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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “This is the last time,” he said, his voice low and hazardous. “We will not attack the English again. Twice we have tried and twice we have been defeated. There will not be a third time, at least with the amount of men I have. This is a task for a much bigger army than what I have.”

  Gryffyn could see his cause slipping away. He could not lose Colvyn’s support, not now. He could not face defeat in any fashion and quickly, his mind began to cook up an alternative scheme. The English were too powerful against the under-armed Welsh. Other than a massive Welsh army, which was highly unlikely, Gryffyn had to be smarter than de Poyer. There had to be another way to best him.

  In the past, Gryffyn had free reign of Nether and it was easy to do what he wanted to with his sisters. Beat them, jail them… he could do as he wished. Now, de Poyer was there to protect them… he was there. What if de Poyer was not at Nether? An idea began to bloom, forming in desperation because Gryffyn could not let this go. He could not fail!

  “There is a simple way to solve this issue once and for all,” Gryffyn said, saying it loud enough so that Colvyn’s men could hear. “The English have already proven that they can best us in combat, so we must choose another tactic. If force does not work, then mayhap a lack of force will. Mayhap it will be as simple as walking into the castle, regaining my sisters, and reclaiming the wealth that the English have stolen from me.”

  Colvyn wasn’t agreeing with him. “This is another trick, d’Einen,” he muttered. “You speak in foolish riddles.”

  Gryffyn shook his head violently. “I am not, I assure you,” he said passionately. “There is a secret passage by which to enter Nether. I used it myself the other day to gain access. We can use it to get into the fortress.”

  Colvyn threw up his hands in frustration. “Get in for what purpose?” he demanded. “The English will be inside, waiting for us, and this time they will kill us all.”

  “They cannot kill us if they are not there.”

  Colvyn was about to fire a retort but Gryffyn’s softly uttered statement had his curiosity. He knew he shouldn’t ask. God knows, he knew he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t help himself.

  “Explain.”

  Gryffyn tried not to sound too excited, knowing that convincing Colvyn would not be easy. He motioned to some of the soldiers standing nearby to come closer, to hear his plan. He would build a case of public opinion for his scheme and then Colvyn would have no choice but to agree to it. Gryffyn was astute that way.

  “If another Saesneg-held castle is being attacked by Welsh, then other Saesnegs will ride to their aid,” he said, sounding quite logical. “Hen Domen Castle is the closest English castle. It is a day’s ride from here. If we send de Poyer word that the lord of Hen Domen needs assistance, then we can lure the man out and away from Nether. He will take his army with him and once they are gone, we can sneak into Nether and reclaim the castle.”

  In truth, it was a reasonable plan. If the English were removed from Nether, then the matter of taking the castle and saving the sisters would be a relatively simple thing. But the scheme was almost too simple. Surely there was a hole in it somewhere.

  “Hen Domen is the seat of the Earl of Shropshire, Robert de Boulers,” Colvyn said, torn between interest and refusal. “I have had dealings with them before, as has my father. They are rather warring towards the Welsh.”

  Gryffyn leapt on that bit of information. “Do you have a missive from Shropshire?” he asked. “Does your father? We will need to see the de Boulers seal in order to duplicate it on the feigned message.”

  Colvyn shook his head. “I do not but I am sure my father or brothers might,” he said. “My father had some dealings with de Boulers’ father several years ago when they were trying to set boundaries of the earl’s properties.”

  Gryffyn was excited at the prospect. “Then we must have a missive with a seal that is intact or at least repairable,” he said. “You have a smithy here. Mayhap the man can recreate the seal. Then we can send a missive to de Poyer, lure him away from Nether, and claim the castle and her riches while he is gone. We can do this, Colvyn! Can you not see the possibilities? We can rid Nether and this region of the English that so badly want to conquer both.”

  Colvyn still had his doubts, although they were fading. “So we lure the English away from Nether,” he said. “There will still be English at the fortress. Are you truly convinced we can overcome them, even if we enter from the hidden passage?”

