Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

T he entry door suddenly blew open and slammed back on its hinges as a big man with blond hair and piercing brown eyes entered the room, bellowing loudly for wine. The servants, already in a panic, fell over themselves to fulfill his request. He slapped a woman who handed him a half-empty goblet, insulted that it was not completely full. As another woman rushed forward to fill the cup, the man continued across the floor towards the dais. His expression was both curious and hostile as he eyed the strangers seated at his table.

Keller and William instinctively rose to their feet as the man approached. It was a bit of an odd standoff as the young man came to a halt next to the table, his gaze openly inspecting the two knights. They gazed back steadily in return. After a moment of intense dissection by both parties, like dominant cocks preparing for a fight, the young man finally removed his rain-soaked cloak and tossed it off to the nearest cowering servant.

"I am Gryffyn d'Einen," he announced. "Who is de Poyer?"

Keller didn't like the man's manner or stance from the very second he entered the hall. There was something arrogant and vain and dark about him. Although handsome and tall, there was something about the man that sang of distaste. Keller couldn't put his finger on it but he could sense it. It put him on his guard.

"I am de Poyer," he replied. "Is Trevyn d'Einen your father?"

"He is."

"Where is he?"

Gryffyn cocked an arrogant eyebrow. "Indisposed at the moment," he sat down, eyeing the knights when they continued to stand. "Do you intend to eat standing up?"

Wellesbourne emitted something of a disapproving growl, looking to Keller for a reaction. Keller's only reaction was to slowly sit, his eyes riveted to the brash young man. Servants began falling all over themselves in an attempt to serve Gryffyn before anyone else.

"So," Gryffyn was the first one at the table to receive a meal in spite of the fact there were guests. "You are to be my sister's husband, are you not? Then there are things you should know about her. She is sassy and willful. She is also quite disobedient. I hope you are prepared to beat some sense into her."

The more Gryffyn talked, the more Keller didn't like him. "She has shown none of those qualities since we have become acquainted," he replied evenly. "But you, on the other hand, have so far displayed all of that and more."

Gryffyn stopped shoving bread into his mouth and frowned terribly. "What do you mean?" he demanded with his mouth full. "We have only just met."

Keller gazed steadily at the man. "Neither you nor your father were in the bailey to greet us when we arrived. That, my lord, is a serious breach of hospitality. We have been here over two hours and you've not shown your face until now. When you do, you slap the servants and show a complete lack of courtesy to your guests by eating before they have even been served. More than that, you slander your sister in front of a roomful of strangers. Does this clarify my statement?"

Gryffyn stopped chewing. His face was lined with outrage, his mouth pressed into a thin, hard line.

"You have little room to speak of bad manners serving a man who is a murderer and a thief," he snarled. "You are here because William Marshal wishes to conquer Wales, so you'll steal my lands and call it a treaty and rape my sister and call it a marriage. It is not I who have shown appalling manners but you and every man like you."

By this time, Wellesbourne was on his feet and seriously considering thrashing the young Welshman. George and Aimery had also heard the last part of Gryffyn's slanderous speech and were posturing furiously, awaiting the word to move forward and pounce. But Keller remained seated, his eyes fixed on the young man. He had no intention of moving a muscle.

"I wonder what is worse?" Keller ventured calmly. "The murdering thief who makes the offer or the man who knowingly accepts it? You are not penniless or destitute as the result of The Marshal's proposal. You made a deal with the Devil and are richer for it, so your protests are empty."

Gryffyn was so angry that he was pale. Like a predator sighting prey, his gaze narrowed dangerously at Keller, sizing him up. "I did not make a deal with William Marshal. My father did."

"But you will benefit, will you not? Lands in Wiltshire, as I recall."

Gryffyn's pale cheeks washed with a hint of color. "I want to take my sister with me when we go."

"Your sister stays."

Gryffyn's jaw flexed and his eyes widened with displeasure. Keller remained characteristically calm, expecting the next volley of insults.

"Why?" Gryffyn demanded. "She will be nothing but a whore to you."

"She will be my wife and the Lady of Nether. She stays."

