Izlyn was uncertain. Gart crouched down beside her to be more at her level, feeling rather sorry for the young girl whose entire world was in upheaval. Her father dead, sister married, and she was quite alone. As he gazed at her, he also remembered what Keller had said about the girl and her brother, and how the brother had abused the entire family. Gart couldn’t imagine anyone abusing this slight, delicate creature. Even to think about it enraged him.
“I understand that your chamber is with your sister,” he said patiently. “However, there are other rooms in this keep. In fact, I have been given a bed on the top floor that I will gladly give to you. Do you want me to take you there?”
Izlyn shook her head, smoothing out the ashes and writing again.
You sleep there.
Gart read it, shaking his head. “I will not sleep there if it means you do not have a bed,” he said. “Is there anywhere else you can sleep? Otherwise, you must sleep in my bed. I will insist.”
Izlyn started to shake her head but thought better of it. Her expression suggested she had an idea. After a moment, she set the stick aside and stood up. Gart stood up next to her. She gazed up at him with her big brown eyes and this time, he wasn’t annoyed by it. She was a sweet little thing. When she held out her hand to him, he took it, swallowing it up in a fist the size of her head. As she walked, he followed along beside her.
Izlyn led Gart up the stairs to the first level. There were two chambers on this level and she went to the door on the right. Lifting the latch, she pushed open the door to reveal a large, roomy chamber with an enormous bed in the middle of it, pushed close to the hearth. The room had been swept clean and three big trunks were neatly lined up along the wall near the door. Izlyn pointed to the big bed.
“You can sleep there?” Gart clarified, looking at the bed, the room in general. “It looks nice and comfortable. This is a very big chamber. Who does it belong to?”
He asked the question, forgetting she couldn’t speak to him. But Izlyn scampered over to the hearth, which had been mostly swept out, and found a scrap piece of wood in the woodbox. There were enough ashes that she could make a slate, and she knelt down and began to write.
Papa.
Gart peered over her shoulder to see what she had written. When he saw what she had scribed, he looked around the chamber again. It belonged to the dead father they were burying on the morrow, the one killed by his own son. He wondered if Izlyn knew who had killed her father, more burdens for a young woman whose short life had been full of them. He really did feel a good deal of sympathy for her. More than that, he was coming to feel guilty for hiding from her. Perhaps she had just wanted a friend and he had been cruel about it. He put a big hand fondly on her blond head.
“I will send a servant to prepare the room and build a fire,” he said. “I shall return.”
As he went for the door, he heard swift pitter-pats of little feet as Izlyn caught up to him and slipped her hand in his. When he looked down to see what the trouble was, she simply smiled up at him. Gart didn’t have the heart to force her to remain. She was undoubtedly feeling lost and lonely, as evidenced by the weeping when he’d first come across her, so he permitted her to accompany him as he went in search of a servant, making sure Trevyn’s bed was prepared for Izlyn and ensuring there was a fire in the hearth. All this he did for her as she clung to his hand, scurrying after him as he went about his task.
When the room was finally warm and comfortable, he stood by the door with an old female servant, one he had roused from the hall to assist him, and watched Izlyn as she climbed up onto the big bed. When the old woman turned to leave, Gart stopped her.
“You will remain here with her,” he said. “If she has any needs, she must have someone to tend them.”
The old woman only understood marginal English. She pointed to Izlyn as Gart gestured for her to remain in the room, and the old woman understood after that. As the old woman went to settle in, Gart turned to leave but he was thwarted by a big thump on the floor that sounded as if it was near the bed. By the time he turned around, Izlyn was picking herself off the floor and running towards him. Gart was startled when she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, fearfully. Gart held his arms aloft, unsure what to do, as Izlyn squeezed his waist. He found himself looking at the old servant woman, at a loss how to respond. The old woman shuffled back over to the door where the two of them were standing. She struggled with her English.