  Gryffyn had an answer. “If we can get one man from the passage to the postern gate near the stables, he can open the gate for the rest of your men,” he insisted. “Believe me when I tell you that this will be the best way to gain control of Nether. With enough of your men overrunning the place, we should be able to easily subdue the English left behind.”

  Colvyn looked at the man, seeing the light of excitement in his eyes. In truth, it was a viable plan and, if Colvyn thought hard on it, he was looking forward to the reward of regaining Nether for Gryffyn. Coin, food, perhaps even a few sheep would be his reward. He was tired of being so poor and desolate. He was tired of being hungry, of living a pitiful existence from day to day. He had no future and only a sorrowful past because at Castell Mallwyd, there was no hope. It was a doomed place. But what Gryffyn offered was optimism, no matter how unattainable the scheme. At least it was something, and Colvyn was willing to take a chance on something if it meant extracting him from his soulless existence. It was a weakness he had. With a sigh of resignation, he nodded his head.

  “Very well,” he said. “I will send a message to my father and ask him for a Shropshire seal and explain the circumstances. But this will take time, you know. We will not be able to accomplish this in a matter of days. And this missive, when you send it, must be written in English. I cannot write in English.”

  Gryffyn was nearly weak with relief in the knowledge that his battle against de Poyer was not yet over. They had one chance left and he was going to take it.

  “I can write in English,” he said. “I fostered in England in my youth because my father thought it would be wise for me to learn their ways and I learned their vile language, so you needn’t worry over that.”

  Colvyn still had doubts. “What about your sister?” he wanted to know. “Wouldn’t she know your writing? What if she sees the missive?”

  Gryffyn shook his head. “I am sure that de Poyer would not share his business with my sister,” he said. “She is a mere woman, after all. Why would he confide in her or discuss it with her? Nay, it is a chance we must take.”

  Colvyn wasn’t so sure about the risk of Gryffyn’s writing being recognized but he let it go. There was no use fighting d’Einen because, in the end, he would only persuade him otherwise. So he backed off, with nothing more to say, and headed towards the great hall where a meager amount of food awaited. That is the first thing I am going to do upon reaching Nether, he thought to himself. I am going to eat myself into oblivion. He justified his compliance by focusing on his end reward.

  Hunger had a way of making strange bedfellows. The wheels of deceiving the English were now in motion.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Early November

  In the big master’s chamber that she shared with her husband, Chrystobel was helping one of the house servants tend freshly washed clothing. Since their marriage almost three weeks ago, Chrystobel had come to learn that her husband was somewhat slovenly. Not in the literal, terrible sense, of course, but the man didn’t keep his clothing clean in the least. Therefore, he had several tunics that had hardly been washed, if ever, and that included two heavily padded tunics he wore under his mail coat.

  Upon acquiring such knowledge, as it wasn’t difficult considering how badly some of his clothing smelled, she was able to coax him into turning over all of his clothing to her so she could wash it. Keller was embarrassed that his wife had to wash his filthy laundry, but Chrystobel was thrilled to do it.

  As she was ironing freshly washed and dried tunics with
a hot stone upon a smooth, worn tabletop, she kept hearing what sounded like strained voices outside. Sticking her head from the lancet window that faced north over her garden, she was able to look down and see George and Aimery wandering through her garden, evidently chasing something. She called down to them.

  “Watch out for my garden,” she said. “Do not step on anything!”

  The knights looked up at her. “We are being careful, Lady de Poyer,” George said, pointing. “There is a rabbit in your garden.”

  “And you want to catch it for supper?”

  George shook his head. “Your sister wants it for a pet!”

  Chrystobel fought off a grin when Izlyn, who had been standing just out of her line of sight, suddenly appeared and waved up at her sister. The young woman was thrilled to have the high-strung Ashby-Kidd brothers as playmates, which they had been for well over a week now. They treated Izlyn like a princess and because of it, she had spoken at least four more words. It was amazing what respect and happiness could accomplish. As Izlyn waved her hands happily at her sister, Chrystobel waved back.

