Dark Deceptions

by Christi Caldwell

  The fight was short but vicious, and in little time, the Welsh were fleeing back into the village, disappearing behind huts or running down alleyways. Keller’s men went to chase them but he called them off. It was more important that they return to the safety of Nether rather than try to pursue rebels who knew the land, and hiding places, better than they did. Therefore, the knights mounted swiftly and encouraged the men-at-arms to do the same.

  “Return to Nether!” Keller commanded. “Go!”

  Men began to scramble and spur their horses back the way they had come. Mud and dirt kicked up, hitting walls and individuals as the horses struggled for traction on the wet road, but soon the group was thundering out of town, racing past St. Peter’s church in their haste to get clear of the village.

  The road to the east was carved into the side of a sheer, rocky mountain, giving them a good view of the lands below. The mist had turned to rain by the time they hit the open road, however, blurring their vision as they went. As they ran, the knights turned their attention to the town and any sign of the enemy laying chase, but that vision never materialized. Even so, Keller saw no need to let his guard down. He would be in defensive mode all the way home.

  They were, after all, in enemy territory. The attack simply reminded them of the fact.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “And you are surprised that you were attacked by Welsh?” Gart asked. “Surely you expected it, Keller. But what I find interesting is that they found you in that town, at that point in time, and they were fully armed. Rebel militia doesn’t usually hang around in villages and especially small villages where their activities cannot be camouflaged.”

  Keller and the party from Machynlleth were in the great bailey of Nether, having raced the entire way back to the castle in the driving rain. The horses were exhausted, as were the men, and Aimery was dealing with a rather nasty puncture wound on his thigh that would require stitches. Keller watched Aimery very gingerly dismount his charger.

  “Then they must have been following us, although I did not see signs of that,” he told Gart. “We managed to kill at least six of them and the rest fled.”

  Gart eyed Rhys as the man joined their conference. “I suppose the dual blades had flesh for supper this day,” he said to the man.

  Rhys lifted his dark eyebrows. “All that and more,” he said. “It was an excellent fight but not nearly long enough. I barely had time to warm to it.”

  Gart fought off a grin. “That time will come, my fine lad,” he said. “I suspect those rebels might report your presence to a bigger militia, and that means we might see trouble here at Nether.”

  Keller sighed at that thought. He had hoped to avoid trouble in his new home. His saddlebag was in his hand and his eyes moved over the great hall of Nether, with smoke rising from the chimney. He wanted to get inside and out of the rain.

  “That was bound to happen sooner or later,” he finally said. “It has always been my intention to call a meeting with local chieftains to announce my marriage to Chrystobel, among other things, but it seems now that I must do it right away. I was able to hold the peace, more or less, at Pembroke Castle for seven years, so I am hoping Nether will know the same measure of peace.”

  Gart nodded his big, wet head. “With you in command, I have confidence that peace will hold,” he said. “It was always a mystery to me why a man with your social ineptness could negotiate with the enemy where the rest of us would fail.”

  Keller shrugged humbly. “I understand them, I suppose.”

  Gart thought on that for a moment, in brief. “I would believe that, for I have seen the proof,” he said. Then he pointed to the keep. “Go inside and get out of this rain. I believe your wife has a feast planned in honor of your return.”

  Keller looked at him, surprised. “She does?” he asked, hope in his voice. “Is she inside?”

  Gart nodded. “I believe so,” he said, whistling to nearby soldiers to help take the horses to the stables. “She and her sister are somewhere inside. And do you know the sister followed me around today like a shadow? I couldn’t shake the girl.”

  Keller grinned. “Izlyn followed you about?”

  Gart seemed genuinely outraged. “She did,” he declared. “I actually had to stay in the gatehouse all afternoon because she would not leave me alone.”

