Kathryn Le Veque (24 page)

Keller could see that she wasn’t going to forgive him easily. Why should she? He’d said many things last night, things he was still embarrassed over, and she’d had time to reflect on all he’d said. Perhaps she’d come to realize what an idiot she’d married. Perhaps it really didn’t matter to her that he’d not returned – more than likely, she was glad that he hadn’t. His heart sank as the nervous knuckle-cracking started.

“I thought this was going to be our chamber?” he asked softly, popping his joints.

Chrystobel laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous laugh. It was an angry cackle. “Nay, my lord,” she said, gathering all of the things she had thrown on the floor and lifting them up onto the bed. “This will be the master’s chamber and you, after all, are the master. I will happily sleep across the hall with my sister so that you can summon me at will. No need for us to share a space.”

Keller was feeling worse and worse. “Chrystobel,” he said softly, firmly. “I am sorry I did not return last night. I went to see to my friends and ended up drinking more of that devil cider, and after that… I do not remember anything until I woke up this morning. I did not stay away intentionally.”

Chrystobel was a woman with no trust in men. She’d been lied to and abused her entire life, so forgiving an innocent like Keller, who truly meant what he said, was nearly impossible for her to comprehend. It was easier not to believe him than to forgive him. He’d already lied to her. In her mind, he’d destroyed her trust.

“You do not need to explain your whereabouts or your reasons,” she said, pausing in her task to look him in the eye. “This is a contract marriage and there are no expectations. You are lord and master of Nether and I will respect you as such. I will be at your call as you wish, but do not expect more than that. Do not tell me stories to garner my sympathy because I do not care. I do not care about anything!”

She ripped off the clothing pile and the top layer of linen on the bed to punctuate her angry sentence. Everything when sailing onto the floor. Keller stood there and watched her, feeling the familiar angst welling in his chest. Once, when he had been betrothed to the widow who broke his heart, he felt these same emotions when she callously dismissed him. The old, horrible feelings were sweeping him again.
God, not again
, he thought.
Why do I bring these things down upon me? I cannot go through this again!
He stopped popping his knuckles because he nearly broke a finger in his turmoil.

“I am sorry that I did not keep my promise to return,” he said, his voice soft and low. “I feel terrible about it. All I can tell you is that it was unintentional and that I am truly sorry.”

Chrystobel’s gaze lingered on him a moment before turning to the pile on the floor. “You need not apologize,” she said. “It is your right to do as you please.”

He sighed sharply. “Do you not believe a man when he says that he is sorry?”

Her head snapped up, the dark eyes fixed on him. “I believed him when he swore he would return last night. Mayhap it is the last time I shall believe anything he says.”

It was like a punch to his gut. Keller could tell just by the expression on her face that she was attacking his honor. After a moment, he simply shook his head. “What must I do to prove I am sincere, Chrystobel? I do not want to go the rest of my life at odds with you because of a mistake.”

She looked at him a moment, appraisingly, and he swore that he could see the turmoil in the big brown eyes. She was hurt and defensive, he could clearly see it. But she tore her gaze away after a moment and looked back at the pile and, as he watched, planted herself on the floor beside it. She began sifting through it.

“Go about your duties,” she told him. “I will make sure your chamber is prepared by tonight.”

It was evident she didn’t wish to speak to him about it. He groaned inwardly. “I am going into town to make arrangements with the priests for your father’s mass,” he said quietly. “I thought you wanted to go with me.”

Chrystobel shook her head, focused on her task. “You can make the arrangements quite adequately,” she said. “I do not need to go with you.”

There wasn’t any use arguing with her. He could see that plainly. She was essentially shutting him out and he felt horrible about it. But it was probably justified. He had promised to return last night. He didn’t blame her for thinking he was not a man of his word. With a lingering gaze at her blond head, he silently quit the chamber and shut the door behind him.

The landing was dimly lit and cold as he turned for the stairs. He had a knot in his stomach from his emotions, coupled with his pounding head. He deserved all of it, he told himself. Every misery he had, he deserved. As he began to descend the stairs, he glanced up and saw Izlyn standing in the doorway to the chamber she shared with her sister. Keller came to a halt.

