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 sacrament.”
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.
Still in her muddied and bloodied dress, she’d turned a chaste cheek to Keller at the conclusion of the final blessing and he had deposited a swift kiss upon it to seal their marriage. It had been such a cold kiss, with no warmth about it, but Chrystobel hadn’t expected anything less. The man who had dragged her from her bower in her dirty clothes had not been warm in the least. He had been business-like and abrupt, and with those small gestures, he had set the tone for their marriage. Try as she might to maintain a pragmatic attitude, her heart sank at the thought. She had hoped there would be some fondness between them, however small.
She didn’t blame de Poyer, however. He had asked for the truth about her injuries and she had lied to him. Worse yet, he had known it. She could tell by the expression on his face. Nay, she didn’t expect anything from him but coldness and indifference. In truth, it was all she was worth. She felt sorry for the man, gaining a wife who wasn’t much of a prize. But he’d acquired a castle and property in the process, so she hoped that would make up for a worthless spouse.
As she stood there with Izlyn pressed against her and pondered her uncertain future, she watched Keller as the man dismissed the priest. Paying a few coins to the man, he then called his knights to him and they huddled in a private conference. There was something intriguing about the man she had just married, in spite of his coldness, and she watched his profile, strong and proud, as he spoke with his men. He was calm and relaxed for the most part but she could tell by his expression that the subject upon which he spoke was serious indeed. Wellesbourne and the Ashby-Kidd twins were serious, too, and Chrystobel wondered what had them looking so grim, which seemed rather odd in the wake of a wedding. When Keller’s knights quickly disbursed and went along their way, they all seemed to have the look of a hunter about them. The mode was professional and the eyes were steely. They were hunting for something, or someone, and a hunch told her that it might be Gryffyn.
Her brother hadn’t been present at the wedding and Chrystobel was grateful for small mercies because had he come, surely it wouldn’t have been the sedate ceremony she had experienced. It would have been one of apprehension and anger. Still, he was somewhere on the grounds, plotting his next move no doubt, and Chrystobel was certain that her new husband wished to know the man’s whereabouts.
When de Poyer approached Trevyn and asked if he knew both the location and intentions of his son, Chrystobel watched her father lie to the man, bold-faced. Trevyn indeed knew his son’s location and more than likely of his intentions, but he wasn’t going to tell the English knight. Whether it was to protect Gryffyn or protect Keller, Chrystobel couldn’t tell. Sometimes her father had rather conflicting loyalties, as exampled by this wedding, and he both hated and loved his son. Trevyn was a torn man inside and there were times when Chrystobel tried not to hate him for it. Their family, in general, was in turmoil.
As Chrystobel mulled over her father’s allegiances, she was somewhat startled when Keller suddenly broke away from the man and headed in her direction. Trevyn trailed after the English commander as they approached her.
“It is time to retire for the night, my lady,” Keller said in an indifferent tone. “Bid your father and sister a good sleep so that we can be on our way.”
Chrystobel struggled not to show her apprehension. It is time to retire. God’s Bones, she knew what that meant, but it was imperative that she not display any hint of anxiety in the presence of her brittle sister, so she hugged the girl tightly, kissed her on the forehead, and passed her over to her father. Izlyn didn’t go easily, however, and Chrystobel spent several minutes convincing the girl that all would be well and that she would see her in the morning. Izlyn, fearful to be away from the only mother she had ever known and fearful for the terrible world in general, was in tears.
Chrystobel could feel Keller standing beside her, the heavy weight of his gaze as he observed the situation. She thought she felt his disapproval but she could not be entirely sure. In fact, she wasn’t sure about anything and she struggled to keep an even head a
bout her. The past few hours had been very disorienting in many ways. As she made sure her father had hold of Izlyn, she turned to Keller.
“When you arrived, I instructed the servants to clean out my father’s chamber of his possessions,” she said. “I hope it is prepared to your liking.”
Keller’s emotionless gaze was upon her. “Then they should move your things into it, since you and I will be sharing it,” he told her. “Did you instruct them to do that as well?”
