Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

O f everything Chrystobel had ever imagined her wedding to be, the actual experience was something quite different.

In the smoky, smelly hall of Nether, standing before a priest who smelled of urine and ale, she became Lady de Poyer. Izlyn clung to her during the mass and her father stood a few feet away with a rather sickened expression on his face. In fact, it made Chrystobel angry to see the expression on her father's face since the man had knowingly entered into the contract that would use her as a pawn in his deadly game of tactics with William Marshal. She didn't understand his visible show of remorse, late as it was, but it was of no matter. The wedding sacrament had been hastily, and sloppily, completed, and in short order Sir Keller became her husband.

Still in her muddied and bloodied dress, she'd turned a chaste cheek to Keller at the conclusion of the final blessing and he had deposited a swift kiss upon it to seal their marriage. It had been such a cold kiss, with no warmth about it, but Chrystobel hadn't expected anything less. The man who had dragged her from her bower in her dirty clothes had not been warm in the least. He had been business-like and abrupt, and with those small gestures, he had set the tone for their marriage. Try as she might to maintain a pragmatic attitude, her heart sank at the thought. She had hoped there would be some fondness between them, however small.

She didn't blame de Poyer, however. He had asked for the truth about her injuries and she had lied to him. Worse yet, he had known it. She could tell by the expression on his face. Nay, she didn't expect anything from him but coldness and indifference. In truth, it was all she was worth. She felt sorry for the man, gaining a wife who wasn't much of a prize. But he'd acquired a castle and property in the process, so she hoped that would make up for a worthless spouse.

As she stood there with Izlyn pressed against her and pondered her uncertain future, she watched Keller as the man dismissed the priest. Paying a few coins to the man, he then called his knights to him and they huddled in a private conference. There was something intriguing about the man she had just married, in spite of his coldness, and she watched his profile, strong and proud, as he spoke with his men. He was calm and relaxed for the most part but she could tell by his expression that the subject upon which he spoke was serious indeed. Wellesbourne and the Ashby-Kidd twins were serious, too, and Chrystobel wondered what had them looking so grim, which seemed rather odd in the wake of a wedding. When Keller's knights quickly disbursed and went along their way, they all seemed to have the look of a hunter about them. The mode was professional and the eyes were steely. They were hunting for something, or someone, and a hunch told her that it might be Gryffyn.

Her brother hadn't been present at the wedding and Chrystobel was grateful for small mercies because had he come, surely it wouldn't have been the sedate ceremony she had experienced. It would have been one of apprehension and anger. Still, he was somewhere on the grounds, plotting his next move no doubt, and Chrystobel was certain that her new husband wished to know the man's whereabouts.

When de Poyer approached Trevyn and asked if he knew both the location and intentions of his son, Chrystobel watched her father lie to the man, bold-faced. Trevyn indeed knew his son's location and more than likely of his intentions, but he wasn't going to tell the English knight. Whether it was to protect Gryffyn or protect Keller, Chrystobel couldn't tell. Sometimes her father had rather conflicting loyalties, as exampled by this wedding, and he both hated and loved his son. Trevyn was a torn man inside and there were times when Chrystobel tried not to hate him for it. Their family, in general, was in turmoil.

As Chrystobel mulled over her father's allegiances, she was somewhat startled when Keller suddenly broke away from the man and headed in her direction. Trevyn trailed after the English commander as they approached her.

"It is time to retire for the night, my lady," Keller said in an indifferent tone. "Bid your father and sister a good sleep so that we can be on our way."

Chrystobel struggled not to show her apprehension. It is time to retire . God's Bones, she knew what that meant, but it was imperative that she not display any hint of anxiety in the presence of her brittle sister, so she hugged the girl tightly, kissed her on the forehead, and passed her over to her father. Izlyn didn't go easily, however, and Chrystobel spent several minutes convincing the girl that all would be well and that she would see her in the morning. Izlyn, fearful to be away from the only mother she had ever known and fearful for the terrible world in general, was in tears.