Gryffyn wasn't used to having his wishes denied. He clenched his jaw, bared his teeth, and hurled his cup against the wall over Keller's head. Deep purple wine splashed on the walls, the cup clattered noisily to the floor, but Keller still refused to move. His gaze was fixed on Gryffyn, realizing the man would not move against him but it would not stop him from throwing a temper tantrum. In the brief conversation that they had, and in the few actions from Gryffyn, Keller realized he was dealing with a very spoiled, very petulant man. And that knowledge gave Keller the distinct advantage.

"You whoreskin," Gryffyn hissed. "I should throw you from Nether right now."

Keller fought to keep the grin off his face. He didn't know why, but he sincerely felt like laughing. "Make one move and I shall inform the Marshal. Your land grant will be rescinded and I will keep your castle anyway. You and your father will be penniless and homeless. Is this in any way unclear?"

Before Gryffyn could reply, Chrystobel entered the hall with several servants trailing after her bearing huge platters of food. She had been given no warning of what was transpiring in the hall and rushed straight to the table with a trencher in her hand. It was intended for Keller but she had to pass near her brother first and Gryffyn threw out a hand, toppling the trencher and spraying it all over his sister.

The action brought Keller to his feet. He vaulted over the table, grabbing Chrystobel before she could slip and fall onto her face in the mess of food that Gryffyn had created. Wellesbourne flew over the table and clobbered Gryffyn, hurling the man to the ground. As William and Gryffyn began throwing brutal punches, Keller picked up Chrystobel and swept her out of the combat zone. George and Aimery suddenly jumped into the fight and in little time, Gryffyn was barely conscious on the dirt floor of the great hall. William, George and Aimery had made short work of him.

Keller placed Chrystobel gently on the bench at the end of the table, far from the brawling knights. Covered with meat and gravy, her dark eyes were wide at the sight of her brother wallowing on the ground. George and Aimery got in a couple of good kicks to the belly before Wellesbourne pulled them off and turned them back to the table. William, in fact, didn't look any worse for the wear. He seemed rather jovial as he, too, turned back to the table and called for his meal. The serving wenches, still stunned from Gryffyn's beating, struggled to move past their shock and put the food on the table.

"Are you well?" Keller asked Chrystobel. "Did he injure you?"

She tore her gaze off Gryffyn, looking up at Keller with the widest eyes he had ever seen. "You…," she gasped, swallowing hard to collect herself. She put her hand to her throat as if holding herself together. "Your men struck him."

Keller's expression was like stone. "He could have seriously injured you. What he received was appropriate punishment."

Tears gathered in her eyes and Keller wasn't sure why. He'd never been very good at gauging women and was suddenly fearful he had done something to displease her.

"I apologize if swift justice has upset you," he wasn't sure what else to say. "Are you sure you are unharmed?"

She nodded, struggling not to weep as she watched her brother wallow on the ground. "I will go and retrieve your meal immediately."

She suddenly bolted up, moving swiftly across the room and disappeared through the door that led to the kitchens beyond. Keller stood there a moment, wondering why she again fled so swiftly and suspected he had failed to make a gracious impression upon his new bride by beating up her brother. No wonder the woman fled.

Just as he turned back to Gryffyn, now struggling to sit up, an older man and a very young woman entered the hall through the main door. The man was looking to Keller first, at a distance, but quickly beheld Gryffyn rolling about on the floor. His eyes widened.

"Gryffyn?" he looked both perplexed and oddly pleased. "What has happened?"

Keller intercepted the man before Gryffyn could reply. "Who are you?"

The man came to a stop, holding the hand of the young woman who, upon closer reflection, could not have been more than twelve or thirteen years of age. She was very small, blond, and quite lovely. Keller could see the resemblance between the young woman and his betrothed. He suspected the relationship before it was made clear.

"I am Trevyn d'Einen, Lord of Nether Castle," the man bowed shortly, suddenly looking stricken as he stood straight. "That is to say, I used to be the Lord of Nether. This is my youngest daughter, Lady Izlyn d'Einen."