Chrystobel shook her head unsteadily. “Nay, my lord,” she replied. “I did not know that I would be a married woman by this evening.”
“Then mayhap we should retire to your chamber for the night,” he said. “Mayhap you would be more comfortable there until we can arrange the master’s chamber to accommodate the both of us.”
Chrystobel wasn’t sure what to say so she nodded hesitantly. “If that is your wish, my lord.”
Keller politely reached out to take her by the elbow and began pulling her towards the door. Chrystobel was stiff, and uneasy, but she didn’t resist. As she had initially observed, he had very big hands, anyway, so she doubted she could have resisted in any case. He simply would have overwhelmed her and dragged her to the door. She fell into step beside him, her thoughts inevitably wandering to what the evening would bring. It was difficult not to feel a swamping sense of embarrassment and anxiety, and as she struggled against it, Keller spoke.
“Mayhap you will tell me something of this castle as we make our way to the keep,” he said, his manner still rather cold. “I did not see much of it upon my arrival, in truth. I went from the bailey to this hall, and other than being in the keep earlier, I’ve not seen much of that which is now mine.”
Chrystobel paused as Keller pulled open the heavy oak and iron panel. “I would be pleased, my lord,” she said, hoping that he might forgive her lies to him earlier if they were to share a pleasant conversation. They had yet to truly have one, but more than that, her nervousness loosened her tongue. “Would you like for my father to accompany us? He knows more of the castle’s defenses than I do. I am sure you are very interested in those and I cannot tell you anything about them.”
Keller cast her a glance, his intense gaze piercing her soul as he peered down his nose at her. “I will speak with your father another time,” he said. “I would rather not have a chaperone on my wedding night.”
Chrystobel flushed a dull red, lowering her head as they moved out into the gentle night beyond. It was cold but not unbearable, and she was thankful for the darkness, covering the heat of her cheeks. His comment seemed most forward, bold even, but realizing he was her husband, she rationalized that he could say whatever he wanted to her. It was his right. This cold English knight was now her family, as strange as that thought seemed. Taking a deep breath, she began to point out some of the areas of interest around the bailey.
“Nether Castle was built more than one hundred years ago by the kings of Arwystu,” she said. “It was not built of wood as most were back then, but of the great stone you will see on the hills to the east. The fortress was built with the intention of watching their northern neighbors, the Cefeliog. The original name was Annwyn, which means the Otherworld or the place where spirits dwell. Living here as we do, we are somewhat isolated and sometimes it does indeed feel as if we are in the Otherworld. The lands in this region are mysterious and full of magic. But it was the Normans who gave the castle the name that you know it by – Nether.”
Keller was listening to her story with interest. More than that, he was particularly interested in her honeyed voice. She had a delicate timber with a slight lisp, which he found charming. He was quickly coming to realize that he liked to hear her speak in gentle dulcet tones. He’d known it from the beginning but now it was coming to have more impact. The walls he had built up around himself, or at least tried to, since the woman had lied about her injuries were inevitably crumbling. It was evident that he couldn’t maintain his indifference to her for long. There was something about her that softened him whether or not he wanted to.
“Then you do not call the castle Nether?” he asked. “What do you call it?”
Chrystobel shook her head. “We do indeed call it Nether Castle,” she said. “My grandfather called it by that name and so do we.”
Keller’s gaze was thoughtfully on his feet as they crossed the middle of the muddy bailey. “Nether means far away or well behind,” he said, glancing up to the tall, imposing walls that enclosed them. “This place is indeed far removed from most civilization. I understand why the Normans who first came to Wales gave it that name.”
Chrystobel glanced up at him, seeing that the man was still looking thoughtfully at his feet. She couldn’t tell if his cold mood was easing but she continued nonetheless. “When you arrived, you passed over a drawbridge that covers our moat,” she said, then cocked her head thoughtfully. “It is really more of a pit than a moat, and it bears the name the Gorge of the Dead because back when the castle was first built, bodies of enemies were tossed in it. They were left there to rot.”