Chrystobel could feel Keller standing beside her, the heavy weight of his gaze as he observed the situation. She thought she felt his disapproval but she could not be entirely sure. In fact, she wasn't sure about anything and she struggled to keep an even head about her. The past few hours had been very disorienting in many ways. As she made sure her father had hold of Izlyn, she turned to Keller.

"When you arrived, I instructed the servants to clean out my father's chamber of his possessions," she said. "I hope it is prepared to your liking."

Keller's emotionless gaze was upon her. "Then they should move your things into it, since you and I will be sharing it," he told her. "Did you instruct them to do that as well?"

Chrystobel shook her head unsteadily. "Nay, my lord," she replied. "I did not know that I would be a married woman by this evening."

"Then mayhap we should retire to your chamber for the night," he said. "Mayhap you would be more comfortable there until we can arrange the master's chamber to accommodate the both of us."

Chrystobel wasn't sure what to say so she nodded hesitantly. "If that is your wish, my lord."

Keller politely reached out to take her by the elbow and began pulling her towards the door. Chrystobel was stiff, and uneasy, but she didn't resist. As she had initially observed, he had very big hands, anyway, so she doubted she could have resisted in any case. He simply would have overwhelmed her and dragged her to the door. She fell into step beside him, her thoughts inevitably wandering to what the evening would bring. It was difficult not to feel a swamping sense of embarrassment and anxiety, and as she struggled against it, Keller spoke.

"Mayhap you will tell me something of this castle as we make our way to the keep," he said, his manner still rather cold. "I did not see much of it upon my arrival, in truth. I went from the bailey to this hall, and other than being in the keep earlier, I've not seen much of that which is now mine."

Chrystobel paused as Keller pulled open the heavy oak and iron panel. "I would be pleased, my lord," she said, hoping that he might forgive her lies to him earlier if they were to share a pleasant conversation. They had yet to truly have one, but more than that, her nervousness loosened her tongue. "Would you like for my father to accompany us? He knows more of the castle's defenses than I do. I am sure you are very interested in those and I cannot tell you anything about them."

Keller cast her a glance, his intense gaze piercing her soul as he peered down his nose at her. "I will speak with your father another time," he said. "I would rather not have a chaperone on my wedding night."

Chrystobel flushed a dull red, lowering her head as they moved out into the gentle night beyond. It was cold but not unbearable, and she was thankful for the darkness, covering the heat of her cheeks. His comment seemed most forward, bold even, but realizing he was her husband, she rationalized that he could say whatever he wanted to her. It was his right. This cold English knight was now her family, as strange as that thought seemed. Taking a deep breath, she began to point out some of the areas of interest around the bailey.

"Nether Castle was built more than one hundred years ago by the kings of Arwystu," she said. "It was not built of wood as most were back then, but of the great stone you will see on the hills to the east. The fortress was built with the intention of watching their northern neighbors, the Cefeliog. The original name was Annwyn , which means the Otherworld or the place where spirits dwell. Living here as we do, we are somewhat isolated and sometimes it does indeed feel as if we are in the Otherworld. The lands in this region are mysterious and full of magic. But it was the Normans who gave the castle the name that you know it by– Nether."

Keller was listening to her story with interest. More than that, he was particularly interested in her honeyed voice. She had a delicate timber with a slight lisp, which he found charming. He was quickly coming to realize that he liked to hear her speak in gentle dulcet tones. He'd known it from the beginning but now it was coming to have more impact. The walls he had built up around himself, or at least tried to, since the woman had lied about her injuries were inevitably crumbling. It was evident that he couldn't maintain his indifference to her for long. There was something about her that softened him whether or not he wanted to.

"Then you do not call the castle Nether?" he asked. "What do you call it?"

Chrystobel shook her head. "We do indeed call it Nether Castle," she said. "My grandfather called it by that name and so do we."

Keller's gaze was thoughtfully on his feet as they crossed the middle of the muddy bailey. "Nether means far away or well behind," he said, glancing up to the tall, imposing walls that enclosed them. "This place is indeed far removed from most civilization. I understand why the Normans who first came to Wales gave it that name."

