“I accept your apology,” she said, noting that his dusky eyes were still glimmering at her. It was a warm glimmer. “But in the future, should I give you an answer, I would like to have the courtesy of not being called a liar.”
“As you wish,” he said. “But may I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“Will you tell me what really happened?”
Chrystobel gazed at him steadily. In truth, she was debating what to tell him. He had just apologized for calling her a liar even though she was. Still, there were secrets at Nether, dark and terrible secrets that she was embarrassed to admit to a man she’d only known a few hours. Even if the man was her husband. After a few moments of looking into his dusky eyes, all-knowing eyes that most certainly saw through her feeble attempt at avoiding the truth, she averted her gaze. She simply wasn’t brave enough to look him in the eye whilst she lied to him again. He was asking for the truth and she hadn’t the courage to tell him.
“It was of no consequence,” she murmured. “I am well enough and that is all you should be concerned with. Now, what more would you like to know about Nether that I can tell you? Would you like to know about our herds of sheep? We have several large herds. They graze to the north of the castle, upon the slopes of the Cemmae mountains. The herds are our primary source of income and are so well regarded that our soldiers stand guard over the flocks in the fields.”
Keller was well aware that she was shifting the subject. It was very clear that she didn’t wish to discuss her injuries. Twice he had asked her and twice she had avoided giving him an answer. That same sense of self-protection that kept him bottled up and cold threatened to overshadow the conversation at her refusal to answer his question but he fought it. Perhaps she had her reasons for not divulging the truth even though Keller suspected what the truth was. That loud, obnoxious, rude brother had everything to do with it, he was certain. But for some reason she was protecting him.
But in hindsight, he understood why. The English were the enemy in her eyes, even an English husband. She had been taught not to trust them and he could see that it was going to be difficult to convince her otherwise. She had to learn that he was far more trustworthy than her boorish brother, but something like that would take time and he was impatient. With a sigh, one that conveyed his displeasure in her evasive answer, he nonetheless followed her lead. She wished to discuss sheep. He would allow her the privilege of turning the conversation.
“Come tomorrow, I will post my own men on the herds,” he told her. “If they are truly that valuable, then I do not need your father’s men absconding with them simply to keep them out of my reach. I will place my assets under my control.”
Chrystobel wasn’t surprised at the answer but she struggled not to become offended by it. “My father’s men are trustworthy, I assure you,” she said. “They would not steal the sheep.”
He looked at her, that hard edge returning to his eyes. “Your father’s men are loyal to him and, consequently, to Wales,” he said. “I mean no offense when I say I would rather have Nether’s assets, all of them, under my control. It is the prudent thing to do.”
Chrystobel didn’t argue the point, suspecting he was more than likely right, especially with Gryffyn so resistant to the situation in general. She knew that his disquiet had upset her father’s men. They had been upset since the day they had been told that soon they would have English overlords. Perhaps Keller was more astute to the mindset of Nether’s men than she gave him credit for. He was a knight, after all, and a seasoned one. He knew better than she did in matters of war and rebellion. She was about to reply to his statement when a shout from the Tower Twilight caught their attention.
Keller and Chrystobel turned to see Aimery make his way towards them. The young knight was running, his mail making grating sounds as he moved. It echoed oddly off the cold stone walls surrounding them. He slowed when he came upon them, kicking up mud from his dirty boots. The mud landed on Chrystobel’s skirt.
“My lord,” Aimery was breathless as he addressed Keller. “Someone has made an attempt on my brother’s life. You must come.”
Keller had Chrystobel by the arm as he began to follow Aimery across the ward in the direction of the great shadowed Tower Twilight. It made for a massive silhouette against the star-strewn sky.
“What happened?” he demanded.
Aimery was visibly upset but trying not to show it. “We were patrolling the grounds as you had ordered,” he said, turning to look at Keller even as he led the way. “It was a crossbow. The arrow caught my brother in the arm.”
Keller should have been pleased to hear that the damage wasn’t worse, but all he could manage to feel was rage at a coward who would hide in the shadows and shoot arrows at the English knights.
“Is he badly injured?” he asked.
“Nay, my lord.”
“Where did the projectile come from?”
“The wall, my lord.”
Keller glanced up at the parapets where men with torches patrolled the night. “Where is William?”
“He is with my brother now.”
Keller didn’t ask any more questions. And so it comes, he thought to himself. The Welsh welcomes are beginning. As they neared the entry, which was also part of the great curtain wall, he could see Wellesbourne and George standing at the darkened opening. A great smell of dampness filled the air, as if someone had opened a tomb. As Keller approached, he realized that the smell was coming from the tower itself. It smelled like death. He fixed on George.
“Why are you standing here?” he nearly barked. “I thought you were injured?”
George was holding his left arm, bent, against his chest. He looked rather pale, even in the shadows. “I am well enough, my lord,” he assured Keller. “It is just a flesh wound.”
Keller stared at the young knight a moment before turning to William. As soon as he looked at the man, the knight held up the offending arrow in his right hand.
