“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I am sorry you had to endure what your brother did to you. But I swear, with God as my witness, that he will never touch you again.”
Chrystobel was at a loss for words, her breathing unsteady as his thumbs began to stroke her silken skin. It was the first time he had touched her and her senses were understandably overwhelmed.
“It was simply the way of things, my lord,” she murmured. “It has been going on so long that I have known little else.”
Keller’s face hardened. “No more,” he rumbled. “He is a dead man if he so much as looks at you in a way I do not like. Do you believe me?”
Chrystobel nodded, though she hardly dared to truly believe. “Aye.”
His gentle smile returned. “Good.” He fought off the sudden urge to kiss her, not wanting the first genuine kiss between them to be a public spectacle. He was rather shy and conservative that way. Moreover, there was something more she needed to know, something very serious. He braced himself.
“I must also apologize for something else,” he said hesitantly. “Your father….”
Chrystobel cut him off by a nod of the head, tears popping to her eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “Gryffyn told me.”
“He admitted to killing him?”
“Aye,” she confirmed. “The blood on the floor… is it his?”
Keller nodded, watching her sorrowful expression. “Aye,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry that I was unable to prevent it.”
Chrystobel struggled to control her tears, thinking on her father, the man who was supposed to protect her but never did. Although she was sorry for his loss, she couldn’t seem to muster true grief for his passing. Had the man ever prevented Gryffyn from having his own way in all things, perhaps she would have felt differently, but at the moment she felt somewhat guilty that she wasn’t more distraught.
“You are not responsible,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “You did what you could. You saved me, in fact, and I thank you for that.”
Keller’s dusky eyes glimmered. “It is one of the better things that I have done in my life.”
She smiled at the first truly warm moment between them. “I am particularly grateful for your keen sense of timing,” she said. “A few seconds later and I might not have been so grateful. Or alive.”
He winked at her and dropped his hands from her face, moving to take her two small hands within his big palms. He kissed them both sweetly, tenderly, as a promise of things to come. Now, it would be different between them. Gryffyn had, if nothing else, accomplished that.
“If you can stand, mayhap we should go and check on your sister,” Keller said. “I am sure you are anxious to see her.”
Chrystobel nodded, glancing at Gryffyn as the man sat up with the Ashby-Kidd twins standing several feet away from him, watching every move the man made.
“I am,” she said, eyeing her brother warily. “What are you going to do with him?”
The warmth in Keller’s eyes faded as he looked over his shoulder at the Welshman, who was holding his broken wrist awkwardly against his torso. His expression suggested anger, defeat, and defiance. Even with the broken wrist, Keller could still see fight in the man. After a moment, he returned his gaze to Chrystobel.
“Lock him in the vault,” he said. “The man has much to atone for so I hope you will trust me to make the appropriate judgment.”
“Of course, my lord.”
His gaze lingered on her a moment, thoughts turning from Gryffyn back to her. He liked thinking of her much better. “You will call me Keller,” he said quietly. “Or husband. I will answer to whatever you choose to call me.”
A beautiful smile spread across her face. She had a delightful grin with straight, white teeth and slightly prominent canines. “I would be honored to call you Keller,” she said sincerely.
He was just about to release her hands but thought better of it as she spoke. The glimmer returned to his eyes.
“I like hearing you say my name,” he said honestly.
Her smile broadened even more, if such a thing was possible. “Then I shall say it again,” she whispered. “Keller.”
He kissed her hand again, smiling when she giggled. In the midst of this hellish situation, it was a tender moment that saw something of a relationship between them take hold. A spark had ignited, and Keller was again thinking on kissing her lips, privacy be damned, when he heard scuffling behind him. Before he could turn around, something violent and painful rammed into the right side of his torso.
He pitched forward as Chrystobel screamed, struggling to keep him from falling even as he collapsed onto his bum. Horrified, they could both see the dagger jutting from his right side, about a foot below his armpit. And there was a hand on it.
Gryffyn stood behind Keller, his good hand on the hilt of the dirk as he crammed it into the man’s flesh. Ripping it from Keller’s body, he pushed the man aside and aimed for his sister with the blade held high.
CHAPTER ONE
One day earlier
Powys Region, Wales
“Do you suppose that when God created the earth, he forgot to mention that the sun needed to fall upon Wales as well?”
The question drew low laughter from the group. A column of five hundred English warriors tramped north out of Deheubarth, through Gwynedd and into Powys, traversing the lush green and wild country of Wales. August had seen unseasonably heavy rains, turning the roads to muddy swamps. At the moment, the gray clouds were scattering across the blue expanse of sky, moving to the east as the sea breeze blew strong. The comment came from a young knight because even though traces of blue could be seen among the clouds, it seemed that one was always blotting out the sun.
“God may have made Wales with too much bad weather and too many savages,” an older knight commented. Sir William Wellesbourne was a big, blond knight with dark eyes and a quick wit. “But it is William Marshal who has charged us with taming it. Consider this your test of knighthood, young George. Sun be damned.”