Chrystobel glanced up at him, seeing that the man was still looking thoughtfully at his feet. She couldn't tell if his cold mood was easing but she continued nonetheless. "When you arrived, you passed over a drawbridge that covers our moat," she said, then cocked her head thoughtfully. "It is really more of a pit than a moat, and it bears the name the Gorge of the Dead because back when the castle was first built, bodies of enemies were tossed in it. They were left there to rot."

Keller wriggled his eyebrows in an understanding gesture. "It makes perfect sense, then, to call it the Gorge of the Dead," he said. "Go on."

Chrystobel did. "You have already been in the keep, which has six big rooms to it," she went on, pointing at the big, square structure looming in front of them. "There are three floors to it and two rooms to each floor. We also have three big towers, as I am sure you have noticed."

Keller came to a halt and Chrystobel along with him. He paused to look at the three enormous towers that were built into the southeast, southwest, and northwest corners of the curtain wall. The towers were nearly as large as the keep itself, "D" shaped in structure, and built from the same dark-veined, gray stone that comprised the rest of the castle.

"These towers could be seen from miles away," he said. "When we were approaching from the valley to the south, they were the first things we saw."

Chrystobel nodded as she pointed to the southeast tower. "That is Tower Twilight," she said. "It is houses the married soldiers and servants. The tower next to it, the southwest tower, is called Tower Night and it houses the armor and weapons. The northeast tower is Tower Day, and it houses our unmarried men or any visitors we may have. Your men will be housed there."

Keller turned to look at her. "I have five hundred men with me and as big as that tower is, it will not be able to house all of them," he said. "My knights will be rearranging the accommodations to suit us. I would assume your people have been told to cooperate."

Chrystobel wasn't so sure she liked that statement. It sounded as if the Welsh occupants were beneath the English who were here to take control. But the truth was that they were beneath the English. Nether belonged to them now, and everyone within her, including Chrystobel. She nodded in response to his statement.

"Aye, my lord," she said. "They will be compliant."

Keller's eyes glittered at her in the weak moonlight. "Including you?"

"It is my duty to be compliant."

"You were not earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"When I asked you who had left you bloodied. You lied to me."

Chrystobel abruptly lowered her gaze, her manner suddenly nervous. She had been quite calm until Keller brought up the incident in her bower. Now, she didn't know what to say. She had sincerely hoped that subject wouldn't come up but Keller had cleverly introduced it into their conversation. Off-guard, his sly action both irritated and embarrassed her. She didn't like being embarrassed.

"It is not polite to accuse a lady of lying," she told him with more boldness than she had exhibited since their introduction. "A man of courtesy and tact would not question a lady's answer in any fashion."

Even as she said it, she cringed. It was an instinctive reaction, waiting for a hand to come flying out at her. That was what usually happened when she showed any amount of insolence, at least when Gryffyn was around. The flinching reaction was drilled into her brain, the result of too many slaps from a man who was full of them.

But Keller didn't react as Gryffyn often did. In fact, he did exactly the opposite. He stared at her a moment as if surprised by her response before actually cracking a smile.

"I have never been a tactful man but I have been known to be a courteous one," he said as he popped his knuckles in a fidgeting gesture. "I should not have called you a liar."

"How would you have reacted had someone called you a liar?"

"Not very well, to be sure. You were far more gracious in the face of slander than I would have been."

Chrystobel eyed him, curious at his change in manner, especially the knuckle-popping. Suddenly, he didn't look like the cold, imposing English knight. Now, there was a measure of humanity to him, a real man with human ticks. His guard, somehow, had gone down with the course of the conversation and it was an unexpected twist. Her gaze lingered on him.

"In fairness," she said, "I supposed it was a natural question, but it was still rude of you to dispute my reply."

Keller conceded the fact. "Indeed it was," he said. "You told me that your injuries occurred when you fell and I should have accepted that."

"It would have been the polite thing to do."

A smile played on his lips. "You are correct. I apologize for calling you a liar."

