Keller was still looking around even as he made his way to the great hall’s entry, a massive oak panel that was braced with a great iron cage for stability and protection. He was increasingly concerned that he couldn’t seem to locate her in the big expanse of the bailey.
“Do you suppose she went looking for Trevyn?” he wondered, turning to look at William. “You had him removed from the hall, didn’t you?”
William nodded. “I had some soldiers take him away,” he replied. “They said they would take him to the storage area near the stables until we could decide what to do with him.”
Keller sighed sharply. “I do not want her stumbling upon anyone who can tell her what happened,” he muttered. Then he hissed a curse. “I should have gone directly to her chamber when I left the hall but I paused to speak with George and Aimery. Then we started discussing the inventory in the armory. I sincerely hope my foolish delay does not cost me more than just the time spent.”
William was looking over to the keep, straining for a glimpse of a blond head. “She could not have gone far,” he said. “Do you suppose she went back to her chamber?”
Keller pointed in the direction of the keep. “Go and see,” he instructed. “I will see if she is in the hall. In fact….”
He was cut off by the faint sound of a scream. It was muted, and vague, and he came to an abrupt halt, looking around the bailey as if to discover the source.
“Did you hear that?” he asked William, curiously.
Wellesbourne nodded. He, too, was looking around the bailey for the origins of the distant scream. “I did,” he said. “It sounded like a woman.”
Keller was on edge. “Where did it come from?” he demanded. Then, he pushed William in the direction of the keep. “See if it came from the keep. Run.”
William was off, racing across the mucky bailey, as Keller turned in the direction of Tower Night. George and Aimery were still standing in the doorway and he motioned to them.
“Kidds!” he bellowed. “To me!”
The twins came running, their youthful energy cracking in the early morning air, the feisty young men looking for excitement. Keller opened his mouth to speak when another scream, this one very loud and frightening, pierced the air.
Keller whirled in the direction of the great hall. It seemed to come from there. He broke into a sprint, closing the distance to the great hall in a matter of seconds. The Ashby-Kidd twins were on his heels, all of them barreling into the great hall. George and Aimery were moving so fast that Aimery actually tripped over George and crashed to his knees. What they saw immediately upon entering the dark and smelly chamber shocked them all to the bone.
Keller was throwing himself at Gryffyn before he even realized he was moving.
CHAPTER NINE
The blow to the jaw sent Gryffyn reeling.
Sprawled on the rough oak planks of the great hall, Gryffyn shook the stars from his eyes and looked up to see the big English knight moving in for another blow.
Keller had fists the size of a man’s head, but Gryffyn was fast. He managed to roll out of the way and leap to his feet although his balance was off and he ended up bashing into the corner of the hearth. But Keller was coming in for another blow and Gryffyn threw himself to his left, away from his sister’s enraged husband. He knew, by the look in the man’s eye, that he meant to kill him.
Gryffyn tried to lash out a fist at Keller, but the knight was just too fast and too strong. Keller grabbed Gryffyn’s fist, twisted, and ended up snapping his wrist. Gryffyn fell to his knees, screaming in pain as Keller stood over him in a huffing and furious stance. His dusky eyes were smoldering with fury.
“So you have been hiding here all along, waiting for the proper moment to strike,” Keller hissed. “You are a coward of a man, d’Einen – a wretched and vile coward. Now that I finally have you, I intend to do what should have been done long ago.”
Holding his wrist, Gryffyn glared at Keller with eyes as dark as obsidian. “If I am a coward, then you are a fool,” he growled. “You cannot stop me. Nether and everything in it belongs to me, including my sister!”
It was the wrong thing to say. Keller reached out and used his fist to hammer on Gryffyn’s broken wrist, sending the man into howls of pain. But Keller was immune to it. His focus was both deadly and intense as he watched Gryffyn squirm.