“Afraid,” she said, wringing her hands anxiously as she looked to Izlyn. “Afraid.”
Gart looked down at the girl clinging to his waist and all he could feel was sorrow and disgust. Disgust for the life she had led and for the terror she surely must have suffered, and sorrow for the fact that she must have surely been fearful of every aspect of life. There were many atrocities in the world and Gart had seen his share, and when he was able to assist, he had. This was an atrocity that he’d not witnessed and only heard of, but still, the effects were obvious. Izlyn didn’t even know him, but somehow, she sensed that he would never do her harm, which was the truth. He wouldn’t. But he would surely kill anyone who made a move against her ever again. The atrocities, for Izlyn, were over. For as long as Gart was able to, he would make sure of it, and he knew Keller would make sure of it, too.
Unwinding Izlyn’s arms from around his waist, he led her over to the big bed and lifted her up, putting her on the mattress. Pulling the coverlet up, he tucked her in as she had never been tucked in by any male member of her family. Gart, a stranger, and a man with little capacity for compassion or mercy, was certainly showing an abundance of it to a lonely, frightened girl. When Izlyn finally fell into an exhausted sleep, it was clutching Gart’s big hand. She’d never felt so safe in her life.
The old serving woman spent the night sleeping on the floor next to Izlyn, keeping the young girl company as she slept while her knight in shining armor slept a floor above her, hoping that, one day, he might have a daughter just like sweet little Izlyn.
* * *
Keller awoke well before dawn the next day, startling himself awake because he had been sleeping so deeply that, for a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. He awoke with Chrystobel in his arms, his face buried in the back of her head, and in his disorientation it took him several long moments to not only place the room but the woman in his arms. It was his wife, and he was sleeping in the bed she shared with her sister.
Lifting his head carefully, he looked around the chamber. It was dark, with the fire reduced to glowing embers, and it was still very dark outside and very quiet, so he assumed it was well before the soldiers roused for the morning shift. His gaze moved to Chrystobel, sleeping so peacefully against him, and he smiled faintly as he thought back to their love making. It had been so sweet and delicious, and as he lingered on it, he realized that the event had taken him to an entirely new level of emotion. He had been fond of Chrystobel before, but now… there was something more to it. Kissing her exposed shoulder very, very carefully, he cautiously disengaged himself from her and silently went in search of his clothing.
He found his breeches, boots, and padded tunic, quietly pulling them on as he moved for the chamber door. Next to the door, in a pile, he could see his mail and armor along with his broadsword in its scabbard. When he picked up the hauberk, he noticed that it had rusted somewhat because he hadn’t had it cleaned immediately. Collecting everything into his big arms, he unbolted the door with great stealth and slipped from the chamber.
As he stood on the landing outside of Chrystobel’s door, he was curious where Izlyn slept since the girl was so attached to her sister. Undoubtedly she returned last night to sleep in her chamber and, finding it bolted, sought out another safe haven to sleep in. He should have been more concerned about the girl and felt badly that he hadn’t considered her once he finally had his new wife all to himself. On a hunch, he quietly opened the door across the hall, the master’s chamber that Chrystobel had cleaned out for their use, and poked
his head in. It was dark in the room but he could clearly see a small figure on the bed. Taking a few steps into the chamber, he recognized Izlyn all wrapped up in a heavy coverlet with an old servant sleeping on the floor at her feet. Smiling faintly at the girl, and glad she was sleeping somewhere safe, he slipped from the room and down to the first floor below.
The rain from the previous night had let up and, as he emerged into the bailey, the sky above was bright with stars. He headed towards the two-storied gatehouse where there seemed to be some activity going on as the guards walked their posts for the night. He was still holding his hauberk and mail coat when he entered the guard house and managed to locate two young squires who were sleeping on the floor. The boys had come in with Gart and Rhys, but Keller confiscated them to clean his mail while he went about his duties of arranging an escort for the funeral mass. One thing in particular he had to do was seek out George to see if a coffin had been made.
