Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(130)

He paused to look at her. “Aye?”

Chrystobel appeared nervous, uncertain. She made her way towards him in slow, halting steps, as if fearful to speak. But she forced the words out.

“You…,” she began, swallowed, and then started once more. “You will not tell my brother that I told you where you might find him, will you?”

Something just short of rage pulsed through Keller and he came back into the chamber, closing the door behind him. “Why would you ask that?”

Chrystobel struggled not to look away from his piercing gaze, suddenly regretful that she had said anything at all. Now, surely, he would begin to suspect things. “Because,” she stammered. “Because… he would become very angry and take his anger out on those around him.”

Keller cocked an eyebrow. “You?”

She couldn’t help it now. He was shooting bolts of fire out of those dusky eyes so she looked at the ground. “Anyone,” she said softly.

Keller walked over to her and put the fingers of his right hand under her chin, forcing her head up. He forced her to look at him, staring into her eyes with his searing and intense gaze. The bolts of fire were growing more intense.

“You?” he demanded in a whisper.

There was something so heated and liquid about his gaze, fire bolts reaching in to grab whatever soul and heart she had inside of her, yanking them out and holding them with gentle power and molten fire. She could see everything inside of her now hovering in the air between them as clearly as if he were holding all of it in both hands. She could see fear and vulnerability and interest, interest in him as both a man and as her husband. He must surely have sensed it. It was as if she no longer had any control over her mind, her free will vanishing within the power of his dark blue gaze. After a moment, she could only nod helplessly.

“It is possible.”

She spoke the words so softly that he barely heard her, but hear he did. Fury such as he had never known boiled up within Keller to the point that it was actually making him sweat. He’d known all along that it had been Gryffyn attacking Chrystobel, but to hear the confirmation, as vague as it was, nearly drove him insane. No man was going to take his fists to a woman, and most especially not his wife, and live to tell the tale. He dropped his hand from her chin and grabbed her by the arms, nearly crushing her as he fought off the innate sense of disgust.

“No more,” he hissed. “Do you hear me? It will never again happen. I will find your brother and I will make that abundantly clear to him.”

He was speaking through clenched teeth, frightening her, and Chrystobel’s eyes filled with tears.

“Nay,” she whispered. “You must not. He will vent his rage on Izlyn and my father. You must not challenge Gryffyn!”

Keller watched tears spill down her cheeks. He could literally feel the fear from the woman. He realized that he wanted very much to comfort her, perhaps draw her against him, hugging her and initiating that comforting human contact to convey both his sympathy and his sorrow for her plight. But somehow, he couldn’t do it. The last woman he comforted had put his heart beneath her shoe and crushed it. Nay, he wasn’t ready to hold Chrystobel yet, to feel her warm body against his. He seriously wondered if he ever would be. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his hands, hating Gryffyn d’Einen more with every breath he took.

“Not only will I challenge him, but I will win,” he said. “You need no longer fear for your sister or father, Lady de Poyer. You are my wife now and your family is now under my protection. Your brother’s reign of terror is over.”

With that, he turned on his heel and quit the chamber, leaving Chrystobel struggling not to sob. Was it possible it was true? Was it possible the English knight would actually become their savior and end their terror once and for all?

She was about to find out.





Chapter Six





Not surprisingly, the inhabitants of Nether Castle did not easily obey the English orders to muster in the bailey. In fact, they had a fight on their hands with some of the soldiers. Keller and his men had to strip them of their weapons, forcing them out into the bitterly cold night with nothing to defend themselves with. Like conquered men, they were unhappy and uneasy.

The servants, however, showed no resistance and collected in a frightened huddle near the kitchen yard as the rebellious soldiers were corralled into several groups in the bailey. Keller didn’t want them to be all in one bunch because there was strength in numbers should they decide to rebel. Therefore, there were six separate groups of men, all of them sitting in the mud with their hands on their head. Five hundred English soldiers against less than three hundred Welsh was no match at all. Nether was subdued.

But Gryffyn was not among the subjugated. Keller had managed to locate the six men that Chrystobel had named as Gryffyn’s henchmen, and he had also located the two old knights, who were treated better than anyone else and allowed to stand rather than sit. They showed absolutely no resistance and Keller showed them a measure of respect for that behavior. But Gryffyn was nowhere to be found and as William held the Welsh hostage in the bailey, Keller took George, Aimery, and one hundred of his men in a feverish search of the castle. He was determined to find Gryffyn if he had to take the castle apart stone by stone.

It made for a loud and hectic search. Doors banged and men shouted. As Keller and his men tore through Nether’s towers, Chrystobel and Izlyn sat in Chrystobel’s bower, listening to the commotion. Izlyn had been brought up to Chrystobel before the bedlam started, a scared little girl needing the comfort of her elder sister. William had delivered the child and he was polite to Chrystobel but not overly friendly. She was coming to suspect that he didn’t trust her because she had denied knowing anything about the arrow. Even though she’d told the truth, his behavior had upset her, but she wouldn’t dwell on it. She had Izlyn to focus on now, and focus she did.