Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

T he blow to the jaw sent Gryffyn reeling.

Sprawled on the rough oak planks of the great hall, Gryffyn shook the stars from his eyes and looked up to see the big English knight moving in for another blow.

Keller had fists the size of a man's head, but Gryffyn was fast. He managed to roll out of the way and leap to his feet although his balance was off and he ended up bashing into the corner of the hearth. But Keller was coming in for another blow and Gryffyn threw himself to his left, away from his sister's enraged husband. He knew, by the look in the man's eye, that he meant to kill him.

Gryffyn tried to lash out a fist at Keller, but the knight was just too fast and too strong. Keller grabbed Gryffyn's fist, twisted, and ended up snapping his wrist. Gryffyn fell to his knees, screaming in pain as Keller stood over him in a huffing and furious stance. His dusky eyes were smoldering with fury.

"So you have been hiding here all along, waiting for the proper moment to strike," Keller hissed. "You are a coward of a man, d'Einen– a wretched and vile coward. Now that I finally have you, I intend to do what should have been done long ago."

Holding his wrist, Gryffyn glared at Keller with eyes as dark as obsidian. "If I am a coward, then you are a fool," he growled. "You cannot stop me. Nether and everything in it belongs to me, including my sister!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Keller reached out and used his fist to hammer on Gryffyn's broken wrist, sending the man into howls of pain. But Keller was immune to it. His focus was both deadly and intense as he watched Gryffyn squirm.

"She is my wife now and I swear, by all that is holy, that you shall never lay another hand on her again," Keller rumbled. "I knew someone was beating her but she would not directly tell me who it was. For all of the pain and humiliation you have cast upon her, she still protected you. God knows why, but she did. How long was this going on before I came, d'Einen? How long have you been beating on helpless women to make you feel more like a man?"

Cradling his wrist against his chest, Gryffyn was in a world of hurt. "You bastard," he grunted. "You come to my castle in all of your haughty, conquering glory and married my sister because my weak and foolish father made a pact with the Devil."

Keller's eyes blazed. "William Marshal has nothing to do with you taking your fists to your sister."

"You only married her to gain a castle. Do not act as if she means something to you!"

"It does not matter if she means something to me." Keller was struggling not to wrap his hands around the man's neck, although he knew, eventually, that it would come to that. It was just a feeling he had. "She is my wife and I will protect her. I will tell you this now, Gryffyn d'Einen, so there is no misunderstanding. If you so much as look at her in a hostile manner again, I will run you through. Make no mistake. If you touch her again, I will kill you."

Gryffyn wasn't used to being questioned or disciplined. He had always done as he pleased. Deep down, he was a spoiled little boy with a spoiled little mind. With a growl, he propelled himself off the floor and charged Keller with all of his furious might. Keller easily reached out a massive fist and caught Gryffyn on the side of the head, knocking the man silly. Gryffyn fell on his bad wrist, collapsed in a heap, and began to bellow.

Keller gazed at the man, not at all sorry for the pain and suffering he was feeling. Had Keller possessed any less self-control, the man would be wallowing in a pool of his own blood. He deserved all of the justified agony and more. In fact, Keller was purposely making the man suffer. He wanted him to feel the pain he had inflicted upon Chrystobel, and upon his family, for untold years. He wanted Gryffyn to feel the humiliation and hurt. As Gryffyn writhed in agony, Keller turned to his wife.

Chrystobel had managed to crawl over to the hearth and now sat propped up against the wall, her dark eyes wide with shock. Keller's appearance at the most opportune time had been startling enough, but watching her husband pound her brother was a vision of violence and retribution that she never thought she would live to see. Gryffyn was finally subdued and Keller was the reason, protecting her as he had sworn to do. He was a man of his word, English or no. The realization was almost more than she could bear and she gazed at the man, seeing him through entirely new eyes.

This wasn't the same knight she had met the day before, the man who had shown little to no warmth. That Keller de Poyer was an efficient, humorless man who, she was sure, had viewed her just as he viewed Nether Castle; as an acquisition. The big knight with the wide shoulders and enormous hands hadn't treated her with anything more than polite respect until this moment in time. Having seen Gryffyn preparing to pounce on her was all Keller needed to unleash his fury against the man, as if Chrystobel meant something to him. As if he was protecting something dear. It had been a truly awesome sight to behold and she was still quite stunned by it all.

