The rain had lessened somewhat at this point, enough so that Gryffyn could hear the sounds of battle in the bailey. He could see de Poyer standing in the doorway, surveying the situation, and as Gryffyn watched, the wheels of his mind were in motion. The very man he hated was standing just a few feet away, the man who had stolen his entire legacy. The man who had stolen his sister… his sister! Surely Chrystobel and Izlyn were in the keep, bottled up and safe. Gryffyn knew he could never take Nether Castle. All he really wanted were his sisters, anyway. The ultimate goal, the feat of ages… having control over Chrystobel and Izlyn, watching them die by his hand. It was his right, wasn’t it? They belonged to him. In his twisted mind, they had always belonged to him. It was his right to take their lives or save them.
He would take them.
But he had to be logical about this. If the women were in the keep, then the keep was locked. He could bang at the door all he wanted to but it would never open for him. His gaze moved to de Poyer… but it would open for Keller. If he held his sister’s husband hostage, then most likely, the English, and Chrystobel, would do anything he asked. Chrystobel would even exchange her life for her husband’s, of that Gryffyn was certain. Mad ramblings of a mad man. The mind grew darker, and so did the plot.
As de Poyer stood in the kitchen door, Gryffyn moved out from his hiding place. Over near the hearth, he could see a small, heavy iron pot with a handle on it. In the darkness, any sounds he made drowned out by the rain, he made his way to the pot and took hold of it, coming up behind de Poyer in stealth.
Don’t turn around, de Poyer, he thought. Stay where you are… just a brief second more….
The pot came down on the back of de Poyer’s helmed head, hard enough to nearly crack his skull. De Poyer fell face-first out of the doorway, into the muddy ground beyond, but he was still moving. He was trying to push himself up. Straddling de Poyer’s supine body, Gryffyn used both hands to bring the pot down on Keller’s head again. This time, the man went still.
Exhilarated with his quarry, Gryffyn rolled the man onto his back and kicked the broadsword several feet away. Then, he rifled through Keller’s tunic until he came across an assortment of small daggers, which he systematically tossed away until he came to the last one. It was a big dagger, and very sharp. That one, he kept. Rolling the man onto his belly again, he yanked off his now-dented helmet and grabbed de Poyer by the hair as the man started to regain consciousness. The dagger went against de Poyer’s jaw, just below the ear where the blood vessels flowed heavily.
Now, he had him. It was time to move.
The rain had been incessant, blinding at times, but it seemed to be easing slightly as the storm blew through. High in the keep. Chrystobel and Izlyn had spent the day sewing, or in Izlyn’s case, building her little structures from pieces of kindling as she liked to do. She had always been fond of that. Chrystobel merely sewed, passing the time as she carefully stitched a new tunic for her husband from some eggshell-colored linen that had been meant for her father. Trevyn didn’t need it any longer, temporarily buried near her flower garden as he was, so Chrystobel had confiscated it for Keller.
He didn’t know about it, of course, as it was meant to be a surprise. She smiled when she thought of his reaction to a new tunic, hopeful that he would appreciate it. Even if he didn’t, he would never let her know. He was sweet that way. She tried to maintain positive thoughts as the day passed into night, but it was difficult. An uncertain future always was, and worry over Keller’s well-being compounded the anxiety she was struggling not to feel. When night finally fell, Chrystobel’s angst deepened. She simply couldn’t help the way she felt.
The first sign that anything was amiss was when Izlyn, standing at the lancet window that faced the bailey, began waving to her sister frantically. Concerned, Chrystobel put her sewing aside and went to the window only to see a big fight near the postern gate. The gate was open and she could see men battling all around it. Blood was being spilled. Frightened, she put her arms around Izlyn as they both stood and watched the chaos unfold.
“Keller was correct,” Chrystobel murmured to her sister. “The Welsh were indeed coming. The missive they sent was a deception.”
Izlyn was watching the battle below with big, frightened eyes. She had never seen a fight before. “Gryffyn?” she asked softly.
