunder rumbled, they made their way across the bailey but Keller wasn’t going willingly. He slipped more than once, purposely falling to his knees, buying time until one of his men could gain sight of him and figure out something was wrong. At one point he even fell to his belly and Gryffyn yanked viciously on his hair until he labored to his knees, standing wearily.

  By that time, both the English and Welsh combatants were noticing that something was very, very wrong. The soldiers began shouting to Rhys and Gart, who emerged from the postern gate area to see Keller being dragged across the bailey by a man who had him by the hair, pointing a dagger at his throat. William, who had just finished off a particularly wily Welshman, saw what was happening. Rhys and Gart heard him hiss.

  “That is d’Einen,” he said. “That is the man we hoped to kill tonight.”

  Rhys sighed heavily. “And we will,” he said. “Spread out and approach him from the rear. He cannot fight off all of us at once.”

  “He has a dagger at Keller’s neck,” William reminded him. “I have seen this man in action. He will not hesitate to use it.”

  Rhys wriggled his dark eyebrows, watching Gryffyn as steadily as a cat tracking a mouse. “Then we must make sure he does not get the opportunity,” he said. “Find me a crossbow and I can take him from behind.”

  William snapped quiet orders to the nearest soldier, who went on the run. Meanwhile, he moved into stalking position alongside Rhys and Gart, waiting for the right moment to strike. He prayed they could take Gryffyn down before the man had the chance to ram the dirk into Keller’s neck. He wasn’t so confident that they could, and that thought sickened him.

  But Gryffyn wasn’t paying attention to the knight stalking him and even if he was, it wouldn’t have mattered. He had the advantage so the posturing knights had no power against him. Dragging Keller up the slippery steps of the old, gray keep where he was born, he began yelling to the occupants. He knew his sisters were inside. He continued to yell until he heard a shriek overhead.

  Looking up into the dark sky as rain pelted his face, he could see Chrystobel’s head emerging from a lancet window on the second floor. But Keller spied her, too, and before Gryffyn could shout, Keller was bellowing at his wife.

  “Do not open the door!” he boomed.

  Frustrated, Keller kicked the man in the kidneys, listening to him grunt with pain. Then he returned his attention to his sister, glaring up at her through the inclement weather.

  “If you want your husband to live, you will open the door,” he shouted. “Do you hear me? Open this door or your husband will die!”

  Chrystobel’s head disappeared after that. Shortly afterwards, Izlyn appeared and both Keller and Gryffyn shouted at her, confusing the girl. Frustrated with Keller’s behavior, Gryffyn kicked Keller again and when the man bent over, he hit him on the head with the butt of the dirk, sending Keller to his knees.

  As Keller saw stars and struggled not to pass out again, he began to hear sounds of fighting behind him. He could hear song of broadswords as they met with metal upon metal, and he knew there was no way he was going to allow Gryffyn into the keep or near his wife. He didn’t know where the dirk was that Gryffyn had been holding against him but at the moment, it didn’t matter. He was no longer willing to play the dazed victim.

  Keller was unsteady, and his ears were ringing badly, but the time had come to fight back. When he caught a glimpse of Gryffyn’s legs off to his left, he lashed out a massive boot and swept the man’s legs out from under him.

  Gryffyn hit hard on his back on the wet stone surface of the entry and the dagger in his hand went flying. Keller pounced on him, using his big fists to pummel the man’s head. The first blow shattered Gryffyn’s nose and the second blow dislodged six teeth. Gryffyn threw up his hands, trying to defend himself, but Keller was all over him, beating him senseless.

  Unfortunately, some of the Welsh that were in the bailey also saw the beating and ran to help. Gryffyn was the man who had promised them riches from Nether and they assumed that saving the man’s life against his bitter enemy would garner them more reward. Keller soon found himself swamped with Welshmen and, without his broadsword, it was his bare strength against six or eight of them. The Welshmen pulled Keller off Gryffyn, but d’Einen was seriously dazed and bloodied. He lay there a moment, watching Colvyn’s men beat away at Keller.

  Keller and the writhing mass of Welshmen rolled down the keep’s steps, ending up in a muddy pile at the bottom. William, having just fended off several Welsh, ran to Keller’s aid and began slashing away at the Welshmen who were still beating on him. Some of
them had weapons and at least two of them had slashed Keller, wounding his right forearm fairly seriously as the man fought for his life. Because Gryffyn had stripped him of all his weapons, he had nothing to fight back with except his bare hands, and those were taking a serious lashing.

  As Keller battled the Welsh, Gryffyn was struggling to sit up when the door to the keep suddenly lurched open. Startled, Gryffyn looked up to see Izlyn standing in the doorway. She just stood there, looking weak and vulnerable. When their eyes met, Gryffyn’s expression was a mixture of surprise, glee, and fury.

  “Izlyn!” he gasped, struggling to his knees. “You little fool! How good of you to let me in. Where is your sister?”

  Izlyn stood just inside the doorway, backing up as Gryffyn labored to his feet. “Inside,” she said. “Come in.”

  Gryffyn froze, his eyes wide at her. “You speak?” he said, astonished. “You actually speak? By all that is holy, I knew you could! All this time, I knew you could but you were simply being difficult, weren’t you, you little chit? In fact, I am very angry at you for it and shall punish you severely for your insolence!”

  Izlyn was still backing up as Gryffyn, now on his feet, began to move towards her. He was utterly focused on the young girl, furious to hear her speak after all this time. Izlyn continued to back up, luring him in through the doorway. The moment he set foot into the keep, the fates of retribution enveloped him in their discourteous fold. He was trapped and he didn’t even know it yet. He had no idea that a lifetime of brutality against the weaker sex would now cost him his life.

  While Gryffyn was focused on Izlyn, the form of vengeance was Chrystobel. She emerged from the shadows off to his right, charging out of the darkness with the iron sconce wielded like a spear. Five dagger-sharp points meant to secure tapers rammed into Gryffyn’s back, puncturing deep, and sending the man crashing over onto his left side.

  Chrystobel was mad with panic. She knew if she didn’t kill her brother, he would rise up and murder her, so she yanked the sconce out of his body and stabbed him again, listening to him wail with pain and anguish.