The man has a handsome smile , she thought. He had big white teeth and massive dimples in each cheek, carving big ruts through his face. More than that, she noticed that rather than rise to a verbal confrontation, he seemed to back down, to ease up his cold and stiff manner. It was a startling realization, as if the man didn't want to upset her with a combative conversation. In what world was it possible that the man would be respectful enough not to argue with her? She wondered.

"I accept your apology," she said, noting that his dusky eyes were still glimmering at her. It was a warm glimmer. "But in the future, should I give you an answer, I would like to have the courtesy of not being called a liar."

"As you wish," he said. "But may I ask a question?"

"You may."

"Will you tell me what really happened?"

Chrystobel gazed at him steadily. In truth, she was debating what to tell him. He had just apologized for calling her a liar even though she was. Still, there were secrets at Nether, dark and terrible secrets that she was embarrassed to admit to a man she'd only known a few hours. Even if the man was her husband. After a few moments of looking into his dusky eyes, all-knowing eyes that most certainly saw through her feeble attempt at avoiding the truth, she averted her gaze. She simply wasn't brave enough to look him in the eye whilst she lied to him again. He was asking for the truth and she hadn't the courage to tell him.

"It was of no consequence," she murmured. "I am well enough and that is all you should be concerned with. Now, what more would you like to know about Nether that I can tell you? Would you like to know about our herds of sheep? We have several large herds. They graze to the north of the castle, upon the slopes of the Cemmae mountains. The herds are our primary source of income and are so well regarded that our soldiers stand guard over the flocks in the fields."

Keller was well aware that she was shifting the subject. It was very clear that she didn't wish to discuss her injuries. Twice he had asked her and twice she had avoided giving him an answer. That same sense of self-protection that kept him bottled up and cold threatened to overshadow the conversation at her refusal to answer his question but he fought it. Perhaps she had her reasons for not divulging the truth even though Keller suspected what the truth was. That loud, obnoxious, rude brother had everything to do with it, he was certain. But for some reason she was protecting him.

But in hindsight, he understood why. The English were the enemy in her eyes, even an English husband. She had been taught not to trust them and he could see that it was going to be difficult to convince her otherwise. She had to learn that he was far more trustworthy than her boorish brother, but something like that would take time and he was impatient. With a sigh, one that conveyed his displeasure in her evasive answer, he nonetheless followed her lead. She wished to discuss sheep. He would allow her the privilege of turning the conversation.

"Come tomorrow, I will post my own men on the herds," he told her. "If they are truly that valuable, then I do not need your father's men absconding with them simply to keep them out of my reach. I will place my assets under my control."

Chrystobel wasn't surprised at the answer but she struggled not to become offended by it. "My father's men are trustworthy, I assure you," she said. "They would not steal the sheep."

He looked at her, that hard edge returning to his eyes. "Your father's men are loyal to him and, consequently, to Wales," he said. "I mean no offense when I say I would rather have Nether's assets, all of them, under my control. It is the prudent thing to do."

Chrystobel didn't argue the point, suspecting he was more than likely right, especially with Gryffyn so resistant to the situation in general. She knew that his disquiet had upset her father's men. They had been upset since the day they had been told that soon they would have English overlords. Perhaps Keller was more astute to the mindset of Nether's men than she gave him credit for. He was a knight, after all, and a seasoned one. He knew better than she did in matters of war and rebellion. She was about to reply to his statement when a shout from the Tower Twilight caught their attention.

Keller and Chrystobel turned to see Aimery make his way towards them. The young knight was running, his mail making grating sounds as he moved. It echoed oddly off the cold stone walls surrounding them. He slowed when he came upon them, kicking up mud from his dirty boots. The mud landed on Chrystobel's skirt.

"My lord," Aimery was breathless as he addressed Keller. "Someone has made an attempt on my brother's life. You must come."