Chrystobel hugged her. “Aye,” she said. “I am sure it is. But he shall be defeated. Keller and the other knights will not let him in, nor will they let him harm us. You must not be afraid.”
Izlyn couldn’t help but be afraid of her brother. She’d been afraid of him all her life and it was difficult to change the innate behavior. She knew, however, that Keller and Gart and the other English knights would never allow anything to happen to her, so in that respect, she wasn’t afraid. But the thought of Gryffyn naturally had her fearful. She couldn’t help it.
Chrystobel knew that. It made her fearful, too, no matter how much she told herself otherwise. She hugged her sister, kissing her on the top of her blond head.
“We will never fear him again,” she said softly. “But if he does happen to come to us, then we will never allow him to hit us again, do you hear? Gryffyn only means harm, Izzie. If he were to come to us again, then it would be to kill us and we cannot allow that, can we?”
Izlyn shook her head, moving away from her sister and boosting herself up into the window so she could see the battle outside from a better angle. There was a lot of fighting down below, pockets of men trying to kill each other. She could see Sir Rhys near the postern gate with his double swords and as she watched, he cut a man in half. Izlyn clearly saw two pieces of the man fall to the ground. Shocked, Izlyn turned to her sister and pointed out of the window.
“Sir Rhys!” she exclaimed. “He kill… killed a man in half!”
Chrystobel went to the window to see what had her sister so shocked, but she wasn’t able to discern what, exactly, Izlyn was talking about. Izlyn’s speech was growing better by the day but she couldn’t quite make sense out of killing a man in half.
Still, it was ominous and violent out in the bailey. She and Izlyn continued to watch as men fought, and men died, and somewhere in the process of watching, she realized that men were coming away from the gatehouse, rushing over towards the kitchen yard, which she couldn’t quite see because it was just out of her line of sight. In fact, she could see Rhys coming out of the stable yards, moving for the kitchen as well, followed shortly by Gart, his big bald head reflecting what little light there was.
All of them seemed to be heading towards the kitchens but they stopped just short of the kitchen yard. Everyone seemed to be hovering, waiting and watching, and Chrystobel had no idea what they were looking at, but whatever it was certainly had their attention. In fact, they were now starting to turn towards the keep. She could clearly see the movement of their directional focus. Curious, she strained to catch a glimpse of what they were looking at. Then, through the rain and wind, she heard something.
Someone was yelling at the door of the keep. It was a loud, angry bellow. Concerned, she climbed down off the window sill.
“Someone is at the door,” she told Izlyn. “I must see who it is.”
Izlyn scampered after her, following her sister as they moved to the master’s chamber where there was a window that had a much better view of the keep entry. Chrystobel moved a stool next to the window, which was a bit tall for her, and stood on it, looking down at the entry. What she saw startled her to the bone.
Her eyes widened at the sight of Gryffyn holding a knife to Keller’s throat. Gryffyn had Keller by the hair, the dagger aimed just beneath Keller’s right ear. It was Chrystobel’s worst nightmare and she shrieked, drawing Gryffyn and Keller’s attention upward. They both saw her in the window. Keller was the first one to yell to her.
“Do not open the door!” he boomed.
Chrystobel burst into tears as Gryffyn kicked Keller in the back, causing the man a good deal of pain. Gryffyn yelled up at
her.
“If you want your husband to live, you will open the door,” he shouted. “Do you hear me? Open this door or your husband will die!”
Chrystobel staggered away from the window, toppled off the stool, and fell to the ground. Izlyn ran forward to help her sobbing sister, but Chrystobel was nearly hysterical. Izlyn, unable to get a coherent word from her sister, thrust herself up into the window, gazing down on the horrible scene.
Gryffyn yelled at her, too, as Keller bellowed in unison. One was telling her to open the door while the other one was telling her to keep it bolted. Gryffyn was so frustrated that he nicked Keller’s neck with the dagger, causing bright red blood to pour. Izlyn watched, her eyes as wide as trenchers, as Rhys and Gart and William tried to move up behind Gryffyn.