“She is my wife now and I swear, by all that is holy, that you shall never lay another hand on her again,” Keller rumbled. “I knew someone was beating her but she would not directly tell me who it was. For all of the pain and humiliation you have cast upon her, she still protected you. God knows why, but she did. How long was this going on before I came, d’Einen? How long have you been beating on helpless women to make you feel more like a man?”
Cradling his wrist against his chest, Gryffyn was in a world of hurt. “You bastard,” he grunted. “You come to my castle in all of your haughty, conquering glory and married my sister because my weak and foolish father made a pact with the Devil.”
Keller’s eyes blazed. “William Marshal has nothing to do with you taking your fists to your sister.”
“You only married her to gain a castle. Do not act as if she means something to you!”
“It does not matter if she means something to me.” Keller was struggling not to wrap his hands around the man’s neck, although he knew, eventually, that it would come to that. It was just a feeling he had. “She is my wife and I will protect her. I will tell you this now, Gryffyn d’Einen, so there is no misunderstanding. If you so much as look at her in a hostile manner again, I will run you through. Make no mistake. If you touch her again, I will kill you.”
Gryffyn wasn’t used to being questioned or disciplined. He had always done as he pleased. Deep down, he was a spoiled little boy with a spoiled little mind. With a growl, he propelled himself off the floor and charged Keller with all of his furious might. Keller easily reached out a massive fist and caught Gryffyn on the side of the head, knocking the man silly. Gryffyn fell on his bad wrist, collapsed in a heap, and began to bellow.
Keller gazed at the man, not at all sorry for the pain and suffering he was feeling. Had Keller possessed any less self-control, the man would be wallowing in a pool of his own blood. He deserved all of the justified agony and more. In fact, Keller was purposely making the man suffer. He wanted him to feel the pain he had inflicted upon Chrystobel, and upon his family, for untold years. He wanted Gryffyn to feel the humiliation and hurt. As Gryffyn writhed in agony, Keller turned to his wife.
Chrystobel had managed to crawl over to the hearth and now sat propped up against the wall, her dark eyes wide with shock. Keller’s appearance at the most opportune time had been startling enough, but watching her husband pound her brother was a vision of violence and retribution that she never thought she would live to see. Gryffyn was finally subdued and Keller was the reason, protecting her as he had sworn to do. He was a man of his word, English or no. The realization was almost more than she could bear and she gazed at the man, seeing him through entirely new eyes.
This wasn’t the same knight she had met the day before, the man who had shown little to no warmth. That Keller de Poyer was an efficient, humorless man who, she was sure, had viewed her just as he viewed Nether Castle; as an acquisition. The big knight with the wide shoulders and enormous hands hadn’t treated her with anything more than polite respect until this moment in time. Having seen Gryffyn preparing to pounce on her was all Keller needed to unleash his fury against the man, as if Chrystobel meant something to him. As if he was protecting something dear. It had been a truly awesome sight to behold and she was still quite stunned by it all.
As his brother-in-law moaned on the floor several feet away, Keller had eyes only for Chrystobel. She was such a lovely creature. He’d known that from the moment he had first laid eyes on her. But the pain in his heart from a love lost had prevented him from seeing beyond his fear. Fear of feeling, fear of opening himself up again. Chrystobel was a bea
utiful angel he had never expected to know and now, he could feel himself relenting. He could feel himself warming, perhaps willing to open himself up again. The very moment he had saved her life was the moment he started to let himself feel something.
He crouched down beside her as she sat against the wall, his rugged face, worn by the years and the weather, creased with concern.
“Are you badly injured?” he asked softly.
The buzzing in Chrystobel’s head had eased considerably. “Nay,” she said softly, gazing into his eyes and feeling hope and relief in her chest such as she had never before experienced. “I am well enough.”
Keller’s gaze drifted over her head, her face, as if he didn’t believe her. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly. “I can send for a physic.”