So it was busy work in that brief hour before dawn and, somewhere in that hour, he’d managed to find George, whom he put in charge of loading Trevyn d’Einen into his coffin, and Gart, who was just coming out of the keep as the eastern sky began to turn shades of blue and pink. Keller and Gart had a brief conversation about the agenda for the day and when Keller mentioned heading over to the kitchen to ensure the morning meal was being prepared, Gart informed him about the cook’s death the day before. Gart also mentioned his concern about the death and, together, the two of them headed over to the kitchen where Keller was shown the secret stairs that led down to the concealed entry in the gorge, the very stairs were the cook allegedly met her death.
Keller very quickly decided he didn’t like that entry in the least and left Gart behind in the kitchens to figure out a way to either plug it or protect it. Keller didn’t want to leave the castle, thinking it was well protected when, in fact, it had an Achilles’ heel.
As Keller returned to the bailey in search of his remaining knights, Rhys and William, who’d had the night watch, came off the battlements and swore they would be able to ride escort for the funeral mass in spite of the fact that they hadn’t slept all night, and Keller took them at their word. In the past, he’d known Wellesbourne to be awake for two straight days and perform flawlessly. The man needed little sleep to function. Keller put Rhys and William in charge of forming the party that would escort Trevyn d’Einen’s coffin into Machynlleth.
With the knights in motion and the escort party forming, Keller headed back into the keep to rouse his wife and her sister. As he mounted the stairs to the first floor, he could hear scurrying above him and his wife’s soft voice. Chrystobel was awake and as he neared the top of the stairs, Izlyn raced from the master’s chamber with something in her arms that looked like a dress or coat. Already, the women were awake and organized. He followed the girl into the smaller chamber where she and her sister were evidently very busy.
It was warm and fragrant in the chamber, with a bright fire in the hearth and two fat tapers lit against the early morning dimness. As Keller stood in the doorway, he found he only had eyes for Chrystobel. Like an angel, she looked radiant and beautiful at this early hour and as he gazed at her, thoughts of the previous night came rolling into his mind again. Although Keller was a worldly man who had seen and experienced more than most, he had never experienced a touch like Chrystobel’s. There was something about her that seemed to strengthen him and weaken him all at the same time. He couldn’t explain it any better than that. All he knew was that, somehow, she had gotten under his skin and he wasn’t the least but sorry about it.
As Keller stood there and stared, Chrystobel caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see her husband standing just inside the door. When their eyes met, she smiled sweetly at the man, giddy as she had never been giddy in her life. She had awoken a short time ago, noticing that Keller was gone but taking a few moments to lay in the covers, warm and cozy, recalling the night before when she’d finally become his wife in the literal sense. Keller had touched her body in ways she’d never imagined possible and even as she thought on it, her cheeks grew warm with the recollection of the giddy pleasure he’d given her. It was an entirely new aspect of life she’d never known to exist.
Once averse to the marriage, now she couldn’t remember when she hadn’t been married and loved every moment of it. Her expression must have given away her thoughts because Keller seemed to have the same warm expression on his face, too.
“Greetings, Lady de Poyer,” he said, his voice low and soft. “You are looking lovely this morn.”
Chrystobel looked down at the dark green surcoat she was wearing, the same one she had worn yesterday.
“Thank you,” she said, a faint blush mottling her cheeks. “And… and you? Are you well this day?”
“Most well now that I have seen you.”
Chrystobel grinned shyly, catching a glimpse of Izlyn and noticing the girl was giggling at her rather besotted reaction to Keller’s compliment. Irritated with her sister’s taunts, she turned her back on the girl as she made her way to Keller.
“I assumed you would want to leave early for Machynlleth,” she said. “Izlyn and I shall be ready to travel shortly.”
Keller held up a hand to ease her. “Take your time,” he said. “I am still preparing the escort and seeing to the security of the castle for the duration of our absence.”
