Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(121)

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 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 reached 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?”