As his brother-in-law moaned on the floor several feet away, Keller had eyes only for Chrystobel. She was such a lovely creature. He'd known that from the moment he had first laid eyes on her. But the pain in his heart from a love lost had prevented him from seeing beyond his fear. Fear of feeling, fear of opening himself up again. Chrystobel was a beautiful angel he had never expected to know and now, he could feel himself relenting. He could feel himself warming, perhaps willing to open himself up again. The very moment he had saved her life was the moment he started to let himself feel something.

He crouched down beside her as she sat against the wall, his rugged face, worn by the years and the weather, creased with concern.

"Are you badly injured?" he asked softly.

The buzzing in Chrystobel's head had eased considerably. "Nay," she said softly, gazing into his eyes and feeling hope and relief in her chest such as she had never before experienced. "I am well enough."

Keller's gaze drifted over her head, her face, as if he didn't believe her. "Are you certain?" he asked quietly. "I can send for a physic."

Chrystobel smiled faintly, reaching out to put a hand on his arm in a reassuring gesture. "That is not necessary," she said, sighing quietly. "I will admit that my head does ache a bit, but food and rest will cure me, I am sure."

He stared at her a moment before lifting his enormous hands and gently cupped her face. As Chrystobel looked into his eyes, her heart thumping madly against her ribs, she could feel the emotion pouring from the man. It was as if a dam had burst and everything that had been held back was finally gushing out. Sir Keller de Poyer was cold no more, and it was an astonishing realization.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am sorry you had to endure what your brother did to you. But I swear, with God as my witness, that he will never touch you again."

Chrystobel was at a loss for words, her breathing unsteady as his thumbs began to stroke her silken skin. It was the first time he had touched her and her senses were understandably overwhelmed.

"It was simply the way of things, my lord," she murmured. "It has been going on so long that I have known little else."

Keller's face hardened. "No more," he rumbled. "He is a dead man if he so much as looks at you in a way I do not like. Do you believe me?"

Chrystobel nodded, though she hardly dared to truly believe. "Aye."

His gentle smile returned. "Good." He fought off the sudden urge to kiss her, not wanting the first genuine kiss between them to be a public spectacle. He was rather shy and conservative that way. Moreover, there was something more she needed to know, something very serious. He braced himself.

"I must also apologize for something else," he said hesitantly. "Your father…."

Chrystobel cut him off by a nod of the head, tears popping to her eyes. "I know," she whispered. "Gryffyn told me."

"He admitted to killing him?"

"Aye," she confirmed. "The blood on the floor… is it his?"

Keller nodded, watching her sorrowful expression. "Aye," he said quietly. "I am so sorry that I was unable to prevent it."

Chrystobel struggled to control her tears, thinking on her father, the man who was supposed to protect her but never did. Although she was sorry for his loss, she couldn't seem to muster true grief for his passing. Had the man ever prevented Gryffyn from having his own way in all things, perhaps she would have felt differently, but at the moment she felt somewhat guilty that she wasn't more distraught.

"You are not responsible," she said, wiping at her eyes. "You did what you could. You saved me, in fact, and I thank you for that."

Keller's dusky eyes glimmered. "It is one of the better things that I have done in my life."

She smiled at the first truly warm moment between them. "I am particularly grateful for your keen sense of timing," she said. "A few seconds later and I might not have been so grateful. Or alive."

He winked at her and dropped his hands from her face, moving to take her two small hands within his big palms. He kissed them both sweetly, tenderly, as a promise of things to come. Now, it would be different between them. Gryffyn had, if nothing else, accomplished that.

"If you can stand, mayhap we should go and check on your sister," Keller said. "I am sure you are anxious to see her."

Chrystobel nodded, glancing at Gryffyn as the man sat up with the Ashby-Kidd twins standing several feet away from him, watching every move the man made.

"I am," she said, eyeing her brother warily. "What are you going to do with him?"

The warmth in Keller's eyes faded as he looked over his shoulder at the Welshman, who was holding his broken wrist awkwardly against his torso. His expression suggested anger, defeat, and defiance. Even with the broken wrist, Keller could still see fight in the man. After a moment, he returned his gaze to Chrystobel.

"Lock him in the vault," he said. "The man has much to atone for so I hope you will trust me to make the appropriate judgment."

"Of course, my lord."

His gaze lingered on her a moment, thoughts turning from Gryffyn back to her. He liked thinking of her much better. "You will call me Keller," he said quietly. "Or husband. I will answer to whatever you choose to call me."

