The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  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.

  “Aye, you will,” she said steadily. “Lay back down and rest. I will return with bread and butter and sweet fruit, I promise.”

  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.”

  The soldier wouldn’t budge. “It is the lord’s orders, my lady.”

  Chrystobel eyed the man. She knew why Keller had given the orders and she was frankly thankful for the protection. If she thought about it, she knew the man was correct in not letting her out alone. Gryffyn was about somewhere and she did not want to be caught without protection from his violent tendencies. Therefore, she asked the obvious question.

  “Has my brother been located yet?” she inquired.

  The soldier shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, my lady.”

  With that confirmation, Chrystobel was convinced that it would be wise to take an escort with her. Although she rightly feared English soldiers, she knew Keller would not have assigned untrustworthy men to watch over her. Gesturing for the soldier to follow her, she descended the stairs to the entry level below.

  It was dark and cold on this level, but bits of morning sun struggled through the gloom, streaming through cracks in the entry door to create a brilliant smattering of light against the entry floor. It was surprisingly clear of servants. She didn’t hear a soul stirring but she paid it little mind. Chrystobel lifted the iron latch on the heavy oak panel and pulled open the door.

  It was cold and bright in the ward beyond. There were many strange soldiers moving about, English soldiers, and she pulled her robe more tightly about her body as she descended the stone steps that led down to the ward. It was muddy and slippery, and there were big puddles of water at the base of the keep from where the overnight dew had collected on the structure and then trickled down the stone.

  Once on the floor of the bailey, she tried not to slip in the mud as she made her way towards the great hall. She could see servants milling about over by the kitchen and off to her right, she could see that the stable servants were busy feeding the horses. She could smell the barley dust in the cold morning air. Everything seemed busy and normal enough, certainly not the chaos that the serving woman had indicated. With the English soldier trailing after her, she drew close to the great hall and nearly ran straight into William as he exited.

  William was just leaving the hall after having had Trevyn’s body removed. Startled at the unexpected sight of Lady de Poyer, he put out a hand to stop her forward progression.

  “My lady,” he greeted, his voice calm and even in spite of his surprise. “Where are you going on this fine day?”

  Chrystobel gazed steadily at the big blond knight. “I am looking for my father,” she said. “Have you seen him?”

  William hesitated. “Aye, I have seen him,” he replied. “Where is your husband? When last we spoke, he intended to seek you out.”

  Chrystobel shrugged, feeling impatient. “I have not seen him,” she said. “Where is my father?”

  William didn’t want to tell her what he knew. That was Keller’s privilege. Therefore, he did the only thing he could do, he stalled.

  “It is possible that I saw him with your husband,” he said. Well, it wasn’t much of a lie. He had seen Keller and Trevyn together as Keller knelt over the old man’s corpse. That was technically seeing them together, wasn’t it? “Wait here in the sunshine and I will find your husband and send him to you.”

  He seemed terribly polite for a man who had been mildly rude to her most of the night. She would have wondered about his sudden change in behavior if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with finding her father.

  “I will come with you,” she said. “I do not….”

  William cut her off, holding up his hands to prevent her from following him as he began to move away. He had no idea where he could find Keller and he didn’t want the woman trailing after him, so he began heading in the direction of the gatehouse of Nether.

  “Nay, Lady de Poyer,” he said, very nearly insisting. “Remain here so that I may find you easily. I do not know where your husband is and I do not wish to drag you all over the grounds, so stay her
e and I will return as quickly as I can.”

  He passed a glance at the soldier standing behind her as if to silently emphasize that the man keep her in that particular location. The soldier received the silent message clearly, going so far as to nod as William headed off towards the gatehouse. Chrystobel watched him go with her hands on her hips, wondering why the man was nearly running away from her. Now his odd behavior was causing her to notice. Watching him race off, she finally shook her head.

  “Why would he want me to stand here in the cold?” she wondered, mostly to herself. “I can just as easily wait for him in the hall. It would not be too far for him to go in order to find me.”