Chrystobel smiled faintly, reaching out to put a hand on his arm in a reassuring gesture. “That is not necessary,” she said, sighing quietly. “I will admit that my head does ache a bit, but food and rest will cure me, I am sure.”
He stared at her a moment before lifting his enormous hands and gently cupped her face. As Chrystobel looked into his eyes, her heart thumping madly against her ribs, she could feel the emotion pouring from the man. It was as if a dam had burst and everything that had been held back was finally gushing out. Sir Keller de Poyer was cold no more, and it was an astonishing realization.
“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I am sorry you had to endure what your brother did to you. But I swear, with God as my witness, that he will never touch you again.”
Chrystobel was at a loss for words, her breathing unsteady as his thumbs began to stroke her silken skin. It was the first time he had touched her and her senses were understandably overwhelmed.
“It was simply the way of things, my lord,” she murmured. “It has been going on so long that I have known little else.”
Keller’s face hardened. “No more,” he rumbled. “He is a dead man if he so much as looks at you in a way I do not like. Do you believe me?”
Chrystobel nodded, though she hardly dared to truly believe. “Aye.”
His gentle smile returned. “Good.” He fought off the sudden urge to kiss her, not wanting the first genuine kiss between them to be a public spectacle. He was rather shy and conservative that way. Moreover, there was something more she needed to know, something very serious. He braced himself.
“I must also apologize for something else,” he said hesitantly. “Your father….”
Chrystobel cut him off by a nod of the head, tears popping to her eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “Gryffyn told me.”
“He admitted to killing him?”
“Aye,” she confirmed. “The blood on the floor… is it his?”
Keller nodded, watching her sorrowful expression. “Aye,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry that I was unable to prevent it.”
Chrystobel struggled to control her tears, thinking on her father, the man who was supposed to protect her but never did. Although she was sorry for his loss, she couldn’t seem to muster true grief for his passing. Had the man ever prevented Gryffyn from having his own way in all things, perhaps she would have felt differently, but at the moment she felt somewhat guilty that she wasn’t more distraught.
“You are not responsible,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “You did what you could. You saved me, in fact, and I thank you for that.”
Keller’s dusky eyes glimmered. “It is one of the better things that I have done in my life.”
She smiled at the first truly warm moment between them. “I am particularly grateful for your keen sense of timing,” she said. “A few seconds later and I might not have been so grateful. Or alive.”
He winked at her and dropped his hands from her face, moving to take her two small hands within his big palms. He kissed them both sweetly, tenderly, as a promise of things to come. Now, it would be different between them. Gryffyn had, if nothing else, accomplished that.
“If you can stand, mayhap we should go and check on your sister,” Keller said. “I am sure you are anxious to see her.”
Chrystobel nodded, glancing at Gryffyn as the man sat up with the Ashby-Kidd twins standing several feet away from him, watching every move the man made.
“I am,” she said, eyeing her brother warily. “What are you going to do with him?”
The warmth in Keller’s eyes faded as he looked over his shoulder at the Welshman, who was holding his broken wrist awkwardly against his torso. His expression suggested anger, defeat, and defiance. Even with the broken wrist, Keller could still see fight in the man. After a moment, he returned his gaze to Chrystobel.
“Lock him in the vault,” he said. “The man has much to atone for so I hope you will trust me to make the appropriate judgment.”
“Of course, my lord.”
His gaze lingered on her a moment, thoughts turning from Gryffyn back to her. He liked thinking of her much better. “You will call me Keller,” he said quietly. “Or husband. I will answer to whatever you choose to call me.”
A beautiful smile spread across her face. She had a delightful grin with straight, white teeth and slightly prominent canines. “I would be honored to call you Keller,” she said sincerely.
He was just about to release her hands but thought better of it as she spoke. The glimmer returned to his eyes.
“I like hearing you say my name,” he said honestly.
Her smile broadened even more, if such a thing was possible. “Then I shall say it again,” she whispered. “Keller.”