Keller's gaze fell on the small woman. She was a delicate beauty, blond hair with big brown eyes, but not nearly the stunning beauty that her sister was. He couldn't help but notice she would not meet his eye. In fact, she looked terrified. He could see that she was trembling. Certainly the event of English at Nether was a frightening prospect, but it seemed to Keller that there was more to it. The girl appeared positively ill with fright and he knew he couldn't be all to blame for it. After a moment's inspection, Keller nodded faintly.

"I am Keller de Poyer," he said. "By decree of William Marshal with whom you have shared a bargain, I am now lord of Nether Castle and husband to your daughter, Chrystobel. Why were you not in the bailey to greet us upon our arrival?"

Keller had never been one for tact. He came straight to the point and woe to the recipient who did not appreciate his forthrightness. Trevyn looked rather shaken by the question, struggling to form an answer as Gryffyn bellowed from his position on the floor.

"He shall not behave as an obedient dog, greeting the master when he returns," he snarled, half-conscious.

"Gryffyn, please," Trevyn held out a hand to silence his son, looking to Keller with a mixture of apology and fear. "Forgive him, my lord. He is not himself today."

Keller didn't bother looking at Gryffyn. "From the behavior that your son has displayed since his entering the hall, I would say that he is exactly himself today," he replied, his dark eyes on the old man with the white hair. "You did not answer my question. Why did you not greet us upon our arrival?"

Trevyn seemed to pull the small girl beside him closer. "Because I was tending Izlyn, my lord. She is… is not feeling well this day."

Keller looked at the pale young girl as Gryffyn spouted off again. "I will punish you for releasing her from the vault, old man. She is a disobedient wench that must be taught a lesson. You did not have my permission to free her."

Izlyn's little face crumpled into tears and she buried her face in her father's tunic. Keller, disturbed by Gryffyn's ranting, turned to look at the man as he struggled to his feet.

"Am I to understand that you are speaking of this child?" he asked with puzzlement. He couldn't help it.

Gryffyn's balance was gone and he stood up only to list heavily to one side. He ended up seated on the nearest bench that flanked the great table.

"That is none of your affair," he growled. "She is my sister and I shall do with her as I please."

Keller had done an admirable job of keeping his temper even and his manner disinterested since his arrival. It was simply the way he was, in all things and especially in light of a new situation. But even he was starting to lose patience with a man he was coming to perceive as arrogant, brutal and dangerous. He faced Gryffyn fully and put his enormous hands on his hips.

"Answer me," he rumbled. "Did you put this child in the vault?"

Gryffyn refused to look at him. He saw a chalice over his right shoulder and decided that was more interesting. As he reached for it, Wellesbourne snatched it out of his reach and threw it against the wall. Wine sprayed on the wall as the cup clattered to the floor, the message obvious. Gryffyn bared his teeth at William, who simply lifted an eyebrow in reply. The test of wills was in full swing.

"She is a stubborn, disobedient wench and must be taught manners," Gryffyn whirled on Keller, snarling. "This not your house or hold, de Poyer. This family belongs to me and I will do with them as I see fit. You will not question me."

Keller's dark eyes glittered. "Nether Castle and all who reside within her became my holding a month ago when the treaty was signed," he found that it was a struggle to keep his temper down. "Your sisters, your father and you belong to me now and will do as I say. Is this is any way unclear?"

Gryffyn lurched to his feet, walking unsteadily towards the entry door. He waved an unsteady hand at Keller as if to block him out, moving past his father and sister, who stepped out of his way to give him a wide berth. They watched him stagger from the entrance like a drunken man.

Once outside, Gryffyn crossed paths with Chrystobel, who was emerging from the kitchens with another trencher for Keller. Furious, irrational, Gryffyn made his way towards his sister, who was completely unaware of the man's rage. He came upon her in such a manner that gave her little time to defend herself. One moment, she was preparing to deliver food and in the next, Gryffyn had her around the neck. Keller's second trencher fell into the mud. No one heard Chrystobel's cries as Gryffyn disappeared with her into the stables.

Back in the hall, the thick stone walls drowned out any noises from the bailey. With Gryffyn gone, Trevyn returned his focus to Keller.

