Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(131)

They could hear the shouts and cries floating in through the three big lancet windows in the chamber, and Chrystobel eventually secured the oil cloth drapes to help block out the noise as well as the chilling temperature. The hearth was blazing brightly, the chamber warm and inviting, and Chrystobel washed both her and her sister with water scented with violets, washing away the mud and cares of the day.

The violets had come from a garden that Chrystobel and Izlyn tended, creating pleasant memories in a world that had little, and they grew flowers and herbs in the rocky, and very moist, soil. While the cooks and kitchen servants tended the vegetable garden in the kitchen yard, Chrystobel’s walled garden was near the north side of the keep and consisted exclusively of flowering plants, herbs, and two apple trees that produced tiny but tasty apples. It had been her mother’s garden long ago and it was something the girls continued to tend. More than a garden, it was a haven of joy for them, a light in their darkened world.

Over the years, the garden had collected a variety of rose plants, lilies, violets, basil, and great bushes of rosemary. Chrystobel’s mother, Lady Elyn, had managed to cultivate lavender, even in the cold climate and rocky soil, and the bushes grew big and wild with well-established roots. The lavender oil was precious and used in soaps, oils, and medicines, and the garden itself was almost as prized as the sheep that provided Nether with its income and stability.

The scent of violets was heavy in the air as Chrystobel and Izlyn finished bathing and dressed in heavy sleeping shifts. Chrystobel braided her sister’s hair and finally put the girl to bed, covering her up with fluffy coverlets. As the child slept dreamlessly, Chrystobel sat by the hearth in a chair made of oak, with curved rails along the bottom so that it rocked gently, and gazed pensively into the fire. Now that the day had calmed and she and Izlyn were both safe and warm, her thoughts drifted to the man she had married.

Keller de Poyer. The English knight was now her husband. She kept seeing his dusky blue eyes and strong features, rolling them over in her mind. Up until six months ago, she’d had no knowledge of the man and, in fact, had been accepting gifts from the local chieftain, Colvyn ap Gwynwynwyn, a bastard grandson of the last man who claimed the Powys throne. It was perhaps assumed that she would marry Colvyn, even though the man was known to have an entire stable of lovers, and she didn’t particularly find the man attractive or even interesting. He was short, dark, and rugged, and saw a wife as merely another possession. He’d as much as told her that. She wondered if de Poyer saw her as just another possession, too, just like Nether Castle.

It was hard to know someone after only having been acquainted with him for a few hours, but in that time she had seen that Keller was vastly intelligent, wise, and rather stiff. Aye, he was indeed stiff, as if he didn’t know how to smile or enjoy himself. She’d seen him crack a smile, briefly, and it was a very handsome gesture. But then the smile had vanished and he was back to his stiff, intimidating self. It was quite clear that the man had an emotional wall around him, a wall that protected the soul beneath. She wondered if the wall was so strong because it was protecting something very soft and delicate. There had been moments, briefly, where she had seen something in the depths of those dusky eyes that bespoke of all things untold and vulnerable. It seemed strange to think of the powerful English knight as vulnerable.

As she sat by the fire and pondered the character of her new husband, there was a knock on the chamber door. Before she could rise and open it, the panel flew open and Gryffyn appeared. He blew into the chamber, slamming the door behind him and bolting it. Chrystobel was so startled that she leapt out of her chair and, tripping over the leg, ended up on the floor. Gryffyn hardly noticed, however. He raced past her and carefully peeled back the oiled cloth, peering at the activity in the bailey below.

Chrystobel picked herself up, brushing off her knees. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, fighting down her panic. “You mustn’t stay here. My husband will be back any minute.”

Gryffyn whirled on her. “Husband?” he spat. “So you have already married the loathsome swine?”

“I have,” she replied. “Father tried to find you to tell you of the ceremony, but he was unable to locate you.”

Gryffyn avoided commenting on his whereabouts during her wedding. “De Poyer is nothing but a thieving bastard!” he barked. “He has no right to be here!”

Chrystobel had seen her brother in rages like this before. His control would soon leave him and he would punch her senseless, so she made sure to stay well away from the man and his unpredictable fists. In fact, the only thing to do was to agree with him, humor him, anything to keep him from pummeling her and Izlyn in his fury over the English.

Terrified, she had to do what was necessary to protect both her and her sister. It was a submissive behavior she’d utilized for many years in the face of her abusive brother; sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. She prayed it would work this time. She had to show she was on his side, to agree with a barbaric man in the hopes he would go along his way and not harm her. The game of terror had begun.

“I know,” she agreed quickly. “But I was forced to marry him. I did not want to.”

That seemed to ease Gryffyn somewhat. He began smacking a fist against his open palm, agitated. “To the Devil with him and the rest of his Saesneg soldiers,” he grumbled. “The first arrow did not work but there will be more. If they want my castle, they will have to fight for it. There will be hazard and rebellion every second of the day!”