A beautiful smile spread across her face. She had a delightful grin with straight, white teeth and slightly prominent canines. "I would be honored to call you Keller," she said sincerely.

He was just about to release her hands but thought better of it as she spoke. The glimmer returned to his eyes.

"I like hearing you say my name," he said honestly.

Her smile broadened even more, if such a thing was possible. "Then I shall say it again," she whispered. "Keller."

He kissed her hand again, smiling when she giggled. In the midst of this hellish situation, it was a tender moment that saw something of a relationship between them take hold. A spark had ignited, and Keller was again thinking on kissing her lips, privacy be damned, when he heard scuffling behind him. Before he could turn around, something violent and painful rammed into the right side of his torso.

He pitched forward as Chrystobel screamed, struggling to keep him from falling even as he collapsed onto his bum. Horrified, they could both see the dagger jutting from his right side, about a foot below his armpit. And there was a hand on it.

Gryffyn stood behind Keller, his good hand on the hilt of the dirk as he crammed it into the man's flesh. Ripping it from Keller's body, he pushed the man aside and aimed for his sister with the blade held high, but Chrystobel threw herself sideways, out of his line of fire, and Gryffyn's blade came down on the wall behind her.

Screaming, Chrystobel was barely out of the way when the Ashby-Kidd twins pounced on Gryffyn. It was a bad fight from the onset, with fists flying, feet kicking and Keller somewhere underneath it all. The knife that had gored Keller fell to the floor in the process and Gryffyn began to howl as his broken wrist was further injured.

Chrystobel, meanwhile, had lurched to her feet, trying to keep free of the fighting men as she skirted the battle, attempting to find Keller in the chaos. It was difficult because all four of them were rolling about, throwing punches and grunting, and she could see a thin trail of blood on the stone that must have been from Keller. Horrified, she attempted to stay clear of the fight.

"Keller?" she cried. "God's Bones, Keller! "

He didn't answer but she could see that he had Gryffyn by his good arm, twisting it. It was as much as he could do given the position he found himself in, laying on his chest with three other men on top of him. George had Gryffyn around the neck while Aimery was fighting off the effect of a kick straight to the face. As Aimery fell back, hand to a bloodied nose, Gryffyn reared his head back and head-butted George. As George staggered, Gryffyn rolled off of Keller and scrambled to his feet, falling to his knees before scrambling up again.

It looked like a panicked flight of a man who knew his life expectancy was only counted in minutes now. Deep down, Gryffyn was a coward. He knew he was out-manned and the eventual outcome would not be in his favor. He had to get away from the knights who were intent on killing him. He ran straight to the hearth and shoved open the servant door, bolting through it as George, followed by a bleeding Aimery, went in pursuit. Chrystobel could hear the scuffling and shouting as they ran off.

With the fight having moved on without him, Keller was struggling to push himself up off the floor as Chrystobel raced to his side, trying to steady the man. Horrified, she could see deep red blood staining the right side of his tunic and leaking onto his mail.

"Keller," she gasped. "Stay down. Let me look at your injury."

He shook his head as he attempted to get to his feet. "Later," he grunted. "I must go after your brother."

Chrystobel had her hand on his shoulders, trying to keep him from rising. "You are in no condition to go after him," she said, sounding as if she were scolding. "Your knights are in pursuit. He will not get away."

Keller was on his knees, looking up at her and realizing she was more than likely correct. He trusted George and Aimery to subdue Gryffyn. More than that, he didn't feel particularly well. If he were to go after Gryffyn, he would only be a hindrance. Frustrated, he sighed heavily.

"Then I should find Wellesbourne at the very least," he said. "He must know what has happened."

"We will find him in a moment," Chrystobel insisted. "You must let me tend your wound."

Keller didn't seem particularly concerned about it. "It is not too severe," he said, although his lips were pale with shock. "I would wager that a few stitches should take care of it."

He was trying to stand up and no amount of pushing could force him to remain down, so Chrystobel got him by the arm and pulled him over to the bench next to the feasting table. He sat heavily as she pulled away layers of clothing and mail to get to the puncture wound. Keller tried to hold her off but she wouldn't be dissuaded. Eventually, he gave up trying and sat there as she finally revealed the wound. He heard her sigh heavily at the sight.

"It does not seem to be bleeding too heavily," she said, concern in her tone, "but I need to sew it up right away. Can you make it up to my chamber?"

