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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She headed straight for the dais where the knights were collecting. She counted four in all, including de Poyer. Setting the tray down, she dared to glance up and noticed that a big blond knight was studying her intently. Startled when their eyes met, she bowed quickly and turned away, only to run straight into Keller.

  He had seen her emerge with the platter of apples and made his way over to the table. Dry and cleaned up from her trip through the mud, he was not surprised to see how lovely she truly was. Her blond hair fell well past her buttocks, the hair around her face pulled back and secured behind her head. She was clad in a rough linen surcoat of a faded cranberry color with a woven tassel rope about her gently flaring hips. When their eyes met, he was intrigued anew by the beauty of her face. But along with that beauty, he noticed a dark shading along her left cheekbone. It was clearly a bruise. His dark eyes inspected her cheek with the same intensity as they inspected the hall. Keller de Poyer was a man who missed nothing.

  “You hurt yourself tumbling down the hill today, my lady,” he commented. “I am sorry I could not save you sooner to prevent it.”

  She truly had no idea what he was talking about. Her big brown eyes were a little lost as she gazed back at him.

  “My lord?”

  He tilted his chin in the direction of her cheek even as his eyes focused on the swollen area. “Your face,” he clarified, somewhat softer. “You bruised it when you fell.”

  Her hand flew to her face and she lowered her gaze with uncertainty. “I…,” she tried to move away from him, out from under his intense stare. “I am sorry if my appearance is unseemly, my lord.”

  He reached out and grabbed her wrist with a massive hand. Even without the gauntlets he usually wore, his hand was three times the size of hers. “You are hardly unseemly,” he pulled her back towards him and dropped his hand when he was sure she wasn’t going to try and move away again. “I would introduce you to the knights who are now in control of Nether. Good knights, this is Lady Chrystobel d’Einen, chatelaine of Nether Castle,” he eyed the men around him somewhat awkwardly. “She is the future Lady de Poyer.”

  Wellesbourne was the first man to greet her. He did so politely. “My lady, Sir William Wellesbourne at your service.”

  Still embarrassed about her bruised cheek, it was a struggle for Chrystobel to acknowledge the big blond knight. He was handsome and with a very deep voice. The two shorter knights on Wellesbourne’s other side came at her with the gentle force of a raging blizzard. They almost knocked her off her feet with their rush.

  “I am Sir George Ashby-Kidd,” George grabbed her hand before his brother could get to it. “And this is my dastardly brother, Sir Aimery. You should make all effort to stay away from him. He’s a fool.”

  George grinned as he kissed her hand, while Aimery scowled at him and yanked her hand away before his brother could finish kissing it. Not to kiss the same place his brother had, he flipped her hand over and deposited a rather lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist.

  “Sir Aimery Ashby-Kidd, my lady, your devoted servant,” he said. “If there is anyone to watch out for, it is my brother. He has the tongue of a serpent.”

  Chrystobel was taken aback by the bold young knights and their idea of gallantry. Wellesbourne slapped Aimery on the back of the head and took the lady’s hand away.

  “Good God,” he growled, pulling her away. “Idiots, both of you. Go sit down before you make complete jackasses of yourselves.”

  Keller watched as Wellesbourne took Chrystobel to the other side of the dais, politely seating her and making sure she had an adequate amount of wine. George and Aimery were caught up arguing with each other, leaping on the serving wench when she brought more wine and nearly knocking the woman to the ground. They tended to drink in excess and tonight was to be no exception. But Keller stood back, watching the scene before him, absorbing it. Wellesbourne was much more comfortable with women than he was and he observed the man as he made small talk with Chrystobel. Since William was already married to a woman he adored, Keller presumed, correctly, that Wellesbourne knew much more about conversing with women than he did. Keller would make sure to study his mannerisms and try to emulate them.