He kissed her hand again, smiling when she giggled. In the midst of this hellish situation, it was a tender moment that saw something of a relationship between them take hold. A spark had ignited, and Keller was again thinking on kissing her lips, privacy be damned, when he heard scuffling behind him. Before he could turn around, something violent and painful rammed into the right side of his torso.
He pitched forward as Chrystobel screamed, struggling to keep him from falling even as he collapsed onto his bum. Horrified, they could both see the dagger jutting from his right side, about a foot below his armpit. And there was a hand on it.
Gryffyn stood behind Keller, his good hand on the hilt of the dirk as he crammed it into the man’s flesh. Ripping it from Keller’s body, he pushed the man aside and aimed for his sister with the blade held high, but Chrystobel threw herself sideways, out of his line of fire, and Gryffyn’s blade came down on the wall behind her.
Screaming, Chrystobel was barely out of the way when the Ashby-Kidd twins pounced on Gryffyn. It was a bad fight from the onset, with fists flying, feet kicking and Keller somewhere underneath it all. The knife that had gored Keller fell to the floor in the process and Gryffyn began to howl as his broken wrist was further injured.
Chrystobel, meanwhile, had lurched to her feet, trying to keep free of the fighting men as she skirted the battle, attempting to find Keller in the chaos. It was difficult because all four of them were rolling about, throwing punches and grunting, and she could see a thin trail of blood on the stone that must have been from Keller. Horrified, she attempted to stay clear of the fight.
“Keller?” she cried. “God’s Bones, Keller!”
He didn’t answer but she could see that he had Gryffyn by his good arm, twisting it. It was as much as he could do given the position he found himself in, laying on his chest with three other men on top of him. George had Gryffyn around the neck while Aimery was fighting off the effect of a kick straight to the face. As Aimery fell back, hand to a bloodied nose, Gryffyn reared his head back and head-butted George. As George staggered, Gryffyn rolled off of Keller and scrambled to his feet, falling to his knees before scrambling up again.
It looked like a panicked flight of a man who knew his life expectancy was only counted in minutes now. Deep down, Gryffyn was a coward. He knew he was out-manned and the eventual outcome would not be in his favor. He had to get away from the knights who were intent on killing him. He ran straight to the hearth and shoved open the servant d
oor, bolting through it as George, followed by a bleeding Aimery, went in pursuit. Chrystobel could hear the scuffling and shouting as they ran off.
With the fight having moved on without him, Keller was struggling to push himself up off the floor as Chrystobel raced to his side, trying to steady the man. Horrified, she could see deep red blood staining the right side of his tunic and leaking onto his mail.
“Keller,” she gasped. “Stay down. Let me look at your injury.”
He shook his head as he attempted to get to his feet. “Later,” he grunted. “I must go after your brother.”
Chrystobel had her hand on his shoulders, trying to keep him from rising. “You are in no condition to go after him,” she said, sounding as if she were scolding. “Your knights are in pursuit. He will not get away.”
Keller was on his knees, looking up at her and realizing she was more than likely correct. He trusted George and Aimery to subdue Gryffyn. More than that, he didn’t feel particularly well. If he were to go after Gryffyn, he would only be a hindrance. Frustrated, he sighed heavily.
“Then I should find Wellesbourne at the very least,” he said. “He must know what has happened.”
“We will find him in a moment,” Chrystobel insisted. “You must let me tend your wound.”
Keller didn’t seem particularly concerned about it. “It is not too severe,” he said, although his lips were pale with shock. “I would wager that a few stitches should take care of it.”
He was trying to stand up and no amount of pushing could force him to remain down, so Chrystobel got him by the arm and pulled him over to the bench next to the feasting table. He sat heavily as she pulled away layers of clothing and mail to get to the puncture wound. Keller tried to hold her off but she wouldn’t be dissuaded. Eventually, he gave up trying and sat there as she finally revealed the wound. He heard her sigh heavily at the sight.
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