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.”
Gryffyn shrugged as he sat back against the cold slate rocks, huddling for warmth against the cold breeze. “What do they have to worry over?” he grunted. “They have the castle. They have nothing to fear.”
Colvyn eyed him. “But they know you escaped.”
“I suppose so. They probably do not care.”
“But they must presume you would go for help.”
Gryffyn shook his head. “Mayhap they would,” he said, blowing on his cold hands. “But why would the gatehouse be open if they presumed that?”
It was a clever question, one designed to make it look as if Gryffyn was just as confused about the open castle as Colvyn was. Colvyn’s gaze lingered on Gryffyn a moment, mulling over the question, before returning his gaze to the castle. Increasingly, something about this wasn’t sitting right with him. True, there were English at Nether, but they were very casual-appearing soldiers for the siege they just put Nether through. More than that, the castle didn’t look damaged in the least as it would have had the English bombarded it. Nay, something wasn’t right about this entire circumstance. He was coming to think that Gryffyn wasn’t telling him everything he knew. Just as he opened his mouth, Gryffyn, who had been studying the castle, suddenly grabbed his arm.
“Look!” he hissed. “See the group of knights riding from the castle?”
Colvyn ducked behind his rock, peering out at the road below. “Aye,” he said after a moment. “Heavily armed Saesneg warriors.”
Gryffyn was watching the group as they headed north on the road. “I count four,” he said. “I only saw four knights before I fled. Is it possible all four are leaving the castle? Where could they be going?”
Colvyn shook his head. “I would not know,” he said, his gaze tracking the four big knights and at least ten men-at-arms as they thundered down the road. “Mayhap we should follow them to discover their business.”
Gryffyn thought on that before his attention turned to the castle. “I have a better idea,” he said. “My sisters… they are still in the castle. Mayhap we should try to rescue them while the knights are away.”
Colvyn looked at him. “In daylight?” he asked as if Gryffyn had made an utterly foolish suggestion. “We would be too easily seen. It would be madness to try.”
“I can try.”
“But the English soldiers know you, do they not?”
“Not all of them.”
Colvyn wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. His gaze was intense on Gryffyn. “Why is it important to you to rescue them?” he asked. “I have known you for many years, Gryffyn. Chrystobel and Izlyn have never meant anything to you. Why would you risk yourself to go in after them?”
Gryffyn didn’t want to tell him the truth, that he wanted to slip in and kill them both and then blame their murders on the English. It would be a good way to incite rebellion within the Welsh. With the knights away, it was perfect timing and he could hardly believe the good fortune.
“Stay here, then, if it pleases you,” Gryffyn said, gathering his cloak as he began to move out from between the rocks. “I am going to see if I can gain entry to Nether.”
Colvyn regarded him dubiously. “Not to save your sisters.”
Gryffyn cocked a blond eyebrow. “I am not for certain yet,” he muttered. “I will know better when I get there.”
Colvyn watched him go, quite convinced now that Gryffyn wasn’t telling him everything. There was something very secretive and ominous about him. The further the man moved away from him, the more wary he became. Perhaps he shouldn’t be here. Perhaps Gryffyn had lured him into danger intentionally.
Still, the English were there for some reason, and Colvyn wanted to know that reason. As Gryffyn made his way down the slippery hill and headed for Nether Castle, Colvyn and a few of his men made their way back to their shaggy ponies, horses that were starting to grow their heavy winter coats, and spurred their mounts after the English riders that had headed off to the north. He wanted to follow their trail and see what business they had.
He was very curious, indeed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
And suddenly, I know that it is time to start something new
And trust the magic of a new beginning.
My heart may be broken, but it is not destroyed.
; My soul may be injured, but it is not shattered.
When I look at you, I see all things bright and pure.
I see the magic of a new beginning with you.
Chrystobel had read the note at least ten times. She was reading it again even now, thinking that it was perhaps the most wonderful note she had ever read. It made her feel warm and fluid and giddy inside. Seated on her father’s bed, surrounded by a half-packed trunk as she finished storing away the man’s possessions, she couldn’t take her eyes off the faded yellow parchment. After she’d read it a twelfth time, she looked up at Izlyn.