Keller had Chrystobel by the arm as he began to follow Aimery across the ward in the direction of the great shadowed Tower Twilight. It made for a massive silhouette against the star-strewn sky.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Aimery was visibly upset but trying not to show it. "We were patrolling the grounds as you had ordered," he said, turning to look at Keller even as he led the way. "It was a crossbow. The arrow caught my brother in the arm."

Keller should have been pleased to hear that the damage wasn't worse, but all he could manage to feel was rage at a coward who would hide in the shadows and shoot arrows at the English knights.

"Is he badly injured?" he asked.

"Nay, my lord."

"Where did the projectile come from?"

"The wall, my lord."

Keller glanced up at the parapets where men with torches patrolled the night. "Where is William?"

"He is with my brother now."

Keller didn't ask any more questions. And so it comes , he thought to himself. The Welsh welcomes are beginning . As they neared the entry, which was also part of the great curtain wall, he could see Wellesbourne and George standing at the darkened opening. A great smell of dampness filled the air, as if someone had opened a tomb. As Keller approached, he realized that the smell was coming from the tower itself. It smelled like death. He fixed on George.

"Why are you standing here?" he nearly barked. "I thought you were injured?"

George was holding his left arm, bent, against his chest. He looked rather pale, even in the shadows. "I am well enough, my lord," he assured Keller. "It is just a flesh wound."

Keller stared at the young knight a moment before turning to William. As soon as he looked at the man, the knight held up the offending arrow in his right hand.

"He is correctly, mostly," he said. "It buried itself, but not deeply enough to damage anything. I was able to easily remove it."

Keller took the arrow from William and examined the tip. He held it up somewhat so it could catch what little light there was. After a moment, he glanced at William.

"Bodkin tipped," he muttered, referring to the broad triangle shape. "Only a man of wealth would have launched this. Men of lesser means would have simply used a sharpened stick without the metal tip."

William nodded, his eyes perusing the complex. "Agreed," he said. His gaze finally came to rest on Chrystobel, standing next to Keller. She was looking rather shocked by the event and William focused intently on her. "What would you know of archers and errant arrows, my lady? How many archers does your father employ at night?"

Chrystobel was instantly on the defensive. "My father does not have archers upon the wall at night."

"Yet someone shot this arrow into young George's arm," William said steadily. "That arrow is from a fine and expensive quiver, as evidenced by the metal tip and the goose feather fletchings. A man of some wealth owned this arrow."

By this time, Chrystobel was gazing at the man as if he were, indeed, the enemy. He was interrogating her as if she was certainly his enemy and her resentment grew.

"I do not know anything about arrows or fletchings," she said. "My father has twenty archers and all of them are fairly well armed but they do not stand watch at night."

William could see that she was frightened but he didn't back down. "Does your brother own a crossbow?"

"I do not know what my brother owns and I do not care."

She was shaken and angry with her reply. William's gaze lingered on her a moment before turning to Keller. "Mayhap we should find out what the man owns."

Keller had been watching the exchange with his usual intense focus. He didn't miss a sign or a twitch throughout the exchange and he was fairly convinced that his new wife was truthful when she said she knew nothing of the attack. But that didn't solve the mystery of their attacker and Keller knew it was time to show his might. If he did not answer this incident strongly, then it could be perceived as weakness. He still had Chrystobel by the arm as he spoke to Wellesbourne.

"Roust the castle," he said. "I want every man, woman, and child brought to the bailey and placed under guard. Clean this castle out, Will. Is that clear?"

William was already nodding firmly, snapping his fingers to the Ashby-Kidd twins. "Summon the men," he commanded softly. "Have the sergeants break them into groups of ten or more. I will take a group into the keep and you two take the towers. If anyone resists, kill them."

Chrystobel gasped but the English knights didn't dispute the harsh order, nor did they particularly react to the command other than to follow it. An attack had been made against them and they had to show that such attempts would be harshly met. As William, George, and Aimery charged off, Keller turned for the keep and pulled Chrystobel along with him.

"Does that order go for me as well?" she asked fearfully as he dragged her along. "I was truthful when I told you that I did not know about my brother. I do not know if he owns a crossbow."