The English knights were stalking him but Gryffyn saw them coming and made a point of turning Keller around so they could see the blood flowing from the man’s neck. With the knights focused on Keller and Gryffyn, one of the Welsh rebels managed come up behind Wellesbourne and nick him in the torso with a short Welsh blade. It would have been worse had William not seen the man move from the corner of his eye. As it was, he had a few seconds to move away and attempt to defend himself.
Bedlam followed as more Welsh moved upon the knights and soon the three of them found themselves in serious combat as Gryffyn held Keller at knifepoint at the keep entry. In the bailey of Nether, chaos and terror reigned.
Izlyn fell out of the window much the way her sister had, shocked and horrified at what she had seen. She looked at Chrystobel, who was now picking herself up off of the floor. Chrystobel, in fact, seemed to be calming a great deal as she reached out to grasp her sister.
Chrystobel’s face was pale, her hands shaking, but her expression was something Izlyn had never seen before. There was an intensity beyond anything Izlyn believed her sister to be capable of. Somehow, someway, Chrystobel had calmed herself to the broad point of determination. Hysterics would not save Keller. She had to keep her head about her if she was going to be of any use. With that in mind, Chrystobel focused on Izlyn.
“Listen to me, Izzie,” she said, grabbing her sister by both arms. “Gryffyn is here. Did you see him?”
Izlyn nodded, terrified. “There is… blood.”
Chrystobel couldn’t think about that. All she could focus on doing what was necessary to save their lives. That is what it came down to now; her survival, or Gryffyn’s. She had to make sure it would not be Gryffyn.
“He will kill Keller if we do not open the keep to him,” she said to Izlyn. “But the only reason he wants to come inside the keep is to get to you and to get to me. He wants to kill us. Do you understand?”
Izlyn nodded fearfully, her eyes welling, but Chrystobel shook her gently. “Nay,” Chrystobel said firmly. “No tears. We do not have time. We cannot be afraid anymore. We must save Keller and we must kill Gryffyn. We have no choice. All of those years that he beat us, we never fought back, but tonight that will change. Tonight, we must fight back. If we do not, all of our happiness will be destroyed. We will be destroyed, and I am not ready yet to die. Are you?”
Izlyn shook her head. “N-nay,” she whispered.
Chrystobel drew in a long, fortifying breath, thinking of what had to happen. The time had come for her to save herself, her husband, and her sister, and she would not fail. It was time for her to take a stand against a man who had spent most of his life beating on helpless women, knowing they wouldn’t fight back.
Tonight, all of that would change. They had no choice if they were going to survive.
“Listen to me, Izzie,” Chrystobel said, cupping her sister’s face with her hands. “I know you are frightened. I am frightened, too, but we must do this to save ourselves and to save Keller. I will not allow Gryffyn to terrorize us any longer. It is time we fight back.”
Izlyn nodded again, her tears fading somewhat. It was clear that she was trying very hard to be brave. “What… what should I do?”
Chrystobel thought a moment. She’d never had to do this kind of thing before. She didn’t think like a killer, but for the moment, she had to. She had to do something exceedingly final, something that would rid her of her brother forever. As she took her sister’s hand and headed for the chamber door, her gaze fell on a big iron sconce, about four feet tall, with great spikes on the end to hold the tapers with. She remembered using a similar weapon at the church on the day they had gone to bury her father, using the wax and candles against men who were attacking her husband.
Dropping her sister’s hand, she raced for the sconce and removed the tapers, revealing five inch long iron teeth, sharp as daggers.
She headed down to the first level below with the sconce in hand and deadly intentions on her mind.
She had a plan.
Keller knew he was in a bad way the moment someone grabbed his hair and pulled him off the muddy ground. Dazed, his ears were ringing and the world was rocking slightly, and he felt something very sharp against the side of his neck. The next voice he heard in his ear was not unexpected.