“You are sure that Keller composed this?” she said, holding up the scrap. “This is your writing. Moreover, it is in English.”
Izlyn nodded frantically and made motions that would indicated someone had spoken the words to her and told her to write it. It took Chrystobel a minute or so to figure out what her sister was gesturing about. She looked back at the parchment again.
“These are beautiful words,” she admitted. “Truly, he told you to write this to me?”
Izlyn nodded firmly. When Chrystobel looked up at her, the girl grinned and wrapped her arms around her body as if demonstrating something very romantic. Izlyn hugged herself dramatically and Chrystobel grinned.
“You silly little goat,” she said. “You like him, don’t you?”
Again, Izlyn nodded and Chrystobel sighed heavily. Her face took on a distant expression as she stood up, moving pensively towards one of the three lancet windows in the room. Reaching the window, she leaned against the sill, noting the puffy clouds and damp wind. Thoughts of Keller were heavy on her mind.
“I like him, too,” she sighed. “I just wish he had not lied to me.”
Izlyn raced from the room. Chrystobel turned in time to see her sister disappear out into the landing. She could hear the girl across the hall in the other chamber, shuffling around. She had no idea what her sister was doing and returned her attention to the landscape beyond the window.
After her rage of the morning, she had calmed somewhat, wondering if perhaps she had been too hard on Keller. Unfortunately, trust was a powerful issue with her. She had so little of it and what little she did have, she had pinned on Keller, only to be disappointed. He’d tried to explain why he had not returned to her but she had been too angry and too stubborn to listen. She had been regretting her behavior somewhat when Izlyn presented her with what she said was a message from Keller. Now, Chrystobel was feeling especially bad for being so unkind to the man. She hoped he would be receptive to speaking with her when he returned from Machynlleth.
Behind her, Izlyn came rushing back into the room with her hands full of scraps of vellum. This was normal with her. Since she could not speak, she wrote her conversations, something that had infuriated Gryffyn because he figured if she could write, then she could speak. Izlyn scooted to her sister and handed her the first of several pieces of parchment in her hand, of all different shapes and sizes. Some even had previous conversations on them crossed out. Chrystobel read the note on the piece of vellum.
Mae’r seidr yn gwneud iddo gysgu. Yr oedd eich bai nad oedd yn dod yn ôl
The cider made him sleep. It was your fault he did not come back.
Chrystobel’s eyebrows rose as she finished reading the note and looked at her sister. “Did he tell you that?”
Izlyn nodded seriously. Then she rifled through the notes on in her hand before she came to the one she wanted and handed it to her sister. There were other notes on the scrap, crossed out, so it took her a moment to find the most current note.
Mae’n ddrwg iawn. Yr ydych yn gwneud iddo drist.
He is very sorry. You made him sad.
Chrystobel finished reading the note and looked to her sister with a good deal of remorse. “I was angry,” she said. Then she grew serious. “I… I suppose I did not want to know disappointment with Keller. Izzie, no man has ever been good to us. Father did what he could but it was a weak effort at best. Always weak. And Gryffyn… I swear to you that I will never mention his name again, not ever. You and I survived his torment and I swear that we will move on and have normal lives now. I believe Keller will make that so for us and… and when he promised he would return and then didn’t, I suppose I was horribly disappointed. We do not need yet another man to disappoint us and treat us with disrespect.”
Izlyn was watching her sister closely. She was an extremely sensitive girl, deep feeling and intuitive. Gryffyn had scarred her badly but he had not ruined her. Even being away from him for so short a time, just a few short hours, had seen her bounce back admirably. With the terror removed from her world, it had made all the difference. She was young and she was resilient. She also understood that her sister was feeling a good deal of turmoil and she wanted to help.