  Keller chuckled, not at all feeling sorry for Forbes. If there was such a man who struck terror into the heart of all men, it was Gart Forbes. The men-at-arms had a nickname for him, in fact. Sach, they called him. It meant “madness” in Celtic, and when Gart was on the field of battle, he literally became mad with bloodlust, so to hear that he had been hiding from a twelve-year-old admirer brought Keller to giggles. He never thought he’d see the day when Gart Forbes would hide from anything.

  As Gart remained out in the bailey and disbursed the escort party, Keller headed for the great hall. The rain was pounding so hard that it was difficult to see even a few feet in front of him, so he entered the great hall rather blindly behind William and Aimery. He was hit in the face with the heat and smoke from the room as he nearly staggered through the doorway. Wiping the rain from his eyes, he grasped Aimery by the arm before the lad could wander away.

  “Wait,” he said. “Before you eat, we must have your wound tended. We must find Lady de Poyer.”

  William was standing with them, his dark eyes searching the room for Lady de Poyer’s blond head. A swift perusal of the hall did not produce her, so he grabbed the next servant that passed him and sent the woman on the run for Lady de Poyer. As they stood there and removed wet gloves and helms, Chrystobel suddenly appeared from the eastern portion of the hall.

  She emerged through the smoke and bodies, a goddess of a woman wearing a dark green surcoat that brought out the pale creaminess of her skin. Keller watched her come towards him, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest, wondering how to start the conversation and praying he wouldn’t say the wrong thing. He wasn’t entirely sure time had eased her anger against him in spite of what Gart had said about planning the meal in honor of his return from Machynlleth. Therefore, he braced himself as she drew close.

  When their eyes met, Chrystobel smiled as beautifully as he had ever seen her smile. It was enough to cause his knees to weaken.

  “Lady de Poyer,” he greeted softly. “You are looking well this evening.”

  Chrystobel dipped her head graciously. “My thanks, my lord,” she said, her dark eyes glittering at her husband. There were a thousand words bottled up there, words that would have to wait until they were alone to be spoken. As if remembering there were more men standing around, she suddenly extended her hand to indicate the feasting table. “If all of you will sit, I will have your meals brought out.”

  Looking between Keller and Chrystobel, and seeing the longing in their expressions, William went to go sit with a smile on his lips. He felt as if he were intruding on a private moment and made haste to leave. Keller, however, remained behind with Aimery still in his grip. The young knight was pale and weary as Keller indicated his injury to Chrystobel.

  “We had a bit of a skirmish in town,” he told her, pointing at the bloodied thigh. “Aimery sustained a wound that requires tending. Mayhap you can assist him now.”

  Chrystobel peered at Aimery’s wound with great concern. “Of course,” she said, beckoning for them to follow her. “I have my things in my chamber. I will tend him there.”

  Keller had a grip on Aimery’s arm as he watched Chrystobel collect a sheepskin cloak, which was protection from the rain, and pull it over her head. Holding the cloak over her so she would not get wet, and lifting her skirts up to keep them out of the mud, she picked her way across the soaked bailey with Keller and Aimery behind her. The stone steps leading into the keep were slippery and she took them slowly, but once in the keep, she dropped the cloak next to the door and indicated for the two knights to follow her up the stairs. They did, ending up in the smaller chamber she shared with Izlyn.

  It
was very warm in the room with its comfortable furnishings and brightly snapping fire. She headed for her sewing kit on the opposite side of the chamber.

  “I will need to get at the wound,” she told them both. “Because the injury is so high on his leg, mayhap he should remove both the mail coat and his breeches.”

  Aimery looked at Keller, stricken by the fact that the woman had virtually ordered him to disrobe, but Keller stoically indicated for him to remove his tunic. Unhappy, and embarrassed, Aimery removed his tunic and gloves. Next came the helm, which ended up by the door, and then then the mail coat and hauberk. All of it ended up in a pile near the chamber door. But when it came to removing his breeches, the young knight balked.

  “The breeches are torn where the spear entered,” he said, moving to the nearest chair and indicating the big hole in the leather. “I am sure Lady de Poyer is skilled enough that she can tend my wound without my removing… anything.”