Keller nodded, suddenly feeling very weary. He hadn't slept in almost two days and his fatigue, now compounded by the injury, was catching up to him. So he stood up as Chrystobel positioned herself next to him, slinging his big left arm over her slender shoulders. She was very determined to assist him and he was touched by her resolve. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had showed him such concern.

"I must find Wellesbourne," he repeated as they slowly moved for the hall entry. "He must know what has happened."

"Then we will send one of your men for him," Chrystobel replied steadily. "You'll not go on the hunt for him."

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little."

He fought off a grin at her firm tone but didn't argue with her. He rather liked a woman who wasn't afraid to deny him, so he kept his mouth shut as they moved out into the bright bailey beyond. As they walked across the mud, carefully, heading for the keep, they could hear shouting off to the right where the kitchen yard was located. Soldiers were breaking their posts and running in the direction of the yard. Keller watched them run, wondering what was so vital that had them breaking posts. But as he watched his men, a thought occurred to him.

"That passageway that is next to the hearth," he ventured. "Where does it lead?"

Chrystobel was watching the ground where they walked, careful to keep them both out of the slippery mud. "It is used by the servants," she said. "It leads to the kitchen yard. Gryffyn must have been hiding in it."

He looked at her lowered head. "And you did not think to tell me that there was such a passage where he may hide?"

She felt rather guilty. "It is such a common passage," she said truthfully. "It never crossed my mind. The passage is used constantly so I never imagined he would hide there, but he did, and when I entered the hall to wait for you, he was waiting. He killed the soldier that was my escort and then tried to kill me also."

Keller sighed. Frankly, he didn't want to think what could have happened had he been a few seconds later into the hall, so he pushed those thoughts aside as he turned once more towards the commotion in the distance.

"So your brother and my knights ran through the passage and ended up in the kitchen yard," he said. "That must be what all of the chaos is about. Mayhap they have your brother cornered."

"Mayhap."

The more they walked to the keep, the better the angle towards the kitchen yard. Keller could eventually see the wall that surrounded the yard and the open gate that led into the area, but not much more. Men were shouting and someone was bringing horses from the stable, which soldiers quickly mounted. They tore off through the gate and on into the kitchen yard.

"Where are my men going with horses?" Keller wondered aloud.

Chrystobel kept her focus on the ground. "There is a postern gate there that leads to the slopes beyond," she said quietly. "Mayhap my brother slipped through it and they are going in pursuit."

Keller turned to look at her, recalling a mention of a postern gate from their first acquaintance. "The same postern gate you used yesterday when you were chasing the injured rabbit?"

"Aye."

Keller grunted, visibly unhappy. "That gate should have been locked and guarded," he grumbled. "Someone will have to reckon for this mistake if, in fact, your brother was able to escape."

Chrystobel didn't say any more, fearful that he might become angry with her somehow. She continued to help him across the bailey, dodging the puddles and kicking away the dogs. As they neared the keep William emerged, his eyes growing wide at the sight of Chrystobel helping an obviously injured Keller. He rushed forward to assist.

"What happened?" William demanded.

Keller ended up leaning on the man heavily. He had been keeping his weight off of Chrystobel so he wouldn't topple her over but found he could no longer suffer the strain. He gripped William as the man struggled to steady him.

"Gryffyn was in the hall," Keller said. "He managed to catch me with his dirk. George and Aimery are in pursuit, over near the kitchen yard, I believe."

"My brother stabbed him," Chrystobel clarified since Keller seemed inclined to make light of what was a very harrowing incident. "He has a wound in his back."

William gazed at Keller with great concern. "How bad is it?"

"It is bad!" Chrystobel answered for him. "He seems to think that he only needs a stitch or two, but it was a deep gash. He should rest today at least so the bleeding will stop."

William was rather amused that Chrystobel seemed to be doing all of the talking, forcing Keller to stand there and wriggle his eyebrows in submission. In fact, it was a rather stunning situation because William knew Keller de Poyer to be anything but submissive. Yet with this woman, now his wife, that was exactly what he seemed to be. It was odd behavior coming from the usually humorless and rigid man. But, then again, the past two days had seen some remarkable behavior from him. Perhaps it was as William had mused. Perhaps, somehow, the man was learning to be human and the walls of protection were crumbling.

"Lady de Poyer will see to my wound," Keller told William, "but I want you to take charge of the capture of Gryffyn. The man is deadly and needs to be dealt with. Put him in the gatehouse and await further instructions from me."