  Keller’s gaze was drawn to Chrystobel. She was an exquisite woman and his initial observation of her had not been wrong. Truth be told, as his interest in her grew, so did his intimidation. He was forty-one years old. She was barely twenty. She was young and beautiful and he began to think it rather tragic that she had been forced to marry an old man. But, on the other hand, he thought it a rather positive situation for him. Perhaps she was just what he needed after a love lost. Perhaps he should at least give her that chance. There could be nothing worse for the woman to be married to an old man whose heart was made of stone.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, he made his way over to the dais and sat on the opposite side of Chrystobel. As the storm outside began to thunder and more men from his Corps wandered into the hall in preparation of supper, Keller poured himself a chalice of wine and sat silently as Wellesbourne told Chrystobel of a trip he and his wife took to Paris after they were married.

  “I have only been as far as Aberystwyth,” she told William. “I have spent my entire life at Nether.”

  William could see Keller’s face on the other side of Chrystobel. “Perhaps your husband will take you to London and Paris someday,” he said, glancing at the man. “It is a trip every young woman should make at least once in her life.”

  Chrystobel turned to Keller, looking at him for the first time at close range. His eyes were a very dark shade of blue. It was an interesting color she had never seen before. He had a long, straight nose and a granite-square jaw. But she could see up close that his skin was weathered and rough, a man who had seen much of the elements and hard times in his life. Still, it added a certain character to him. It was not unattractive in the least. She smiled faintly when he fixed on her with his intense blue eyes.

  “If Sir Keller decides that I am worthy of a trip to London and Paris, I would indeed be honored,” she said after a moment. “Certainly I would like to hear the tale of any travels he has made also.”

  Keller gazed back at her porcelain face, feeling an odd thumping in his chest. He remembered that thumping, once, and it had led to heartbreak. He should have fought the sensation but found that he could not. In spite of his reservations, he rather liked it. The heart of stone was beginning to show cracks.

  “If a wedding trip is your wish, then I am sure it can be arranged,” he said. “As for my travels, I have been many places in the course of my duties.”

  “Do you have a favorite destination, my lord?” she asked politely.

  He thought a moment, his eyes steady on her. “I saw lands devoid of green when I went to The Levant,” he began. “Land with sand as far as the eye could see. And men with skin as black as tar. But it was warm there, far warmer than England or Wales.”

  Chrystobel’s brown eyes widened. “You went on Richard’s Crusade?”

  He nodded, as if not at all impressed with himself. “I was with the king when he captured Cyprus,” he said without a hint of pride in his tone. “I was in command of the first of four garrisons charged with holding the island for Richard and the French king, Philip Augustus. The island was a place of warm weather almost the entire year. I enjoyed it immensely.”

  Chrystobel was still lingering on the fact that he had gone on crusade with King Richard. She had never met anyone who had actually participated on the legendary crusade that ended five years earlier. He did not seem at all impressed with himself but she certainly was.

  “Forgive me, my lord, if this is not an appropriate subject to speak of,” she said respectfully. “But for a girl who has hardly ventured out of her home, I find the fact that you fought in the Holy Land fascinating. Could I beg you to tell me more stories of your adventures?”

  Keller hadn’t talked of his duty in The Levant since almost the day he had returned. He didn’t like t
o talk about the friends he had lost or the struggles he had endured. They had been unimaginably brutal and difficult. But gazing into Chrystobel’s eager face, he found that he could not deny her request.

  “Well,” he settled back with his wine, thinking a moment. More soldiers clamored into the hall and begin filling up the place with noise and stench, but he didn’t notice. He was focused on Chrystobel’s enthusiastic expression. “The first true battle I saw was outside of a city called Apollonia. It was the first time I saw camels.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Camels?”

  He tried to outline the shape of the animal with his hands. “ ’Tis a strange creature with humps on its back, long legs and big lips. The savages in the Holy Land even sleep with the beasts sometimes. They are treated like pets.”

  She was properly awed. “A camel,” she repeated the odd name, listening to the sound of it. “Do you eat it?”

  He shook his head. “No,” he moved to pour himself more wine as he warmed to the conversation. “The savages ride them, milk them, even race them. They can go for months without drinking water, which is a good thing considering the land does not see rain for months at a time.”