  Keller could see that the young knight was vastly embarrassed, which was somewhat amusing, so he turned to his wife. “Can you work through the hole?”

  Oblivious to the knight’s chagrin, Chrystobel peered at the puncture wound through the rather wide opening. “I believe so,” she said, crouching down beside him. “I will try to be as swift as possible.”

  Relieved that he wasn’t going to have to remove his clothing in front of Lady de Poyer, Aimery sat perfectly still as she cleansed the puncture wound with wine. When she carefully threaded her needle with cat gut, she glanced over at her husband.

  “Was the skirmish in town terrible?” she asked.

  Keller, standing near the door, shook his head. “Nay.”

  Chrystobel had expected more of an answer and she looked over at him as she poised over Aimery’s wound. “This is the only injury?”

  “It is.”

  “Who started the fight?”

  Keller shook his head. “Not I, Lady de Poyer, I assure you,” he said. “We were attacked as we left. We assumed they were Welsh rebels of some kind.”

  Chrystobel’s gaze lingered on him as she bent over and made the first stitch in Aimery’s leg. “It is possible but not likely,” she said thoughtfully, concentrating on her work. “There are no rebel strongholds in this region unless you include Colvyn ap Gwynwynwyn, but he is poorly supplied and poorly armed. The most he can claim is a strategic castle and an old family name.”

  Keller thought on that. There was that name again – Gwynwynwyn. He’d heard it from the merchant in Machynlleth. Moreover, he’d heard it from Trevyn when the man listed an ally of Gryffyn. I find it strange that they happened upon you at that particular point in time. Wasn’t that what Gart had said? It was indeed strange, too strange. Was it possible that Gryffyn had been following his movements outside of Nether and was behind the attack? If that was true, then it meant Nether was being watched by Gryffyn and whoever he had managed to ally with. Perhaps they were being watched even now. It was an uneasy realization.

  “Your father said that he is a friend of Gryffyn’s,” he said quietly.

  She nodded as she placed the second quick stitch. “He is,” she concurred. “In fact, he somewhat courted me before my father arranged for a marriage with you.”

  Keller was startled by the bolts of jealousy that rocketed through his body at that knowledge. The sensations were violent and harsh. But, in the same breath, he shouldn’t have been surprised by a courtship towards Chrystobel. She was a beautiful woman and, in truth, should have known many suitors before Keller came along. He found that he wanted to ask her many questions about ap Gwynwynwyn, and the courtship, but he kept his mouth shut as Chrystobel finished putting the remaining stitches in Aimery’s leg. He didn’t want the young knight hearing what would undoubtedly be a private conversation, so he bided his time until Aimery limped out of the chamber and down the stairs.

  Closing the chamber door and bolting it as he heard the knight’s footfalls fade away, he turned to watch his wife as she put away her sewing kit. Then his gaze trailed to the saddlebags, laying on a big wooden chest over to his right, and thought on all of the wonderful things he’d brought Chrystobel. The storm outside caught his attention as lightning flashed and he was coming to think that this small, warm chamber was a much better place to be than the stuffy hall across the bailey. It was much more private. Aye, it was a better place, indeed.

  “Tell me about Colvyn ap Gwynwynwyn,” he said as he began to remove his gloves. “So he courted you, did he?”

  Chrystobel looked up from her sewing kit. “Aye,” she replied. “It was really only over the course of the past few months. He would send me little gifts such as a leather pouch filled with flower petals or a polished stone he had found and thought was rather pretty. Colvyn is a nice man, but he is rather grim and unexciting. I had no interest in him.”

  Keller removed his helm, setting it down next to the door. “Then you harbor no feelings for the man?” he asked. “Our marriage did not interrupt a budding love with ap Gwynwynwyn?”

  She looked at him, disgusted. “Never!” she hissed. “Colvyn is not someone I could have feelings for, not in the least.”