Izlyn was dressed in a sweet pink-colored linen surcoat with an embroidered apron over it. Her pretty blond hair was pulled into two adorable braids draped over each shoulder. She looked clean, groomed, and well-rested. In fact, the child looked better than he’d ever seen her. He smiled weakly.

“I do not suppose you can tell me how to beg forgiveness from your sister,” he muttered wryly.

It had been a somewhat rhetorical question but, to his surprise, Izlyn nodded. Keller was about to continue down the steps but the child’s gesture had him pausing.

“You do?” he asked, interested. “She is very angry with me. But I suppose you know that.”

Izlyn nodded solemnly. Keller wriggled his eyebrows in defeat. As he shrugged his big shoulders dejectedly and began to move down the steps, Izlyn rushed forward and stuck her hands out. He caught the movement from the corner of his eye, pausing to look up at the pale young woman. As he watched, she rushed over to him and grasped his sleeve, tugging. Keller ended up ascending those few stairs he had just taken and following Izlyn as she pulled him into the chamber she shared with her sister.

Keller was quite curious at her actions. She led him over to one of the chairs near the hearth and pointed to it, indicating for him to sit. He did, uncomfortably, in his heavy armor, watching Izlyn as she went over to a small table that was on the opposite side of the bed. The girl had scraps of what looked like parchment or vellum. She picked up a quill and, dipping it in ink, began scratching onto the parchment. When she was finished, she blew on it to dry the ink and rushed over to him, thrusting the parchment in his face.

Keller had to dodge his head or risk being hit by the parchment. He took it from her, holding it at arm’s length to read it because his eyes weren’t very good these days. It was often very difficult for him to read. The letter was written very careful, in Welsh:

Roedd hi'n drist pan nad oeddech yn dychwelyd

She was sad when you did not return.

Keller sighed heavily when he finished reading it. He felt like a monster. “I had every intention of returning, I assure you,” he told the young girl. “But… by God’s Bloody Rood, this is embarrassing, but that cider your sister provided put me to sleep. I fell asleep with my face pressed into the top of the feasting table. The next I realized, it was morning.”

He put his hand on his nose and smashed it down to demonstrate his sleeping position, watching Izlyn giggle. She was a pretty little thing when she smiled which, he suspected, was not that often. She snatched the parchment out of his hand and ran back to the table to collect her quill. She scratched a few more words out onto it before blowing furiously on it and racing back to him, thrusting it at him. Keller took the parchment and held it far away from his face to read it.

Mae'n rhaid i chi ddweud wrthi ei fod yn ei bai hi am ei bod yn rhoi i chi y ddiod

You must tell her it is her fault because she gave you the drink.

Keller smiled wryly after reading it. “Alas, I cannot,” he sighed. “I did not have to drink it and I should not have. I cannot blame her for my failings. I wish she would at least accept my apology. Mayhap I need an envoy to soothe the savage beastie.”

Izlyn took the parchment away from him but she didn’t run over to write. She just stood there and looked at him as if she didn’t know what else to say. Much like Keller, she was socially inept. The lack of voice made it so, and the isolation, and in that realization Keller felt a somewhat kindred spirit with Izlyn. He was a bumbling idiot at times, too, as evidenced by the current situation with Chrystobel. He smiled at her and she smiled back.
At least one d’Einen sister is smiling at me
, he thought ironically. Noting the parchment still in her hand gave him an idea.

“Would… would you do something for me, my lady?” he asked. “I would be most grateful.”

Izlyn nodded eagerly and ran for the chamber door, but he called her back. “Nay, not that,” he said, rising out of the chair as he waved her over. “I was jesting when I said I needed an envoy. I do not want you to go to her on my behalf. Is that what you were going to do?”

Izlyn nodded, looking rather confused because she thought he wanted her to fetch her sister. But Keller put his hand on her slender shoulder.

“You are good at writing,” he said. When she nodded firmly, he continued. “I must go to town now and will not have the time to make amends to your sister today, so I was wondering if you would help me.”

