Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(145)

He crouched down beside her as she sat against the wall, his rugged face, worn by the years and the weather, creased with concern.

“Are you badly injured?” he asked softly.

The buzzing in Chrystobel’s head had eased considerably. “Nay,” she said softly, gazing into his eyes and feeling hope and relief in her chest such as she had never before experienced. “I am well enough.”

Keller’s gaze drifted over her head, her face, as if he didn’t believe her. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly. “I can send for a physic.”

Chrystobel smiled faintly, reaching out to put a hand on his arm in a reassuring gesture. “That is not necessary,” she said, sighing quietly. “I will admit that my head does ache a bit, but food and rest will cure me, I am sure.”

He stared at her a moment before lifting his enormous hands and gently cupped her face. As Chrystobel looked into his eyes, her heart thumping madly against her ribs, she could feel the emotion pouring from the man. It was as if a dam had burst and everything that had been held back was finally gushing out. Sir Keller de Poyer was cold no more, and it was an astonishing realization.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I am sorry you had to endure what your brother did to you. But I swear, with God as my witness, that he will never touch you again.”

Chrystobel was at a loss for words, her breathing unsteady as his thumbs began to stroke her silken skin. It was the first time he had touched her and her senses were understandably overwhelmed.

“It was simply the way of things, my lord,” she murmured. “It has been going on so long that I have known little else.”

Keller’s face hardened. “No more,” he rumbled. “He is a dead man if he so much as looks at you in a way I do not like. Do you believe me?”

Chrystobel nodded, though she hardly dared to truly believe. “Aye.”

His gentle smile returned. “Good.” He fought off the sudden urge to kiss her, not wanting the first genuine kiss between them to be a public spectacle. He was rather shy and conservative that way. Moreover, there was something more she needed to know, something very serious. He braced himself.

“I must also apologize for something else,” he said hesitantly. “Your father….”

Chrystobel cut him off by a nod of the head, tears popping to her eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “Gryffyn told me.”

“He admitted to killing him?”

“Aye,” she confirmed. “The blood on the floor… is it his?”

Keller nodded, watching her sorrowful expression. “Aye,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry that I was unable to prevent it.”

Chrystobel struggled to control her tears, thinking on her father, the man who was supposed to protect her but never did. Although she was sorry for his loss, she couldn’t seem to muster true grief for his passing. Had the man ever prevented Gryffyn from having his own way in all things, perhaps she would have felt differently, but at the moment she felt somewhat guilty that she wasn’t more distraught.

“You are not responsible,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “You did what you could. You saved me, in fact, and I thank you for that.”

Keller’s dusky eyes glimmered. “It is one of the better things that I have done in my life.”

She smiled at the first truly warm moment between them. “I am particularly grateful for your keen sense of timing,” she said. “A few seconds later and I might not have been so grateful. Or alive.”

He winked at her and dropped his hands from her face, moving to take her two small hands within his big palms. He kissed them both sweetly, tenderly, as a promise of things to come. Now, it would be different between them. Gryffyn had, if nothing else, accomplished that.

“If you can stand, mayhap we should go and check on your sister,” Keller said. “I am sure you are anxious to see her.”

Chrystobel nodded, glancing at Gryffyn as the man sat up with the Ashby-Kidd twins standing several feet away from him, watching every move the man made.

“I am,” she said, eyeing her brother warily. “What are you going to do with him?”

The warmth in Keller’s eyes faded as he looked over his shoulder at the Welshman, who was holding his broken wrist awkwardly against his torso. His expression suggested anger, defeat, and defiance. Even with the broken wrist, Keller could still see fight in the man. After a moment, he returned his gaze to Chrystobel.

“Lock him in the vault,” he said. “The man has much to atone for so I hope you will trust me to make the appropriate judgment.”

“Of course, my lord.”

His gaze lingered on her a moment, thoughts turning from Gryffyn back to her. He liked thinking of her much better. “You will call me Keller,” he said quietly. “Or husband. I will answer to whatever you choose to call me.”

A beautiful smile spread across her face. She had a delightful grin with straight, white teeth and slightly prominent canines. “I would be honored to call you Keller,” she said sincerely.

He was just about to release her hands but thought better of it as she spoke. The glimmer returned to his eyes.

“I like hearing you say my name,” he said honestly.

Her smile broadened even more, if such a thing was possible. “Then I shall say it again,” she whispered. “Keller.”