William acknowledged the order but continued to aid Chrystobel in assisting Keller into the keep. The man took the narrow stairs slowly to the second level where several of his soldiers were still gathered to protect the door of Chrystobel's chamber. It seemed rather useless to have them all there now, so Keller ordered them away, all but two, and the men disbanded. William followed them with the promise that he would send word to Keller once Gryffyn was secured.

Satisfied, but increasingly weak, Keller followed Chrystobel into her comfortable chamber where Izlyn was now sitting next to the fire, playing with some sticks on the ground in front of her. When she looked up and saw her sister and the English knight, she ran to the other end of the room and cowered against the wall.

"Izzie," Chrystobel tried to soothe her sister as she helped Keller to sit on the bed. "Sir Keller is injured and I will need your help. Will you do this for me, please?"

Izlyn remained on the other side of the room but managed to nod. Chrystobel smiled at her sister. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said. "Now, I am going to need some very hot water and clean linen. I will also need for you to bring me my sewing kit."

It took Izlyn a moment to come away from the wall and, hesitantly, move to the big wardrobe. She pulled open the doors, revealing the neatly-stacked items inside; shawls, shoes, belts, and other boxes containing possessions. As Izlyn retrieved the sewing kit, Chrystobel began removing Keller's clothing, very carefully. His heavy green and yellow Pembroke tunic was first.

"Will one of your soldiers escort Izlyn to retrieve the hot water?" she asked, gingerly pulling the tunic over his head. "I need to cleanse the wound."

Keller grunted as it pained him to lift his right arm. "I will send one of my men for it," he said. "With all that his happening around the fortress, it would be safer if she remained here."

Chrystobel nodded and, once the tunic was off, went to the chamber door and opened it. A soldier stuck his head inside in response to Keller's summons and the man was soon off on a mission to retrieve hot water. When the man was gone, Chrystobel returned to her patient.

His tunic was in a pile on the bed beside him as she stood back, inspecting the mail coat for the best way to remove it. Keller surmised what she was doing.

"The best way to remove the mail is for me to bend at the waist as you pull it over my head," he told her as he stood up, towering over her by head and shoulders. "I will bend over and you can pull."

Chrystobel had never removed a knight's mail before, so this was an entirely new project for her. In fact, she felt a little giddy and daring, undressing her new husband, even if it was only moderately so. Keller bent over and extended his arms, grunting because his back pained him, and instructed her to take hold of the shoulders first. She did and pulled, moving the mail over his big body incrementally. The mail was ungiving and wanted to bunch up like a log jam in places, so Chrystobel found herself working it in sections. Keller, in excruciating pain with the angle of his body, never uttered more than soft encouragement to her.

It was a new experience for them both. Keller could only see her lower body as she worked with the mail, which would have come off much easier with the help of someone who knew how to do it, but Keller was showing remarkable patience for a man who usually had none. When Izlyn brought over the sewing kit and set it upon the table next to the bed, the young girl actually attempted to help her sister with the task, and soon Keller had two rather weak females pulling at his mail in all the wrong places. They tugged and shifted, and all they managed to do was bunch it up round his head and shoulders so that the weight of it was nearly bending him in half. Chrystobel could see what they had done and she was mortified.

"It is stuck," she gasped, tugging on the arms with all her might. "God's Bones, I managed to twist you up in your own mail coat."

Keller was in a bad way with the mail. "It might help if you try to move the arms off first," he said patiently. "The rest should follow."

At Chrystobel's instruction, Izlyn took one arm and she took the other. There was a good deal of grunting and groaning going on as the two women struggled to pull the mail coat off, and somewhere in the midst of it, Keller found himself grinning at the activities. Izlyn was literally jumping up and down as she pulled, dramatically struggling with the heavy mail, and Keller had to bite off the giggles at her antics. It was really quite humorous to watch and it was the most animated that he'd seen the child since he had first met her.

He was watching Izlyn's great struggles when Chrystobel's portion of the mail suddenly slipped free and Keller went right along with it. He lost his balance and pitched forward, sending them both to the ground. His full body weight came down and Keller ended up on top of her, gazing into her painful expression.

"God's Bloody Rood," he grunted, bracing his hands on either side of her and pushing himself up. "Are you well? Did I hurt you?"

Chrystobel groaned softly as his weight lifted from her. "You did not hurt me," she said, rubbing the back of her head where it had hit the floor. "I am well. Are you? I did not hurt you, did I?"