  Since the soldier escorting her had been in the keep all night, he had no idea what had transpired in the great hall or what lay in store for them. When Chrystobel moved to the massive entry door that led into the great hall, he simply followed. He didn’t want to stand out in the cold, either, and he doubted he could have persuaded the lady to remain out in the cold light of day. Trailing after her, he passed through the door just behind her, listening to her gasp the moment she entered the hall.

  There was a big puddle of blood on the floor near the feasting table. Even though the hall was dark, without a fire in the hearth or anything to light the dimness of the room, she could still see the blood at the end of the long table. Frightened, Chrystobel ran towards it, standing over the puddle and trying not to become ill at the sight of it.

  “What happened here?” she demanded to anyone who could answer her. With no reply, she began looking around frantically. “What happened? Who was injured here?”

  The only person she could see was the soldier standing next to her and he had no answers to provide. But that didn’t stop Chrystobel from pointing to the blood.

  “What happened?” she asked the man. “Find someone who can tell me why there is blood on this floor!”

  The soldier shook his head. “I will not leave you, Lady de Poyer,” he insisted, then he, too, began to look around. “There must be a servant nearby who can tell you what happened.”

  Chrystobel’s gaze was drawn back to the blood on the floor. It was beginning to make her rather nauseous. The sight and smell of blood always did.

  “God’s Bones,” she hissed. “What could have happened here? It looks as if someone was terribly injured.”

  The soldier simply nodded, eyeing the blood as he moved away, wandering to the eastern end of the room where a side door led out to the bailey. He thought perhaps to find a servant there but all he managed to find was a trail of blood. It was evident that they carried the person who left the puddle on the floor out in this direction. As the soldier looked around at the dark and empty servant’s alcove, he shrugged and headed back into the hall.

  Chrystobel was still standing over the bloody floor, most concerned at the sight. She noticed the soldier coming from the east end of the room, however, and she turned to him.

  “Is there no one back there?” she asked.

  The soldier shook his head. “Nay, my lady.”

  Chrystobel thought it was very strange that there were no servants in the hall at this early hour. In fact, the entire circumstance was beginning to concern her. As the soldier passed by the darkened hearth, she pointed to it.

  “Wait,” she told him, watching him stop. “There is a passageway next to the hearth. Push open the wall to the left of the hearth and see if there is anyone in the passage. Sometimes the servants use it to come in from the kitchen yard.”

  The soldier turned obediently to the hearth, peering at the stone wall on either side of it. Since it was so dark, it took him a moment to see unmortared seams along the left side of the hearth and he gave a shove, watching part of the wall swing back on great iron hinges. But it was the last thing he would ever see as a figure suddenly materialized from the darkened passage and plunged a knife into his belly.

  Chrystobel saw the soldier go down, falling into the passageway so that she could only see his legs sticking out. She was curious, concerned, until she saw Gryffyn emerge, stepping over the supine body of the soldier with a bloodied dirk in his hand. Then, it was as if all rational thought left her. A cry of terror erupted from her lips just as Gryffyn looked at her, his dark eyes filled with hatred and murder.

  Chrystobel screamed again, louder than before, and ran for the hall door, but Gryffyn was faster. He grabbed her before she could reach the exit, yanking her away from the panel so that she fell onto the floor. Once she was down, he kicked her in the leg just because he could. He wanted to see her cry.

  “You little bitch,” he snarled, stalking her as she wept and struggled to crawl away. “You betrayed me! I told you what would happen if you betrayed me!”

  Chrystobel was beyond panic. Her greatest fear was now a reality before her and she was nearly frozen with terror.

  “Please, Gryffyn!” she cried. “Please do not kill me!”

  Gryffyn was beyond fury. He was in the realm of madness as he watched his sister struggle across the wooden planks. When she tried to get to her feet, he hit her on the head, so hard that she fell back to the floor, only half-conscious. It pleased Gryffyn immensely. Now, she would make an easy target for him, easier than their father had made. He could hardly believe the luck of finding her without more than one escort. It had been a stupid thing for her to do, but he knew her to be stupid. As he gazed down at the struggling woman, the only thing he could feel was an overwhelming sense of satisfaction that he would have his way, one last time, as he pulled the sharp blade of his dirk across her tender throat.