George Ashby-Kidd grinned sheepishly as his identical twin brother, Aimery, laughed the loudest. They were good-looking young men, newly knighted last year, with personalities as identical as their brown-haired, blue-eyed resemblance. They were quick to the sword, quick of temper, and ambitious. Their father was a long-time retainer of their liege, William Marshal, and very ambitious himself. The boys had been well schooled in knightly aspiration.
As the troops surrounding the knights twittered and snorted, a muzzled charger thundered up from the rear of the column. Wellesbourne quieted the snickering men as their commanding officer rode upon them. Mud sprayed as the big horse slowed from a canter to a nervous trot and the knight flipped up his visor with an enormous mailed hand.
Sir Keller de Poyer inspected his knights, flicking the sweat from his brow as he did so. Even in the cooler temperatures, sweat was running in his eyes. It had been a long day at a clipped pace and he, as well as his men, were showing their fatigue. He knew his men had been laughing; he heard them well down the line. He also knew they would shut up as he drew near. They always did, fearful of his temper as well as his punishment. Keller’s knights had learned through trial and error to both fear and respect him. They were all relatively new to his service and he was not, in their experience, a forgiving man.
“We should see our destination within the hour,” Keller glanced up at the waning sun as it struggled to peek from behind the gray clouds. “Will, send a rider on to announce our arrival. I would have sup waiting for us when we arrive.”
Wellesbourne nodded smartly and motioned to one of the mounted soldiers riding in the ranks behind the knights. The man dug his heels into his horse and shot off down the road, splashing black mud as he went. George’s charger became excited when the horse sped past, causing his animal to bolt off the muddy path. He had a devil of a time controlling the horse and bringing him back into the column. Keller rode up beside Wellesbourne, ignoring George and his frenzied charger.
/> William eyed de Poyer as the man pulled alongside. He’d distantly known Keller for a few years, as they both served William Marshal, but only in the past year had he come into the man’s service as garrison commander of Pembroke Castle. It had been a dark time in de Poyer’s life. All William knew, and this was strictly from what others had told him, was that Keller had been betrothed to a woman he was deeply in love with. But the woman had left him for another man and Keller had turned from a pleasant, dedicated knight into a withdrawn, quick-tempered malcontent.
Since William and Keller were about the same age and had the same number of years as sworn knights, there was an assumed amount of respect and camaraderie between them. There were times when William saw the warm, witty man come through. He had heard tale, from the old soldiers, that Keller had once been a congenial man known for his fairness and benevolence. He had been very much loved by his men and respected by both ally and enemy alike. As garrison commander of Pembroke Castle for the past several years, he had his share of respect from local Welsh chieftains. William Marshal had depended on him at Pembroke a good deal. But these days, most of the time, de Poyer was strictly professional with no emotion, only black and white in his decision-making. There was no longer any warmth or kindness. Those days departed when his lady-love did.
That made the trip to Nether Castle in the wilds of Powys such a dreaded task. They’d all been feeling it for days now as they traveled from Pembroke Castle into the green vales of Powys. Everyone treated the subject as one would the plague; with fear and avoidance. William hated to even bring it up, but there was no avoiding the reason for their trip. Best to get it out in the open to let whatever storm that would brew as a result to run its course and be done with it before they arrived at their destination.
“I have not yet had the opportunity to congratulate you on your contract,” he said casually as the horses plodded along. “The Marshal has rewarded you well for your years of service; a castle of your own and titles. You must be quite pleased.”
Keller’s jaw ticked as his dark blue eyes moved over the lush green landscape. “I should be.”
“But you are not?”
“I was content as garrison commander of Pembroke.”
“But to have title and lands of your own is every man’s dream,” William pressed. “Lord Carnedd now, is it not? And your property stretches from Banwy River to the Dovey Valley. I hear it is a rich, prosperous land much coveted by Welsh princes.”
“Which will make keeping peace all the more difficult.”
“Maybe so. But the Welsh overlord is loyal to William Marshal.”
“More than likely because the Marshal gifted the man with English lands and coinage,” Keller cast William a long glance. “Do not imagine that the man did not receive a handsome reward for surrendering his Welsh lands. He is now a very wealthy English lord, I promise you. And I also promise you that his Welsh neighbors will not take kindly to a garrison of English suddenly sprouting in their midst.”
William wriggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But that is why you have brought five hundred retainers and three knights, with still more on the way. Isn’t de Lohr sending some our way?”
De Poyer nodded faintly to the mention of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, the great Christopher de Lohr, the most powerful Marcher lord in the realm. “The Marshal asked him to send a thousand more men if he can spare them,” he replied. “He is supposed to send a few knights along as well.”
Wellesbourne nodded confidently. “With a retinue that size, we shall make short work of any resistance the Welsh might display.”
“We shall see.”
The way Keller uttered the quietly spoken words led William to believe that he wasn’t entirely convinced of the English superiority, even with de Lohr reinforcing his numbers. The Welsh this far north could be powerful and cagey. That being the case, William sought to steer the subject away from that particular issue.
“I also hear that one thousand sheep are part of your contract,” he said.