  “Truly?” she was impressed with the animal’s ability to go without water. “What does it eat?”

  “Grass, grain,” Keller looked around. “Speaking of eat, are we to be served? My men have been on the road since before dawn.”

  Chrystobel suddenly leapt up. “My apologies, my lord. I was so swept up in conversation that I… forgive me. I shall see to it immediately.”

  She fled as if the devil himself had just made a request of her. Both Keller and William watched her race off with some astonishment. Wellesbourne turned to Keller.

  “What in the world did you say that would make her run like that?” he wondered out loud. “She was so….”

  “Fearful,” Keller said before William could finish. He thought on her odd reaction a moment before putting it out of his mind. Women, as he’d always known, were strange creatures. He didn’t understand them. He downed a healthy swallow of wine, lingering thoughtfully over the rim. “So what do you think of the place?”

  Wellesbourne turned his attention away from the spooked lady to the hall around them. “Impressive. But where is Nether’s liege?”

  Keller scratched his face and shrugged. “Who knows?” he had more wine. “The man did not greet us when we arrived. Unless he is dead or incapacitated, I am not sure what his excuse is.”

  “Do you suppose he’s hiding?”

  “Bad manners either way.”

  Wellesbourne pursed his lips. “No matter what deal The Marshal made with him, I still say we should be on our guard.”

  The sentence wasn’t yet out of his mouth before they both began to hear a great commotion, rising in the distance like a storm. It wasn’t long before everyone in the hall heard it also and the servants began to scatter. Keller and William turned in the direction of the hall entry, waiting for the storm to announce itself.

  It wasn’t long in coming.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The entry door suddenly blew open and slammed back on its hinges as a big man with blond hair and piercing brown eyes entered the room, bellowing loudly for wine. The servants, already in a panic, fell over themselves to fulfill his request. He slapped a woman who handed him a half-empty goblet, insulted that it was not completely full. As another woman rushed forward to fill the cup, the man continued across the floor towards the dais. His expression was both curious and hostile as he eyed the strangers seated at his table.

  Keller and William instinctively rose to their feet as the man approached. It was a bit of an odd standoff as the young man came to a halt next to the table, his gaze openly inspecting the two knights. They gazed back steadily in return. After a moment of intense dissection by both parties, like dominant cocks preparing for a fight, the young man finally removed his rain-soaked cloak and tossed it off to the nearest cowering servant.

  “I am Gryffyn d’Einen,” he announced. “Who is de Poyer?”

  Keller didn’t like the man’s manner or stance from the very second he entered the hall. There was something arrogant and vain and dark about him. Although handsome and tall, there was something about the man that sang of distaste. Keller couldn’t put his finger on it but he could sense it. It put him on his guard.

  “I am de Poyer,” he replied. “Is Trevyn d’Einen your father?”

  “He is.”

  “Where is he?”

  Gryffyn cocked an arrogant eyebrow. “Indisposed at the moment,” he sat down, eyeing the knights when they continued to stand. “Do you intend to eat standing up?”

  Wellesbourne emitted something of a disapproving growl, looking to Keller for a reaction. Keller’s only reaction was to slowly sit, his eyes riveted to the brash young man. Servants began falling all over themselves in an attempt to serve Gryffyn before anyone else.

  “So,” Gryffyn was the first one at the table to receive a meal in spite of the fact there were guests. “You are to be my sister’s husband, are you not? Then there are things you should know about her. She is sassy and willful. She is also quite disobedient. I hope you are prepared to beat some sense into her.”

  The more Gryffyn talked, the more Keller didn’t like him. “She has shown none of those qualities since we have become acquainted,” he replied evenly. “But you, on the other hand, have so far displayed all of that and more.”

  Gryffyn stopped shoving bread into his mouth and frowned terribly. “What do you mean?” he demanded with his mouth full. “We have only just met.”