Keller wriggled his eyebrows in an understanding gesture. “It makes perfect sense, then, to call it the Gorge of the Dead,” he said. “Go on.”
Chrystobel did. “You have already been in the keep, which has six big rooms to it,” she went on, pointing at the big, square structure looming in front of them. “There are three floors to it and two rooms to each floor. We also have three big towers, as I am sure you have noticed.”
Keller came to a halt and Chrystobel along with him. He paused to look at the three enormous towers that were built into the southeast, southwest, and northwest corners of the curtain wall. The towers were nearly as large as the keep itself, “D” shaped in structure, and built from the same dark-veined, gray stone that comprised the rest of the castle.
“These towers could be seen from miles away,” he said. “When we were approaching from the valley to the south, they were the first things we saw.”
Chrystobel nodded as she pointed to the southeast tower. “That is Tower Twilight,” she said. “It is houses the married soldiers and servants. The tower next to it, the southwest tower, is called Tower Night and it houses the armor and weapons. The northeast tower is Tower Day, and it houses our unmarried men or any visitors we may have. Your men will be housed there.”
Keller turned to look at her. “I have five hundred men with me and as big as that tower is, it will not be able to house all of them,” he said. “My knights will be rearranging the accommodations to suit us. I would assume your people have been told to cooperate.”
Chrystobel wasn’t so sure she liked that statement. It sounded as if the Welsh occupants were beneath the English who were here to take control. But the truth was that they were beneath the English. Nether belonged to them now, and everyone within her, including Chrystobel. She nodded in response to his statement.
“Aye, my lord,” she said. “They will be compliant.”
Keller’s eyes glittered at her in the weak moonlight. “Including you?”
“It is my duty to be compliant.”
“You were not earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I asked you who had left you bloodied. You lied to me.”
Chrystobel abruptly lowered her gaze, her manner suddenly nervous. She had been quite calm until Keller brought up the incident in her bower. Now, she didn’t know what to say. She had sincerely hoped that subject wouldn’t come up but Keller had cleverly introduced it into their conversation. Off-guard, his sly action both irritated and embarrassed her. She didn’t like being embarrassed.
“It is not polite to accuse a lady of lying,” she told him with more boldness than she had exhibited since their introduction. “A man of courtesy and tact would not question a lady’s answer in any fashion.”
Even as she said it, she cringed. It was an instinctive reaction, waiting for a hand to come flying out at her. That was what usually happened when she showed any amount of
insolence, at least when Gryffyn was around. The flinching reaction was drilled into her brain, the result of too many slaps from a man who was full of them.
But Keller didn’t react as Gryffyn often did. In fact, he did exactly the opposite. He stared at her a moment as if surprised by her response before actually cracking a smile.
“I have never been a tactful man but I have been known to be a courteous one,” he said as he popped his knuckles in a fidgeting gesture. “I should not have called you a liar.”
“How would you have reacted had someone called you a liar?”
“Not very well, to be sure. You were far more gracious in the face of slander than I would have been.”
Chrystobel eyed him, curious at his change in manner, especially the knuckle-popping. Suddenly, he didn’t look like the cold, imposing English knight. Now, there was a measure of humanity to him, a real man with human ticks. His guard, somehow, had gone down with the course of the conversation and it was an unexpected twist. Her gaze lingered on him.
“In fairness,” she said, “I supposed it was a natural question, but it was still rude of you to dispute my reply.”
Keller conceded the fact. “Indeed it was,” he said. “You told me that your injuries occurred when you fell and I should have accepted that.”
“It would have been the polite thing to do.”
A smile played on his lips. “You are correct. I apologize for calling you a liar.”
The man has a handsome smile, she thought. He had big white teeth and massive dimples in each cheek, carving big ruts through his face. More than that, she noticed that rather than rise to a verbal confrontation, he seemed to back down, to ease up his cold and stiff manner. It was a startling realization, as if the man didn’t want to upset her with a combative conversation. In what world was it possible that the man would be respectful enough not to argue with her? She wondered.
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 89