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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  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 mending 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.

  As Izlyn ran up to him to see what he had for her, she didn’t expect the exquisite necklace that he held up in the light. In fact, it rather confused her until he motioned for her to turn around so he could put the necklace on her. Chrystobel went to retrieve her polished bronze mirror and she held it up for her sister as Keller placed the necklace on her slender collarbone.

  Izlyn’s eyes widened at the beautiful necklace. To her, pearls and garnets looked like the greatest treasure of the most favored queen. She felt beautiful and regal in a way she’d never felt before and she fingered the necklace, awestruck, before looking to Keller in shock. He smiled at the girl, nodding his head.

  “It is for you,” he said. “Do you like it?”

  Izlyn was overwhelmed with the gift. She threw her arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly before swiftly releasing him and darting off. Her right hand remained on the necklace while the left hand held the marvelous scarf. They were gifts beyond compare to a girl who had known so little generosity. As Keller and Chrystobel watched, Izlyn snatched the mirror from her sister and stood close to one of the lancet windows, inspecting her necklace in the weak morning light. The look on her face was all of the thanks Keller needed.

  “She is madly in love with the necklace,” Chrystobel said softly, turning to her husband. Her expression was deeply sincere. “Thank you for making her so happy. If I were not already married to you, I would marry you now just to show my gratitude.”

  He gave her a lazy smile. “And I would let you,” he said, giving her a saucy wink that made her giggle. Then he turned back around to the remaining items on the wooden chest and pulled forth a corked gourd and an alabaster phial. He extended them both to her. “The small phial is perfume and the larger container is something called ‘waters’. It is used for washing hands or cleansing. It even has some medicinal purposes. I thought you might like it.”

  Curious, Chrystobel took both items, inspecting the containers before setting the gourd down on the nearest table so she could smell the perfume. The scent made her gasp aloud with joy and she immediately put it on her arms and neck, just so she could smell it every time she moved. Setting the perfume down, she then popped the cork on the gourd and smelled the fragrant waters inside.

  It was a pungent smell, strong and earthy. She looked at Keller curiously. “And I am supposed to wash my hands with this?”

  He nodded. “That is what the merchant said,” he replied. “You may wash your hands and face with it, he said. It is also good to drink for medicinal purposes.”

  “What kind of medicinal purposes?”

  He shrugged. “Of that, I did not ask,” he said. “But there is wine in it, so mayhap it is used to settle nerves or for general malaise.”

  She grinned as she sniffed the gourd again but decided against tasting it. As she sniffed it again, she caught a whiff of Keller’s slightly rotted scent as the result of his clothes being unable to properly dry after being caught in the rain yesterday. He smelled most foul and a thought occurred to her. She went in search of a bowl.

  “Mayhap you should be the first person to try this,” she said. “Mayhap you would like to wash before we leave?”

  He frowned. “I bought that water for you.”

  She smiled brightly. “And I am sharing it with you,” she said, not wanting to offend him but thinking that at least a quick washing and a change of clothes was in order. “Would you not allow me the privilege of helping you to wash?”

  He just looked at her, a vaguely wry expression on his face. “I am sure it is not necessary.”

  Chrystobel wrinkled her nose, trying desperately to couch what she was trying to say. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite come up with a tactful approach.

  “I realize that you were caught in the rain yesterday and your clothes have not been properly dried,” she said, “but you smell a bit…”

  She trailed off and he lifted his eyebrows to encourage her. “Wet?”

>   “Rotted.”

  He cocked his head but there was a smile on his lips. “Rotted, am I?” he said. Then he shrugged his big shoulders again. “Then mayhap I had better wash so I do not shame my well-dressed wife. But my clothes are upstairs where Rhys and Gart are sleeping, I believe. On the day I arrived, I took most of my possessions up there. I shall retrieve clean clothing and return.”

  He quit the room and they could hear his big boot falls heading up to the second floor above them. Chrystobel, wanting to be alone with her husband in order to help him bathe, sent Izlyn off on an errand to the kitchens to pack some food for their journey, simply to get the girl out of the room. Izlyn went happily with her lovely necklace and beautiful scarf. By the time Keller returned, Chrystobel had poured the “waters” into a big bowl and was awaiting him. He closed the door behind him, tossing the clean tunic onto the bed.