“He is correctly, mostly,” he said. “It buried itself, but not deeply enough to damage anything. I was able to easily remove it.”
Keller took the arrow from William and examined the tip. He held it up somewhat so it could catch what little light there was. After a moment, he glanced at William.
“Bodkin tipped,” he muttered, referring to the broad triangle shape. “Only a man of wealth would have launched this. Men of lesser means would have simply used a sharpened stick without the metal tip.”
William nodded, his eyes perusing the complex. “Agreed,” he said. His gaze finally came to rest on Chrystobel, standing next to Keller. She was looking rather shocked by the event and William focused intently on her. “What would you know of archers and errant arrows, my lady? How many archers does your father employ at night?”
Chrystobel was instantly on the defensive. “My father does not have archers upon the wall at night.”
“Yet someone shot this arrow into young George’s arm,” William said steadily. “That arrow is from a fine and expensive quiver, as evidenced by the metal tip and the goose feather fletchings. A man of some wealth owned this arrow.”
By this time, Chrystobel was gazing at the man as if he were, indeed, the enemy. He was interrogating her as if she was certainly his enemy and her resentment grew.
“I do not know anything about arrows or fletchings,” she said. “My father has twenty archers and all of them are fairly well armed but they do not stand watch at night.”
William could see that she was frightened but he didn’t back down. “Does your brother own a crossbow?”
“I do not know what my brother owns and I do not care.”
She was shaken and angry with her reply. William’s gaze lingered on her a moment before turning to Keller. “Mayhap we should find out what the man owns.”
Keller had been watching the exchange with his usual intense focus. He didn’t miss a sign or a twitch throughout the exchange and he was fairly convinced that his new wife was truthfu
l when she said she knew nothing of the attack. But that didn’t solve the mystery of their attacker and Keller knew it was time to show his might. If he did not answer this incident strongly, then it could be perceived as weakness. He still had Chrystobel by the arm as he spoke to Wellesbourne.
“Roust the castle,” he said. “I want every man, woman, and child brought to the bailey and placed under guard. Clean this castle out, Will. Is that clear?”
William was already nodding firmly, snapping his fingers to the Ashby-Kidd twins. “Summon the men,” he commanded softly. “Have the sergeants break them into groups of ten or more. I will take a group into the keep and you two take the towers. If anyone resists, kill them.”
Chrystobel gasped but the English knights didn’t dispute the harsh order, nor did they particularly react to the command other than to follow it. An attack had been made against them and they had to show that such attempts would be harshly met. As William, George, and Aimery charged off, Keller turned for the keep and pulled Chrystobel along with him.
“Does that order go for me as well?” she asked fearfully as he dragged her along. “I was truthful when I told you that I did not know about my brother. I do not know if he owns a crossbow.”
Keller didn’t look at her. He was scanning the walls for another arrow that might try to strike him as well.
“I believe you,” he said. “But we must get under cover. If someone is aiming for English knights, they might accidently hit you if they are aiming for me.”
Chrystobel yelped, instinctively flinched and ducking her head down as she skipped along beside him. By the time they reached the keep, they were practically running. Chrystobel raced up the exterior stairs and bolted in through the door, followed by Keller, both of them swallowed up by the dark innards of the great stone structure. Before they could take the stairs, however, Chrystobel turned to him.
“What about my sister?” she asked anxiously. “Must she be held under guard out in the bailey like a common criminal?”
Keller shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “I will have her brought to you. You two may remain together, in your chamber, until we sort this through.”
“But what about my father?”
“I will question him personally.”
Although still apprehensive, Chrystobel was satisfied by his answers enough so that she willingly took the narrow stairs to the next level where her bower was. Keller followed her into the chamber, one he had been in a scant hour before. The bed was still messy and the bowl of water and linen rag that Izlyn had been using to tend her sister’s bloodied mouth were still on the table.
Keller looked around the room, noting the small size of the bed. He couldn’t help but think that it would make consummating their marriage a bit tricky, for he wasn’t entirely sure they could both fit on the bed side by side. He might have to spend all night lying on top of her, which wasn’t an entirely terrible thought. A soft body against his rough flesh was something he’d not felt in years. The mere thought was enough to cause him to break into a sweat.
But he shook those visions from his mind, as tempting as they were, to focus on the moment at hand. Chrystobel was over by the hearth now, stoking it, to ward off the chill of the room.
“My lady,” Keller said, meeting her gaze when she turned to look at him. “I asked you a question today, twice, which you refused to answer, but hear me now: I will ask you this question and you will not avoid it. You will not lie to me, either. I expect nothing less than total truth from you or we will have a very difficult relationship from this moment forward. Is this in any way unclear to you?”
Chrystobel was looking at him with a mixture of fear and dread. “It is clear, my lord.”
Keller’s gaze lingered on her. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “You will tell me if you believe your brother is behind the arrow that injured my knight.”
Chrystobel hesitated. “If you are asking me if I believe him capable of such a thing, then the answer is yes,” she replied. “He is indeed capable of the action.”