  Keller gazed steadily at the man. “Neither you nor your father were in the bailey to greet us when we arrived. That, my lord, is a serious breach of hospitality. We have been here over two hours and you’ve not shown your face until now. When you do, you slap the servants and show a complete lack of courtesy to your guests by eating before they have even been served. More than that, you slander your sister in front of a roomful of strangers. Does this clarify my statement?”

  Gryffyn stopped chewing. His face was lined with outrage, his mouth pressed into a thin, hard line.

  “You have little room to speak of bad manners serving a man who is a murderer and a thief,” he snarled. “You are here because William Marshal wishes to conquer Wales, so you’ll steal my lands and call it a treaty and rape my sister and call it a marriage. It is not I who have shown appalling manners but you and every man like you.”

  By this time, Wellesbourne was on his feet and seriously considering thrashing the young Welshman. George and Aimery had also heard the last part of Gryffyn’s slanderous speech and were posturing furiously, awaiting the word to move forward and pounce. But Keller remained seated, his eyes fixed on the young man. He had no intention of moving a muscle.

  “I wonder what is worse?” Keller ventured calmly. “The murdering thief who makes the offer or the man who knowingly accepts it? You are not penniless or destitute as the result of The Marshal’s proposal. You made a deal with the Devil and are richer for it, so your protests are empty.”

  Gryffyn was so angry that he was pale. Like a predator sighting prey, his gaze narrowed dangerously at Keller, sizing him up. “I did not make a deal with William Marshal. My father did.”

  “But you will benefit, will you not? Lands in Wiltshire, as I recall.”

  Gryffyn’s pale cheeks washed with a hint of color. “I want to take my sister with me when we go.”

  “Your sister stays.”

  Gryffyn’s jaw flexed and his eyes widened with displeasure. Keller remained characteristically calm, expecting the next volley of insults.

  “Why?” Gryffyn demanded. “She will be nothing but a whore to you.”

  “She will be my wife and the Lady of Nether. She stays.”

  Gryffyn wasn’t used to having his wishes denied. He clenched his jaw, bared his teeth, and hurled his cup against the wall over Keller’s head. Deep purple wine splashed on the walls, the cup clatt
ered noisily to the floor, but Keller still refused to move. His gaze was fixed on Gryffyn, realizing the man would not move against him but it would not stop him from throwing a temper tantrum. In the brief conversation that they had, and in the few actions from Gryffyn, Keller realized he was dealing with a very spoiled, very petulant man. And that knowledge gave Keller the distinct advantage.

  “You whoreskin,” Gryffyn hissed. “I should throw you from Nether right now.”

  Keller fought to keep the grin off his face. He didn’t know why, but he sincerely felt like laughing. “Make one move and I shall inform the Marshal. Your land grant will be rescinded and I will keep your castle anyway. You and your father will be penniless and homeless. Is this in any way unclear?”

  Before Gryffyn could reply, Chrystobel entered the hall with several servants trailing after her bearing huge platters of food. She had been given no warning of what was transpiring in the hall and rushed straight to the table with a trencher in her hand. It was intended for Keller but she had to pass near her brother first and Gryffyn threw out a hand, toppling the trencher and spraying it all over his sister.

  The action brought Keller to his feet. He vaulted over the table, grabbing Chrystobel before she could slip and fall onto her face in the mess of food that Gryffyn had created. Wellesbourne flew over the table and clobbered Gryffyn, hurling the man to the ground. As William and Gryffyn began throwing brutal punches, Keller picked up Chrystobel and swept her out of the combat zone. George and Aimery suddenly jumped into the fight and in little time, Gryffyn was barely conscious on the dirt floor of the great hall. William, George and Aimery had made short work of him.

  Keller placed Chrystobel gently on the bench at the end of the table, far from the brawling knights. Covered with meat and gravy, her dark eyes were wide at the sight of her brother wallowing on the ground. George and Aimery got in a couple of good kicks to the belly before Wellesbourne pulled them off and turned them back to the table. William, in fact, didn’t look any worse for the wear. He seemed rather jovial as he, too, turned back to the table and called for his meal. The serving wenches, still stunned from Gryffyn’s beating, struggled to move past their shock and put the food on the table.