  “Be cautious,” Chrystobel warned again. “I do not want to see my flowers trampled.”

  The knights didn’t mention that most of the flowers had long since bloomed and were already dead or dying. They simply waved her off and Chrystobel returned her attention to her laundry. It was a clear November day, not particularly cold, and as she focused on her task. Her husband had tasks of his own.

  The tallymen were downstairs in the small hall with Keller providing updated tallies and information about Nether’s vast sheep herds. That information had always been Trevyn’s domain and Chrystobel knew little about it, so Keller and his razor-sharp mind took to the business aspect easily. He seemed to enjoy the financial side of Nether’s empire and she was content to run the castle as chatelaine just as she always had. The past few weeks had seen Keller and Chrystobel form a very comfortable and extremely affectionate working relationship as each one settled into their new roles as Lord and Lady Carnedd of the Carnedd Barony.

  As Chrystobel carefully rolled up an ironed tunic, her thoughts lingered on Keller. Surely a sweeter, more attentive man had never existed. She was sure of it, in fact. He was always thinking of her first, bringing her a few late-fall posies or a pretty bird feather he had managed to come across. Since their rather rough beginning, there had been no more misunderstandings or harsh words between them, and they had settled into a symbiotic relationship as man and wife. Every night, Keller would make love to her and every morning, he would kiss her awake and do more of the same. He had become very confident in his role as husband and she swore she hadn’t seen him nervously pop his knuckles in weeks. That bad habit seemed to have faded away the more comfortable he became with his wife.

  As Chrystobel tucked away the rolled tunic into the large wardrobe that had once belonged to her father, her thoughts were lingering more heavily on Keller and she decided to go downstairs and visit him. It seemed that they were never far away from each other and she left their warm, comfortable chamber and headed down the steps to the entry level below.

  As soon as she hit the landing, she could hear voices in the small hall. There were several men in the room, standing around the table that Keller was seated at. He had parchment in front of him and a quill in hand, speaking to one of the shepherds about a young flock that was off to the east. The flocks were heading into winter and their wooly coats were filling in, and Keller was curious about the amount of wool each sheep would produce, but his conversation ended the moment he saw Chrystobel standing in the doorway. At that moment, he had eyes only for her.

  He extended a hand to her, inviting her in, and Chrystobel smiled brightly as she entered the room, reaching out to take his offered hand. Keller excused the men standing around him, telling them to go to the kitchens for food, and they eagerly obeyed. Once the men quit the keep and it was just the two of them remaining, Keller reached up and pulled Chrystobel onto his lap.

  His big arms went around her, his face buried in her neck. He inhaled deeply, smelling her sweet, musky scent. He’d come to depend on that scent, keeping him a sane and happy man. These past few weeks with her were just how he always imagined a contented relationship would be, only there was more to it. Somehow in the past several days, he realized that he loved her. He hadn’t told her yet, of course, for things like love and emotion were treacherous waters, indeed. He hoped to summon the courage to tell her soon, but until then, he was content simply to feel and breathe her.

  “How long has it been since I last saw you?” he whispered.

  Chrystobel smiled, her arms around his head and shoulders. “Hours,” she said dramatically. “Mayhap even days.”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes it seems like that,” he said, pulling his face from her flesh and gazing at her. “What have you been doing?”

  She toyed with his dark hair. “Finishing the last of your wash,” she said. “I spied George and Aimery out in my garden chasing a rabbit for Izlyn.”

  Keller grunted. “Those two are supposed to be tending to the collection of horses I have confiscated from your brother,” he said. “I do not intend to keep all of them and would like an inventory and surmised value. And you say they are chasing a rabbit?”