Izlyn nodded eagerly and Keller patted her shoulder, directing her back over to the table with the pieces of parchment and pewter inkwell that was modeled to look like a flower. As Izlyn collected her quill and rifled through her pieces of parchment in order to find one that didn’t have any writing on it, Keller thought about what he wanted to say. It was rather sly, really, using the sister to beg forgiveness from his wife, but at that point, he was willing to do what was necessary to gain her good favor again. He also thought that he might see what stock the merchants in the town had once he’d finished with the priests. He’d been known to lavish gifts on those that warranted it, and even to those who didn’t. The widow he’d been betrothed to had accepted many lavish gifts from him. Keller hoped that giving gifts to Chrystobel wouldn’t be the same lesson in pointlessness.

As Keller dictated and Izlyn carefully scratched the words, in English this time, upon a piece of yellowed parchment, he sincerely hoped she would read the missive and not burn it in anger. He thought that perhaps she wouldn’t destroy it because it might hurt Izlyn’s feelings, the creator as well as bearer of the message. In fact, he was counting on it.

Fifteen minutes later and satisfied with the heart-felt missive, he left Izlyn to deliver it while he took William, Rhys, and Aimery with him into the town of Machynlleth, leaving Gart and George  behind to see to the castle and her security. He hoped that, when he returned from town, Chrystobel might be more receptive to his presence.

And he would swear a thousand times over that he would never touch that devil cider again as long as he lived.



“The bloody castle is crawling with English!” Colvyn hissed. “You did not tell me there were so many!”

On a rocky, wind-swept crag overlooking Nether Castle in the distance, Gryffyn and Colvyn could see hordes of English soldiers both in and out of the castle. In fact, they were spilling out over the Gorge of the Dead and onto the roadway beyond. Some were setting off in groups, no doubt patrols, while others were lingering around the gatehouse. Gryffyn blinked in both surprise and concern at so many English.

“More must have come,” he muttered. “There were not so many when I left yesterday.”

Colvyn eyed the English milling in and around Nether Castle. Now, what Gryffyn had told him was starting to make sense. There were far more English than he had imagined. They have a foothold in Wales! Perhaps Gryffyn had been correct. He thought the man was merely being dramatic but by the looks of things, that wasn’t the case at all. There was a hive of English in the heart of Wales and it was most definitely a cause for alarm.

Around them, the wind was picking up and the smell of rain wasn’t far off. They could see it over to the west. Gryffyn and Colvyn hunkered down against the rocks, watching the activity in and around Nether. Mostly, they were there so that Gryffyn could prove to Colvyn that the English had indeed overrun the castle.

Based on their observations, Gryffyn hoped that Colvyn would plan some sort of attack or other restless action. If de Poyer wanted to hold Nether, then Gryffyn was going to make it exceedingly difficult for him.

“Well?” he asked Colvyn. “Do you believe me now that they have confiscated Nether?”

Colvyn’s dark hair whipped up in the wind as he pulled his rough woolen cloak more tightly around his neck. “Aye,” he replied, his dark gaze on the castle. “I believe you. It would seem that we must do something about it.”

“Agreed,” Gryffyn said as if Colvyn’s statement was the most obvious thing in the world. “You must contact your
teulu
for support. We will need many men to regain Nether.”

Colvyn pondered that scenario and as he did, there was something that didn’t quite make sense to him about this situation. “Nether is built to withstand a siege,” he said. “It is surrounded by the Gorge of the Dead and has sheer walls. How did the English manage to take it?”

Gryffyn blinked at the unexpected question. He had lied about the English attacking the fortress simply to force the man’s support, so he thought quickly, trying to come up with a plausible fabrication.

“A distraction,” he said, working his way through the lie as he went. He’d always been rather good at that sort of thing. “My father was unprepared for their assault and met them at the gatehouse while a group of them came in through the postern gate.”

Colvyn’s gaze lingered on the distant fortress. “Odd,” he muttered. “They do not seem like an invading army. Everything is…
open
. There are soldiers going in and out of the gatehouse as if nothing is amiss.”