Keller rolled back on his haunches, grasping Chrystobel by both arms and pulling her to a sitting position. "I am well enough," he said, glancing at Izlyn, who was standing a few feet away with a fearful expression on her face. "'Twas your sister and her amazing strength that did this. She is a fearsome wench."

A smile bloomed on Chrystobel's lips and she looked at her sister, who was looking rather confused by Keller's statement. "Aye, that she is," she agreed, rising to her feet and helping Keller as he struggled to his. "She is very fearsome, indeed."

Keller eyed the younger girl as he pulled the rest of his mail coat off. "Do you think the fearsome wench can find me a chair to put this coat on?" he asked. "It should be left to dry."

Chrystobel turned to her sister, who had heard the request. She still appeared rather fearful and confused, but she dutifully went on the hunt for a chair. There was one near the hearth and she dragged it over, presenting it to Keller with the greatest timidity.

Keller took it and thanked her politely, which almost sent her cowering to the wall again because the man had spoken directly to her. But she didn't get too far. In fact, her curiosity was overcoming her fear of the great English knight. He hadn't been cruel to her and he certainly hadn't been cruel to her sister, so her nervous edge was easing somewhat. She began to creep closer to the bed but backed up when Keller noticed her movement. When he looked away, she would resume inching forward.

Keller was aware of Izlyn's game. He was trying very hard not to smile as she shuffled discreetly in his direction. Every time he looked at her, she would stop, pretending that she was doing nothing more than casually standing there, but then he would look away and he could hear her shuffling feet again. He looked at her quickly one time and she nearly fell over in her haste to come to a stop. It was a cute little diversion and he was content to play along, but in truth, there was something more prevalent on Keller's mind.

As Chrystobel helped him remove his padded tunic, revealing the naked and muscular torso beneath, it began to occur to him that he was now only half-dressed with two women in the room, one being his new wife whom he had yet to have marital relations with. He was an inherently shy man, reserved, and had never been particularly comfortable with opposite sex. He knew some men were content to walk around in the nude no matter what the circumstances, but he wasn't one of them. He was, kindly put, a prude.

Consequently, he hadn't had his first sexual experience until he was a seasoned knight, twenty-seven years of age to be exact, and that experience had occurred in a tavern because he had been exhausted and drunk after a battle march. A serving wench had taken advantage of his state and he'd soon found himself in bed with not one but two women. They had both pleasured him and he'd ended up having sex with both of them, one after the other, and the women told him repeatedly that he had the biggest member they had ever seen. It was supposed to make him feel manly but it just made him feel self-conscious.

He'd awoken the next morning with both women snuggled up next to him, feeling rather shocked and embarrassed at his wild behavior. He'd slipped out of the tavern half-dressed because he hadn't wanted to wake them, putting on the rest of his clothing and protection while on the road. His colleagues had made great sport of his embarrassment and, to this day, it made his cheeks flame to think on that shame. He'd been the butt of jokes for months afterwards. Have you heard about de Poyer? The man has such a mighty rod that it takes two women at once to satisfy him! Beware your sisters and daughters around him, for he'll take his pleasure with them and blow the top of their heads off with his virility!

God, he'd just wanted to die of shame from all of the ribald comments. Those same knights who had taunted him ended up in his command years later and he made sure they felt his wrath. But fourteen years later, he was no more comfortable with women than he had been those years ago. He'd had a few more sexual encounters since then, with paid women, but they had been few and far between. Consequently, he wasn't very experienced with intimacy and as he sat on the bed, his naked torso exposed, he found that he was actually embarrassed. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if the younger girl wasn't there, but as it was, he was vastly uncomfortable. But he couldn't very well send the child away. Meanwhile, he tried not to appear too uneasy as he sat there and popped his knuckles absently.

"It would be better if you lie on your belly," Chrystobel's soft voice broke him from his train of thought. "Would it be too painful for you to do that?"

"It would not," he said softly. "If it makes tending the wound easier for you, I am happy to comply."

Chrystobel smiled at his kind words as Keller stopped cracking his knuckles and rolled onto this stomach, his face buried in coverlets that smelled of violets. He could feel Chrystobel's gentle fingers on his back, the tender touch of an angel soothing him. Thoughts of discomfort and embarrassment faded, and he was asleep before he realized it.

It was the first time in two days that he felt at ease enough to sleep.