Keller didn't look at her. He was scanning the walls for another arrow that might try to strike him as well.

"I believe you," he said. "But we must get under cover. If someone is aiming for English knights, they might accidently hit you if they are aiming for me."

Chrystobel yelped, instinctively flinched and ducking her head down as she skipped along beside him. By the time they reached the keep, they were practically running. Chrystobel raced up the exterior stairs and bolted in through the door, followed by Keller, both of them swallowed up by the dark innards of the great stone structure. Before they could take the stairs, however, Chrystobel turned to him.

"What about my sister?" she asked anxiously. "Must she be held under guard out in the bailey like a common criminal?"

Keller shook his head. "Nay," he replied. "I will have her brought to you. You two may remain together, in your chamber, until we sort this through."

"But what about my father?"

"I will question him personally."

Although still apprehensive, Chrystobel was satisfied by his answers enough so that she willingly took the narrow stairs to the next level where her bower was. Keller followed her into the chamber, one he had been in a scant hour before. The bed was still messy and the bowl of water and linen rag that Izlyn had been using to tend her sister's bloodied mouth were still on the table.

Keller looked around the room, noting the small size of the bed. He couldn't help but think that it would make consummating their marriage a bit tricky, for he wasn't entirely sure they could both fit on the bed side by side. He might have to spend all night lying on top of her, which wasn't an entirely terrible thought. A soft body against his rough flesh was something he'd not felt in years. The mere thought was enough to cause him to break into a sweat.

But he shook those visions from his mind, as tempting as they were, to focus on the moment at hand. Chrystobel was over by the hearth now, stoking it, to ward off the chill of the room.

"My lady," Keller said, meeting her gaze when she turned to look at him. "I asked you a question today, twice, which you refused to answer, but hear me now: I will ask you this question and you will not avoid it. You will not lie to me, either. I expect nothing less than total truth from you or we will have a very difficult relationship from this moment forward. Is this in any way unclear to you?"

Chrystobel was looking at him with a mixture of fear and dread. "It is clear, my lord."

Keller's gaze lingered on her. "Very well," he said after a moment. "You will tell me if you believe your brother is behind the arrow that injured my knight."

Chrystobel hesitated. "If you are asking me if I believe him capable of such a thing, then the answer is yes," she replied. "He is indeed capable of the action."

"Do you believe he did it?"

She shrugged unsteadily. "That is difficult to say," she said carefully, not wanting to anger or provoke him. "He might have had someone else do it for him. At times, Gryffyn likes to bully others into carrying out his unsavory tasks. Other times, he will simply do it himself. It mostly depends on what kind of mood he is in."

"Does he have men at Nether who serve him directly?"

Chrystobel shook her head. Somehow, she didn't feel much like defending her brother against this latest onslaught. If she did, it would go badly for her, she could tell. She struggled not to think herself a traitor for divulging what she could.

"He does not have men who serve him directly, but there are men who will only listen to him," she said quietly. "There are at least six of them– Dewey, Glyn, Owain, Hwyel, Moeig, and Meustyn. They are soldiers, not knights, and they will do my brother's bidding without hesitation."

"Where are these men now?"

"More than likely in Tower Day in their quarters."

Keller was somewhat pleased that she was being forthcoming with information about her brother even though the sensible part of him, the professional knight, told him not to trust her completely. They were still, in many ways, enemies and although he didn't believe she would deliberately mislead him, it would be prudent of him to at least be somewhat cautious of her information.

"Does your father have any knights?" he asked.

"Two," she replied. "Older men. They will not be much trouble to you."

"What are their names?"

"Sir Wynne and Sir Rhun."

"And where are they?"

She shrugged. "More than likely in bed," she said. "They are old, as I mentioned, and tend to retire at sunset. You would find them in Tower Twilight."

Keller digested the information. It was the most forthcoming and talkative she had been since their introduction. He still couldn't decide how much to trust or believe her, but at this point he was willing to take a little on faith. He had little choice.