“Do you believe he did it?”
She shrugged unsteadily. “That is difficult to say,” she said carefully, not wanting to anger or provoke him. “He might have had someone else do it for him. At times, Gryffyn likes to bully others into carrying out his unsavory tasks. Other times, he will simply do it himself. It mostly depends on what kind of mood he is in.”
“Does he have men at Nether who serve him directly?”
Chrystobel shook her head. Somehow, she didn’t feel much like defending her brother against this latest onslaught. If she did, it would go badly for her, she could tell. She struggled not to think herself a traitor for divulging what she could.
“He does not have men who serve him directly, but there are men who will only listen to him,” she said quietly. “There are at least six of them – Dewey, Glyn, Owain, Hwyel, Moeig, and Meustyn. They are soldiers, not knights, and they will do my brother’s bidding without hesitation.”
“Where are these men now?”
“More than likely in Tower Day in their quarters.”
Keller was somewhat pleased that she was being forthcoming with information about her brother even though the sensible part of him, the professional knight, told him not to trust her completely. They were still, in many ways, enemies and although he didn’t believe she would deliberately mislead him, it would be prudent of him to at least be somewhat cautious of her information.
“Does your father have any knights?” he asked.
“Two,” she replied. “Older men. They will not be much trouble to you.”
“What are their names?”
“Sir Wynne and Sir Rhun.”
“And where are they?”
She shrugged. “More than likely in bed,” she said. “They are old, as I mentioned, and tend to retire at sunset. You would find them in Tower Twilight.”
Keller digested the information. It was the most forthcoming and talkative she had been since their introduction. He still couldn’t decide how much to trust or believe her, but at this point he was willing to take a little on faith. He had little choice.
“I thank you for conveying your knowledge,” he finally said. “Now you will tell me where you think your brother is. A lair where he would hide, mayhap?”
Chrystobel nodded. “The top level of Tower Twilight,” she said. “It is his private domain.”
“Tower Twilight is where George was injured.”
“I know.”
Keller’s gaze lingered on her a moment but she met his eyes without reserve. It gave him more confidence, knowing that liars usually had difficulty making eye contact. She had not looked him in the eye when she had given him the weak explanation of her injuries earlier. That fact alone told him that, this time, she was telling the truth. He was quickly coming to see that his wife could not easily lie, which was something of a relief. With a nod of his head, to thank her for her truthfulness, he turned for the door.
“Remain here,” he told her. “Do not leave this room for any reason. Is that clear?”
“It is, my lord.”
“I will return your sister to you.”
“My thanks, my lord.” Keller was nearly through the door when she called out to him. “My lord?”
He paused to look at her. “Aye?”
Chrystobel appeared nervous, uncertain. She made her way towards him in slow, halting steps, as if fearful to speak. But she forced the words out.
“You…,” she began, swallowed, and then started once more. “You will not tell my brother that I told you where you might find him, will you?”
Something just short of rage pulsed through Keller and he came back into the chamber, closing the door behind him. “Why would you ask that?”
Chrystobel struggled not to look away from his piercing gaze, suddenly regretful that she had said anything at all. Now, surely, he would begin to suspect things. “Because,” she stammered. “Because… he would become very angry and t
ake his anger out on those around him.”
Keller cocked an eyebrow. “You?”
She couldn’t help it now. He was shooting bolts of fire out of those dusky eyes so she looked at the ground. “Anyone,” she said softly.
Keller walked over to her and put the fingers of his right hand under her chin, forcing her head up. He forced her to look at him, staring into her eyes with his searing and intense gaze. The bolts of fire were growing more intense.
“You?” he demanded in a whisper.
There was something so heated and liquid about his gaze, fire bolts reaching in to grab whatever soul and heart she had inside of her, yanking them out and holding them with gentle power and molten fire. She could see everything inside of her now hovering in the air between them as clearly as if he were holding all of it in both hands. She could see fear and vulnerability and interest, interest in him as both a man and as her husband. He must surely have sensed it. It was as if she no longer had any control over her mind, her free will vanishing within the power of his dark blue gaze. After a moment, she could only nod helplessly.
“It is possible.”
She spoke the words so softly that he barely heard her, but hear he did. Fury such as he had never known boiled up within Keller to the point that it was actually making him sweat. He’d known all along that it had been Gryffyn attacking Chrystobel, but to hear the confirmation, as vague as it was, nearly drove him insane. No man was going to take his fists to a woman, and most especially not his wife, and live to tell the tale. He dropped his hand from her chin and grabbed her by the arms, nearly crushing her as he fought off the innate sense of disgust.
“No more,” he hissed. “Do you hear me? It will never again happen. I will find your brother and I will make that abundantly clear to him.”
He was speaking through clenched teeth, frightening her, and Chrystobel’s eyes filled with tears.
“Nay,” she whispered. “You must not. He will vent his rage on Izlyn and my father. You must not challenge Gryffyn!”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 90