As Chrystobel struggled with her guilt and her burdens, Izlyn shuffled through the scraps of parchment in her hand and picked one, extending it to her sister. Chrystobel took the torn fragment of parchment and read the note.
Rwy’n credu y bydd yn dy garu di
I think he will love you.
Chrystobel shook her head quickly and averted her gaze. “Nay,” she muttered. “Please do not say that. It is foolish, do you hear?”
Izlyn smiled knowingly at her sister, suspecting that she had struck a nerve. She knew her sister was growing fond of her new husband. Love was a fool’s dream. It was every girl’s dream. She went over to Chrystobel and put her arms around her waist, hugging her. Softened, Chrystobel hugged her sister tightly for a moment before quickly pulling away.
“Look at your fingers,” she scolded gently. “All stained with ink. Go wash your hands.”
Izlyn simply grinned as Chrystobel pushed her away. She pretended to resist, feigning wiping her fingers on the stone walls. Chrystobel finally swatted her harmlessly on the arse.
“Go,” she insisted, pointing to the chamber across the hall where she knew there was some water and lumpy white soap. “Wash your hands off and then you can come back here and help me.”
Izlyn wasn’t in any hurry to do what she was told. There was a lightness in the air that hadn’t been there before, the joy of a positive future. Keller had done that for them. As she neared the chamber door, she abruptly came to a halt. Chrystobel was returning to her packing when she saw Izlyn jump up and down, pointing frantically to the landing outside. Curious, Chrystobel made her way over to see what had her sister so excited.
As soon as she neared the chamber door, she could hear it. Someone was calling her name, a respectful male voice floating up through the dim stairwell. Peering at Izlyn with some concern, as if the girl could tell her who it was that was summoning her, she exited the chamber and made her way down the steep, narrow steps to the first floor below.
It was a bit brighter on this level because the entry door was open, and George immediately came into view. He was standing near the open door, smiling politely at her, but he wasn’t alone. A massive knight with a bald head and enormous shoulders was standing with him. Chrystobel recognized Sir Gart Forbes, a man she had been introduced to the previous night, but she focused on George.
“Greetings, Sir George,” she said courteously. “Did you summon me?”
George nodded. “I did, Lady de Poyer,” he said. “I did not want to come up to the living level without having been invited, especially with Sir Keller away.”
Chrystobel nodded. “Of course,” she agreed with his sense of propriety. “What can I do for you?”
George indicated Gart. “You remember Sir Gart?”
Chrystobel nodded, locking gazes with the massive warrior. “Indeed,” she said. “Good day to you, Sir Gart.”
Gart nodded his head but remained silent. There was something extraordinarily intimidating about the man but she didn’t sense evil. She sensed a man who was simply no-nonsense and serious, a very big man with very big weapons. He was English to the core, much like her husband, men she had been taught to hate. Odd thing was, given her experiences wit
h Gryffyn and Keller over the past couple of days, she was coming to see the English as far less dangerous than the Welsh. Still, Gart was a bit scary. She returned her attention to George.
“My husband has gone into town to make arrangements for my father’s funeral,” she said.
George nodded. “I am aware, Lady de Poyer,” he replied. “Before he left, Sir Keller asked me to come to you to seek what manner of coffin you wish for your father. He wants to know if there are any craftsmen at the castle who can make one.”
Chrystobel cocked her head in thought, coming off the stairs as she thought on her answer. As she moved towards George, Izlyn, who had been standing behind her on the stairs, also came off the steps. Instead of following her sister, however, she seemed very interested in Gart. As the big knight stood politely just inside the doorway, Izlyn walked up to him and inspected him with great interest.
“We have a carpenter who works in the stables,” Chrystobel said as Izlyn scrutinized Gart. “He repairs or builds things as needed. Shall I take you to him?”
George shook his head. “I would not want to trouble you, my lady.”
Chrystobel waved him off. “No trouble at all,” she said. Then she wriggled her eyebrows ironically. “Besides, the man does not speak any English, so I will have to translate unless you speak Welsh.”
George shook his head. “I do not, my lady.”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 102