  “I brought my razor,” he said, holding up what looked like a dirk in a sheath. “I have a feeling I could use a shave as well.”

  Chrystobel smiled. “You do look a bit ragged.”

  With a grin, Keller pulled the smelly tunic off and tossed it to the ground. “Then I am in your hands, Lady de Poyer. Do with me as you will.”

  She did. She had Keller bend over the table, over the big bowl of scented water, and proceeded to scrub him with a horsehair brush she had that was used solely for bathing. She also used a bar of lumpy white soap that smelled of roses because it was the only thing she had, and she scrubbed the man’s head, face, and upper torso with it. Using a linen rag, she wiped the soap off his skin, rinsed out his hair with the heavily-scented “waters”, and proceeded to use the soap on his face again to lather up his beard. But that was where she stopped.

  “You will have to shave yourself,” she said. “I have never shaved a man before.”

  His dusky eyes glittered. “Then perhaps you should learn,” he told her, removing the razor from its sheath. He handed it to her. “I will sit down. The best way for you to learn is to stand over me, with my head against your belly, and drag the blade up my face towards you.”

  Chrystobel wasn’t too sure about it but she did as he asked. When he was seated, she came up behind him and he rested his head back against her breasts. Holding his chin with her left hand, she proceeded to drag the sharp razor up his left cheek, scraping off a portion of his beard. With a few more drags, she grew confident and proceeded to very carefully shave his entire face without a single nick. She even shaved his neck. Thrilled at her first attempt, she used more of the “waters” to wipe off his face, cleaning it of the slimy soap, and stood back to inspect her handiwork.

  It took Chrystobel a moment to realize that it was the first time she had ever seen her husband clean-shaven. His skin was rough and weathered, but removing the sprouting beard gave her a clear view of his full, smooth lips and square jaw. She found the entire vision extremely handsome and her heart beat perhaps just a bit faster in her bosom. Keller didn’t have the overt beauty that Rhys had, or the smoldering sensuality that Gart had, or even the gentle good-looks that William had, but he certainly had something that made her heart race.

  “Well?” Keller said, breaking into her train of thought. “Am I presentable yet?”

  Chrystobel nodded, setting the damp linen rag onto the table. “You are indeed,” she said. “Thank you for allowing me to help you bathe.”

  He stood up, picked up his tunic from the bed, and bent over to kiss her gently on the lips. “My thanks to you, Lady de Poyer,” he murmured against her mouth, kissing her again because she tasted so good. “I have a feeling this will not be the last time.”

  Chrystobel blushed furiously, giving in to his kisses so much that when he pulled away to put the tunic over his head, she nearly fell over. She had to catch herself. A bit addle-brained from his sweet kiss, she struggled to focus, collecting the wet linen and taking the bowl of used water and setting it aside so the servants could use it. Soapy, fragranced water, even though it had been used by the lord, was a prized commodity to the servants who liked to bathe in the sweet-smelling water as well.

  As Keller straightened out his tunic and ran his fingers through his dark, damp hair, Chrystobel went to her dressing table and collected the emerald and pearl necklace he had given her. Holding it out to him, he fastened it around her neck and she put her new pale green scarf over her head, draping it elegantly over the single, heavy braid that cascaded over her right shoulder. When she collected the dark brown cloak on the bed, the one she had been mending, and turned to Keller to signal she was ready to depart, he just stood there and looked at her for a moment.

  “By God’s Bloody Rood,” he muttered. “You are by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

  Chrystobel blushed. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, bobbing a little curtsy for him. “It is the necklace, I am sure.”

  He shook his head, giving her a somewhat reproving look. “It has nothing to do with the necklace,” he said. “You could be dressed in rags and you would still be the most beautiful woman in Wales.”

  Chrystobel didn’t know what to say. She was unused to flattery in any form, so she simply grinned demurely and lowered her gaze. Keller reached out and took her hand, kissing it sweetly.