Chrystobel nodded. “Then we shall be ready when you are,” she said. “I was about to go and see to the morning meal.”
“I already have.”
Her brow furrowed. “But that is a woman’s task,” she said, confused. “Why would you do that?”
“So you would not have to,” he said, his dusky eyes glittering. “I wanted you to remain warm and cozy in your chamber, and dress at your leisure. I did not want you to bother with mundane things.”
Chrystobel’s heart was swelling with adoration at his thoughtfulness. In fact, it was swelling with adoration for him. “You are very kind to do that,” she said, but she soon sobered as thoughts of the kitchen came to mind. “Were you told that the cook was killed yesterday? She took a tumble down a flight of stairs.”
Keller nodded. “I was told,” he said. “I saw the stairs, too. No one ever mentioned there was a concealed passage that led from the kitchen to the gorge.”
Chrystobel nodded. “Indeed there is,” she said. “It is meant to be used if the castle is ever compromised. I am sorry I neglected to tell you about it. It simply never crossed my mind.”
He understood. “Are there any other passages I should know about?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “The only points of entry or exit at Nether are the gatehouse, the postern gate, and the passageway. There is nothing else.”
He believed her and, not wanting to linger on the negative note of the cook’s death, he simply smiled at her and began to remove his gloves.
“That is a good thing,” he said. “A castle with too many holes in it is no castle at all. We may as well not have walls if that is the case.”
Chrystobel was back to smiling again, giving him a flirtatious little expression as she turned away and headed back over to the bed where she had been mending a rip on the hood of a cloak. Keller grinned at the come-hither countenance on her face then scowled dramatically when he glanced at Izlyn and the girl made a silly face at him. He could hardly believe these were the same two women he had met only three days ago. When fear and terror were removed, it was remarkable how quickly the human soul healed. As he set his gloves aside, his gaze fell on his saddlebags, still where he left them on the big wooden trunk. Next to the bags was the pile of scarves and perfume he’d neglected to give his wife. They were still as he had left them.
“Before I forget,” he said, moving over to the pile, “there were more gifts I brought back from town yesterday, but I don’t suppose you’d care to see them.”
Chrystobel came running, needle and thread still in hand from where she had been men
ding the cloak. “Of course I want to see them!” she begged. “May I? Please?”
Keller eyed her hopeful face as it was joined by a second hopeful face. Izlyn didn’t know about the gifts, or the necklaces, but because her sister was excited, she was excited, too. Keller found himself looking at two very eager ladies. He couldn’t help but laugh.
“Very well,” he said, reaching down to the pile and drawing forth a beautiful pale-blue scarf made of the light albatross material. He extended it to Izlyn. “For you, my lady. I hope you like it.”
Izlyn took the scarf that was so delicate it was as if it were made from angel’s wings. Glee didn’t quite cover her expression. She was positively overjoyed as she fondled it happily, rubbing the soft fabric against her cheek before wrapping it around her neck. As she played with it, Keller handed the remaining two scarves to Chrystobel.
“And these are for you,” he said softly. “Wear them in good health.”
One scarf was egg-shell colored while the other was a pale green, both of them soft and airy. Chrystobel was thrilled.
“These are beautiful, Keller, truly,” she said sincerely. “You are too kind.”
Keller merely smiled. “With your new pearl and emerald necklace and that green scarf, you shall look like a queen,” he murmured, turning back to the jewelry he’d left on the chest the night before and drawing forth the garnet and pearl necklace. “Izzie, come here. I have something more for you.”
Izlyn was dancing around with her beautiful new scarf, waving it in the air, but swiftly ran over to Keller when he called her. It didn’t even occur to her that he’d used her nickname, but it certainly occurred to Chrystobel. In fact, she was very touched that he would use the nickname, a family name that intimated affection as if he belonged to them already, and they belonged to him. This man, this enemy, who had been kinder to them than any of their kin had ever been.
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