  Chrystobel shook her head at him. “Do not become angry,” she said. “It is for Izlyn, after all. I suppose she could always go find Gart and force him to chase the rabbit for her.”

  This time, Keller shook his head. “Forbes has more important things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like manage the battlements,” he said, feigning sternness as he gently pinched her nose. “Rhys is in the gatehouse and William is sleeping because he had night duty.”

  She grinned at him, letting him know that she had been jesting, but quickly sobered. “How long are Gart and Rhys planning to remain here?” she asked. “Of course, Izlyn will be crushed when Gart leaves. She says she is going to marry him.”

  Keller snorted rudely. “She will have to set her sights on someone else,” he said. “Forbes is not the marrying kind.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because his wife is whatever directive David de Lohr dictates,” he said frankly. “Gart lives and breathes de Lohr blue. He will never let anything distract him from that.”

  Chrystobel thought on that. “It is a sad state, then,” she said. “He seems as if he would make some lady a fine husband.”

  Keller shrugged. “Mayhap,” he said. “But tell Izzie to focus her attentions elsewhere. Gart Forbes is not meant for such a sweet and gentle soul.”

  “That is a kind way of saying she is not even a consideration.”

  “Well, she is not.”

  Chrystobel laughed softly. “What about George or Aimery?”

  Keller rolled his eyes and stood up. “Those two?” he said, making a face to convey his distaste. “I suspect they would only marry her for the money and if that was truly the case, I would have to kill them, so put those two out of your mind as a husband for your sister. She is only twelve years old, for Christ’s sake – she does not need a husband for another six years at least.”

  Chrystobel eyed him, teasing him. “It will be your duty to find her one.”

  Keller nodded rather comically, resigned to the inevitable. “They shall all have to pass tests of my choosing before I will even consider them.”

  “What kinds of tests?”

  He shrugged. “Seeing how fast they can run with a raging bull chasing them,” he said, pretending to be thoughtful. “Seeing how well they can fend off six bulky knights and six equally big broadswords. Gart will help me with that test, of course. Mayhap I shall see if they can beat me in a fist fight with one of their arms tied behind their back. You know, tests.”

  Chrystobel was laughing by the time he was finished. “That is terrible!” she exclaimed softly. “She will never find a husband that way.”

  He smirked at her, pulling her close for a sweet kiss
. “It will certainly narrow the field,” he said. “Only the worthy will survive.”

  Chrystobel giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Either the very worthy or the very persistent,” she said. “But none of this answers my original question. How long are Gart and Rhys going to stay?”

  Keller didn’t particularly want to talk about his knights with Chrystobel in his arms. He could think of much better things to talk about but he dutifully answered her. “When we returned from the ambush at the church those weeks ago, you will recall that I sent out several missives, one of which was to William Marshal,” he said. “I informed him of my first few days at Nether and told him that, for the time being, it is wise to keep Rhys and Gart here with me. The two attacks against me could be local rebels or it could be something bigger. We simply do not know, so I would rather err on the side of caution and keep Rhys and Gart at Nether until we can determine if there will be more hostilities. The Marshal will inform de Lohr that I intend to keep his knights.”

  “Is William Marshal de Lohr’s liege?”

  “William Marshal is everyone’s liege.”

  Chrystobel thought on the man who seemed to control every fighting man in England, the very man who had brokered her marriage. She realized that she owed him everything.

  “When do you think William Marshal will send his reply to you?” she asked.

  “It could be months.”

  It seemed like a very long time to wait for an answer, but Chrystobel supposed the Marshal was a busy man and would get to it when he could. “What about those other missives you sent out to local warlords?” she asked. “Have any of them replied?”

  Keller shrugged. “The missives I sent to my allies down around Pembroke have seen responses,” he said. “My old friends will be coming to Nether at some point to help me establish relationships with some of the local Welsh chieftains. As for those local chieftains, however, I have not had any responses. It has only been a couple of weeks, however, so I am not concerned. They will respond, eventually.”