"My apologies, my lord," he said, suddenly looking very old and very defeated. "Gryffyn is not indicative of every person at Nether. There are those of us who welcome you as an ally and would not show you such disrespect."

Keller studied the man a moment, trying to gauge both the man's character and sincerity. Being the garrison commander at Pembroke Castle for five years, he'd known his share of Welsh warlords. He knew how they thought and how, like the English, they could be deceptive. He would be on his guard.

"We shall see," he replied vaguely, changing subjects because he had nothing more to say about Gryffyn. "I sent a missive ahead of our arrival. Is the priest here?"

Trevyn nodded. "I am told he is in the kitchens eating his meal, my lord."

"Bring him to the hall. Your daughter and I will be married immediately to seal the treaty and be done with it."

The command sounded harsh coming from his lips. It was a business arrangement and would be treated as such. Trevyn sent a servant for the both the priest and Chrystobel. The priest was easily located but Chrystobel was not. She was found an hour later outside of the stables, sitting in the mud with her hands over her face.

*

Keller had been standing in the doorway of Chrystobel's bower for the better part of a half hour. He stood just inside the door, his enormous arms crossed as he silently watched the activity surrounding his betrothed.

After William had found her in the mud by the stables, he had brought the dazed and bleeding woman to her bower. Young Izlyn tried her best to clean Chrystobel's face, wiping the blood away from her lip and cleaning off the mud, and servants dashed in and out of the chamber with hot water and linens in an effort to help. Trevyn had disappeared, as had Gryffyn, and the more Keller watched the activity, the more suspicious he became. People were smacked around, disappearing even, and generally terrified. The situation was odd and growing more odd, and he eventually reached his limit of patience.

He finally ordered the servants out with a brusque command, looking to George and Aimery, just outside the door on the landing, to ensure that his command was carried out. William was stalking the castle, looking for both Trevyn and Gryffyn. Most of the family seemed to have vanished the moment Chrystobel was discovered. Keller doubted it was coincidence. When the servants scattered like frightened chickens, herded from the chamber by the Ashby-Kidd twins, Keller closed the door behind them.

It was oddly and suddenly quiet from the commotion as he faced Chrystobel and her wide-eyed sister. Both ladies were sitting on the bed, looking up at Keller as if he were the devil himself and preparing to demand their souls. Keller regarded the frightened women for a moment, eventually closing the distance between them. His gaze never left Chrystobel's face. What he saw, and what he had observed initially, greatly disturbed him and he was attempting to determine how best to pursue the situation.

When he reached the bed, he sat down next to Chrystobel, his significant weight rocking the bed. Little Izlyn nearly slipped off, holding on to her sister for support. Silently, he held out a hand to Izlyn, who was still holding a rag and a small bowl of warm water. She looked at him with enormous eyes, having no idea what he meant, until he gently reached out and took the bowl from her. Collecting the rag, he dipped it into the warm water and carefully wiped away the blood from the cut on Chrystobel's lip.

Chrystobel sat stock-still as he wiped away the remnants of the mess and inspected her cut at close range. Her sister had done a good job of cleaning off the majority of the blood and dirt, so Keller eventually set the bowl and rag aside. When his focus returned to her, his dark eyes were intense.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

His voice was deep, raspy, and strangely soothing. Chrystobel didn't even know the man yet she sensed an innate gentleness from him, something buried deep and hidden. He had wiped her cut with the lightest of touches. A man with hands the size of his should not be so gentle or delicate. But he was. It was disarming, fascinating. Chrystobel met his gaze for a moment before averting her eyes.

"I… I slipped and fell, my lord," she lied.

"You slipped?"

"Aye, my lord."

"And fell on your face?"

"Aye, my lord."

He continued to gaze at her as she stared at the hands in her lap. She had the most glorious beauty, something he was more intrigued with by the moment. Her lashes were thick and feathery, sweeping against her cheeks when she blinked. He noted the bruise on her cheek, her split lip, and he even saw blood on her scalp. When he reached out to inspect the bloody spot on her blond hair, she flinched but he put a big hand on her arm to still her. Carefully, he inspected the split on her scalp. Then his eyes moved down to her ear and he could see a bit of dark blood in the canal. Inspecting further, he noticed that her neck was bruised.

