Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(117)

De Poyer didn’t sit right away even though his men did. As Chrystobel watched from an alcove, de Poyer moved to the hearth to inspect it, pacing the room slowly as his gaze moved over every facet of the hall as if biting it off, chewing it, and digesting it. He had a very intense gaze. His perusal of his new acquisition gave Chrystobel a chance to inspect him. As she had initially noticed, he was a large man with a big, muscular body. He had enormously wide shoulders and arms. He wasn’t obviously handsome but he had rugged, strong features that she found intriguing. He had dark, dusky eyes and closed-cropped dark hair with flecks of gray near the temples. She wondered how old he was. He wasn’t young but he wasn’t particularly old. It seemed to her that he was a man who had seen much in life because his manner seemed oddly weary.

A servant swept past her through the alcove, coming from the small exterior door that led off towards the kitchens, and nearly dropped a platter of boiled apples as she went. The woman panicked because she thought Gryffyn, who wasn’t even in the hall yet, might have heard the commotion. He did not tolerate clumsiness. Chrystobel caught the platter before it could crash and took it out into the hall herself. No use in hiding herself any longer.

She headed straight for the dais where the knights were collecting. She counted four in all, including de Poyer. Setting the tray down, she dared to glance up and noticed that a big blond knight was studying her intently. Startled when their eyes met, she bowed quickly and turned away, only to run straight into Keller.

He had seen her emerge with the platter of apples and made his way over to the table. Dry and cleaned up from her trip through the mud, he was not surprised to see how lovely she truly was. Her blond hair fell well past her buttocks, the hair around her face pulled back and secured behind her head. She was clad in a rough linen surcoat of a faded cranberry color with a woven tassel rope about her gently flaring hips. When their eyes met, he was intrigued anew by the beauty of her face. But along with that beauty, he noticed dark shading along her left cheekbone. It was clearly a bruise. His dark eyes inspected her cheek with the same intensity as they inspected the hall. Keller de Poyer was a man who missed nothing.

“You hurt yourself tumbling down the hill today, my lady,” he commented. “I am sorry I could not save you sooner to prevent it.”

She truly had no idea what he was talking about. Her big brown eyes were a little lost as she gazed back at him.

“My lord?”

He tilted his chin in the direction of her cheek even as his eyes focused on the swollen area. “Your face,” he clarified, somewhat softer. “You bruised it when you fell.”

Her hand flew to her face and she lowered her gaze with uncertainty. “I…,” she tried to move away from him, out from under his intense stare. “I am sorry if my appearance is unseemly, my lord.”

He reached out and grabbed her wrist with a massive hand. Even without the gauntlets he usually wore, his hand was three times the size of hers. “You are hardly unseemly,” he pulled her back towards him and dropped his hand when he was sure she wasn’t going to try and move away again. “I would introduce you to the knights who are now in control of Nether. Good knights, this is Lady Chrystobel d’Einen, chatelaine of Nether Castle,” he eyed the men around him somewhat awkwardly. “She is the future Lady de Poyer.”

Wellesbourne was the first man to greet her. He did so politely. “My lady, Sir William Wellesbourne at your service.”

Still embarrassed about her bruised cheek, it was a struggle for Chrystobel to acknowledge the big blond knight. He was handsome and with a very deep voice. The two shorter knights on Wellesbourne’s other side came at her with the gentle force of a raging blizzard. They almost knocked her off her feet with their rush.

“I am Sir George Ashby-Kidd,” George grabbed her hand before his brother could get to it. “And this is my dastardly brother, Sir Aimery. You should make all effort to stay away from him. He’s a fool.”

George grinned as he kissed her hand, while Aimery scowled at him and yanked her hand away before his brother could finish kissing it. Not to kiss the same place his brother had, he flipped her hand over and deposited a rather lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist.

“Sir Aimery Ashby-Kidd, my lady, your devoted servant,” he said. “If there is anyone to watch out for, it is my brother. He has the tongue of a serpent.”

Chrystobel was taken aback by the bold young knights and their idea of gallantry. Wellesbourne slapped Aimery on the back of the head and took the lady’s hand away.

“Good God,” he growled, pulling her away. “Idiots, both of you. Go sit down before you make complete jackasses of yourselves.”

Keller watched as Wellesbourne took Chrystobel to the other side of the dais, politely seating her and making sure she had an adequate amount of wine. George and Aimery were caught up arguing with each other, leaping on the serving wench when she brought more wine and nearly knocking the woman to the ground. They tended to drink in excess and tonight was to be no exception. But Keller stood back, watching the scene before him, absorbing it. Wellesbourne was much more comfortable with women than he was and he observed the man as he made small talk with Chrystobel. Since William was already married to a woman he adored, Keller presumed, correctly, that Wellesbourne knew much more about conversing with women than he did. Keller would make sure to study his mannerisms and try to emulate them.