  Keller felt markedly better to hear that. In fact, the declaration gave him an abundance of courage. “Am I someone you could have feelings for?” he asked softly.

  Chrystobel appeared surprised by the question, but just as quickly, a bashful smile spread across her lips and she lowered her gaze so that he could not see her hot cheeks. Keller saw them, anyway.

  “Mayhap,” she said coyly. “I have hardly known you enough to know for sure.”

  That was true, but Keller was enchanted by her brightly blushing cheeks. “But you could at least have an inkling as to whether or not I am worthy.”

  Chrystobel wouldn’t look at him. “It is too soon, I tell you.”

  Keller grinned. “I believe you are someone I could have feelings for,” he said softly. “In fact, I am sure of it.”

  Her head shot up, her dark eyes wide on him. She thought on the poem he’d had Izlyn write, one that spoke of new beginnings. Could it be true? Could he really have feelings for her? Gazing into his dusky blue eyes, she could see the sincerity and hope in them. She could see the man’s naked optimism for something he very much wanted to happen. The seed was there. She could feel it. It was a seed that had been planted over the course of the past couple of days, against all odds or expectations. Now, the seed needed to be nurtured.

  “I’ve not yet thanked you for the poem you told Izlyn to write for me,” she said softly. “It is the most beautiful poem I have ever read.”

  He smiled modestly. “I had hoped you would like it,” he said. Then, his gaze grew intense. “Chrystobel, I must again extend my deepest apologies for failing to keep my word to you last night. Please know that it was not intentional. I would never intentionally break my word to you. You are my wife and by that station alone you will always have my greatest respect. I would never intentionally do anything to harm or anger you. What I said in the poem was true. In you, I see the magic of a new beginning for us both.”

  Chrystobel was caught up in the sweet lure of his statement. It was a thrilling and fulfilling thought, and the hurt and anger she had felt earlier in the day vanished like a puff of smoke. She couldn’t have remembered it if she tried.

  “I… I think I do, too,” she said quietly. “Keller, I should not have dismissed you so harshly when you tried to explain what had happened. My sister finally told me. I should have guessed it was the cider that put you to sleep before you could return. I should not have assumed the worst.”

  Keller rolled his eyes. “That damnable cider,” he grunted. “I have never in my life ingested anything so utterly devilish. I will never touch that drink again.”

  Chrystobel grinned at his dramatic statement. “My father brought it out for only special occasions,” she said. “Otherwise, it has been left in stores to continue fermenting. I should have warned you.”

  Keller shook his head as if s
haking off bad memories of the potent drink. “I think we should give it to every enemy of Nether,” he said. “That will take care of them quickly enough.”

  Chrystobel laughed softly, sobering as she met his glimmering gaze. “I am very sorry I became angry with you,” she said quietly. “It was unkind of me.”

  Keller’s gaze lingered on her a moment before reaching over for his saddlebags. “You should not have apologized so quickly,” he said. “I have brought you gifts and now you have taken away my reason to give them to you. I was going to buy your forgiveness.”

  Chrystobel laughed but she was also very interested. “Gifts?” she repeated, quickly playing his game. “Very well, then. I have not forgiven you, you abominable man. Now, may I have my gifts?”

  He grinned, enjoying her sense of humor. “Do you have a mirror?”

  Chrystobel nodded, moving for her dressing table and producing a polished bronze mirror. “It belonged to my mother,” she said. “Why do you need it?”

  His gaze was intense upon her. “I do not need it at all,” he said softly. “But you will. Close your eyes.”

  Chrystobel wanted to question him further but did as she was told. Dutifully closing her eyes, she stood still, ears attuned, as she listened to Keller move about. She could hear him rummaging through something, his big boots moving softly over the wooden floor. She heard him as he moved closer to her and then there was something against her neck, cold and hard, and she was very eager to open her eyes and look at it. She was so eager than she started bouncing around and she heard Keller sigh.

  “If you do not hold still, I will never close this hook and you will never get to see it,” he scolded gently.