Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(124)

“That will not happen again,” he finally said. “It is apparent to me that Gryffyn d’Einen has wrought much distress upon this place and I do not appreciate nor respect men who wreak havoc simply for havoc’s sake. Lady Chrystobel, I will ask you a question and you will be truthful. Did your brother put those bruises on your neck and was it he who split your lip?”

Chrystobel’s eyes were wide with fright. She opened her mouth as if to reply, looking at her sister as she did so, and then suddenly shut her mouth. She didn’t know Keller well enough to trust him with the truth. She was fearful of what would happen to her or to Izlyn should Gryffyn find out that she told of his foul deeds. At the moment, fear of her brother outweighed the fear of her new husband. Unable to look at Keller, she looked to her lap.

“I…,” she began softly. “I am not sure….”

“The truth, lady.”

He had interrupted her stammering and she grew flustered. “I… I do not remember,” she whispered painfully, still looking at her lap. “I was walking across the bailey and… and perhaps I tripped. I do not remember.”

Keller stared at her. He didn’t like being lied to and since he wasn’t any good when it came to communicating with women, it produced a bad combination in a situation like this. He couldn’t decide whether he was furious or disappointed that she would not tell him the truth, which turned his demeanor to stone. His coldness was apparent. Reaching down, he took her hand in his massive gloved one and pulled her up from the bed.

“Come along, then,” he muttered. “There is a priest in the hall waiting to perform the wedding sacrament.”

He had her on her feet and Chrystobel visibly blanched. “But…,” she stammered. “I am not appropriately dressed to receive the sacrament, my lord. At least allow me to change from these dirty clothes.”

Keller’s gaze moved over her body, noting the shapely figure beneath the surcoat. “God does not care how clean you are, my lady.”

Horrified that he was not going to allow her to change into a clean frock and at least brush her hair, she grabbed Izlyn in a gesture of panic and perhaps comfort. Keller dragged both women from the chamber.

He realized, as he hit the bailey outside, that he was angry. Angry that the woman he was to marry would not give him the truth to a direct question. If she would not tell him the truth about a matter such as this, he couldn’t imagine what else she would hide or lie to him about.

Perhaps he should not have believed her when she said she was chasing a wounded rabbit down the slopes of Nether. Perhaps she really had been running away. If she wanted a marriage in name only, then he would be happy to oblige her. It would save him from becoming emotionally invested in yet another woman who would break his carefully-protected heart.





Chapter Five





Of 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.