Chrystobel couldn't see him but she could certainly feel and hear him. She could feel his eyes upon her, inspecting every inch of her, knowing she was lying about what had happened. She knew he would question her on it and she was terrified for that moment. Still, she had to stay strong. She could not let him know the truth. It was her shame alone to bear and she did not want her future husband judging her by such weaknesses, or by their dark family secrets.

She heard him sigh heavily. "Did you fall on your neck?" he asked quietly.

Chrystobel looked at him, confused and wary. "My… my lord?"

Keller lifted his chin in the direction of her neck. "Your neck is bruised."

Her hands flew to her neck nervously as if to hide what he had already seen. "I must have hit it somehow," she replied, her voice weak and soft. "I am sorry that my appearance has been so unsuitable. I will make all effort to make myself presentable."

Keller suddenly grasped her by the chin and forced her to look at him. When their eyes met, Chrystobel felt an exciting jolt, as if his eyes had somehow reached out to grab her. It was like a lightning strike, quickly come, quickly gone. Her breathing began to come in quick little gasps for reasons she could not understand.

"You will stop saying that," he growled softly. "You are not unseemly nor are you unsuitable. You are the loveliest woman I have had the fortune to lay eyes upon so I do not want to hear those words from your lips again. But I would know why you feel it necessary to lie to me."

She looked shocked, blinking rapidly and trying to pull away from him. But he would have no part of it. He grabbed her by the arms with those enormous hands and refused to let her move.

"I… I do not know what you mean," she lied again, hating herself for it but unwilling to divulge the truth.

"Aye, you do," he said calmly, watching her face flush pink. "Who did this to you? And do not tell me that you fell because I do not believe you."

Chrystobel's heart thumped painfully against her ribs, the strength from the man's grip both terrifying and thrilling her. She struggled to pull away, bumping into Izlyn in the process. The youngest d'Einen sibling burst into tears.

Keller looked at the young girl, concerned. "Why is she weeping?" he asked.

Chrystobel craned her neck back to look at her sister, watching the girl put her hands over her face. It was difficult to get a good look at her because Keller had her in an iron grip and she was unable to twist around sufficiently. She tried to pull from his grasp but it was impossible. The man had hands of steel.

"Izlyn?" she asked softly. "Why are you weeping, sweetheart?"

The young girl didn't answer her, bawling into her hands. Chrystobel turned back to Keller, her expression pleading.

"Please," she begged softly. "Let me comfort her. She is frightened."

"Of what?"

Chrystobel's lovely brow rippled. "Of… of you, my lord. She is easily frightened."

Keller gazed at her intently a moment longer before releasing her from his grasp. Chrystobel turned to her sister and put her arms around her, kissing her head.

"All is well, sweetheart," she said softly. "You need not be afraid."

The girl continued to cry and Chrystobel put her hands on the pretty young face, forcing Izlyn to look at her. She smiled encouragingly to the girl. "Look at me," she commanded gently. "See that I am unharmed? Sir Keller has not harmed me. All is well, I promise. Stop weeping."

Keller watched the exchange carefully. His detailed ear digested every sigh, every whisper, every expression and sound. He had spent his life reading people and attempting to deduce their thoughts. In his profession, it was mandatory if he wanted to live a long and healthy life. He was coming to see that there was something beneath the surface of this family that he was not being told. He could see it in their faces and in their actions. Although he was coming to suspect what it was, still, he wanted to hear the truth from their lips.

"What did I do to frighten her?" he asked quietly.

Chrystobel turned to look at him. "It is difficult to know," she said. "Izlyn is very delicate. She weeps often."

"Why?"

Chrystobel shrugged, looking back to her little sister. "It is the only way she can communicate. She cannot speak, so she weeps."

Keller watched as Chrystobel dried the last of her sister's tears. He could see in those small actions that she was a very compassionate and caring individual. He could feel his interest in her deepening, unable to resist.

"Was she born mute?" he asked.

