Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(120)

“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 Your land grant will be rescinded and I will keep your castle anyway.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 disappearing 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.”