“Greetings, de Poyer,” Gryffyn said. “It seems that we were destined to meet again under somewhat violent circumstances.”
Keller’s heart sank when he realized who had him. He was also quite furious. “Damn you, d’Einen,” he snarled. “Release me immediately.”
Gryffyn laughed, although it was not a humorous laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “If the situation was reversed, would you release me?”
“If the situation was reversed, I would have killed you by now.”
Gryffyn’s smile faded. “That was my first thought, also,” he said. “But I want something and I suspect I will not get it unless I use you as a bargaining tool.”
Keller didn’t even have to ask what Gryffyn wanted. That was abundantly clear. But he sought to distract the man, anything to help him gain the upper hand. Threatening d’Einen wouldn’t work because, clearly, the man had the advantage. Therefore, Keller had to resort to another tactic. He had to stall enough to disorient or confuse the man. Then, maybe he would have a chance to turn the tables. At the moment, he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
“What is this obsession you have with your sisters?” Keller demanded. “By God’s Bloody Rood, d’Einen… what is this sick fixation you have for them? Why breach an entire castle to get to them?”
Gryffyn yanked on Keller’s dark hair. “Because they are mine,” he growled. “They belong to me, as does this castle. It all belongs to me and you stole it!”
“I saved it from you.”
“It is mine!” he shrieked. “You have no right to it!”
Keller could see that he had Gryffyn off-balance. He pushed. “With you here, Nether was indeed a living hell,” he said. “You made it a Netherworld in every sense of the word. This place is much better off without you and your brutal ways.”
Gryffyn growled, coming out something of a yell. He began to half-shove, half-drag Keller in the direction of the keep. As the rain pattered and the thunder rumbled, they made their way across the bailey but Keller wasn’t going willingly. He slipped more than once, purposely falling to his knees, buying time until one of his men could gain sight of him and figure out something was wrong. At one point he even fell to his belly and Gryffyn yanked viciously on his hair until he labored to his knees, standing wearily.
By that time, both the English and Welsh combatants were noticing that something was very, very wrong. The soldiers began shouting to Rhys and Gart, who emerged from the postern gate area to see Keller being dragged across the bailey by a man who had him by the hair, pointing a dagger at his throat. William, who had just finished off a particularly wily Welshman, saw what was happening. Rhys and Gart heard him hiss.
“That is d’Einen,” he said. “That is the man we hoped to kill tonight.”
Rhys sighed heavily. “And we will,” he said. “Spread out and approach him from the rear. He cannot fight off all of us at once.”
“He h
as a dagger at Keller’s neck,” William reminded him. “I have seen this man in action. He will not hesitate to use it.”
Rhys wriggled his dark eyebrows, watching Gryffyn as steadily as a cat tracking a mouse. “Then we must make sure he does not get the opportunity,” he said. “Find me a crossbow and I can take him from behind.”
William snapped quiet orders to the nearest soldier, who went on the run. Meanwhile, he moved into stalking position alongside Rhys and Gart, waiting for the right moment to strike. He prayed they could take Gryffyn down before the man had the chance to ram the dirk into Keller’s neck. He wasn’t so confident that they could, and that thought sickened him.
But Gryffyn wasn’t paying attention to the knight stalking him and even if he was, it wouldn’t have mattered. He had the advantage so the posturing knights had no power against him. Dragging Keller up the slippery steps of the old, gray keep where he was born, he began yelling to the occupants. He knew his sisters were inside. He continued to yell until he heard a shriek overhead.
Looking up into the dark sky as rain pelted his face, he could see Chrystobel’s head emerging from a lancet window on the second floor. But Keller spied her, too, and before Gryffyn could shout, Keller was bellowing at his wife.
“Do not open the door!” he boomed.
Frustrated, Keller kicked the man in the kidneys, listening to him grunt with pain. Then he returned his attention to his sister, glaring up at her through the inclement weather.
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 114