"I thank you for conveying your knowledge," he finally said. "Now you will tell me where you think your brother is. A lair where he would hide, mayhap?"

Chrystobel nodded. "The top level of Tower Twilight," she said. "It is his private domain."

"Tower Twilight is where George was injured."

"I know."

Keller's gaze lingered on her a moment but she met his eyes without reserve. It gave him more confidence, knowing that liars usually had difficulty making eye contact. She had not looked him in the eye when she had given him the weak explanation of her injuries earlier. That fact alone told him that, this time, she was telling the truth. He was quickly coming to see that his wife could not easily lie, which was something of a relief. With a nod of his head, to thank her for her truthfulness, he turned for the door.

"Remain here," he told her. "Do not leave this room for any reason. Is that clear?"

"It is, my lord."

"I will return your sister to you."

"My thanks, my lord." Keller was nearly through the door when she called out to him. "My lord?"

He paused to look at her. "Aye?"

Chrystobel appeared nervous, uncertain. She made her way towards him in slow, halting steps, as if fearful to speak. But she forced the words out.

"You…," she began, swallowed, and then started once more. "You will not tell my brother that I told you where you might find him, will you?"

Something just short of rage pulsed through Keller and he came back into the chamber, closing the door behind him. "Why would you ask that?"

Chrystobel struggled not to look away from his piercing gaze, suddenly regretful that she had said anything at all. Now, surely, he would begin to suspect things. "Because," she stammered. "Because… he would become very angry and take his anger out on those around him."

Keller cocked an eyebrow. "You?"

She couldn't help it now. He was shooting bolts of fire out of those dusky eyes so she looked at the ground. "Anyone," she said softly.

Keller walked over to her and put the fingers of his right hand under her chin, forcing her head up. He forced her to look at him, staring into her eyes with his searing and intense gaze. The bolts of fire were growing more intense.

" You ?" he demanded in a whisper.

There was something so heated and liquid about his gaze, fire bolts reaching in to grab whatever soul and heart she had inside of her, yanking them out and holding them with gentle power and molten fire. She could see everything inside of her now hovering in the air between them as clearly as if he were holding all of it in both hands. She could see fear and vulnerability and interest, interest in him as both a man and as her husband. He must surely have sensed it. It was as if she no longer had any control over her mind, her free will vanishing within the power of his dark blue gaze. After a moment, she could only nod helplessly.

"It is possible."

She spoke the words so softly that he barely heard her, but hear he did. Fury such as he had never known boiled up within Keller to the point that it was actually making him sweat. He'd known all along that it had been Gryffyn attacking Chrystobel, but to hear the confirmation, as vague as it was, nearly drove him insane. No man was going to take his fists to a woman, and most especially not his wife, and live to tell the tale. He dropped his hand from her chin and grabbed her by the arms, nearly crushing her as he fought off the innate sense of disgust.

"No more," he hissed. "Do you hear me? It will never again happen. I will find your brother and I will make that abundantly clear to him."

He was speaking through clenched teeth, frightening her, and Chrystobel's eyes filled with tears.

"Nay," she whispered. "You must not. He will vent his rage on Izlyn and my father. You must not challenge Gryffyn!"

Keller watched tears spill down her cheeks. He could literally feel the fear from the woman. He realized that he wanted very much to comfort her, perhaps draw her against him, hugging her and initiating that comforting human contact to convey both his sympathy and his sorrow for her plight. But somehow, he couldn't do it. The last woman he comforted had put his heart beneath her shoe and crushed it. Nay, he wasn't ready to hold Chrystobel yet, to feel her warm body against his. He seriously wondered if he ever would be. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his hands, hating Gryffyn d'Einen more with every breath he took.

"Not only will I challenge him, but I will win," he said. "You need no longer fear for your sister or father, Lady de Poyer. You are my wife now and your family is now under my protection. Your brother's reign of terror is over."

With that, he turned on his heel and quit the chamber, leaving Chrystobel struggling not to sob. Was it possible it was true? Was it possible the English knight would actually become their savior and end their terror once and for all?

She was about to find out.