  “I told you what I would do if you did not prove your loyalty to me,” he rumbled. “You have always been foolish, Chrystobel. I tried to discipline you, to mold you, but you were stubborn. Too stubborn. Now see what it will cost you.”

  Chrystobel was barely conscious, struggling to shake off the buzzing in her head, but she could hear him, somewhat. She was full of fear and sorrow.

  “Nay,” she breathed, struggling to lift her head. “Gryffyn, you… you must not. Please do not.”

  Gryffyn gazed unemotionally at the woman he had grown up with. She was his sister, that was true, but only by blood. She meant nothing to him, no more than the dogs in the great hall did. She was a possession and little else. He felt absolutely nothing as he listened to her plead for her life. In fact, he liked to hear her plead. It excited him.

  “After I kill you, Izlyn is next,” he said, looking at the bloodied dirk in his hand. “She is a defective creature. She should have been drowned at birth.”

  Chrystobel was in tears as she turned onto her belly and began clawing at the floor, dragging herself along as she tried to get away from him. The world was spinning and the floor rocking unsteadily, but she could not give up. She had to fight.

  “God help me,” she gasped, clutching at the floor and breaking her nails down to the nub. “God help me!”

  Gryffyn heard the pleas as she cried into the darkness, but her prayers were meaningless to him. All that mattered was that he accomplish his task and return to hiding, waiting for the opportunity to kill again. He watched his sister drag herself across the floor, passing through part of the bloody puddle as she went. It created dark streaks across the wood, dragged along by her heavy robe.

  “That is Father’s blood, you know,” he said casually. “I told you I would kill him if you betrayed me and I did. How does it feel, Chrystobel, knowing that you killed your father? It is your fault I had to do it. If you had only killed de Poyer like I told you to, none of this would have happened.”

  Chrystobel was sobbing openly now, grieved for their father and terrified that her life was coming to an end. There was so much she had yet to do and see. Her world had been relatively small, as she’d told Keller when she’d first met him. He had promised to take her to Paris and now that would never happen. Perhaps someday they might even grow fond of one another, or even have children, and now she wouldn’t know the joy of either event. She was so very crushed, k
nowing any dreams she ever had were about to come to an end.

  Behind her, she could hear Gryffyn’s boot falls approaching. He was coming to kill her and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. The room was still swaying and she was struggling to get to her feet without success. But there was one thing she could do. She could scream as loud as she could and pray someone heard her. Pray someone heard her before Gryffyn slit her throat and she could scream no more.

  The boot falls were coming closer. Death was coming closer. Chrystobel began screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “Your wife is near the great hall,” William sounded breathless as he spoke. “She is looking for her father, Keller.”

  Keller had been just inside the doorway of Tower Night, speaking with George and Aimery about the state of Nether’s armory, when William found him. He’d only meant to speak to the twins about the security of the fortress with Gryffyn on the loose but he had been distracted by the Welsh weaponry. It was rather impressive. But with William’s appearance, he was jolted back to the reality at hand and immediately craned his neck out of the doorway in search of Chrystobel. It was a bright day and he squinted in the light, searching for signs of his wife. But she was nowhere to be found and looked to William, puzzled.

  “Where did you leave her?” he asked. “I do not see her.”

  William, too, began searching the area for any sign of the petite woman with the long blond hair. “I told her to wait by the great hall,” he said, putting his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “I told her I would bring you to her.”

  Keller came out of the tower, heading in the direction of the great hall. “You said that she asked for her father?” he asked William. “By God’s Bloody Rood… what a damnable mess this is. What did you tell her?”

  William was marching along beside him. “She wanted to know if I had seen him,” he replied. “I was not going to tell her the truth. I told her to remain by the hall entry and that I would bring you to her. You can do the telling.”