Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(128)

Keller should have been pleased to hear that the damage wasn’t worse, but all he could manage to feel was rage at a coward who would hide in the shadows and shoot arrows at the English knights.

“Is he badly injured?” he asked.

“Nay, my lord.”

“Where did the projectile come from?”

“The wall, my lord.”

Keller glanced up at the parapets where men with torches patrolled the night. “Where is William?”

“He is with my brother now.”

Keller didn’t ask any more questions. And so it comes, he thought to himself. The Welsh welcomes are beginning. As they neared the entry, which was also part of the great curtain wall, he could see Wellesbourne and George standing at the darkened opening. A great smell of dampness filled the air, as if someone had opened a tomb. As Keller approached, he realized that the smell was coming from the tower itself. It smelled like death. He fixed on George.

“Why are you standing here?” he nearly barked. “I thought you were injured?”

George was holding his left arm, bent, against his chest. He looked rather pale, even in the shadows. “I am well enough, my lord,” he assured Keller. “It is just a flesh wound.”

Keller stared at the young knight a moment before turning to William. As soon as he looked at the man, the knight held up the offending arrow in his right hand.

“He is correctly, mostly,” he said. “It buried itself, but not deeply enough to damage anything. I was able to easily remove it.”

Keller took the arrow from William and examined the tip. He held it up somewhat so it could catch what little light there was. After a moment, he glanced at William.

“Bodkin tipped,” he muttered, referring to the broad triangle shape. “Only a man of wealth would have launched this. Men of lesser means would have simply used a sharpened stick without the metal tip.”

William nodded, his eyes perusing the complex. “Agreed,” he said. His gaze finally came to rest on Chrystobel, standing next to Keller. She was looking rather shocked by the event and William focused intently on her. “What would you know of archers and errant arrows, my lady? How many archers does your father employ at night?”

Chrystobel was instantly on the defensive. “My father does not have archers upon the wall at night.”

“Yet someone shot this arrow into young George’s arm,” William said steadily. “That arrow is from a fine and expensive quiver, as evidenced by the metal tip and the goose feather fletchings. A man of some wealth owned this arrow.”

By this time, Chrystobel was gazing at the man as if he were, indeed, the enemy. He was interrogating her as if she was certainly his enemy and her resentment grew.

“I do not know anything about arrows or fletchings,” she said. “My father has twenty archers and all of them are fairly well armed but they do not stand watch at night.”

William could see that she was frightened but he didn’t back down. “Does your brother own a crossbow?”

“I do not know what my brother owns and I do not care.”

She was shaken and angry with her reply. William’s gaze lingered on her a moment before turning to Keller. “Mayhap we should find out what the man owns.”

Keller had been watching the exchange with his usual intense focus. He didn’t miss a sign or a twitch throughout the exchange and he was fairly convinced that his new wife was truthful when she said she knew nothing of the attack. But that didn’t solve the mystery of their attacker and Keller knew it was time to show his might. If he did not answer this incident strongly, then it could be perceived as weakness. He still had Chrystobel by the arm as he spoke to Wellesbourne.

“Roust the castle,” he said. “I want every man, woman, and child brought to the bailey and placed under guard. Clean this castle out, Will. Is that clear?”

William was already nodding firmly, snapping his fingers to the Ashby-Kidd twins. “Summon the men,” he commanded softly. “Have the sergeants break them into groups of ten or more. I will take a group into the keep and you two take the towers. If anyone resists, kill them.”

Chrystobel gasped but the English knights didn’t dispute the harsh order, nor did they particularly react to the command other than to follow it. An attack had been made against them and they had to show that such attempts would be harshly met. As William, George, and Aimery charged off, Keller turned for the keep and pulled Chrystobel along with him.

“Does that order go for me as well?” she asked fearfully as he dragged her along. “I was truthful when I told you that I did not know about my brother. I do not know if he owns a crossbow.”

Keller didn’t look at her. He was scanning the walls for another arrow that might try to strike him as well.

“I believe you,” he said. “But we must get under cover. If someone is aiming for English knights, they might accidently hit you if they are aiming for me.”

Chrystobel yelped, instinctively flinched and ducking her head down as she skipped along beside him. By the time they reached the keep, they were practically running. Chrystobel raced up the exterior stairs and bolted in through the door, followed by Keller, both of them swallowed up by the dark innards of the great stone structure. Before they could take the stairs, however, Chrystobel turned to him.

“What about my sister?” she asked anxiously. “Must she be held under guard out in the bailey like a common criminal?”