Chrystobel shook her head. "Nay," she looked at him. "As a baby, I remember her speaking a few words. Then, when she was about two years old, she simply stopped speaking. She has not uttered a word since."

Keller didn't know why he was beginning to feel some strange emotional pull towards these women. He shouldn't have and he knew it. Perhaps it was because he would soon be related to them both or perhaps it was because they looked so pale and helpless at the moment. Perhaps it was because they now belonged to him, as did everything else at Nether. He watched them both with his intense dark eyes.

"Why did your brother put her in the vault?" he asked.

Chrystobel's head snapped to him as if startled by the question. She looked back to Izlyn, almost fearfully, struggling over an answer. She wasn't a particularly good liar and the truth, before she could stop it, came out in pieces.

"Because… because she will not speak to him," she almost choked over the words, horrified that they came out but unable to stop them. "It frustrates him and he punishes her for her disobedience."

Keller couldn't help it. His brows drew together and he looked at the pair as if they had gone mad.

"Because she does not speak to him?" he repeated, his tone bordering on incredulous. "Is this the truth?"

Chrystobel's gaze was on her sister. She could hear the outrage in Keller's tone, afraid it was directed at her. "Aye, my lord," she said, more hesitantly. "He feels that she is being stubborn and if he punishes her enough, then perhaps it will compel her to speak. He has told her that if she tells him that she does not wish to be put in the vault, he will not do it."

Keller stood up, his sheer size and massive presence causing Izlyn to collapse into her sister's embrace as the two sisters gazed up at him fearfully. His expression was calm although the dark eyes were glittering with something emotional, something deep. He began to pop his knuckles through his heavy leather gloves as if the process would help him think more clearly. It was obvious that he was pondering the situation. He looked from one fearful face to the other and back again.

"That will not happen again," he finally said. "It is apparent to me that Gryffyn d'Einen has wrought much distress upon this place and I do not appreciate nor respect men who wreak havoc simply for havoc's sake. Lady Chrystobel, I will ask you a question and you will be truthful. Did your brother put those bruises on your neck and was it he who split your lip?"

Chrystobel's eyes were wide with fright. She opened her mouth as if to reply, looking at her sister as she did so, and then suddenly shut her mouth. She didn't know Keller well enough to trust him with the truth. She was fearful of what would happen to her or to Izlyn should Gryffyn find out that she told of his foul deeds. At the moment, fear of her brother outweighed the fear of her new husband. Unable to look at Keller, she looked to her lap.

"I…," she began softly. "I am not sure…."

"The truth, lady."

He had interrupted her stammering and she grew flustered. "I… I do not remember," she whispered painfully, still looking at her lap. "I was walking across the bailey and… and perhaps I tripped. I do not remember."

Keller stared at her. He didn't like being lied to and since he wasn't any good when it came to communicating with women, it produced a bad combination in a situation like this. He couldn't decide whether he was furious or disappointed that she would not tell him the truth, which turned his demeanor to stone. His coldness was apparent. Reaching down, he took her hand in his massive gloved one and pulled her up from the bed.

"Come along, then," he muttered. "There is a priest in the hall waiting to perform the wedding sacrament."

He had her on her feet and Chrystobel visibly blanched. "But…," she stammered. "I am not appropriately dressed to receive the sacrament, my lord. At least allow me to change from these dirty clothes."

Keller's gaze moved over her body, noting the shapely figure beneath the surcoat. "God does not care how clean you are, my lady."

Horrified that he was not going to allow her to change into a clean frock and at least brush her hair, she grabbed Izlyn in a gesture of panic and perhaps comfort. Keller dragged both women from the chamber.

He realized, as he hit the bailey outside, that he was angry. Angry that the woman he was to marry would not give him the truth to a direct question. If she would not tell him the truth about a matter such as this, he couldn't imagine what else she would hide or lie to him about.

Perhaps he should not have believed her when she said she was chasing a wounded rabbit down the slopes of Nether. Perhaps she really had been running away. If she wanted a marriage in name only, then he would be happy to oblige her. It would save him from becoming emotionally invested in yet another woman who would break his carefully-protected heart.