  “There is a morning meal awaiting us in the great hall,” he said, his voice low and gentle. It was so deep that it was nearly a purr. “May I escort you, Lady de Poyer.”

  Chrystobel lifted her eyes to him, her expression shining up at the man. “I would be honored, my lord,” she replied.

  Keller kissed her hand again before escorting her from the room. In fact, his hands never left her the entire time – down the stairs, out of the entry, or across the bailey. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, as if finally realizing she belonged to him. No more emotional walls to break down, no more fear of heartbreak. He’d passed that milestone long ago. Chrystobel had managed to heal what the widow had broken. And Keller knew he was better for it.

  He felt whole again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Machynlleth

  The sun was just starting to rise over the eastern hills that flanked the small berg of Machynlleth. The River Dovey ran to the north and the River Dulas ran to the east, while hills surrounded the town for the most part, enclosing and protecting it. It had been those hills that had masked the Welsh raiders who had attacked the English the day before, and even now they still held Welsh rebels. Only today, there were more, and they were waiting for the English from Nether Castle to make another appearance.

  Gryffyn had managed to confiscate a small home on the edge of town by thrashing the farmer, his wife, and their young son who normally inhabited it, throwing them out into the dead of night. He needed their abode far more than they did as a place to conceal more Welsh who had come down from Castell Malwydd, men who served Colvyn but who were more interested in food, money, and shelter than the great Welsh resistance against the English. Gryffyn had to promise those men a cut of whatever wealth they confiscated off the English this day, should it come to that, so men had gathered on the southern edge of Machynlleth, heavily armed, and waiting for the funeral procession of Trevyn d’Einen to appear. Once the small farmer’s home was full of Welshmen, the rest spilled over into the fields beyond until over one hundred Welshmen lay in wait in the cold and in the dark, waiting for the word to come down from Gryffyn d’Einen to move into the town.

  Inside the home with its warm fire and sturdy walls, Gryffyn sat at a small table with Colvyn on the opposite side of him. After hearing Chrystobel discuss plans to bury Trevyn at St. Peter’s Church, it had taken a good deal of persuasion to convince Colvyn to return to Machynlleth for another try at the English, mostly because Colvyn’s first try against the English had resulted in six dead men with a seventh man dying later that day of his wounds.

  Like most Welsh, Colvyn’s tactics were hit and run, not great organized armies to fend off invaders. After his skirmish with Keller and the English, Colvyn was not eage
r to take them on again, but Gryffyn had been influential. He was sure with enough men they could easily overcome a funeral party.

  “It might make more sense to try and penetrate Nether Castle while the English are in town attending a funeral,” Colvyn said as he toyed with a cup of stale ale, also stolen from the farmer. “You said you were able to slip into the castle via a concealed passage. Why can we not take fifty men and use the same passage? We could take the castle that way.”

  Gryffyn shook his head. “You saw how many English were at Nether,” he reminded him. “Fifty men would do nothing against that horde. Nay, it is best to catch them out in the open, here in the town, where they will more than likely have my sisters with them because they will be attending our father’s funeral. That is what we are ultimately after, is it not? My sisters?”

  Colvyn wasn’t entirely sure what they were after any longer. Gryffyn seemed to have taken control of everything, including his men by promising them the spoils of war, and he wasn’t happy about it in the least. Gryffyn’s motives were still unclear, especially his obsession with regaining sisters that, under normal circumstances, he had no use for. Now, Colvyn was no longer leading his men. It was Gryffyn and his promises of riches and vengeance against the English. As Gryffyn asked the final question, Colvyn simply shook his head.

  “I am not entirely sure what is important to you any longer,” he muttered. “You went to the church earlier today to ask the priests about the funeral and when they told you what they knew, you killed all of them. You killed men of God.”

  Gryffyn remained cool. “Because they would have told de Poyer I had been there,” he said. “It would have put the man on his guard.”

  Colvyn hissed in frustration. “What difference does that make?” he demanded. “If you truly want to save your sisters, then it would be much easier to slip into the castle and steal them away. As it stands, you have us attacking a convoy of heavily armed knights. This cannot end well, Gryffyn. Or is it feeding your pride to do this?”