“They are indeed,” Keller drew in a long, pensive breath. “I suppose I can always look at the positive; should I grow weary of fighting the Welsh, I can always become a sheep farmer.”
William laughed softly. “Cheer up, de Poyer. You are a fortunate man.”
Keller’s response was to spur his charger away from William and to the front of the column. It was apparent he didn’t wish to speak further on the matter and Wellesbourne was sorry that he had chased him off. Keller remained at the front, riding alone, until the tall, dark-stoned bastion of Nether Castle came into view.
At first, it was difficult to tell the castle from the dark clouds that hovered over the mountains. They blended in to each other. Then, the distinct outline became more apparent and the desolate fortress that was Nether Castle distinguished itself from the angry sky. Perched on the crest of an enormous mountain, Nether Castle was a bleak and foreboding place. It could be seen for miles, riding the summit of the mountain like a great preying beast.
A sliver of road could be seen leading up to it, hugging the side of the mountain precariously. The scattered clouds in the sky seemed to be clustering over the castle, great sheets of gray rain falling upon it. The party from Pembroke could see the storm over the castle, brewing for the approaching guests. It made the countenance of the place most uninviting.
Nether Castle was the seat of the Carnedd baronetcy, an expanse of land nestled in the heart of Powys near the Dovey Valley. It was referred to as “The Wilds” because of the dramatic and desolate landscape, far removed from the marcher lordships that dominated the contention between England and Wales.
Nether, however, was a fortress in the center of turbulent lands. Lesser Welsh princes claimed to rule over the lands, which complicated the issue when the Lord of Nether surrendered the castle to William Marshal in exchange for a very small parcel of more prosperous English property. Still, the exchange of lands came with a good deal of haggling in the form of an arranged marriage. The Lord of Nether, Trevyn d’Einen, had made his daughter part of the bargain. It kept a family tie still linked to the property even though it no longer belonged to his family.
None of the Englishmen knew the details of the deal save de Poyer. It wasn’t their business, anyway. But there were various whispers of dread and reluctance from the men. But they knew that the dark and stormy castle was their destination, like it or not. George and Aimery looked to seasoned William, but the blond knight’s gaze was fixed upon the distant castle in a noncommittal manner. They all knew better than to comment within earshot of de Poyer, who continued to ride alone several feet ahead. Knowing the man’s mood as they did, they suspected it was darker than the clouds above.
Little did they know that it was darker even than that. As the army began their ascent up the road, de Poyer suddenly spurred his animal down a small goat path that led off across the base of the hill. It was parallel to the castle. He wasn’t heading away from the structure but he wasn’t heading towards it, either. Wellesbourne watched him go.
“Where is he going?” George reined his charger next to William.
Wellesbourne shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“What should we do?”
“Continue to the castle. He will meet us there.”
“Are you sure?”
Wellesbourne wasn’t. With a lingering glance at de Poyer as the man ripped across the slick green hillside, he turned to the column of men and began shouting encouragement to motivate them up the muddy road.
CHAPTER TWO
“She’ll be greeting her husband with a bruise on her face,” said an older man, well dressed, who was bent over a woman seated at the table in the great hall. She had her hand over the left side of her face as the old man tried to inspect it. He could already see the welt rising and he turned furious dark eyes to the man standing near the hearth with a chalice of wine in his hand. “Why did you do this? She has done nothing to deserve it.”
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sp; The man with the wine looked lazily at the older man. “She is a woman, is she not?” he fired back. “That is reason enough. And you’ll stay out it.”
The older man straightened up, his expression nothing short of rage. “I’ll not stay out of it,” he seethed. “She is my daughter. And you are my son. You have no right to strike her.”
Gryffyn d’Einen tossed the chalice into the blazing hearth, hearing the hiss as the liquid hit the fire. His face contorted with anger as he stomped towards his shorter, weaker father.
“Stay out of it,” he repeated, shoving a finger into his father’s face. “It is none of your affair.”
“Strike her again and you will regret it.”
Gryffyn lashed out, striking his father with a closed fist in the jaw. The man went reeling as the woman jumped up from the table, going to the aid of the older man.
“Gryffyn, no!” she cried. “Leave him alone!”
Gryffyn swung on his younger sister. “Have you not learned your lesson?” he reached out and grabbed her hair, viciously yanking the silken blond strands. “If I need to….”
He was cut off by a servant standing in the doorway of the great hall. “My lord,” the old servant delivered in a trembling tone. “We have received a rider.”
Gryffyn’s wrath was diverted from his sister, his dark eyes focusing on the cowering servant. “Who is it?”
“The English, my lord.” The servant was moving out of the door even as he delivered the message. Everyone at Nether Castle feared Gryffyn, especially when he was in the midst of a rage. “The party from Pembroke will be here within the hour. They demand their supper and a priest upon their arrival.”
Gryffyn released his sister’s hair, hardly noticing when she ran to their father to help the man off the floor.
“Is the messenger still here?” he demanded.
The servant bobbed his scraggly head nervously. “Aye, m’lord.”
“Send him to me quickly.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 85